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pitlanepeach · 2 months ago

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From Eden | Chapter Five (5/8)

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 + telling a partner about self harm. Some awkwardness (obviously. it's them.) Kissing!!!!!!!.

Notes — Ohmygod they’re literally insufferable. I love them so much. I wrote half of this in the middle of the night and the rest when I was supposed to be WFH. Don’t tell my boss.

It took twelve minutes — a stuttered conversation about his plane journey (“Boring. I chose the wrong job for a guy who hates travelling so much.”), him tripping over a random stack of books, and Francesca’s uncontrollable burst of laughter at his clumsiness that cracked through the initial awkward tension.

And then it was just… easy. Like they’d known each other forever.

Oscar fit. He fit into her space. Not seamlessly — his legs hung off the edge of the sofa, and he had to duck to get into the kitchen without smacking his head — but somehow, he still fit. Like there had always been a space carved out for him here, quiet and waiting.

“You have a lot of books,” he grunted, rubbing his elbow where he’d caught it on the corner of a shelf after trying (and failing) to avoid another tumble. A faint red blotch bloomed across his cheek.

Francesca pursed her lips in a valiant effort to hide her grin; her cheeks hurt. Had she stopped smiling since he’d arrived? Probably not. “That’s my entire livelihood you’re talking about.”

Oscar gave her a mock-serious nod, eyes twinkling. “My apologies. I guess I just have to get used to feeling like I’m in a library then.”

Francesca raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Correct. Insult the books and you’ll be out on the street faster than you can say ugly orange racecar.”

He grinned at that, dimples flashing. “Papaya,” he corrected, automatically.

“Osc. It’s… so orange,” she told him, gentle and sincere. “They’ve brainwashed you.”

He rolled his eyes, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Hm. Agree to disagree.”

She huffed her annoyance, but she was smiling, still.

Oscar looked around the flat again, with more intention. Most of the walls were lined with shelves — overflowing, chaotic, personal. Not just books, but little figurines, old mugs repurposed as pen holders, framed photos, postcards, pressed flowers between glass. Her entire world, encompassed inside these four walls.

“I like it here,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her.

Francesca’s smile faltered, just a touch. She studied him, trying to figure out if he meant it — really meant it — or if he was just being kind.

But Oscar met her gaze with something solid. Unwavering.

“I’m glad you let me come,” he added, softer this time. “Really glad.”

Right. Because he really was here.

Not on a screen. Not in the background of a race broadcast. But here, in her flat, stepping over book piles and stealing glances at her like she was the only thing in the room he really wanted to be looking at.

Henry hopped up beside him on the sofa, gave him a cursory sniff, then promptly curled up next to his thigh like he, too, had accepted Oscar's presence as something entirely inevitable.

“You’ve been vetted,” Francesca said, settling in across from them with her knees pulled up.

Oscar tilted his head. “By the cat or by you?”

She smiled. “Both. Congratulations.”

He leaned back, arms stretched out across the cushions, one foot nudging hers gently. “Worth it.”

—

Francesca didn’t mean to end up pressed right up against him on the sofa. It just sort of… happened.

One minute they were sitting side by side, knees brushing slightly whenever she shifted to grab her mug from the coffee table, and the next, she found herself curled against his side, her legs pulled up, tucked comfortably between them, a blanket pooled over both their laps.

Oscar’s arm had moved slowly, almost unsurely at first, but now it was settled around her shins, his big hand warm around her ankle, wrapping around it entirely. His thumb made small, absent-minded circles, like he hadn’t even realised he was doing it. Francesca hadn’t said anything, didn’t want to break this spell they’d found themselves in.

Henry was curled on the rug nearby, snoring faintly. Oscar had tried to bribe him with a treat earlier. The cat had blinked once, disinterested, then strolled off with his tail flicking like a snub.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Oscar murmured, glancing at the feline. “He’s kind of a little bastard, actually.”

Francesca smiled, eyes on the cat. “He’s discerning.”

“Is that the polite word for emotionally unavailable?”

“That,” she agreed, “and slightly spiteful. He liked you when you first got here, but now you’re stealing my attention from him, so…”

Oscar chuckled. “Can’t deny he’s cute. I can see why you love him.”

“I do,” she said simply. Then, after a pause, “He makes me feel safe.”

Oscar glanced down at her, the humour in his expression fading into something gentler. “Yeah?”

Francesca took a breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. He’s quiet — unless he’s hungry and I’ve forgotten his breakfast. Doesn’t expect much. Doesn’t judge me. And he’s just… here, you know? He just exists near me. Always.”

Oscar didn’t speak right away. He didn’t try to fill the silence with something easy or deflecting. Instead, his thumb traced a slow, steady line along her ankle, grounding her.

“He’s taken good care of you, then,” he said, soft but certain.

She turned her head to look at him — really looked. “Yeah. Is that weird?”

“No,” he said firmly, with a tone that very much implied that he wouldn’t accept any different.

His hand left her ankle after a moment, fingers brushing up her leg, light and patient, until they found hers, half-curled on her lap. He picked up one of her hands gently, like it might break.

And maybe it already had; in a way.

He turned it over slowly, thumb grazing the inside of her wrist, then the raw, reddened skin across her knuckles and the side of her palm, the tiny pinch bruises, the white scars. His gaze flicked to hers, suddenly cautious.

Francesca swallowed hard. God, she’d known this would come up eventually. She hadn’t expected them to be so touchy so fast, but it was far too late to pretend this was going to be anything slow-burning. They’d already burned for long enough.

“It’s not— I don’t hurt myself. Not… deliberately.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t stop. “It’s more like… when things get too much, and I don’t know how to handle it, I pick. Scratch. Sometimes I don’t even notice I’m doing it until it’s already bad.” She drew in a breath, unsteady. “It’s been worse before. But this — this is still pretty recent.”

Oscar didn’t let go.

He didn’t flinch or shift away or frown in that way that made people feel like they’d just confessed to something shameful. Instead, he laced their fingers together, slow and certain.

“My parents hated it,” she said after a silent moment. “Whenever they caught me doing anything that made them uncomfortable — biting my nails, needing to leave places early — it was like I was ruining it for them. Like I was an inconvenience on purpose, you know?”

Oscar’s jaw went tight, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I wasn’t allowed to talk about how I was feeling. They didn’t… like hearing it. I had to hide everything. After a while, I started hiding it from myself, too.” She gave his hand a tiny squeeze. “And then, one day, it started manifesting itself in other ways.”

“Like this,” Oscar said gently, brushing a thumb over her hand again.

She nodded, eyes burning. “It’s getting better. I- I hardly do it anymore. I can go months without an issue. I know it’s terrible, I do, but I promise, I can try—.”

“You don’t have to try for me,” he said, voice low as he cut her off, halting her spiral. “Don’t ever have to hide how you’re feeling, or what you’re thinking. You get that?”

Francesca bit her lip, hard. Her chest was tight — not in her usual twisted panic kind of way, but something much, much warmer.

“I’m a bit scared,” she whispered, curling closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder and breathing him in. “That you’ll realise how messy I am and… I don’t know. Decide I’m not worth the hassle.”

“You are,” he said, without hesitation.

No pause. No doubt. Just truth.

She let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You don’t know that.”

“Kinda do,” Oscar murmured. “I’ve got my mess too. Plenty of it.” He paused, his voice low. “You might be the one who decides I’m not worth it. I can’t promise you a peaceful life, Francesca. I’ll try — I’ll do everything I can to give you something close — but I can’t guarantee anything.”

She shook her head before he could spiral further. “Osc, stop. I know. I already know,” she said gently.

And that was enough.

They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, fingers loosely tangled, hearts beating in tandem — not perfectly synced, but close enough. Close enough to mean something.

—

The quiet felt different now.

Francesca sat on the edge of her sofa, staring at the dent Oscar had left in the cushion. Henry had moved to the other end, curled up into a croissant of cat contentment, but it wasn’t enough. Not tonight.

She'd tried brushing her teeth. Tidying. Scrolling on her phone. All of it only filled seconds.

It had been less than an hour since he’d left, and already the air in the flat felt too thin.

She got up and paced, arms crossed over her chest like they could hold her together.

This is ridiculous. He’s five minutes away. Maybe less. But also, you’ve known him for what? Three months? And then, he didn’t want to go either. You saw it on his face.

She reached for her phone, pulled it back, then finally opened FaceTime before she could change her mind.

He picked up on the second ring. His hair was damp, he looked freshly showered, and the hoodie he was wearing sat slightly crooked on his shoulders.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft with surprise. “Everything alright?”

“I—um.” She pressed her lips together and huffed out a laugh. “Is it really weird if I ask you to come back?”

Oscar blinked once, then sat up straighter, the movement making the camera wobble slightly. “No. Not weird.”

“I’m not… asking for anything,” she clarified quickly, heat rising in her cheeks. “I just — I can’t really explain it. I just feel a bit off. I thought I’d be fine. I’ve lived alone for years and it’s never been a problem but now that you were here and now you’re not it just feels—”

“Wrong for me to be five minutes down the road?” he offered gently.

She nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, he smiled — lopsided and warm. “I was hoping you’d say something. Didn’t want to be the one to push my luck.”

“I— Really?” She exhaled.

“I haven’t unpacked,” he admitted. “I’ve just been sitting here staring at the ceiling wondering if it was too soon to text you that I miss you.”

She laughed, the sound raw and relieved. “You’re such a dork.”

“Takes one to know one,” he said, standing up and already reaching for his shoes. “Give me ten minutes. I— should I bring my stuff?”

“Yeah.” She said, without even a second of hesitation. “I’ll leave the front door unlocked.”

Oscar hung up after one last smile in her direction.

Francesca paced again, but this time it was different — tinged with a manic kind of anticipation, her steps light.

When the door creaked open, she was perched on the arm of the sofa, kind of just… staring at it. Waiting.

Oscar stepped inside, shaking his hair out from the light drizzle. “London really rolled out the welcome mat for me, huh?”

“It was wet already,” she said, and then stood there, looking at him. The comfort of his presence settled over her like a favourite hoodie. “Thank you for coming back.”

“I never really left,” he said.

With a snort of derision, she reached for his hand, pulled him toward the couch, and they collapsed into the same dented cushions as earlier — this time, with no awkwardness, no space left between them. She practically curled up on his lap, in a move that was so very Henry of her.

It was late. Early hours of the morning. They were both tired. They didn’t talk much beyond a few whispered words here and there as they watched a random movie that was playing on Channel 4. Just sat, his arm slung around her waist, her fingers toying with the edge of his hoodie. He kissed her temple once, then rested his cheek there.

Easy. Warm.

She wanted it forever.

—

Francesca moved around her kitchen on careful feet, trying not to make too much noise even though Oscar was very much awake — she was wearing one of his hoodies. They’d fallen asleep on the couch, a mess of limbs and cricked necks. When they woke up, she’d shivered, and he’d immediately grabbed his duffle, opened it, and grabbed the first hoodie to hand her. It had a McLaren logo on the front and smelled like him.

The domesticity of it all was throwing her completely off balance.

He looked up from the mug in his hands when she set down two plates — toast, fruit. Not fancy, but easy. She didn’t say anything, and neither did he, not for a few moments.

“You make weird tea,” he said finally, peering into his mug. It had a picture of Henry on it. When he’d chosen it out of the cupboard, she’d had to hide her smile.

She tilted her head at him. “Huh? Weird how?”

“There’s oat milk in it,” he said, nose scrunching slightly.

“I like oat milk,” she replied, matter-of-fact. “You should’ve told me you didn’t. I think I have some powdered cow’s milk in the back of the cupboard somewhere…” She trailed off, glancing toward one of the kitchen cabinets with a furrowed brow.

Oscar coughed, hastily shaking his head. “No—God, no. I’m… yeah. Oat milk is just fine.”

Francesca stared at him for a second, a slow smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s easy to forget you’re probably used to, like, fancy coffee. Flat whites with milk flown in from Australia or something.”

She reached across the table and plucked a strawberry from his plate with deliberate mischief.

“Be nice about my milk preferences,” she added, popping it into her mouth.

“I am being nice,” he said with a small smile. “I’m drinking it, aren’t I?”

Their knees bumped under the table, lightly, accidentally-on-purpose. Francesca didn’t move hers away. Oscar didn’t either.

His phone buzzed near his elbow, but he didn’t reach for it. Francesca glanced at it, then back at him, then said, “Lando?”

He hummed. “Probably.”

She smiled around her bite of toast. “Aw. He’s your Katie.”

Oscar blinked at her. “My what?”

She laughed softly, a little embarrassed. “You know. The person you text the most. The one who you think about telling big news before anyone else.”

His expression softened, gaze dropping briefly to his plate before lifting again, meeting hers. “I think that’s you now.”

Francesca froze. Not in a bad way — just long enough to feel it settle deep in her chest, warm and a little scary. “Oh.”

Oscar’s foot nudged hers again, gentler this time. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, it’s… very okay.”

They went quiet again, the air between them filled with something lighter now, but thicker, too. Oscar reached out, slowly, fingers brushing the edge of her plate to steal a slice of strawberry. She watched his hand, her gaze lingering as it retreated. And then she reached across and took it — his hand — without fully thinking.

He didn’t flinch. Just let her link their fingers and gave the tiniest squeeze in return.

“So,” he said softly, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You studied English Lit at uni?”

Francesca nodded. Of course he’d noticed the framed certificate stuck to the fridge like a badge of honour. The most expensive fridge magnet in the world.

“Yeah. At York,” she said. “I was going to try and get into the publishing industry, originally. Or proof-editing. But… things changed. I started posting on YouTube a month after graduation, and it just… took off.”

“Did you like studying?” he asked after a beat.

“Sometimes,” she replied, her voice thoughtful. “I liked the content. Loved the books. The theory, the discussions. Hated the actual, like, uni lifestyle though.”

He smiled, just a little. “Too much socialising for you, huh?”

She huffed out a laugh. “Too much everything. People everywhere, all the time. Constant pressure to be on. And drunk. I hated how loud it all was.”

Oscar’s fingers stilled for a second before they moved again, slow and grounding, rubbing circles on her skin. “I didn’t do uni,” he said, eyes flicking down to where their hands sat tangled between them. “Went to boarding school here, in England. Left after GCSEs to focus on racing full time.”

Francesca’s brow creased, the image of him at fifteen — maybe younger — on the other side of the world, too sharp in her mind. “Did you miss your family?” She frowned, thumb tracing a line over his wrist. “Your mum must have trusted you a lot, to let you make that decision.”

Oscar let out a breath, not quite a sigh. “Yeah,” he said. “She did. Does.” His voice dropped, a little rougher now. “It wasn’t easy. I mean, I was pretty lucky — I had lots of people around me, managers, mentors, a few teammates who looked out for me. But there were days when all I felt was homesick, you know?”

Francesca turned her body more toward him, their knees bumping.

“I can’t imagine being so independent at that age,” she said, quietly.

“I think it taught me a lot,” he said after a moment. “But I don’t know if I’d want the same for my kids.”

Her breath caught.

“I- yeah.” She murmured. “I can see that.”

He looked at her then, properly, his hand moving to hold both of hers now, like he wanted to keep them steady. “When did you start reading?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Young. I used to go to the library after school. It felt safe there.” She confessed. “When I didn’t want to be at home.”

“I- I really hate how you were treated by your family.” He admitted. “Did you— I mean, can you at least tell me that you had one person in your life who took care of you?”

“Katie.” She said, after a heavy beat. “I met her at uni. She was studying business. She’s a great friend.”

That wasn’t the answer he’d been wanting to hear, clearly, but he didn’t push.

Francesca stared at him. There was a beat of quiet between them, soft and golden, and then she said, “You make me feel safe, Osc.”

He blinked at her.

“I know it sounds like a lot,” she continued, “but there’s something about you that makes me feel like I can just… breathe.”

Oscar didn’t speak for a long moment. He just leaned in, her forehead resting lightly against hers.

Francesca let her eyes flutter shut, her breath catching in her throat. There was something cloying in the air between them now — expectant, tender, and so, so careful. His hand moved from hers, brushing up along her forearm, until it came to rest at the side of her face. His thumb traced a gentle line across her cheekbone, featherlight, like he was memorising every inch of her.

She opened her eyes just enough to meet his.

He was already looking at her.

Not the way other people looked at her — with pity, or hesitance, or confusion — but like he was enamoured by her.

“Is this okay?” Oscar asked, voice barely a whisper.

Francesca gave the smallest nod, her fingers curling into the sleeve of his hoodie. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Please.”

So he kissed her.

It was slow. Intentional. No rush, no need to prove anything — just the warmth of his lips against hers, the quiet exhale from his nose, the gentle tilt of his head as he leaned in closer. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world to do it properly.

Francesca melted into it. Her hand came up to his shoulder, then his neck, fingers sliding into the soft hair at his nape. She felt his pulse against her palm, and hers answered in kind, a steady, stumbling rhythm.

When they eventually pulled apart, neither of them moved far. Foreheads still resting together, breaths shared in the space between them, everything soft and golden in the morning light.

“I really like you,” she confessed, cheeks rosy red, lips swollen.

Oscar grinned, lips brushing against hers as he said, “Yeah. I really like you too.”

And then she laughed, small and slightly breathless. “Good. Because that would’ve been really awkward otherwise.”

He laughed with her, arms tightening around her like he didn’t quite want to let her go. “Yeah, that would’ve been devastating for my ego.”

—

bookishgoldie just posted!

liked by oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri, and 47,109 others

bookishgoldie: new video-essay coming to your screens on Tuesday! hint: it’s about a certain singers influence on the contemporary romance genre 🪩🫶

view all comments

user21: holy shit my two worlds are colliding and i am NOT going to be calm about this

user17: she’s a HUGE swiftie miss girl isn’t quiet about it either 😭 ive been waiting for a vid like this from her omg

user87: me on tuesday: everybody shut up my show is on

user74: ohmygod real

user6: our girl is collecting piastri’s like pokemons ohmygod. oscar AND hattie in the likes iktr

user54: so her and oscar are definitely dating then lol

user69: maybe hattie just showed oscar one of her vids and he just… follows her? it’s probably completely innocent. she’s not exactly wag material lol

user7: @user69 wish i could be as delusional as you babe

hattiepiastri: if i send u my favourite manga will you make a video about it pls?

bookishgoldie: it would be my first manga ever! but yes. i’d 100% make a video about it if u want me to do <3

user40: OH SHES PART OF THE FAMILY HUH

user61: stop she’s giving such big sister energy ‘if that’s what u me to do’ IM DYING

landonorris: my sister asked if u would follow her pls she likes your videos @flonorris

bookishgoldie: ohmygod yes of course that’s so sweet. followed her

flonorris: this is the most humiliating day of my life but I LOVE UR VIDS SO MUCH FRANCESCA ahhhhh (lando i fcking hate u)

user76: ok this is getting crazy now

user8: im getting whiplash WHAT IS HAPPENING

—

Francesca was curled up on Oscar’s lap, laptop perched on her thighs, fingers moving with idle precision as she clipped audio and trimmed footage.

He was content to just watch her work. In her element. The furrow of her brow when something didn’t sync up quite the way she’d expected it to. The occasional muttered commentary and nudge when she wanted his opinion on something. The way she mouthed along to her voiceover without even realising.

It made something calm settle in his chest.

“I like seeing this side of things,” he said after a while.

Francesca glanced at him with a shy smile, tapping the spacebar to pause the video. “A lot of people hate this part. The editing. My management tried to hire someone to take over, but I said no. I genuinely enjoy this. I can just… lose myself in it.”

Oscar hummed. “Hattie’s the same with her sketching. Just zones out completely. You could set off fireworks next to her and she wouldn’t notice.”

Francesca’s smile widened a little at the mention of his sister. “I like Hattie.”

“She’s annoying. But she’s also one of my favourite people,” he said simply. Then, after a second, he asked, “Do you… talk to your siblings much?”

The shift was subtle. Her smile dimmed.

“Not really,” she said, voice quiet but even. “I mean, I have a sibling. One. Izzy. She’s older. We’ve never been close. She was like my parents; thought I was just a dramatic attention seeking kid.”

Oscar’s fingers found hers where they sat between them, soft and easy. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.” She gave a little shrug, tried to smile again. “I mean, it’s not. But I’ve made peace with it.”

Oscar was quiet for a second. “My family’s already excited to meet you.”

Francesca’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Wait — what?”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ve told them about you. Mum asked if I’d started seeing anyone. I didn’t really know how to explain what this is, but I tried.”

“You’ve told them about me?”

“Of course I have,” he said. “You’re kind of hard not to talk about, to be honest.”

Francesca flushed, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. She didn’t speak for a long moment, then murmured, “I want to go. One day. To Australia. I want to meet them.”

Oscar looked at her properly then — really looked. Her eyes were glassy, not from tears, but from something quieter. Nerves, maybe. Definitely fear.

“Scary thought?” he asked.

She nodded.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said. “They’ll come to you. They’ve already offered. I told them a little bit—not everything, just what I could. Mum gets it. She said she’s happy to meet you wherever you feel safe.”

Francesca stared at him, wide-eyed. “You… told them that?”

“Yeah,” he said, slightly hesitant. “I—I'm not ashamed of anything about you, Francesca.”

She looked away quickly. Her thumb rubbed absently over his collarbone, shaky and soft.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’d like that. Them here. But that— I mean, I’d want to try. My job gives me so much freedom and I’ve never used it.” Her voice dipped, threaded with uncertainty. “I’ve always been too scared.”

She had a passport, technically. But she hadn’t travelled since she was a kid, since there’d always been a parent’s hand to hold in the chaos of airports, someone else to take charge. Adulthood had turned freedom into something sharp-edged and overwhelming.

Oscar leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple — slow and sure. “We can do as much trying as you want, babe.”

Babe.

The word caught her off guard in the nicest way. It fizzed in her chest, soft and electric, looping like a song she didn’t know she’d needed to hear.

She tilted her head just enough to look at him. “You said that really casually,” she murmured. “So now I feel like a psycho for wanting to scream about it.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, then looked down at her, a teasing glint sparking in his eyes. “Beautiful. Babe. Baby. Princess.” He ticked each one off like a checklist, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Francesca let out an incredulous, half-sputtered laugh as her face flamed red. “Oh my god. Stop. Now you’re just testing me.”

“Actually, I’m gauging your reactions,” he said, gaze calculating. “Seeing which one makes your brain short-circuit the most.”

“It’s definitely ‘princess’,” she muttered, hiding her face in his chest. “You cannot just say that. It’s embarrassing. I hate pet names.”

“No you don’t,” he said, entirely unapologetic, fingers drawing slow shapes on her arm. “You liked them.”

“Did not.” She said petulantly.

They sat like that for a while. The laptop battery warning popped up and was ignored. The video paused, forgotten. Francesca leaned her head against his chest.

“When do you have to be back?” Francesca asked, her voice soft, as if she didn’t really want the answer. “At work, I mean.”

Oscar shifted slightly beneath her. “There’s a break between races,” he said. “Just a week, and I’ve got to be in Woking on Saturday. Sim session.”

She nodded, humming in acknowledgment. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed against the hem of his sleeve. “Where do you… I mean, where do you actually live?” she asked after a beat. “I’ve never really thought about it. You’re always travelling so much — it’s hard to imagine you, like, actually settled down somewhere.”

He smiled, tilting his head like the question had caught him off guard. “Australia, mostly. I stay with my family when I’m back there. But I’ve got a few places scattered around — small apartments I use when I need them. I rent them out when I’m not going to be using them.”

“Oh.” Francesca blinked, absorbing his words.

“I want that to change, soon,” Oscar said, his voice low, honest. “It’s been fun, letting myself just… exist. Living out of suitcases, bouncing from city to city, never stopping long enough to feel anything settle. But I want somewhere to be able to call home, you know? A real home. I don’t feel like I have that at the moment.”

She nodded, quiet for a moment as she chewed on her bottom lip. “Where would that be?”

He let out a short breath through his nose, a sound laced with uncertainty. “Lando’s been pushing me to consider Monaco,” he admitted. “Says it makes sense. Warm weather, tax stuff… the usual.” He gave a small shrug, like he was a bit embarrassed by how dry and practical it sounded.

“Lando seems fun,” she said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile.

“He’s… Lando,” Oscar replied, with a fond shake of his head. That alone made her laugh. “He’s excited to meet you.”

She softened at that. “You’ve told everyone about me, huh.”

Instead of answering right away, he tucked his fingers gently under her chin, tilted her face toward his, and pressed a series of light, lingering kisses to her lips. Slow and affectionate and sure.

“Yes,” he murmured in between kisses. “Everyone. Anyone who’ll listen. Don’t expect that to change anytime soon.”

She blinked at him, dazed and glowing. “Hm. Well, I get exclusive soft launch rights,” she said, attempting something breezy but smiling too hard to quite pull it off. “If you’re telling everyone about me, I’m telling the internet about us.”

His brow quirked, and he grinned. “You want to show me off?”

There was a low, amused heat in his voice, and she bit back the stupid little sound that nearly escaped her throat.

“Yeah,” she said, gaze flitting to his mouth and back to his eyes. “Obviously.”

He gave a small smile, soft around the edges. “So… what you’re saying is that it wouldn’t be completely ridiculous if I asked you to be my girlfriend? Officially?” A slight flush crept up his neck, but his eyes stayed steady on hers. “No pressure, if it’s too soon, or weird, or—”

“Yes.” Her answer came fast, almost cutting him off, and she let out a little breathy laugh at herself. “I mean… yes, I’d like that. A lot.”

Oscar’s smile widened slowly, and something settled behind his ribs. “Okay. Cool. That’s cool.”

She leaned up to kiss him. “Yes. Very cool. Boyfriend.”

—

iMessage — Francesca & Katie

Katie:

Update pls

Francesca:

I AM A GIRLFRIEND NOW

Katie:

Colour me shocked.

Girl why do u seem surprised by this.

He is literally so gone for you.

Francesca:

i want to eat his face off

Katie:

Oh good god.

Please tell me you haven’t been this unhinged in-front of him

Francesca:

yolo

he’s my bf now anyway

no escape for him!

Katie:

Poor guy has no idea what he’s signed himself up for 💀

CHAPTER SIX

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puppybei · 3 months ago

Text

Unsaid Dreams

Chapter 5 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: ooc Sukuna, use of y/n like twice, angst heh, Sukuna is lwk a simp…if there’s anything I missed do tell me!! Overthinking Sukuna and Reader, soft Sukuna

Wc: 1.9k

Sukuna had both hands on the steering wheel, gripping tightly as he passed the dense forest that lined both sides of the empty road, save for a few cars here and there. His expensive car stood out against the trucks that carried animal livestock and farm produce. The sun was setting, light rays passing between the tree branches causing patches of light to form on the road.

His mind was running a thousand questions per minute, was the kid his?- she had to be, her eyes, her hair- it was obvious to anyone who the father was. Why didn’t you tell him, Why did you leave him all those years ago and force him to go through so much shit alone- especially when he needed you the most then. Why did you never reach out- he wasn’t the worst boyfriend, he could’ve provided for everything you could have wanted- he would’ve given you the moon if you so much as looked at it in passing. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth as his vision clouded with anger.

You hid away from him for so long, you stole his heart and ran away with it, and now he has to find out you stole his chance at fatherhood away too? Just what grave sin did he commit to be punished like this from you of all people. How many nights had he spent just admiring you while you slept. Did you know how hard he worked to get everyone who didn’t approve of you off his board? Every senile old motherfucker that he asked Toji to take care of? And did you know of the gaping hole you left in his heart when he was so close to getting rid of them all and establishing himself and you just up and left?

The sun had fully set by the time he reached the bakery, parked a bit far away watching as passersby entered the shop. A rare smile found its way on his face- at the very least your shop was doing good- you were a damn good baker after all, he’d expect nothing but the best from you.

Uraume had informed him that you would not be in for the day, so he sat in the car watching everyone who strolled by the shop with a sharp glare, squinting at Fumiko who came out with an apron and employee tag. He didn’t have to wait long- the drive to your bakery had taken him over two hours. He always knew you had a good head on your shoulders but to hide yourself smack in the middle of a countryside, he should’ve expected no better from you.

Sukunas heart flipped when he saw you for the first time in years, Hana resting on your hip as you walked on the opposite side. You had aged gracefully, small wrinkles formed at the corners of your eyes when you smiled, a different glow on your face compared to the one he had first fallen in love with. Your shoulders seemed a bit more heavier and he wished to whisk away all your problems, take one of those late night drives where he drove a bit too fast and you clung onto him screaming.

The CEO watched you enter the shop, Hana set down as you greeted Fumiko. He got out of the car, standing in front of it as you turned around to switch the signboard on the glass door and made eye contact with him.

It felt like you were sixteen all over again and seeing him for the first time. You couldn't help but let your gaze travel over his body. Fuck, age had done nothing to make him any less attractive. Fumiko left the shop, staring at you for a second before you reassured her to be on her way. Hana was sitting on one of the tables, eating a donut with strawberry filling, getting powdered sugar all over her face.

Sukuna entered the moment Fumiko left and you switched on the dimmer lights in the bakery, casting those shadows you liked on Sukunas face. You pulled out a chair at a table just a little bit far away from Hana, making sure you could see her

“Sukuna.”

You didn't trust your voice to come out steady, it wobbled at the edges, throat closing up against the name you hadn’t uttered for years. Sukuna pulled out a seat opposite to you, glaring at you, not once did he turn his attention to the shop- faltering once to look at Hana,

“So this is where you were playing house huh?”

Fumiko had prepared tea, you had called her beforehand to inform that a guest would be coming and that you’d appreciate it if she could make two cups of chrysanthemum tea, Sukuna’s favorite. You poured it, setting it in front of Sukuna,

“If that's what you want to call it then sure,’

You stared down at your cup, mixing in two cubes of sugar as Sukuna seethed from where he sat

“What the fuck else am I supposed to call it then,

You winced at the tone of Sukuna’s voice, turning your head to look outside at the flickering lamplight,

“Don't curse in front of the kid Ryoumen.”

You felt like you were in a dream, this was way too surreal to feel true and every word came out of you like you practiced it in front of the mirror till they lost meaning,

“How- Why the fuck- Look at me Y/n.”

You hadn’t realized you were crying until your cheeks felt wet, and you used the back of your hand to wipe them away, turning your attention back to the father of your child. Sukuna had long stopped glaring at you, his featured twisting to resemble heartbreak and you felt your own heart break in your chest,

“Ryo-”

The minute he heard his name leave your mouth he was by your side, cupping the back of your head and kneeling by your chair as he brought your head to rest on his shoulder,

“I’m here- always have been pet,”

Your hands twisted into the fabric of his dress shirt, wetting his shoulder with salty tears that seeped through the cloth. Hana turned her head at the sound of your muffled sounds, jumping down from her chair and running over to hit Sukuna with tiny fists who scowled at her in response. The contrast of it all made you chuckle, pushing away from Sukuna’s chest and pulling Hana into your lap, wrapping your arms around her and calming her down.

“Ryo…I’m sorry- I can’t”

You shook your head, the words stuck in your throat as they came out wrong. Sukuna just shook his head pulling his chair closer to you,

“Tell my why you left first,”

You looked up at Sukuna with red rimmed eyes, arms tightening around Hana who whined in retaliation,

“I heard you that day.. On the phone with Toji- and then you left again and I just- I couldn't handle that anymore and I didn’t want Hana to go through that either,”

The father’s face twisted into a scowl, stopping you mid way through your rant.

“Doll- what call-what are you talking about,”

And so you began the recollection of the day that started a flurry of decisions that led you to where you are now,

“With Y/n? No I dont want kids why the fuck are you even asking me that Toji?”

You stilled outside Sukuna’s office, positive pregnancy test in your hand. Your entire body trembled and the world whizzed around you, unconsciously removing your hand from the door as you stuffed the test into your purse walking back to the bedroom in a daze. You sat down and shut your eyes, taking short quick deep breaths as you calmed yourself down watching your hands stop shaking from fear.

You had never discussed the possibility of kids with Sukuna, you started taking birth control after you moved into Sukuna’s high rise apartment and he got addicted to doing it raw. Sure it was a possibility you considered but it virtually never happened and you were sure you were not going to be the exception.

You could understand Sukuna not wanting kids, you don't think you would put any kid through what Sukuna had to go through to become the successor. Granted his twin brother, Jin did run away and marry another woman. But if your child was going to turn out anything like Sukuna then they would crave the power just as much as he did and you were not sure if you wanted them to go through all that.

Sukuna and you had just graduated college too and his father was forcing him to work his way upwards, it's barely been a few months since you both became official. Sukuna wanted to make sure he got a job before tying you down with him, he knew how self-sacrificing you were. But, the relationship has been everything but steady since he started to focus more on the inheritance races. He would disappear for weeks on end without a trace or word, leaving Uraume with you and when he did finally come back he would just be a bit odd, like his scent had mixed with old blood and festered.

He would avoid you for a few days before going back to being normal and sharing a bed with you. And you were not stupid, you knew Sukuna was establishing his position by using not-so-legal methods, you just kept your mouth shut. Sukuna wouldn’t hurt someone unless they were embezzling or doing something especially evil, you asked Uraume about it and they answered you honestly.

But it was the mixture of the wrong events happening at the wrong time, on the morning after you found out that you were pregnant Sukuna was nowhere to be found and Uraume was present in his absence. You just felt more unstable then, the two month pregnancy hormones messing with your brain and causing you to start pulling away.

It was the longest time Sukuna had left, four weeks and not even a single word from him. Even Uraume had to leave without a word and the walls of the empty house felt like they were caving in on you, and paired with your morning sickness, truly you had never felt more low in your life.

And then you started thinking, would Sukuna ask you to get rid of the child growing in you, would he even love them, you knew he loved you but he never liked children. Did you want to bring your child into a world where their father left for weeks, leaving you with no answers. And what if Sukunas enemies decided that your child would be the one they enacted revenge on. Or what if the executives got Sukuna to marry someone else- they never really approved of you in the first place.

The storm that raged in your mind led you to take the most life changing decision you had ever made. A few days after Uraume left and showed no signs of coming back you had started to pack a few things, dipping into your emergency funds that you saved up while working as an assistant baker in university. You left your phone and anything Sukuna could track you down with back at his apartment. Barely a bag was left when you finally finished packing up, already having booked a train to the middle of nowhere. You already called up the locals, informing them of your situation and buying a streetside shop beforehand. You left a week after Uraume did and never looked back.

Previous Current Next

Taglist: @lady-of-blossoms @shokosbunny @after-laughter-come-tears @glads-stuff @acidrefiux @linny-bloggs @dahliadaenerys @gojotech @emi311 @poopooindamouf @sadrna @domainofmarie @sukubusss @nousija @pjofics @katsukiseyebrows @the-reas0n-is-y0u @nina-from-317

A/n: I don’t know how to feel about this tbh… ugdhdhhdudud I feel like I could’ve done it better but finally the confrontation chapter (or atleast half of it lol)!! This feels very uh not up to par hdjdkeksjdj

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odinsblog · 1 year ago

Text

“I first started noticing the journalists dying on Instagram. I'm a journalist, I'm Arab, and I've reported on war. A big part of my community is other Arab journalists who do the same thing.

And when someone dies, news travels fast. Recently, I pulled up the list that the Committee to Protect Journalists has been keeping and looked at it for the first time. There are 95 journalists and media workers on it as of today.

Almost everyone on it is Palestinian. Scrolling through, I started to get angry. These were the people carrying the burden of documenting this whole war.

Israel is not allowing foreign journalists into Gaza, except on rare occasions with military escorts. These people's names are being buried in a giant list that keeps growing. What I want to do is lift some of them off the list for a moment and give you a glimpse of who they were and the work they made.

I'll start with Sadi Mansour. Sadi was the director of Al-Quds News Network, and he posted a 22-second video on November 18. That was a report from the war, but it also gave me a picture into his marriage.

Sadi's wearing his press vest and looks exhausted. He's explaining that cell service and the Internet keep getting cut off, and it's often impossible to text or call anyone, including his wife. So they've resorted to using handwritten letters to communicate while he's out reporting, sending them back and forth with neighbors or colleagues.

He ends the video with a picture of one of these letters from his wife. In it, she writes,

‘Me and the kids stayed up waiting for you until the morning, and you didn't come home. We were really sad.

I kept telling the kids, Look, he's coming. But you didn't show up. May God forgive you.

Come home tomorrow and eat with us. Do you want me to make you kebab or maybe kapse? Bring your friends with you, it's okay.

And give Azeez the battery to charge. What do you think about me sending you handwritten letters with messenger pigeons from now on? Ha ha ha.

I'm just kidding. I want to curse at you, but we're living in a war. Too bad.

Okay, I love you. Bye.’

A few hours after he shared that letter, Sadie and his co-worker Hassouna Saleem were at Sadie's home, when they were killed by an Israeli air strike that hit his house.

His wife and kids, who weren't there, survived.

Gaza is tiny, and the journalist community is really close. Reading the list, you can see all the connections between people. Like with Brahim Lafi.

Brahim was a photojournalist, one of the first journalists to die. He was killed while reporting on October 7. He was just 21, still new to journalism.

On his Instagram, you can see that in his posts just a few years ago, he was still practicing his photography, taking pictures of coffee cups and flowers. Then he started doing beautiful portraits and action shots. You can really feel him starting to become a journalist.

Clicking around on Instagram, I found a tribute post about Brahim from his co-worker Rushdie Sarraj. In this photo, Brahim staring intently at the back of a camera, his face lit up by the light from the viewfinder. He looks so young.

The caption reads, My assistant is gone. Brahim is gone. Rushdie himself was a beloved journalist and filmmaker.

And I know that because he's also on the list. He was killed just two weeks after Brahim. I read the tribute post to him too.

I saw this over and over again. Journalists posting tributes, who were then killed themselves soon after. And a tribute goes up for them.

And then the pattern continues.

Thank you.

Something else I saw over and over on the list, journalists later in the war who had become aware that they could be making their last reports. They'd say it at the beginning of their videos. And those were the hardest to watch, especially when it was true.

One video like that was posted by Ayat Hadduro. Ayat was a freelance journalist and video blogger. Her videos before the war covered a wide range from what I can tell, interviews about women in politics.

She even appeared in a commercial for ketchup-flavored chips. She clearly liked being in front of the camera. Once the war started, Ayat's pivoted to covering bombings and food shortages.

On November 20, she posted a video report from her home. You can hear the airstrikes hitting very close to where she is. It's scary.

‘This is likely my last video. Today, the occupation forces dropped phosphorus bombs on Beit Lahya area and frightening sound bombs. They dropped letters from the sky, ordering everyone to evacuate.

Everyone ran into the streets in the craziest way. No one knows where to go.

But everyone else has evacuated. They don't know where they're going. The situation is so scary.

What's happening is so tough, and may God have mercy on us.’

She was killed later that day.

Targeting journalists, in case you didn't know, is a war crime. So far, the Committee to Protect Journalists has found that three of the journalists on the list were explicitly targeted by the IDF, the Israeli military. Investigations by the Washington Post and Reuters, Human Rights Watch and the United Nations have also raised serious questions in these three cases.

And the Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating 10 other killings. When we reached out to the IDF for comments, they said, quote, the IDF has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists. That's the answer they always give in these situations.

Meanwhile, dozens of seasoned reporters have fled Gaza. Journalists who worked for Al Jazeera, the BBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Reuters, Agence France-Presse. So many media offices were demolished in Israeli airstrikes that the Committee to Protect Journalists stopped counting.

It's not just individual lives that have been destroyed. It's an entire infrastructure.

Thank you.

The name on the list that was hardest for me to look at was Issam Abdullah, because I'd crossed paths with him once. Issam was a Lebanese journalist, a video journalist for Reuters for many, many years. He had just won an award for coverage of Ukraine.

I'm Lebanese and still report there sometimes, and I'd worked with Issam a couple of summers ago. He helped me film a sort of random story in Beirut. I was interviewing this entrepreneur who had started a sperm freezing company after an accident where he spilled a tray of hot coffee on his private area, burning himself.

I know, ridiculous. It was a really silly shoot. Right after we said cut and started to rap, Issam started this whole bit about being in his late 30s, reconsidering his own sperm quality and everything he now realized he was doing to hurt it, and no one could stop laughing.

It was a really good day that felt good to remember and to remember him that way. Issam was killed by the IDF on October 13. His death was one of the three that the Committee to Protect Journalists has identified as a targeted killing.

He was fired upon by an Israeli tank while standing in an empty field on the Lebanon-Israel border with a small group of other journalists. Everyone was wearing press vests with cameras out. They were covering the Hezbollah part of this war.

A few other journalists were injured in the attack, which was captured on video. The IDF says they were responding to firing from Hezbollah, not targeting the journalists. But multiple investigations, including by Reuters, the United Nations, Amnesty International and the AFP, found no evidence of any firing from the location of the journalists before the IDF shot at them.

The journalists in the group and video footage confirmed that there was no military activity near them. I had only met Issam once, barely knew him, but it affected me so much when he died. I know that he understood the risks of his job, but somehow it still felt so random and unfair that he would be struck down like that, following the rules, wearing his press vest and helmet, and a pack of reporters on a sunny day in an open field.

I find myself thinking about him all the time. His last Instagram post was commemorating another journalist, this iconic reporter Shereen Abou Aql who had been killed by the IDF. When I first saw that post in October, I thought how ironic because a week later, Isam also was killed by the IDF.

But then, after spending time reading the list, I realized how common this had become. I still haven't finished going through the list and looking up the people on it. I keep finding things that stick with me, like the funny way this one radio host would cut off a caller who was rambling on for too long.

A tweet from reporter Al-Abdallah that quoted Sylvia Plath. It read, What ceremony of wars can patch the havoc? I'm going to keep going down the list, even though this story is over now.

Just for myself. My own way of bearing witness. Which is, in the end, all that these journalists were trying to do.”

—DANA BALLOUT, The 95. Dana sifts through a very long list—the list of journalists killed in the Israel-Hamas war, and comes back with five small fragments of the lives of the people on it. Dana is a Lebanese-American, Emmy-nominated documentary producer.

#politics #dana ballout #the 95 #palestine #israel #war crimes #gaza #committee to protect journalists #🇵🇸#brahim lafi #shereen abou aql #issam abdullah #ayat hadduro #rushdie sarraj #hassouna saleem #sadi mansour

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satellite-evans · 3 months ago

Text

everything

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Summary: Charles and you face unexpected challenges on your journey to starting a family.

Word count: 12k+ ( She is long I'm sorry)

Warnings: angst, fluff, infertility struggles, mentions of medical procedures, emotional vulnerability, making out, mention of sex

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

It was a slow morning — a rarity in Charles' world of fast cars, roaring engines, and constant travel. Mostdays, life was a whirlwind of race weekends, media commitments, and training schedules. But today was quiet. Today was yours.

These mornings were your favorites. The ones where the sun poured in through the sheer curtains and you could pretend — even if only for a little while — that the outside world didn’t exist.

You were curled up beside him in bed, legs tangled together under the cozy sheets, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a sound that always calmed you, grounding you when the world felt too loud.

Charles’ fingers traced slow, lazy circles along your arm, his skin warm and soft against yours. His other hand was tucked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, as though lost in thought. You could feel his chest rising and falling under your cheek, steady and calm, but something about the way his fingers moved — a little slower, a little more absent — told you his mind was elsewhere.

You smiled softly to yourself, enjoying the rare stillness. These were the moments where you got to see this version of Charles — not the one behind a helmet, not the one the cameras followed, but your husband. The man who would quietly hum love songs when he thought you were asleep, who would stop to tie your shoelaces when he noticed you were too lazy, who loved so deeply it sometimes scared you.

And then, out of nowhere, he broke the comfortable silence — his voice soft and a little hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should say what was on his mind.

"Do you ever think about it?"

You lifted your head slightly, resting your chin against his chest to look up at him, brows furrowing in curiosity at his sudden seriousness.

"Think about what?" you asked gently, searching his face for answers.

His green eyes — usually so full of playful mischief — looked softer now, more vulnerable. There was a flicker of nervousness in them, but also something else. Something tender.

He hesitated, his hand pausing mid-circle on your arm, before continuing, almost shyly.

"Us… having a baby."

The question hung in the air between you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, trying to process what he was saying.

"A baby?" you echoed, your voice quieter now, almost as if you were afraid saying it out loud would make it too real.

Charles gave a small nod, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah... I mean, not now, now. But… I think about it, sometimes. You and me... with a little one running around."

You blinked, your heart doing a strange flip in your chest. "You do?"

He laughed softly, reaching up to push a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "Of course I do. I think you'd be the most amazing maman."

Warmth filled your chest at his words, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine it — a small hand in yours, a laugh that was half his, half yours.

"I..." You paused, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed by the weight of the conversation but also filled with a strange kind of excitement. "I think about it too, sometimes."

Charles' face lit up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You do?"

You nodded, smiling now. "Yeah. I mean, maybe we’d be terrible at it—"

"—No way," he interrupted with a grin, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against yours. "We’d figure it out. Together."

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. "You’d spoil them rotten, and I’d have to be the strict one."

Charles laughed, the sound warm and soft against your skin. "Obviously. You’d be the scary one, and I’d be the one sneaking them candy when you’re not looking."

You laughed harder at that, imagining the scene — Charles sneaking sweets to a giggling toddler behind your back.

"But seriously," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, "If... if you want, we could start trying. Not now, if you’re not ready. But maybe soon?"

You swallowed, a mixture of emotions swirling inside you — excitement, nervousness, love.

"Yeah," you whispered, brushing your fingers through his messy hair. "Yeah, I’d like that."

Charles’ smile grew, and he leaned down to kiss you, slow and soft and full of promise.

"Okay," he whispered against your lips. "Whenever you’re ready, amour."

"Whenever we’re ready," you corrected gently, and he nodded.

From that day on, the dream became real. You started to imagine a future that wasn’t just the two of you. You caught Charles watching kids when you were out together — at the grocery store, at restaurants, during walks by the harbor. His gaze would soften when he saw a dad carrying a toddler on his shoulders or a mom holding a baby close to her chest.

Once, as you both sat at a café by the water, watching a little girl squeal in delight as her mom chased her, Charles reached over to take your hand.

"I can’t wait to see you with our child one day," he said quietly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You smiled, leaning into his side. "I can’t wait to see you."

"I think about them a lot," Charles admitted. "What they’d look like. If they’d have your smile."

"Or your eyes," you added, glancing up at him.

He chuckled. "Maybe they’ll be a little troublemaker like me."

"Great," you teased. "One Charles is already enough trouble."

He laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer.

"Maybe two would be perfect."

Your heart swelled with so much love for this man — this man who had seen every part of you and wanted to build a life, a family, together.

For the first time, you let yourself fully believe in that dream.

It started beautifully.

The day you and Charles decided to start trying for a baby felt like a secret only you two shared — a quiet, precious hope.

It was exciting.

You remembered the way Charles would smile at you when you caught his eye across the room, that look that said, "Maybe this is it. Maybe soon."

You both laughed about how it could happen at any moment.

"Imagine if you’re pregnant by the next Grand Prix," he joked one night as you laid in bed, tangled in the sheets, breathless and glowing from the closeness you shared.

You laughed, resting your head on his chest. "Or maybe before the summer break."

He ran his fingers through your hair, soft and slow. "Yeah... I can see it now. You, me, a little one watching the races together."

But month after month passed, and with each one, a tiny seed of doubt took root.

At first, you tried to shake it off.

"Maybe my body’s just figuring itself out," you said, trying to sound casual, as you sat at the kitchen counter, flipping through a cookbook you weren’t really reading.

Charles leaned on the other side, watching you with soft eyes. "There’s no rush, amour. It’ll happen when it’s meant to."

You wanted to believe that.

But when month four came and went, and you found yourself holding yet another negative pregnancy test, that calm confidence began to fade.

You stared at the single line, willing it to change, to turn into the double lines you had imagined in your dreams. But it didn’t.

You sat on the edge of the bathtub, wrapping your arms around yourself, tears welling up in your eyes.

Charles found you there, quietly slipping into the bathroom when he realized you were gone too long.

His heart broke the second he saw you sitting there, looking so small and defeated.

"Hey... hey, baby," he said softly, kneeling in front of you, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. "It’s okay."

You tried to smile, but your lips trembled. "I thought this might be it..."

"I know," he whispered, pulling you into his arms. "I know."

You buried your face into his shoulder, breathing in his scent — always so comforting, so safe. "What if something’s wrong with me, Charles?"

He pulled back to cup your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Nothing is wrong with you. Do you hear me? Nothing."

You nodded, but deep down, the fear stayed.

As time passed, those quiet moments of disappointment became harder to hide.

You found yourself tracking every tiny symptom — every cramp, every day you felt tired, every moment you felt nauseous. Every month, you’d let yourself hope, only to be crushed all over again.

Charles tried so hard to keep your spirits up.

He would cook for you when he noticed you were too lost in your head to eat.

He would pull you out onto the balcony when you needed air, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Look how beautiful Monaco is," he would whisper, kissing your temple. "We’re going to be okay, bébé. No matter what."

You wanted to believe him.

But six months in, when another negative test stared back at you, something shifted between you and Charles — not distance, but weight. A heavy sadness neither of you wanted to speak out loud.

The night you got that result, you sat quietly on the couch, staring out the window at the city lights. Charles sat beside you, his hand resting on your knee.

He finally broke the silence.

"Maybe... maybe we should talk to someone?" he offered carefully.

You turned to him, searching his face. "A doctor?"

He nodded. "Just to make sure everything’s okay. For both of us."

You bit your lip, considering it. The idea made your chest tighten — what if they told you what you were beginning to fear?

But then Charles reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

"We’re in this together, right?" he whispered. "Whatever happens?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, squeezing his hand back.

"Together," you echoed softly.

And with that, you agreed to take the next step.

The waiting room was colder than you expected.

You sat there next to Charles, his hand wrapped tightly around yours, like he could protect you from whatever was coming.

It had taken you both weeks to gather the courage to sit in this office. Weeks of telling each other it was probably nothing — that some people just took longer. But deep down, the growing silence every month, the weight of each negative test had become too loud to ignore.

Charles’s thumb rubbed soft circles on the back of your hand as he stared ahead, jaw tight. You could tell he was trying to be strong for you, but his eyes gave him away.

When the doctor finally called you in, your heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of your chest.

Charles stayed close, always a step behind, like he was trying to shoulder some of the anxiety pressing down on you.

You sat side by side in the small office, fingers still laced, waiting for answers neither of you were ready to hear.

The doctor looked kind — a woman, gentle eyes, soft voice. But as soon as she began speaking, you could sense where the conversation was headed.

"Based on the tests we’ve run, it appears that conceiving naturally may be difficult," she said carefully, watching your reaction.

The words hit you like a punch to the stomach. You blinked, feeling your throat tighten, suddenly unable to breathe properly.

"Difficult?" you echoed, your voice barely a whisper.

The doctor hesitated. "You have a condition that impacts your fertility. It doesn’t mean impossible, but it does mean that it may take longer, and you may need medical assistance to conceive."

You felt Charles shift beside you, his hand squeezing yours tighter, but you couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t look at anyone. You stared at the floor, trying to process the words.

"I… I don’t understand," you said finally, your voice breaking. "Why? Why me?"

The doctor gave you a sympathetic smile. "There are many reasons these things happen. It’s not your fault. But if you want to try fertility treatments, there are options."

You didn’t hear much of what she said after that. The room seemed to close in on you, the air too thick, the walls too white, too sharp.

When you finally left the office, you couldn’t speak. Charles led you out gently, his hand at the small of your back, guiding you like you were fragile glass.

The moment the car doors closed around you, the tears came.

Sobs tore out of your chest, shaking your whole body.

Charles pulled you into his arms without a word, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to hold you together, as if you might break into pieces if he let go.

"Shh, baby, I’ve got you," he whispered, kissing the top of your head, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m right here."

"I’m broken, Charles," you cried into his chest. "I’m broken."

"Hey, no, no," he said quickly, pulling back to hold your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were filled with unshed tears. "You are not broken. Don’t you ever say that. You’re perfect to me. You always have been."

"But I can’t… I can’t give you what you want."

He shook his head firmly. "What I want is you. Always you. I don’t care how we get there, I don’t care what we have to do. I just want you by my side."

Still, the ache didn’t leave you.

The days that followed were a blur. You went to more appointments. You listened to doctors talk about options — hormone treatments, IVF, injections that terrified you.

And you did it all.

Because you wanted this — wanted it so badly it hurt.

You followed every diet they suggested, cut out caffeine and sugar even though it made you miserable. You started exercising because they told you it might help. You faced needles even though they made your hands shake and your stomach twist with fear.

Charles was with you for every single one.

He held your hand as you cried after your first hormone shot. He wiped away your tears and told you how proud he was of you.

"You’re the bravest woman I know," he whispered into your hair as you sat on the couch, curled up against him, exhausted from the meds wreaking havoc on your body.

But even as he praised you, he could see what it was doing to you.

You weren’t the same woman who used to laugh easily at his teasing, who danced with him in the kitchen late at night.

You were quieter now, distant.

Some days, he would catch you staring out the window, eyes glassy, like you were somewhere far away.

When he asked you what you were thinking, you’d force a smile and say, "Nothing."

But he knew better.

It was eating you alive — the pressure, the hope, the constant cycle of waiting and disappointment.

And though Charles tried to be strong for you, it was killing him to watch the woman he loved slipping away, piece by piece.

One night, as you stood in the bathroom, staring at yet another negative pregnancy test, something inside you broke.

You dropped to your knees on the cold floor, sobs wracking your body, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

Charles burst into the room moments later, his face pale when he saw you on the floor.

"Bébé," he breathed, dropping to his knees beside you. "No, no, come here."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. "It’s never going to happen, Charles. I’m never going to be enough."

His heart shattered right there, seeing you like this.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, rocking you gently as you cried.

"Stop," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Stop saying that. You are everything to me. You hear me? Everything."

"But the baby—"

"I don’t care about the baby if it means losing you," he said firmly, pulling back to look into your eyes, his own brimming with tears. "I need you. You are my wife. I would rather have just you than any child if it means you’re safe, if it means I don’t lose the woman I love."

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in, breaking through the fog of pain.

"Charles..."

"No more, bébé. No more hurting yourself like this." His hands cupped your face so gently, like he was afraid you would crumble. "We’ll stop. We’ll stop trying. Please, I need you to be okay. I need you."

For the first time in months, you let yourself collapse fully into him, holding on as though he was the only thing keeping you upright.

And in that moment, you both knew: it was time to let go — to stop chasing something that was breaking you.

Even if it broke both of your hearts.

But maybe, just maybe, it was what you needed to find each other again.

It wasn’t easy to stop trying.

Even after you and Charles had that tearful conversation, even after he begged you to stop hurting yourself, it took time to really let go.

You still woke up some mornings and instinctively counted the days of your cycle, a part of you still wired to hope, still waiting for a sign.

But Charles… Charles made sure you didn’t have to carry it alone.

For months, the intimacy between you had been burdened with unspoken pressure — every touch, every kiss shadowed by what it was supposed to lead to. Love had turned into a goal, and neither of you could breathe under the weight of it.

But now, as the two of you tried to find your way back to each other, Charles was determined to remind you that love — real love — wasn’t about charts and dates.

It was about you.

And he took his time showing you that.

It started with little things — soft smiles over morning coffee, his hand on the small of your back when you walked past him in the kitchen, a kiss to your temple for no reason at all.

It was in the way he’d show up at home after his training days, arms full of your favorite flowers, just because.

"These made me think of you," he’d say casually, though the way he looked at you said it was so much more than that — like you were his whole world.

But it wasn’t long before those little things built into something more.

It was in the way he would wake you on slow mornings, when the light was barely creeping through the windows, his fingers trailing over your bare shoulder, brushing your hair back to kiss the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

"Good morning, mon amour," he would murmur against your skin, his voice low and husky, warm breath sending a shiver straight down your spine.

The way his lips lingered, brushing a little too close to where your pulse raced, was not lost on you. Neither was the way his hand would slide from your shoulder down, tracing a slow, deliberate line over your waist, fingers splaying possessively at your hip like he was grounding himself — and you.

"Charles…" you whispered, but it wasn’t a protest.

He chuckled softly, hearing the way his name fell from your lips, and pressed a kiss to your jaw, then lower, teasing along your throat. "I miss this… I miss you," he confessed quietly, his voice thick with something darker, heavier — desire, yes, but also love.

"You’re my wife," he said against your skin, lips grazing the hollow of your throat, hands sliding around to your back to pull you closer. "Not just the woman I wanted to have a baby with. You."

His words sank deep, and when his hand slid under the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing the soft skin of your stomach, you didn’t tense — for the first time in a long time, you melted into him.

He noticed, of course he did, and his lips curved against your collarbone in a smile that was all satisfaction and relief.

"There she is," he whispered, his voice a little rough now, kissing just below your ear, one hand moving to cradle your cheek as he brought your face up to meet his. "Mon cœur… I’ve missed seeing you like this."

When he kissed you — properly kissed you — it wasn’t rushed. His mouth moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to taste every inch of you again, to remind you of what it felt like to be wanted, adored.

And God, you felt it.

His hands, roaming and firm, pulled you into his body without effort, making you gasp as your bodies pressed together, his fingers sliding under your thigh to lift it over his.

"Charles—" you breathed, breaking the kiss only to draw in a shaky breath, but he only smirked, eyes dark and glinting with something that made heat curl low in your stomach.

"Let me take care of you," he whispered, voice thick and rough, as his hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "No pressure. No expectations. Just you and me, like it’s supposed to be."

His words were a balm, but the way his mouth found yours again — hungry now, like he couldn’t get enough — set every nerve in your body on fire.

"Let me make you feel good again," he murmured against your lips, before trailing kisses down your neck, his hands firm on your hips, moving you against him in a way that left no doubt about what he wanted — who he wanted.

You felt a spark of something you hadn’t let yourself feel in so long — desire, raw and overwhelming, crashing over you with every brush of his hands, every heated kiss.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to lean into it, to let him remind you what it was like to want and be wanted, to be loved — for no other reason than because you were his, and he was yours.

Later, as you lay tangled together, his fingers trailing lazy patterns on your skin, he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder and whispered, "I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care if it never happens. I just want you, always."

And in his arms, you believed it.

Because for once, it wasn’t about what your bodies could give.

It was about what your hearts already shared — a love that was fierce, unbreakable, and yours.

You hadn’t laughed in so long, but he was determined to change that.

One night, as you sat on the couch, still wrapped in that quiet sadness, Charles appeared with a bag of groceries and a mischievous grin.

"What's all that?" you asked, watching as he unloaded ingredients.

He shot you a look over his shoulder, eyes sparkling. "We are making pizza, chef style. And no, you don’t get to say no."

You blinked at him. "Charles, I—"

He cut you off, gently, but firmly. "I don’t want to hear it. Just us. You and me."

Something about the way he said it made you tear up, but you nodded, and when he handed you a chunk of dough and demanded you try to toss it like a real chef — which ended up splattering on the floor — you found yourself laughing so hard, you cried.

It felt good to cry for something other than heartbreak.

"See?" he grinned, wiping sauce off your cheek with a thumb. "There’s my girl."

You were still fragile — and Charles knew it.

He was patient when you had bad days.

When he’d find you in bed long after the sun had risen, curled into yourself, he wouldn’t push. He’d just crawl in behind you, wrapping himself around you like a shield.

"We don’t have to do anything today," he’d whisper, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. "Let’s just stay right here."

And sometimes you would.

Just you and Charles, holding each other like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Other days, when you felt a little stronger, he’d take you out — walks along the water, late dinners in tucked-away restaurants where no one bothered you, quiet drives with music low in the background as he held your hand across the center console.

It was during one of those drives that you finally broke the silence that had been lingering between you.

"Do you really mean it?" you asked softly, staring out the window at the sea of lights.

Charles glanced at you, confused. "Mean what, bébé?"

"That you’re okay if… if we never have a baby?"

He pulled over, putting the car in park before turning fully to face you.

"I didn’t say that to make you feel better," he said quietly. "I said it because it’s true."

You looked down at your hands, twisting your fingers together. "But… you want to be a dad."

He reached over, gently uncurling your fingers so he could hold your hand.

"I want you more." His voice was steady, but his eyes were filled with love and a hint of sadness. "If I had to choose between having a child and having you whole and happy… I would choose you. Every time."

Tears filled your eyes again — but not from sadness. From love. From the overwhelming realization that even if everything else was broken, Charles never would be.

"I don’t want to lose you," he whispered, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. "I don’t care how much I want to be a father — I can’t watch you destroy yourself for it. I’d rather have a lifetime with just you than risk not having you at all."

You finally let out a sob you’d been holding in for months, leaning over to bury your face in his chest.

Charles held you tight, kissing your hair, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"We’ll figure out what our life looks like, okay?" he whispered. "Even if it’s not what we thought. As long as I have you, I’m happy."

And slowly, you began to believe him.

It wasn’t perfect. There were still days you mourned the dream that seemed to slip further and further away.

But there were also days when you and Charles laughed until your stomachs hurt, danced in the kitchen to music only you could hear, and rediscovered the love that brought you together in the first place.

The love that didn’t depend on anything but the two of you.

It was healing.

Little by little, you came back to life.

The heat in Monaco that day was brutal.

You sat in the paddock, Charles’s number 16 cap shading your face, a bottle of cold water resting against the back of your neck. The atmosphere was exciting, at least for you. You didn't realize how much you missed it until you heard the fans screaming and the paddock filling with people you haven't seen in so long.

You really had missed this. The thrill, the pride of watching Charles do what he loved.

For the first time in a long time, you felt light.

No doctors. No needles. No calculations.

Just you, watching your husband race, your heart swelling every time you saw his car flash past.

It had been months since you had stopped trying.

Months since you’d let go of the suffocating pressure that had nearly broken you.

And while a small ache remained—a whisper of a dream you had buried—life had slowly started to feel normal again.

But still… something felt off.

At first, it was subtle. A slight dizziness when you stood too quickly. A strange wave of nausea when the smell of burnt rubber wafted through the air.

You chalked it up to the heat.

But as the race continued, the dizziness turned into something stronger. Your vision blurred slightly as you tried to focus on the screens, and your hands felt clammy despite the sweat already sticking to your skin.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to take deep breaths.

Just a little longer. The race was almost over.

But then, the world tilted.

The last thing you heard before everything went black was someone shouting your name.

When you woke, you were in a medical room — the soft beeping of machines somewhere nearby, the sterile smell of antiseptic in the air.

Charles was sitting right next to you, holding your hand like a lifeline, his eyes red and puffy, like he hadn’t stopped crying since you collapsed.

"Bébé?" he whispered the second he saw your eyes flutter open. "Oh mon dieu… You’re awake."

His voice broke, and you blinked, trying to focus.

"Charles?" you croaked, your throat dry.

"I’m here, baby. I’m right here." He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, then leaned his forehead against your hand, breathing you in like he couldn’t believe you were okay.

"What… what happened?" you whispered.

"You fainted." His voice was tight with emotion. "Scared the hell out of me."

You tried to sit up, but he gently urged you back down.

"Take it slow, amour. Doctor said to rest."

As if summoned, a doctor appeared, offering a kind smile.

"Feeling better?"

You nodded weakly.

"Good. We’ve run some tests to make sure you’re alright. You’re a little dehydrated, and the heat didn’t help. But…" the doctor paused, glancing between you and Charles.

"There’s something else we found."

Your heart stuttered.

The doctor smiled gently. "You’re pregnant."

The words didn’t make sense at first.

Pregnant?

Your eyes darted to Charles, wide and disbelieving. His grip on your hand tightened.

"I… I’m what?" you whispered, sure you had heard wrong.

"You’re pregnant," the doctor confirmed with a soft nod. "About eight weeks along, from what we can tell. Which explains the fainting — your body is working overtime right now."

Silence fell over the room.

Charles was frozen, his eyes locked on you, as if he was afraid to breathe, afraid it was a dream.

And then suddenly — a tear slipped down your cheek.

"You’re pregnant, bébé," Charles whispered, voice cracking. "You… we…"

His face crumpled as he leaned in, pulling you gently into his arms, careful not to squeeze too tightly.

"I can’t believe it," you sobbed into his neck, shaking. "Charles, I thought—"

"I know," he whispered, voice thick. "I know, baby. I didn’t think it would happen either."

You could feel him shaking too, arms wrapped around you, both of you crying now — but for the first time in so long, they were tears of joy.

"I was so scared," you admitted, pulling back just enough to look at him, your hand resting on your stomach like you couldn’t believe it was real. "I thought I’d never—"

Charles cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You are everything I will ever need," he said fiercely. "But this—this is a miracle, bébé."

You nodded, breathless. "A miracle."

He let out a small laugh, one that was half a sob. "Our miracle."

The doctors gave you time to rest, but Charles didn’t leave your side for a second.

At one point, he sat in the chair beside the bed, just watching you, his hand resting protectively over yours.

When you woke again, he was still there, looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

You gave a small smile. "Better. Still in shock, I think."

Charles leaned in and kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment.

"I love you," he whispered against your skin. "More than anything. More than everything."

"I love you too, Charles."

He pulled back, brushing his fingers gently through your hair. "We’re going to be okay, bébé. You, me, and this baby. I promise."

And for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

You were going to be okay.

You were going to be a family.

You would think that after everything — after the months of heartbreak, of devastating phone calls and negative tests, of doctors' appointments that ended in tears — finding out you were finally pregnant would bring nothing but unfiltered joy.

And in many ways, it did.

Charles had held you for what felt like hours, both of you crying, laughing, kissing, unable to believe it was real.

But beneath all that happiness, beneath the tears and whispered "finally" against his chest, there was something else. Something sharp and quiet and relentless.

Fear.

Because now that you finally had the one thing you wanted more than anything in the world, you were terrified of losing it.

Every little cramp made your heart stop. Every time you didn’t feel nauseous for a few hours, a new wave of panic crept in. Every moment of silence from your body felt like a warning, like a reminder that good things didn’t come easy for you.

Charles knew. Of course he knew.

He saw it in the way you always rested a protective hand on your belly, like shielding your baby from a world that had already given you so much pain. He saw it in the way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes when people congratulated you, how you nodded along but kept your arms folded protectively over yourself, as if holding everything together.

And he especially saw it at night, when you thought he was asleep, and you would roll over quietly to press a hand to your belly, tears slipping silently down your cheeks as you whispered promises to the tiny life growing inside you.

"I love you already… please stay with me."

Charles never said anything then — he didn’t want to make you feel like you had to be strong for him too — but he would shift closer, wrap an arm around you, and hold you as tightly as he could.

It broke him to see you like that.

So, he made it his purpose to be your anchor, to remind you every second of every day that you were not alone in this, that it would be different, that you were not going to lose the baby.

Whenever he found you lost in thought, staring blankly at nothing, he would pull you into his arms. "Talk to me, bébé, please. don't shut me out again. I’m here. Always."

And every night, without fail, no matter how exhausted he was — whether he had just gotten home from training, meetings, or even long days at the factory — Charles would kneel in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this was his way of staying grounded, too.

He would settle on his knees in front of you, his hands gently resting on either side of your bump, thumbs caressing your belly like he was memorizing every curve, every change. His eyes would soften, all the tension melting away from his face the second he touched you.

Then he would lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to your stomach — sometimes whispering a soft, "Hi, bébé," like he was waiting to hear a reply.

"Hey, little one… It’s papa." His voice always dropped to that quiet, reverent tone that made your heart clench. "I hope you’re comfortable in there because we love you so much already."

Sometimes his words would crack just a little, betraying that deep vulnerability he didn’t always let you see. The fear that still lived in both of you, even if neither of you wanted to give it life.

"You keep growing strong for maman, okay?" he would murmur, resting his cheek against your bump, closing his eyes like he could feel them from the outside. "I know… I know she’s scared. I’m scared too, but we’re fighting, you know? For you. Because you are so, so loved. And we want you so badly, mon ange."

His hand would slide over your skin, fingers spreading wide, protective and tender all at once.

"Don’t worry — maman and I, we’ve got you. Always."

And sometimes, when he thought you had already fallen asleep, he would keep talking. You would watch him through heavy eyes, heart breaking and swelling all at once, as he poured all his love and hope into those quiet moments.

"I can’t wait to meet you. I can’t wait to show you everything — to take you to your first race, to sit on the beach with you like mama and I used to do, to show you the stars. Did you know your mama loves the stars? She used to tell me about them when I was sad… she’s amazing. You’re going to love her. And I’m going to be here, always. Watching over you both."

Then he would look up at you, catching your gaze if you were awake, and smile softly. The kind of smile that held all the love in the world, even when his eyes were glassy with emotion.

"See? We’re already a team, the three of us."

And as much as you had felt alone in your mind sometimes — battling fears you were too scared to voice — in those moments, when Charles spoke to the baby like they were already here, like he was already the father he had dreamed of being, you felt a flicker of hope again.

Because no matter what happened, you knew one thing for certain: You and the baby were so loved.

And Charles? He was ready to move mountains for both of you.

The day of your first ultrasound was one you both had dreamed of, but when the morning finally came, you woke up shaking.

You could hardly get dressed, your fingers fumbling over the buttons of your blouse as Charles gently took over, helping you without a word, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

The drive to the clinic felt like the longest one of your life. Charles reached over and laced his fingers with yours, squeezing so tight it almost hurt, but neither of you let go.

When you finally arrived and sat in the waiting room, Charles kept holding your hand, his thumb tracing slow circles over your skin.

"Whatever happens, I’m here," he said softly, leaning close so only you could hear. "You don’t have to be strong for me, okay? Be strong for yourself, I'm here. I'll be strong for the both of you."

You just nodded, throat too tight to speak.

When they finally called your name, you felt like you could hardly move. Your legs were weak, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break your ribs.

Charles was by your side instantly, wrapping an arm around you and guiding you gently to the room.

The technician was kind, explaining everything as she set up, but you could barely hear her over the pounding in your ears.

And then —

There it was.

A tiny little bean on the screen. So small. So fragile. And then — a flicker.

The heartbeat.

Steady and strong.

Your breath caught in your throat, a sob breaking free before you could stop it.

"That’s…" you whispered, voice trembling.

"Your baby," the technician said warmly, turning the screen so you could both see better. "Right there."

You turned your head to look at Charles, and what you saw undid you completely.

Tears streamed down his face, his eyes wide in awe, his lips trembling as he stared at the screen like it was the most miraculous thing he had ever seen.

"That’s… our baby," he choked out, voice rough with emotion, as though he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

You reached for his hand, gripping it tightly, tears pouring down your cheeks now too.

"Our baby," you whispered back, finally letting yourself smile through the tears.

It was real.

For the first time, it wasn’t a dream or a distant hope — it was happening.

Your baby was here, alive, heartbeat flickering steadily on the screen.

You let out a shaky laugh, covering your mouth with your hand, overwhelmed with the kind of joy that left you breathless.

Charles leaned over, pressing a kiss to your forehead, one hand still gripping yours, the other reaching to gently, reverently touch the image on the screen.

"I love you," he whispered to you and to the baby. "So much. I can’t believe… I just… I love you."

And in that room, in that moment — surrounded by the sound of your baby’s heartbeat — something inside you shifted.

For the first time, you let yourself believe it.

You were really going to be a mom.

And with Charles beside you, holding your hand and your heart, you knew — no matter what, you would face it all together.

From the moment the doctor told that you were pregnant, Charles became a man on a mission.

It wasn’t just that he wanted to be involved — no, he needed to be involved. He had never been more determined in his life. He read every pregnancy book he could find, his eyes scanning the pages late into the night, even when his eyelids were heavy and the words started blurring. He listened to every pregnancy podcast, taking notes on topics ranging from fetal development to baby names (because, despite the fact that you two hadn’t even picked a name yet, Charles was already convinced that he had the perfect one).

He even downloaded multiple pregnancy apps, religiously checking the weekly updates so he could compare the size of your baby to fruit, vegetables, and other random objects. When the app told him the baby was the size of a blueberry, a walnut, a papaya — whatever it was that week — Charles couldn’t wait to update you. It became a little game, one that was just between the two of you.

Every morning, the moment he opened his eyes, Charles would turn toward you with a grin, as if greeting you and your baby had become the most natural thing in the world.

"Bonjour, mon amour… and bonjour, little one," he’d whisper, his lips pressing against your belly.

You’d laugh softly, brushing a hand through his messy morning hair. "Charles, they’re the size of a lime right now. You’re getting ahead of yourself."

"I don’t care," he would reply with a grin so wide it made your heart skip. "I’m still saying hello."

You’d smile, shaking your head, but in your heart, you were overwhelmed by how much he cared. He wasn’t just excited about the pregnancy — he was fully in it with you. From the very first moment, he was present in a way that made you feel cherished and loved, and even now, as the weeks passed, that feeling only deepened.

And when the hormonal rollercoaster kicked in, making you nauseous, moody, or crying over something trivial (like how cute a puppy in a commercial was), Charles was always there. He was like a rock — steady, patient, and never, not once, complaining.

"I’ll go get whatever you want, baby. Strawberries at midnight? I’m on it. Ice cream and pickles? Weird, but okay."

And when you’d cry over something small, like dropping a spoon or a Grey's Anatomy episode, Charles wouldn’t laugh or try to cheer you up with silly jokes. Instead, he would pull you into his arms, offering silent comfort. He would rub your back, his warmth surrounding you like a shield, and let you cry until you were all out of tears.

"You’re doing so good, mon cœur," he would whisper, his voice low and steady. "So, so good."

It was these moments, these quiet reassurances, that made you feel like you could handle everything. With him by your side, you knew you weren’t alone in this — in any of it.

And then, it came.

The baby bump.

You had been waiting — praying — for it. For any sign that the tiny life inside you was in fact real and growing how it was supposed to. The days had stretched on endlessly, filled with anxious glances in the mirror, gentle touches to your belly hoping to see something, and constant reassurances from Charles that "it will happen, amour, give it time."

But time was all you had — and with every week that passed without a visible sign, the fear clawed deeper into your chest.

Doctors kept telling you it was normal. "Sometimes it takes longer for first pregnancies, especially with everything your body has been through. With some pregnancies, there isn't even a proper baby bump. This is completely normal." But when you’re holding your breath every day, waiting for proof that your baby is safe and growing, “normal” doesn’t always bring comfort.

But then, one quiet morning — when the sun was barely peeking through the windows and the Monaco streets were still asleep — it was there.

You had gotten out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake Charles, and shuffled to the bathroom, rubbing your tired eyes. You pulled up your loose shirt as you always did, out of habit, expecting to see the same soft, stomach you'd seen every day before. But this time… this time, there was something different.

A baby bump. Subtle, but undeniably there.

You turned to the side, holding your breath, eyes wide as your hands slowly reached down to trace the gentle swell.

Your heart started pounding — a mix of disbelief and pure, overwhelming joy.

"Charles!" you called out suddenly, your voice shaking, breathless with a mixture of shock and excitement. "Charles! Come here — now!"

You heard the way he stumbled out of bed, feet hitting the floor with urgency, a note of panic threading his voice.

"Baby, what? What’s wrong?" he said, rushing into the doorway, still in his boxers and sleep-tousled hair, eyes scanning you like he was ready to fix whatever had happened.

But when he saw you standing there in front of the mirror, hands frozen mid-air, pointing to your belly, something shifted in him.

"Look…" you whispered, tears already gathering in your eyes. "Charles, look."

For a moment, he didn’t move, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing — like he was afraid to believe it was real.

But then his eyes locked onto that small, perfect curve, and everything else seemed to fall away.

His face crumbled — all the tension he had been holding in his shoulders for months melted into something soft, something raw. His eyes glistened, lips parting as though he couldn’t quite find the words.

"Oh… bébé…" he breathed, and there was a reverence in his voice, like he was standing in front of something holy.

He took slow steps toward you, like if he moved too fast, the moment might break.

Dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands trembled as they reached out, resting gently — so, so gently — on either side of your bump. Like he was afraid if he pressed too hard, it would vanish.

"Mon amour…" His voice cracked. "Look at you… look at you."

You let out a watery laugh, tears sliding down your cheeks as you ran your fingers through his soft curls. "It’s really there," you whispered, like you needed him to confirm it. "Charles, it’s real."

He looked up at you then, his beautiful brown eyes glassy but filled with something you hadn’t seen in a long time — hope. Pure, unfiltered hope.

"Yeah, baby… it's real," he whispered, and when he said it, you believed him.

He turned his gaze back to your belly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to the curve. Then another. And another. Like he was trying to pour all the love and fear and longing he'd been carrying for months into that single touch.

"Look how big you’re getting already, little one," he murmured, voice thick with emotion, his thumbs brushing slow, loving circles on your skin. "You keep growing strong for maman, okay? We’re waiting for you, mon ange. We love you so much already."

You felt a fresh wave of tears spill over, and before you could say anything, Charles stood up and gathered you into his arms. He held you close, one hand protectively around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head like you were something fragile and precious.

He kissed your temple, lips lingering there as though he never wanted to let you go.

"I love you," he whispered into your hair, voice steady but full of quiet emotion. "I love you so much. Both of you."

You buried your face into his chest, holding onto him like a lifeline, and for the first time in what felt like forever, your heart wasn’t heavy with fear — it was full. Full of love. Full of hope.

As the weeks turned into months, Charles’s protectiveness only grew stronger. He was still the same sweet, thoughtful man you had fallen in love with, but now, it was like he had taken on a new role — one that involved constantly making sure you were safe, comfortable, and happy.

He wouldn’t let you carry anything heavy. If you needed something from another room, Charles would jump up from wherever he was and get it for you — even if it was just a glass of water.

He hovered whenever you were walking on uneven ground, his hand always within reach to steady you just in case. When you were out in public, if anyone even so much as bumped into you, he’d be there in an instant, fixing them with a sharp glare and muttering something in French under his breath.

"She’s perfect, thank you," he’d say, a protective tone in his voice that made your heart flutter.

At home, it was a different story.

He was still over-the-top sweet, but he also had a knack for making you laugh. He would sit beside you on the couch, his hand resting gently on your growing belly, and read stories aloud to your baby.

Or he’d sing to your belly, and, while his singing voice might not have been the best, he did it with such enthusiasm and love that it made you laugh every time.

"Charles," you giggled one evening as he sang a very dramatic version of a lullaby, his tone completely off-key, "I don’t think the baby cares about the key you’re singing in."

He grinned, not at all phased by your teasing.

"Maybe not," he shrugged, continuing his performance, "but if they inherit my charm, they’ll appreciate the effort."

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was bursting with love.

You loved him.

You loved the way he threw himself into every part of this journey — not just as the future father of your child, but as your partner, your rock, and the love of your life.

This wasn’t just about becoming parents. It was about building a family — a team. And Charles was all in.

And so were you.

One evening, you found yourself curled up on the couch, your head resting gently in Charles’s lap. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves outside and the sound of the air conditioner keeping the warmth at bay.

Charles’s hand, warm and steady, rested on your growing belly. His fingers traced lazy, rhythmic patterns over the fabric of your shirt, a quiet hum escaping his lips. You couldn’t help but smile at how he seemed so at ease, as though this was exactly where he was meant to be — here, with you, in this moment.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The world outside the four walls of your living room seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you — tangled up in each other’s presence.

"Do you ever think about what they’ll look like?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You turned your head just enough so you could look up at Charles. His eyes were focused on your belly, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You saw the love in his gaze, that quiet kind of adoration that made your heart flutter.

Charles didn’t answer immediately, his fingers still tracing those gentle patterns over your stomach, the warmth of his touch radiating through the fabric. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, as if considering the question carefully, as if trying to picture the tiny person growing inside you.

Finally, he looked down at you, his smile softening, and brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. "All the time," he admitted, his voice full of a tenderness that made your chest tighten. "I hope they have your eyes."

You felt a surge of emotion at his words, the simple yet profound way he spoke about your baby, as if they were already part of both of you — as if they already belonged. "And your smile," he added, his eyes glimmering with that familiar warmth. "You have the most beautiful smile."

You swallowed, feeling the lump form in your throat. It was hard to speak, hard to even breathe with the rush of emotions that hit you. The overwhelming love you felt for Charles, for the tiny baby inside you, for the future you were building together. It all made your heart ache, but in the most wonderful way.

"And I hope they’re kind, like you," you whispered, your voice barely audible now, thick with emotion. You couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in your eyes, the overwhelming flood of love that filled your chest. "Gentle. Patient."

Charles’s eyes softened even more, and without a word, he leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender kiss. It was the kind of kiss that wasn’t about passion or urgency, but about connection — about the deep, unspoken bond between the two of you.

"They’ll be perfect," he murmured against your lips, his voice full of a quiet certainty that made your heart swell. "Because they’ll be ours."

You closed your eyes as you pulled him in for another kiss, this time lingering longer, as if you both knew this moment was precious — as if you were sealing that promise in a way that words never could.

As you pulled away, you rested your head back on his lap, your hand instinctively finding his on your belly. You could feel the warmth of his palm against you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest as he sat beside you.

You weren’t alone anymore.

You had Charles.

You had your baby.

And you had a heart that, finally, after all the waiting, all the pain, all the uncertainty — was finally, beautifully full again.

You squeezed Charles’s hand gently, feeling the comfort of his touch and the weight of that realization settle over you.

"We’re going to be okay," you whispered to him, your voice calm, yet full of emotion.

Charles’s hand tightened on yours, and he leaned down to kiss your forehead. His lips brushed against your skin, soft and reassuring. "I know, bébé. I know."

With each passing day, you and Charles were building something incredible together. A family. A future.

And nothing — nothing in the world — could take that away.

The days had grown warmer, and Monaco was slowly transforming before your eyes. Spring had arrived, bringing with it an explosion of color. The sky was that perfect shade of blue, the sun bright and inviting.

But, for you, the season’s beauty was secondary to the changes happening within your own little world.

You were huge now — or at least, that’s what you kept joking every time you tried to get up from the couch, your body round and heavy with the life you carried. There were days when getting out of bed felt like a monumental task, your limbs stiff and your back sore from the added weight of your growing belly. But Charles was always there, always hovering. You had gotten so used to it that it almost felt like a comforting presence.

"Charles, I’m pregnant, not broken," you’d laugh, swatting at his hands as they reached out to help you up from the couch.

His response was always the same — a grin that lit up his face, followed by him crouching down in front of you anyway, eyes full of love and concern. "I know," he would say, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "But you’re carrying our baby, so I’m allowed to take care of you." His voice was so gentle, so sincere, that it melted your heart every time.

Truth be told, you didn’t mind at all. In fact, you loved it. Loved how he looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in his life, how he made you feel like the most important person in the world. You knew how much this pregnancy meant to him — to both of you. The way he cared for you, the way he looked after every little detail, was proof of how deeply he wanted to be a father, how deeply he wanted this family.

Some days, when you were feeling particularly uncomfortable or exhausted, you’d just lean into him and let him help you. You knew that no matter how many times you swatted his hands away, he would always be there, ready to care for you. It was his love language, his way of showing that he was in this — all in — with you.

The nursery was finally finished.

You had spent weeks planning and preparing, choosing colors and patterns, imagining what it would look like. Charles had been just as involved, though in his own way. His focus had been on the practicality of everything — the crib, the changing table, the storage solutions for all the baby clothes. Every piece of furniture had been chosen with care, ensuring it would be perfect for the baby who would soon fill it.

The room itself was a sanctuary of peace, painted in soft neutral tones that radiated warmth and calm. There were gentle hints of blush pink and pale green scattered throughout, giving the space a subtle, almost ethereal feel. Since the gender of the baby wasn't known until the birth, the both of you decided on soft neutral colors. The crib was made of light wood, sturdy and timeless, with a soft mattress and sheets that were as soft as clouds. The shelves above the crib were lined with stuffed animals — a bear, a rabbit, a fox — each chosen with the same love and attention Charles had put into every detail of the room.

Charles had insisted on assembling the crib himself, a project he had taken very seriously, much to your amusement. You had offered to help, but he’d shooed you away, determined to get it right. Of course, halfway through, he had ended up calling Arthur to ask for help with the instructions. “I swear, I can read in French, but these instructions are written in a language all their own,” he had said, his voice tinged with exasperation and laughter.

You smiled just thinking about it now. Even in the chaos, even when he was frustrated with a seemingly simple task, he had always kept his eyes on the end goal — creating a safe, loving space for your baby.

In the corner of the room stood a rocking chair, the most perfect addition to the nursery, and, in time, it had become your favorite place to sit. Every evening, as the sun began to dip below the horizon and the room grew soft with twilight, you would curl into the chair, settling against Charles’s side. His arm would naturally wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close, and you’d lean your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

As the days passed, and the reality of becoming parents settled in, the two of you would talk about everything — the future, your hopes and dreams, the tiny person who would soon fill your lives. Sometimes, Charles would talk about what kind of father he wanted to be. His words were always filled with such certainty and warmth.

"I want to be the kind of father who makes our baby laugh every day," he had said one night, his eyes reflecting the gentle love that had taken root in his heart. "The kind who is always there when they need me — whether it’s for a scraped knee or a broken heart. I want them to know they can always count on me."

His words resonated deep within you. You had no doubt that Charles would be an incredible father. His love, patience, and tenderness were already evident in everything he did, and you knew that would only grow once your baby was here.

Every night, as you curled into his side in that chair, your head resting against his chest, you could feel the anticipation building. Every little kick or shift of the baby inside you reminded you that your lives were about to change forever. The days of waiting were almost over, and you couldn’t wait to meet the little one who had been growing inside you for so long.

Soon.

The thought sent a wave of emotion through you, and you blinked back tears as you turned your head up to look at Charles. He was smiling at you, his expression soft with love and affection.

"Can you believe it?" you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Our baby is coming soon."

Charles’s hand gently rested on your belly, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles. His eyes met yours, and in them, you saw everything — the excitement, the love, the anticipation. "I can’t wait, bébé," he murmured, his voice quiet but full of promise. "Soon, we’ll be holding them in our arms. Our baby."

And in that moment, as you sat there together, in the warmth of the nursery you had so carefully created, you realized that all the waiting, all the planning, all the months of anticipation had led to this. You were ready. Both of you were ready.

The nursery was ready. Your hearts were ready. And soon, the little one who had filled your dreams would be there, completing your family, and filling your home with a love you couldn’t yet fully comprehend.

Soon.

It was a quiet morning when everything changed.

The soft light of dawn filtered through the blinds, casting delicate shadows across the room. The world outside seemed still, as if holding its breath. But inside, your body was stirring in a way it never had before.

You woke up to a sharp cramp low in your belly, a sensation that made you pause, your breath hitching in surprise. It wasn’t overly painful, but it was different — an unmistakable sign that something was happening. You winced slightly, pressing your hand to your stomach, wondering if it was the beginning of something.

Still, it wasn’t too intense at first. So, you laid there for a moment, trying to calm your racing heart. You closed your eyes again, hoping to drift back to sleep, but then, another cramp came — sharper this time, and accompanied by an uncomfortable pressure. You couldn’t ignore it any longer.

"Charles…" you murmured, your voice still heavy with sleep but carrying an edge of worry. "I think something’s happening."

The moment the words left your mouth, Charles stirred beside you, instantly alert. It was as if your words had cracked the stillness of the room, and with a suddenness that made your heart leap, he shot upright, eyes wide and full of panic.

"What?!" His voice was filled with urgency, his hand already reaching for his phone. "Is it time? Do I call the doctor? The hospital? Your mom? Should I —"

You let out a soft laugh, though it came out breathless and strained as another cramp hit you. You winced, but it wasn’t too painful. "Breathe, love," you said, your voice soft but steady. "Let me check before you call half of Monaco."

But Charles was already in motion, his long fingers fumbling to grab your pre-packed hospital bag from the corner, even though it had been ready for weeks. He threw it onto the bed beside you, pacing the room like a caged lion, running his hand through his messy hair in distress.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, even as you clutched your stomach, trying to steady yourself. It was such a familiar sight — Charles, always moving a mile a minute when it came to taking care of you. Even now, in this moment of uncertainty, he was already trying to anticipate every possible thing that could go wrong.

Finally, after a few more contractions, you confirmed with your doctor, who reassured you that it was likely just the beginning of labor. Your contractions were becoming more regular, though not yet unbearably painful.

But Charles, ever the perfectionist, could hardly sit still. "Are you okay?" you asked softly as he drove toward the hospital, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his eyes darting between the road and you.

His lips parted to speak, but it was only then that you saw the tears — soft, glistening tears in the corner of his eyes. They took you by surprise, a silent admission of his fears. "I’m terrified," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "I’m terrified something will happen to you."

The words hung in the air, and your heart cracked a little. You reached over, your hand finding his, and you squeezed it tightly. You didn’t even care that you could barely feel your fingers due to the tight grip he had on the wheel. You just needed to reassure him, needed to remind him that you were in this together.

"I’m going to be okay," you whispered, voice thick with emotion. "We’re both going to be okay."

He nodded, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. You could tell that, no matter how many times you reassured him, this was still a moment of immense fear for him. The fear of losing you, of something going wrong, was something neither of you could avoid.

Labor was... intense.

It felt as though time stretched and bent around you, every hour becoming an eternity. You weren’t sure how long you had been in the hospital now — minutes, hours, days? But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the overwhelming pain, the exhaustion, and the beautiful chaos of this moment that would soon lead to your baby being in your arms.

Charles had been your rock through it all. He never left your side, holding your hand with such fierce tenderness that it almost grounded you to this earth.

Every contraction was like a wave crashing over you, each one more intense than the last. You gripped his hand, squeezing tightly, and Charles never once wavered. He wiped the sweat from your brow, kissed your forehead, and whispered words of encouragement with a steadiness that made you believe you could do anything.

"I’m so proud of you," he whispered against your temple during one of the breaks, his voice low and filled with love. "You’re incredible."

You could feel the tears building in your eyes, but you couldn’t summon the strength to speak. His words cut through the pain and gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t thought possible in the middle of this madness. His belief in you, in your strength, made you want to keep going — no matter how hard it got.

And then, finally — the moment you had dreamed of, fought for, ached for.

The sound of a baby’s first cry filled the room — sharp, loud, and so full of life that it felt like the whole world stopped spinning for a moment. Your breath caught in your throat, and everything around you seemed to blur, like the edges of the room had melted away until there was nothing but that sound.

In that moment, you weren’t just a woman in labor anymore. You were a mother. Her mother.

The nurse, with the gentlest smile, approached and softly said, "It's a girl."

A girl.

Your heart twisted in the most beautiful way as tears welled up in your eyes. A girl. Your girl.

The tiny bundle was placed delicately on your chest, and when you looked down, it felt like the entire universe shifted into place. She was so impossibly small, her little hands curled into fists against her chest, her skin soft and pink, and her face — oh, her face — was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

You let out a shaky breath, tears sliding freely down your cheeks as you reached up to cup her tiny head. "Hi, baby," you whispered, your voice breaking, "Hi, my love."

Your eyes found Charles then — and the sight of him completely unraveled you. He was standing at your side, frozen at first, his green eyes wide with disbelief, tears already spilling down his cheeks. His hand covered his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Slowly, like he was afraid to break the moment, he leaned down and pressed a trembling kiss to your forehead. His hands cupped your face, his thumb wiping away your tears as his own kept falling.

Then, he turned his attention to the baby, to her, and a soft, awed sound left his throat — something between a laugh and a sob.

"We did it," Charles whispered, his voice thick, cracking under the weight of his emotions. "Mon amour… we did it."

You could only nod, your throat too tight to speak. The tears kept coming, but for the first time in so long, they were tears of joy, of overwhelming love.

"Meet her," you finally managed, breathless, staring down at the little miracle on your chest. "Meet our daughter."

Charles reached out with shaking fingers, carefully stroking her soft cheek as though she might break under his touch. His smile was pure wonder, his eyes never leaving her face.

"She’s… she’s perfect," he whispered in awe. "She’s so perfect, bébé."

He leaned in and kissed the top of her tiny head with so much tenderness it broke your heart all over again.

"I love you so much," he murmured, his lips still pressed to her soft skin. "I love you both more than anything in this world."

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to gather yourself, but nothing could prepare you for this kind of love — raw, overwhelming, all-consuming. You had fought so hard, gone through so much heartbreak, fear, and pain — and now here she was. The living proof that hope was real.

You ran a hand gently over her head, glancing up at Charles again, and he met your gaze with a soft smile — one that said, we made it.

"Her name?" you whispered softly, the question hanging in the air, though you both already knew.

Charles smiled, eyes brimming with tears as he whispered, "Sofia. Sofia Pascale Leclerc."

Sofia. It felt perfect — strong and soft, like her.

"Hi, Sofia," you whispered to her, running a trembling finger over her tiny hand. "Hi, baby girl."

The first night in the hospital was a blur of feedings, diaper changes, and nurses checking in, but there were moments that would be forever etched in your heart — like the way Charles never wanted to put her down, holding her close like she was the most precious thing in the world.

You woke in the middle of the night to see him by the window, gently swaying with her in his arms. He had taken off his shirt so she could feel his warmth, and he was humming softly — a song you couldn’t quite recognize, but it sounded like love.

The lights of Monaco glittered in the distance, but Charles' world was small now, narrowed down to just you and Sofia.

"Look at her, mon cœur," Charles whispered when he noticed you watching him. His voice was thick with emotion, still in awe, like he couldn’t believe she was real. "So small. So perfect."

You smiled, propped up in the bed, still feeling weak but fuller than you’d ever been.

"She is perfect," you said softly, wiping another tear from your cheek.

He looked down at Sofia, brushing a kiss to her forehead, and then, without looking away from her, he added, "Just like her maman."

Your chest tightened at his words, but you smiled through it.

"Think she’ll like racing?" you joked quietly, needing to lighten the moment before you drowned in tears again.

Charles let out a soft laugh, though his eyes never left her. "Maybe… but she’ll always be faster than me — she’s already stolen my heart."

You watched him for a long moment, your heart swelling in your chest, so full it felt like it might burst.

This — this — was what you had fought for.

You had fought through heartbreak that had left you breathless, through pain that had nearly broken you in two, through nights when all you could do was cry in Charles’ arms, unsure if this dream would ever come true. You had battled fear, uncertainty, and the endless ache of waiting. And now, as you stood there, watching him cradle Sofia like she was the most precious thing in the world, you realized — this was everything you had ever dreamed of.

Your family.

The family you had fought for with every ounce of strength you had left.

Weeks later, when life had finally started to settle into a rhythm, and the haze of the first sleepless nights had softened, you walked into the living room and stopped dead in your tracks.

Charles was asleep on the couch, head tilted back, his soft brown hair a mess from running his fingers through it one too many times. But it wasn’t just him.

Sofia was curled up on his chest, her tiny body rising and falling with each of his breaths. One of his arms cradled her protectively, while his other hand rested lightly on her back, like even in sleep, he couldn’t stop holding her close.

They looked so peaceful, so safe — wrapped in a world where nothing could touch them.

Tears pricked your eyes as you stood there, one hand covering your mouth as the weight of it all washed over you.

The man who had stood beside you through every storm, who had wiped every tear, held you through every loss, whispered hope into your ears when you had none left — this man was now holding your daughter like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

He had loved you through it all — even when you couldn’t love yourself, even when you had pushed him away in the depths of your grief. He had never let go.

And now, here he was — the father of your child.

You walked toward them softly, careful not to wake either of them, and slowly eased yourself onto the couch beside him. Curling into his side, you rested your head on his shoulder, your hand gently brushing over Sofia’s tiny back.

Charles stirred slightly, shifting in his sleep at your touch, and after a moment, he cracked one eye open, his gaze landing on you.

A sleepy, soft smile tugged at his lips as he looked at you like you were still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Hey, maman," he whispered, his voice hoarse from sleep, but full of so much love it made your heart ache.

You smiled through the tears gathering in your eyes, brushing a kiss against his shoulder as you whispered back, "Hey, papa."

He leaned his head against yours, letting out a quiet sigh, as though even now, weeks later, he still couldn’t believe she was real.

Your eyes drifted down to Sofia, her tiny face peaceful, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in soft little huffs. One tiny hand was fisted against Charles' chest like she never wanted to let go of her papa.

You reached out, gently tracing a fingertip over her soft cheek, and felt Charles’ arm tighten around both of you, pulling you closer.

"I don’t think I’ll ever get over this," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles turned to press a kiss to your temple, lingering there. "Me neither," he murmured against your skin. "She’s everything, isn’t she?"

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

There were no needles, no hospital walls, no sterile doctors' offices — just you, Charles, and Sofia, safe and whole in your little home.

You had your family.

You had love — a love that had been tested and forged in fire, but had only grown stronger.

And you had a future — one brighter, fuller, and more beautiful than anything you had ever dared to imagine.

Together, you were everything.

548 notes · View notes

illyrianshadow · 3 months ago

Text

Lost in Shadows (pt. II)

Summary: After centuries apart, you see him again — Azriel, the boy who once kept you safe in the shadows of Windhaven.

But now he’s a stranger and you’re left wondering: does he remember? And is your connection, fated or forgotten, still strong enough to bring you together?

Warnings: mentions of difficult home life, most likely angst in future chapters (and potential smut)

A/N: I still can't believe how many of you interacted with the first part of this! From the bottom of my heart, thank you!! A little bit more back story in this chapter. Hopefully the switching of POV's isn't too confusing. As always, any feedback more than welcome.

ps, let me know if you want me to make a taglist

Word count 2.25K

Part 1 | Part 3

—————-

The day you left Windhaven was one of the worst ones of your life.

You had overheard your father tell one of his friends that he had promised you to a male named Kaelen, a warrior from Frost Edge, a nearby camp known for its strong traditional views and values on the treatment of Illyrian females.

Now that your 18th birthday had come he could finally send you away, to him. You were to become his wife.

You’re a unique Illyrian female. Born to a high fae mother and Illyrian father, you never had wings of your own but did possess Illyrian anatomy, something that was extremely rare.

For centuries, your father had pursued high fae females in the hope he’d one day have a wingless child.

He picked young, impressionable fae, females that did not know about the dangers of giving birth to a winged babe. Your mother fell right into his trap and after a short courtship she fell pregnant. When you were born, wingless as your father had always dreamed off, he was convinced that they were cauldron blessed. It was so incredibly rare, the mother must have granted him the ultimate gift.

He became obsessed with having another child. Your mother fell pregnant again within the year and died when giving birth to your brother. You didn’t remember her, your brother didn't survive.

Your wingless back was your fathers pride, the ultimate “clipping”, a daughter born to serve on the ground not soar in the skies.

His voice was filled with pride as he told the other male that you were send away to be used for breeding. As if you were some prize mare that was only good for producing offspring. Wing clipping was standard in Frost Edge and wingless females were worshipped above all. They had heard of your rare anatomy and hoped you would be able to pass your rare genetics on to the next generation.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, he’d never seen you as anything more than a cleaner and a cook.

Your father did always say you had ridiculous notions. Wanting to have a job, wanting to travel and see the other courts. Whenever you expressed wanting to do anything besides cleaning his house and looking after him, he would shut you down immediately.

He had treated you like this from a young age, and as you grew older you became more and more isolated. Your father forbade you to interact with any of the Illyrian males in the camp, and the other females were afraid to come near you because of your father's reputation. Your friendship with Azriel was the only thing keeping you sane.

The colour drained from your face as you heard your father's words.

You knew you couldn’t stay. You would have to leave, get out as fast as you could. You headed back into your room and started packing the few belongings you had as the reality of it all hit you.

You could never come back, it would never be safe. Not until your father was gone, or dead.

You were furious, tears streaming down your face as you thought of what leaving really meant. You would lose him, Azriel.

You grabbed a pen and a bit of paper. You had to leave him a note, you had to tell him how much he meant to you. You stared at the sheet for what felt like an eternity, trying to find the words that could convey the depth of your feelings. Nothing came to mind. In the end you opted for a short explanation of the situation at hand instead. You told him you had to leave Windhaven for your own safety, and you told him that you loved him more than anything in the world.

When your father had left the house, oblivious to you overhearing his earlier conversation, you sneaked out into the forest to leave the note in your hiding place.

And then you were gone.

You fled to Velaris hoping you would be able to find passage on a ship that could take you to the day court. In your first days there you noticed one of Azriel’s shadows. He had sent one after you as soon as he realised you were gone and it had followed you all the way to the city. His gifts were still untrained and his shadows were young, but they were drawn to you like moths to a flame. Sending one after you to find you had been easy.

You felt its presence, being so used to the feeling of having them close. They couldn' t hide from you.

You whispered to it to return to its master, that it wasn’t safe for you to be tracked. You told it to tell Azriel that he needed to let you go. You made a promise you would try and find your way back to him one day when it was safe for you to return.

You had never thought it would take more than 500 years for you to do so.

—————-

Present day, Azriel’s POV

He knows you are here as soon as you walk through the door. His shadows calm in a way they have not done for over 500 years. A quiet, soothing feeling. It’s as if they say he can stop looking, he can relax, you are here.

“Alive,” they whisper in his ear; “found, safe.”

His heart rate picks up, his palms become sweaty. This is it, the moment he has been dreaming of for centuries. Confirmation that you are okay, that you are still breathing. Now that it has arrived he is unsure of what to do with himself.

Even though he can sense you are there he has no idea if you’ll remember who he is.

He’s sitting with his back to you and even though he is the Spymaster of the night court (and one of the most feared warriors in Illyrian history), the thought of turning around and looking at you leaves him feeling unsettled.

The reality of it all is utterly terrifying.

What if he finds your gaze and there is no recognition in your eyes? Or worse. What if you do recognise him and are disappointed by the male he has become?

He’d rather keep looking forward and stay oblivious for all eternity than live in that reality.

Azriel is so different from the boy he used to be. He’s learned to close himself off over the centuries. He’s become guarded, distanced, learned to keep his cards close to his chest. Some would even describe him as cold.

Years of training as an illyrian warrior and being the Spymaster of the night court will do that to a male.

The open vulnerability he had displayed towards you as a child was for you and you alone. When you disappeared out of his life you took that part of him with you.

How is he meant to live up to the image you undeniably still have of him?

The image of a boy untainted by murder and violence. Your best friend who would wrap you in his shadows and cloak you in darkness whenever you needed to feel safe. You once explained to him the feeling of them made you feel grounded, protected. You saw them as something beautiful. No one else had ever looked at them that way.

You knew him as a boy that had only ever used his shadows for good, not the illyrian warrior who had hurt and tortured countless people. Who had used his shadows to instill fear rather than offer them to people as a safety blanket.

The only similarity between him and who he had once been are the boyish curls framing his face and the scarred hands clenching his drink.

He is scarred, broken.

He tries to ground himself by bringing his attention back to his family. Mor is waving her arms around enthusiastically as she recalls something adorable Nyx had done when she’d last visited the river house.

He’s hoping his frequent nodding and occasional “hmhm-ing” will be enough to convince her he is fully engaged in whatever story she is telling him.

“And then Nyx picked up Cassian and threw him across the room.”

Azriel snaps out of his trance at her latest words. “Nyx did what now?”

“Finally! I’ve been spouting nonsense at you for ages. Rhys and I have been having a bet going for the last 5 minutes to see how long it would take for you to notice." She turns to Rhys with a triumphant smile on her face. “Pay up.”

Rhys rolls his eyes. “Don’t pretend I don’t already pay for everything your heart desires, dear cousin.” he says, a feline smile gracing his lips. “I think we can probably call it even.”

Mor gasps and grabs her chest as if wounded. “Me, spending your money? I would never.” she says in mock exasperation.

This immediately results in a discussion about Mor's spending habits as Rhys starts listing the countless things Mor has bought with his money in the last week alone.

Offering the perfect opportunity for Azriel to let his thoughts wander back to you.

His shadows start whispering again, reporting your movements to him. “Watching.” They whisper. “Staring.”

Is it because you recognise who he is? Or is it because the sight of an Illyrian sitting in a crowded bar in Velaris has grabbed your attention?

If your shared past is anything to go off, the sight of one of your own kind will undeniably have put your guard up. You might be watching him out of habit, to make sure he doesn’t do anything unpredictable.

Rhys’ voice suddenly crowds the space inside his mind. “As much as I enjoy watching whatever inner conflict you are having brother, I just wanted to inform you that there’s an incredibly beautiful female staring at your back.”

Azriel’s breath hitches at his brother's comment and he feels a pang of jealousy knowing that Rhys has seen you before he has had the chance. The high lord raises his eyebrows when he notices the effect of his words.

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed. Some Spymaster you are. Should I be reconsidering your position in my court?” he continues, a teasing tone lacing his words.

Azriel just glares at him in response, resulting in Mor pouting at the both of them when she notices the exchange. “Oi, stop having conversations in your head you two. It’s rude to gossip in the presence of a lady.”

Rhys just snorts at that remark and brings his attention back to her as their bickering continues.

This time the High Lord opts for commentary on the mountain of incredibly unladylike situations he has seen his cousin in while out at Rita’s.

“Moving.” his shadows whisper “Getting up. Walking.”

Azriel’s shadows start to stir, becoming restless just like their master. Were you leaving?

Still too scared to turn around, he sends one of his shadows after you to investigate your movements.

“Bar” it reports back and Azriel lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. You weren’t going anywhere.

Good. This was good. He just needed a little bit more time.

—————-

Reader POV

You need another drink. You’ve been staring at Azriel for god knows how long and since you can’t seem to find the courage to approach him, you need something to distract your busy mind.

A trip to the bar will have to do. Maybe an additional drink (or 5, or 10) will help you find the courage you need, or at least quiet down your anxious mind.

As soon as you start walking you think you notice something. A presence, something calming. The feeling disappears just as quickly as it had come on. You must be imagining things.

As you make your way over to the bar you realise that if you were to turn around and head back with your drink, you’d have to look at Azriel face on.

Flustered by the idea you decide to settle on one of the bar stools in the corner instead. You take a deep breath and when your drink arrives you hold on to it for dear life. You down it way too fast and order another one, which turns into a third and then a couple of shots.

The pace at which you're drinking seems to keep the other people in the bar at bay. No one really pays you any mind or approaches the corner you are sitting in. Good.

As the alcohol starts to cloud your judgement and you begin to feel its full effects, you decide that it’s time. Consequences be damned, you cannot leave here tonight without speaking to him.

You can’t lose him again.

You turn and jump up from your seat, misjudging the full effect the alcohol has had on you. You stumble forward and you would have fallen face first on the ground had strong, scarred hands not steadied you.

You are many, way too many, drinks deep.

Your eyes grow wide as you look at the hands holding you upright, knowing damn well who they belong to.

As you look up into a pair of hazel eyes, you feel your whole world slow. Your chest fills with warmth and you feel a longing, something familiar but also incredibly new.

It’s as if your heart is reaching out to his. It’s like something is tying your souls together.

It’s that familiar feeling his shadows used to give you. A quiet calm, a steadying comfort.

And that’s when you know. You’d probably always known deep down.

Mate.

#acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x female!reader #azriel x f!reader

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unadulteratedsoulsweets · 5 months ago

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A DC X DP IDEA #41

Say Uncle.

Imagine dis…

I don’t have much to say about this one just the fact that when you are buying alcohol to celebrate New Year just make sure not to drink it all at once despite the holidays…

Ah, the hangover: nature's way of reminding you that your liver is not, in fact, a miracle worker, and your brain did not sign up for the tequila marathon.

And no, this prompt is not about just that. I want to get this idea off my list before I completely forget about it.

…

The night when both Martha and Thomas Wayne met their demise Alfred already swore himself to protect the two young masters that were left behind. Bruce at the young age of eight witnessed his parent's murder and death, just because the boy insisted on watching the latest film with only the three of them young master Daniel’s insistence. Daniel, who was only 5 years old caught a nasty cold and was prompted to stay inside the manor to get better. Young master Daniel insisted on the three of them enjoying the film instead of staying at home just reminding them to bring him souvenirs to not be completely left out.

Tasked with raising two young boys both boys felt sadness and guilt for each of their own despite not having to feel guilty about it. Young master Bruce for insisting to go at the theaters and young master Daniel for insisting on a souvenir.

The media with all of its cameras stared down at the Wayne name and manor as it was the tragedy of the century as the Waynes are not only the wealthiest of the socialites but also one of the founders of Gotham City. All metaphorical eyes went to Master Bruce, why only him you ask? It is all because young master Daniel had not been introduced to the public eye as it had been some sort of tradition to the Wayne’s to teach their children at the age of 7 to have them enjoy privacy and have the children at a certain age to understand the dangers of media.

With young master Daniel still technically hidden Alfred made the hard decision to further hide the young master through the system. Both boys of course protested through tears and shouts from both boys. Of course, Alfred tried to explain to the boys for their protection and Alfred assured the boys that he would use his connections to watch over Daniel.

…

Fast forward and the two brothers despite having a secure line of communication simply strayed apart. Maybe it’s because of the distance or maybe it’s because of talking to each other less when both entered their teens, but I say because of secrets…

With Bruce, he had traveled the world training to become somebody, somebody who can prevent tragedies like his can ever happening again. To protect and make a difference to the place that took his parents away. He kept silent about Danny, his training, and his turning into a crime-fighting vigilante. He wanted Danny to stay safe the last family he had, to stay in the life he had built, from what Danny had told him from the rare chances that they both got the time to chat. Bruce kept on thinking to himself that it was safer for Danny. The lack of knowledge of both the public about his bio brother and Danny’s knowledge about his nightlife made Bruce’s nightly chant to himself justified.

…

Danny scanned the manor, it had been a while since he adjusted the cuff of his fitted suit. He hadn't been here in years, and Bruce hadn't gotten in touch with him outside of Alfred's regular chats and the rare times the brothers even called the other.

As far as the world was concerned, Bruce was "dead." The family he hardly knew was shocked to learn that Danny was named guardian of the remaining Waynes in his will. This prompted Alfred to explain who the supposed relative of theirs and began tidying the manor as if the queen herself was going for a visit.

The moment Danny entered the manor both Dick and Jason had their eyes on him. As the two who had been with Bruce the longest apart from Alfred, they should have already heard something about the man from Bruce, even a slip of the tongue but nothing, so they have every right to be wary of their supposed uncle who has actual biological connection to Bruce.

Their apprehension was only increased by Danny's striking similarity to Bruce. He had the same sharp blue eyes, but his expression was gentler, and the same sharp jawline, but it was tempered with fatigue rather than unwavering resolve.

Danny made significant adjustments during his brief time as their new guardian. Without Damian ever hanging onto Dick like some sort of life Line, Dick has now the time to properly sort out his feelings and mourn for Bruce. Jason despite the bad blood between father and son is also seeking professional help as per Danny’s wishes to sort out his thoughts and with Danny slowly filtering out his ecto to a much healthier one. Tim finally had a sigh of relief when he saw their supposed uncle handle the board like an iron fort. He had managed those elites as if Danny had the experience dealing with old men that thought to be the center of the universe. Finally, Damian, who at first struggles with the supposed usurper to his supposed birthright begins therapy that focuses on undoing the works of a cult, as per the suggestion of the usurper’s foster sister.

Slowly but surely they finally had a sigh of relief to the civilian side of their lives, as Danny kept the Wayne co flourishing and the nosy journalist away from them especially Damian since he is the only biological son of Bruce Wayne despite adopting Dick, Jason, and Tim first.

On the other hand, their vigilante life is full of tension, as Tim supposedly found evidence of Bruce being alive. Dick and Jason kept pushing on to Tim that he is full of grief to accept Bruce’s death and brush his claims. Of course, Tim tried to find more definite evidence but was later banned from the Batcomputer for his mental health.

…

It all came to a head when a sleep-deprived Tim stumbled into the dining area for breakfast with the rest wearing his robin suit and sweatpants and a haphazardly worn domino mask on his face. As Danny is about to ask Tim about his sleep, Tim not recognizing who he is talking to begins a floodgate of information. The partial evidence, Gotham’s criminal activities, the number of vigilantes needed to wear the cowl to ensure no one could suspect that something happened to Batman and so much more.

By the time Tim ended his rant he saw a pale-faced Dick looking at him with pure disbelief, Jason and Damian looking at him with murder in their eyes, and finally, Alfred holding a tray of freshly squeezed orange juice so tightly that it began to shake.

Tim is now dreading whatever expression the person is in front of him. Tim now slowly looked at Danny’s… Contemplative face?

All of them are now holding onto their breaths looking at Danny waiting but for what?

Danny blinked, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he muttered something under his breath, too low to catch. Then, slowly, he raised his hand and tore open the air, as if cutting something in midair.

A green rift shimmered, pulsing with an eerie light reminiscent of the Lazarus Pits, though a bit brightener. Before anyone could react, Danny reached into the rift with the ease of someone retrieving a misplaced item and yanking a battered figure through.

Bruce Wayne, still wearing his Batman suit, though, stumbled into the hallway, his cowl pushed back to reveal a rare expression of wide-eyed shock.

The rift closed as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving only each of them with their respective jaws dropped and wide open.

Danny looked at Bruce as if scanning any injuries and let out a deep sigh of relief.

And uttered a single sentence that seemed to come from Danny’s inner mind.

I can't believe you turned into a furry fruit loop.

Immediately turned around and left the still-shocked family with their minds still rebooting at what had just happened. Bruce, for his part, could only stare after him, his mind racing to catch up.

…

Danny on the other hand is mildly a bit stressed, don’t get him wrong. Having Dan, Ellie, and Klarion as his kids is the most wonderful thing that ever happened to him, he just wished that the kids the rare chance they have their truce would send their home straight down the deepest rings of hell. As much as he had a clear reason to fight off some demons after so much adventure in terms of retrieving their house it got so old that it became a hassle.

Let's also talk about how chatty Mom and Dad have been ever since his older brother Bruce became a crime-fighting furry, and when he started adopting kids as if they were Pokemon. Bruce doesn’t have to catch them all, and stop encouraging him, Danny wailed to his ghostly biological parents. As much he adored his nieces and nephews, he densest need to know from his ghostly parents how many flips Dick did with one hand or how many books Jason added to the library or how many albums of pictures Tim had, or even how adorable Damian is.

So imagine his surprise that in the middle of him sorting out paperwork, he is now an official guardian to his nephews since Bruce had “died”.

At first, he was hesitant on top of his children, for, he has an entire realm to sort out. Add to the fact that he didn’t feel Bruce’s spirit enter his domain. Bruce’s kind of lifestyle along with his nieces and nephews already guaranteed them a spot in the realms.

So when Tim exploded out of sleep or just needed someone to vent it made him send out a silent question to Clockwork. There he was, his dumb older brother, falling through each timeline, he simply grabbed the scruff of his neck and pulled him back to the present.

As Danny left the manor, he silently wept for the added paperwork that he expected to be added as well as damage control to whatever chaos his children got themselves into.

….

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

#dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #dp #ghost king danny

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callahanisms · 1 year ago

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all you need is more radaway

save a horse. ride a cowboy. ;)

anyways i really loved the tv show and i love the game. and ghouls are just chef's kiss. or maybe that's because i love monsters. sad that i finished it so quickly. :(

perhaps i can put what i learned in my western class to good use lol

character: cooper howard aka. the ghoul

it's never easy surviving the wasteland. you don't know how you managed to survive for this long. perhaps because you seemed to have been blessed with incredible luck.

and building up endurance, of course.

you felt little to no side effects from the radiation of the food you were eating. which just meant you had a lot of radaway and rad-x stocked up.

to make ends meet, though, you had to start hunting. scavenging and scrapping by wasn't enough. you needed the extra caps.

thus your rivalry with another bounty hunter was born.

"well, well. aren't you far from home, sweetheart?"

you were used to comments about your outfit. a vault suit. yes, you came from one. you had been exiled after your father was revealed to be managing the experiment behind it. the child pays for the sins of the father always.

"you're not the first and you won't be the last." you pull the head off the body as clean as possible.

"now i don't know if you should do that."

"and why not?"

a bullet flies past you and burrows itself into the ground. you finally look up. a cowboy hat. the face of a ghoul. his gun pointing right at you.

but you weren't afraid.

"because he's my target." he pulls out a piece of paper. "and he's mine."

"seems unfair if i did all the work. and you just collect his head and the prize." you pull out the same piece of paper. yours is a little more worn out though. and covered in dried blood.

"that's the way of the wasteland sweetheart."

"if you believe so."

your hands were fast. two bullets lodged into his right left and when he looks up, you're gone.

of course, you learned from the best: western holotapes. you really liked them when you were growing up. claimed to want to be a lone hero.

in some ways, you were. the wasteland was just a new version of the wild west, wasn't it?

"spaghetti? like...the pasta?"

more like spaghetti western. he knew that, of course. but no one in the wasteland knew what a spaghetti western was. they were remnants of a past long gone and one only accessible by holotapes in the vaults.

"that's their name." the person says. "why? you have business with them?"

"perhaps." the ghoul was looking to return a favor.

"don't even try. they're far more formidable than you think."

"we'll see about that."

your rivalry was an exchange of bullets, more often than not. thankfully, you always stocked up on bloodbags and could make a stimpack from your heavy (but useful) travel chemistry kit. you were smart like that.

surprisingly, it became something to look forward. mostly because the ghoul preferred if he tried killing you, so he managed to get you out of a tough situation by killing the other people trying to kill you.

and you returned the favor. there was something satisfying about lodging a bullet into him again.

unfortunately, this left you two stuck on a job once. captured by raiders. you had been knocked out with a drug. and he had collapsed from...something.

"fuck." you mutter, pulling at the ropes binding you. your luck had run out for the day it seems, because your arms were tied to the ghoul's around this godforsaken pole. the metal was also uncomfortably rubbing up against your skin.

"you got a knife or anything sharp?" he looks over at you. it's rare to see him without his cowboy hat. his head was rather smooth.

you chuckle a little.

"something funny?" the ghoul asks.

"nothing. you're just...shaped like an egg."

"very funny."

"let me guess. your answer is no?"

"i don't have a knife up my sleeve, sadly. think they took it."

"shame." the ghoul shimmies something out of his own sleeve. he flicks the blade out and begins sawing at the rope. "watch your fingers."

you keep your fingers tucked in. eventually, the rope on your wrists comes undone and one arm soon after. the rest comes off and you rub your skin. "fuck these guys. always hated raiders."

"well, we both got sold out. we need to find that thing now. or else we'll be dead by sunrise." he tugs on the door of the jail cell and clicks his tongue.

"i don't have sharp objects. but i do have these." you pull out the bobby pin taped on the inside of your sleeve, alongside a mini screwdriver.

the lock wasn't very complicated, so you picked it with ease.

as you both are grabbing your equipment, you hear footsteps up above. light ones and heavier ones. and the sound of a muffled, altered, robotic voice.

the brotherhood of steel was worse than raiders, honestly.

"you go left, i go right. how does that sound?"

"i don't usually like taking orders from my rivals." he reloads his gun. "but for you? sure."

the event left the both of you soaked in the blood of your enemies. on the other hand, you guys left with plenty of loot and an idea of where your target was: dead. at the bottom of a lake.

it was a journey to get there, wherein you learned the details of each other's lives. you didn't think he was paying much attention to your sentences. after all, you came from a vault.

and yet, you saw a hint of sympathy in his eyes.

he seemed less keen on sharing details about his life, aside from his former name. cooper howard.

undeniably, as a fan of westerns, you recognized his names. from the holotapes.

"they had those?" cooper shakes his head, taking sips of water. "no way."

"yes way! it's where i learned to shoot."

"from watching my movies?"

"yes!"

"that is...a pleasant surprise." cooper leans back.

"that also makes you over 200 years old."

"that it does. something wrong with that?"

"no. the wasteland changes people." you maintain your attention to your suit, sewing a tear up. "just...you're looking for something, aren't you? everyone's always looking for something up here."

"are you looking for something?" his voice hardens and he sits up straight.

"i was. and then i found it. and i stopped." you tie the thread to seal the stitch and then tear the thread with your teeth. "i hope you find what you're looking for though."

"well, that's awfully kind of you, sweetheart."

"i have a name, you know."

"what is it?"

"(y/n)."

getting personal in the wasteland was something cooper wasn't adamant about. but the circumstances seems to call for it.

"guess we're even now."

the body of water was daunting. it was murky and dark. you pursed your lips and dumped your bag. "well. guess we have no choice."

cooper looks over at you then quickly turns around when he sees what you're doing: taking off your suit and going down to your underwear. "what are you doing?"

"i'm going to go get that head. that's how we get paid, right? easy three thousand caps. 15 hundred split evenly." you stretch.

"i think you might die."

"i'll be fine. i've done it before." Aquaperson perk.

"i can also swim, you know."

"i'll be fine cooper." you pop a rad-x pill just in case. "be back in a bit."

you dive like a swan, making minimal splash into the water. your form disappears beneath the darkness.

you're gone beneath the water for over an hour. cooper's heart was beating against his rib cage. you should be out by now. it should not be that hard. did something get you? things lurked beneath the murky waters always.

"fuck!"

he drops his equipment and begins stripping down, until he is just in his pants. he would need to dive after you. if you were dead, then so be it. it was fun while it lasted.

suddenly, you emerge. you take in the oxygen of the surface and hold the head up high. "got 'em." you swim over to the shore and walk out of the water.

there was something about how...wet you were that got him feeling hot and bothered.

"something happen down there?"

"couple of mirelurks. no big deal. which reminds me." you set the head on the ground and go back into the water. within minutes, you're pulling out the bodies of the mirelurks you had killed. "dinner."

while cutting the mirelurks open, you observe the way he walks around you. his muscles bulging a little as he cuts a mirelurk open and takes the meat. he was kind of...attractive?

"were you going to come after me?" he stops cutting hearing your question. "in the water, i mean."

"so what if i did?" cooper averts his eyes.

"that's sweet of you. i didn't know you had a soft spot for me."

"i don't."

"sure." you can tell he was lying through his teeth.

dinner was a nice, cozy meal. it was delicious. a nice surprise considering the nature of the wasteland.

cooper notices the way you're looking at him. and he looks at you the same way.

though how does this work exactly?

"do you want to..." you try to find a decent way to say this. fuck is a good term. but it felt a little vulgar in the moment.

cooper already knows what you're asking. "absolutely. if you can handle it." he smirks.

it's so cute when he smirks.

you glance over at your bag, looking at your stash of radaway. you had plenty. plus your stash of rad-x too.

"i absolutely can."

#def not my best work #fallout #fallout tv series #fallout prime #the ghoul #cooper howard #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #x reader #male reader #female reader #gender neutral reader

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eviesaurusrex · 6 months ago

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Escaping | Azriel x High Fae

summary: Azriel carries his mate off to a much-needed picnic, away from her duties at the Court of Dreams.

word counter: 3.2k

warnings: none, pure fluff, Az being a simp for his woman, mentions of reader being an empath/reader having empathic abilities, Az’s pet names being always accompanied by “my” (bc he needs to remind himself constantly that she’s indeed his), reader is part of the Night Court ever since

author’s note: This is also my first time writing anything for ACOTAR, so please be gentle with me, but I just had to, okay? Az deserves every ounce of happiness I can offer him. Also: This is my first time writing and uploding anything in a minute, so this is definitely not perfect

Dividers are made by @enchanthings and @sweetmelodygraphics <3

He had planned this little escape for weeks now, always trying to find the perfect moment to whisk his mate away between duties and obligations, only to grant her and himself a much-needed break from quite literally everything. His shadows had been restless ever since, just as their wielder, the growing stress and frustration traveling along their strong mating bond only a figment of an indication of how she grew to feel every morning she awoke to tend to the court and their cause to protect and free Prythian in the War looming on the horizon.

And today had been finally the perfect day—due to Rhys’ helping hand after he had seen the growing and building anxiety of his brother.

“Is it not strange how adamant Rhys has acted earlier? I think it’s weird. Do you think I should go and check up on him later? Maybe trying to ease his mind? I think I should.” Her sweet, melodic voice filled the warm air, and a rare chuckle escaped the spymaster at her fast-working mind. Gently, he took the blanket out of her arms, placing it over the arm that already carried the basket filled with all her favorites, and tenderly, his free arm found its home around her waist, pulling her closer to his side.

A perfect fit. It was as if the Mother and the Cauldron had molded them to fit just as perfectly as two puzzle pieces. Made for one another… He still couldn’t grasp how his lifelong wish had been answered and granted after so many centuries.

Azriel’s head dipped to press a lingering kiss to her temple, his nose slightly buried in her soft strands, the soothing scent overpowering the scents wafting around them. “Will you scold me if I tell you how I asked him to give us at least today to ourselves?” His voice was soft, tender, a loving and humored edge to it. Hazel eyes began to twinkle as she looked up at him, meeting his gaze, not surprised in the slightest at his revelation, and the teasing twinkle in her eyes in return made his lips twitch into a smile. “Did you now?” She teased and nudged his side, tickling Az because she knew of every existing weak spot—the only person aside from Cassian and Rhys. Her growing smile made him feel light, free, and still, it was the most exhilarating thing he had ever achieved in his long life; felt as if his heart might explode any second when she turned and stretched slightly to press a kiss to his jawline. Reaching further wasn’t possible with the towering male walking beside her. “Thank you, my love.” Only a whisper, but loud enough to travel to his ears, accompanied by the warm and fuzzy feeling sent down the bond by her.

Another pull with the arm around her waist put her even closer—if that was even possible—and Azriel couldn’t hold back the urge within him to kiss her soft lips he had already kissed so often ever since they had accepted their mating bond. Still, it wasn’t often enough, in his opinion. Giving in, the shadowsinger stopped their path in the hidden passageway towards the lush green rolling hills along the coast of Velaris and slowly bent his body, letting their noses run alongside one another. “Nothing to thank me for, my darling,” he hummed, lips almost already touching in the softest of kisses, and he felt her fingers run through the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to her and letting their lips melt into one. Neither he nor she could tell where the kiss started and where it ended, where his lips began and hers ended.

The low rumble of her stomach put a pause to their antics, and Az hummed once again before entwining their fingers and continued on their path. “Let’s find a place where we can ease that growl, my darling.”

Wildflowers of all kinds surrounded the place they had finally settled on—the glittering ocean right next to them, the rolling green hills as far as sight could reach, and Velaris in the close distance, beautiful as it had always been. Az had made himself comfortable on the blanket, the picnic basket opened right next to him, his body propped up on his forearms, and his eyes followed his mate as she strolled through the flowers. He could see her fingertips gracing the soft petals that stretched their colorful heads towards the sun, his shadows slowly, almost lazily winding around her wrist and fingers, always keeping her company, making sure she was alright. Not that Azriel minded their own ways, but sometimes he suspected they might abandon him entirely for her if they had the chance—and the shadowsinger couldn’t blame them either. He would do the same if it meant being at her side at all times.

“Eat at least a bite,” he now called over to her as she picked the first flower. She only spared a quick glance at him, but her radiant smile couldn’t fool him, nor could it hide the roll of her eyes. “Yes, yes. Only a minute, love.” Azriel himself rolled his eyes now, but the tuck at his lips was too strong to withstand it. Not when they were alone, not when she was the cause of that rare smile sneaking its way onto his face.

So, he watched her while already eating some of the fresh berries, patiently waiting, eyes moving when she moved toward the next flower in full bloom, bending down to pick her, placing the delicate thing in the soft embrace of her arm he knew wouldn’t dare crush her new possession. She wasn’t violent or cruel to beings who couldn’t defend themselves, who didn’t possess a single malicious thought in their entire body. And even for those who might commit evil deeds, she still held compassion if necessary. By the Cauldron, she even had accepted him from the very beginning of their friendship all those centuries ago when Rhys had brought her into the Court of Dreams, right after the War had been won.

A sigh left him when she finally strolled toward him in her pretty flowy dress, hair flowing in the warm breeze, her smile growing the closer she got to him. “What am I supposed to do with you, hm?” Az had pushed himself from his arms into a sitting position, legs slightly crossed, an arm resting on his muscular thigh, while the other reached for her, enveloping her fingers as she sank onto the blanket and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. The sound of his wings stretching and rustling behind him accompanied her adorable chuckle, and he almost melted at the sight of her shining eyes when she pressed his scarred palm against her cheek, her lips leaving a warm mark on it, letting him forget about the pain of the past in an instant.

She had that power over him.

“Az, you had more than four centuries to get used to my antics.” Grinning, her lips pressed another set of kisses to his palm before letting his hand sink onto her knee, where it immediately started to wander and found its place on her thigh, squeezing it tenderly. “I should know by now, you mean?” A nod followed his question, grin still prominent on her lips, but he felt her concentration slip toward the many flowers she had sprayed over the blanket in front of her, and her soft and delicate fingers had already started to weave some of them together. “Perhaps even a lifetime isn’t long enough,” he dared to hum and tease, moving closer toward her side and holding a strawberry in front of her lips. The tip of Azriel’s nose nudged her temple, and she took a bite, sighing in satisfaction. “Perhaps.” The sweet berry muffled her words, and without thinking or even considering he was prepared for it, the woman scooted closer and leaned backward, pressing her back against her mate’s strong chest—because he had been ready. He was always ready and always there if she needed or craved anything.

Even though the bond had taken its sweet time before it had finally snapped into place, they had been close from the beginning, a mutual feeling of closeness and understanding the root and foundation of their slowly blooming friendship. And over the decades and centuries, they had started to learn to know one another. Now, with the bond in its rightful place, it all was merely heightened; no longer a want to fulfill anything they wished for, but an urging need. So Az just knew without thinking when she needed his arms wrapped tightly around her body, his chest pressing against her back like a steadfast wall in a sea of uncertainty and fear.

His chin rested on her right shoulder, the strong and powerful wings softly tucked behind his back, granting the sunlight to kiss and warm her skin while she weaved flower after flower in a steadily growing circle.

“When all of this is over…” The soft voice of his mate traveled alongside the warm breeze. “When all is over, I’d like to leave for a while. Just… the two of us. Somewhere enjoying life itself, forgetting about War, bloodshed, and intrigues. Healing and growing,” she continued even softer, reminding him once again of her calm and peaceful nature, and Azriel felt how she longed for all those things after everything that had happened in the past fifty years. He didn’t dare to think about all that had happened Under the Mountain when she had been forced to live there, didn’t try to recollect everything she had shared with him in those days after Rhys and she had finally returned to Velaris.

All that was important was the exploding sensation of relief since she had followed Rhys over the threshold in the House of Wind, stepping out of the shadow of his broad back and came running right to him. That immaculate sensation had been his companion since that day.

Burrowing his face into the warm crook of her neck, the spymaster released a deep breath. “Whatever you wish, my darling,” he whispered against her skin, making her giggle and squirm in his grasp. “Az! Stop it, or my flower crown will be ruined!” He hid the growing smirk against her skin and nipped at one of her weak spots, making it tickle once more. “They always turn out beautiful.” Azriel could practically feel the playful roll of her eyes at his words, and dutifully, he picked the next flower for her to weave into the growing circle before a small lemon tart found its way to her lips, reminding his mate that they indeed had something else in mind when they had left the House of Wind earlier.

The deep, soft sighing after the first bite of the masterfully baked tart warmed his heart, and Azriel didn’t object in the slightest when the small cake was eaten within a heartbeat, her sweet tooth demanding even more after weeks of relinquishment because they had all been so busy with the preparations for the meeting with Prythian’s High Lords.

“Another one?” He whispered quietly as the shadows now surrounded their legs, resting like they did. “Do we have one of these tiny strawberry cakes we had for Starfall?” Immediately, the memory of the last festivities occupied his mind as he looked for the mentioned dessert and presented it to her like an offering to the gods in his open, scarred palm. “My Lady.” She chuckled at that and abandoned the almost finished flower crown with a gentle “Thank you, my Lord,” only to take the delicate cake and took a savoring bite out of it.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you looked at Starfall? More radiant as the stars…” Az’s voice trailed off into the distance, pictures of that night clouding his mind once again. As she turned her head to look at him with that one smile entirely reserved for his eyes, he pulled back and let her kiss his lips in a heart-wrenchingly soft kiss. “You told me that countless times, my love. Especially when you see the dress hanging in the armoire.” She grinned at that, making him almost blush. “But do I need to remind you how handsome and dashing you looked that night? All those ladies turning and twisting their heads as soon as you walked through the room…” Even though she knew that no one could take her mate, the bitter feeling of jealousy boiled in her blood for just a second before it vanished at the glowing and warm, but also shadowy feeling of their bond, reminding her once again that they were bound for the rest of their existence.

“No need to be jealous, my darling. There was never anyone but you, and there will never be anyone but you.”

His index finger under her chin moved her face upward to face him, skin touching skin and lips brushing over even softer lips. “I know,” she whispered against Azriel, and for a moment, she leaned her forehead against the strong line of his jaw, feeling him pressing a tender kiss on her hairline.

A rumble in the far-off distance let them look up at last, and both watched the building and rolling clouds over the sea, knowing that rain was a mere thought away. But still, they took their time.

Az continued to feed them both, watching her tirelessly weaving flower after flower into the crown, humming a tune they had danced to countless times by now and savoring the warmth radiating off his body. “Another one for Elain?” Azriel dared to ask as she seemed to be done. All the flowers she had gathered were woven into a beautiful, intricate pattern, and none were wasted. His mate had started to bring Elain flowers and plants in all their forms, especially ones only growing in their lands and not behind the wall, explaining their nature, natural habitats, uses, and sometimes hidden beauty. She was so soft and gentle with the young female that Azriel had to ask himself—more often than not, if he was honest—if she would be like this to their children if they ever were allowed that sort of happiness.

He let her sit up and turn onto her knees, holding the crown in her delicate fingers. She shook her head, an unsure smile now surfacing on her lips, as she softly placed it on top of his dark hair. “I never made one for you, my love.” He was stunned, not daring to move nor touch the petals now resting on his head. “You don’t have to keep it, of course. If you don’t like it, I can just bring it to Elain, and we’ll forget about it. It’s silly anywa-” He stopped her right then and there by pulling her close and kissing her fiercely, only holding himself back from roaring down their bond and scaring the living daylights out of her. He took great pride in the fact how breathless his mate was when Az finally ended the kiss, how gleaming her eyes were when she looked at him, how the blush that had crept to her cheeks made them glow, how her fingers gripped the fabric over his chest to steady herself. “Don’t you dare take it,” he growled and kissed her once more, shorter this time, less desperate, and still tickled those delicious sounds out of her body he still kept reveling in, even after all this time.

The first drop falling from the heavens made them part, and while she started to collect their things to pack them safely into the basket and fold the picnic blanket, Azriel spread his wings to protect his mate from the mighty raindrops. When they were ready to winnow to the barriers of the House of Wind, the summer downpour had already picked up its intensity and soaked the two from head to toe. However, their laughter still lingered over their sacred space of Velaris even after they winnowed away.

Feyre’s brows creased in worry as she looked out the many windows in the palace atop the mountain, overlooking Velaris during the downpour that had been foreseen. The heavy drops splattered against the glass, making it difficult to discern any shape moving in the distance. She knew the rain wouldn’t harm them, but the thunderstorm rolling over the hills induced an anxiety within her that she could barely contain.

“Feyre, darling?”

Rhys’ voice let her spin away from the windows, facing her mate who had stood from his desk he had worked on for the past couple of hours, and walked closer toward her, worry furrowing his forehead. “What is wrong?” He wrapped his strong arms around her body, and the High Lady sighed deeply as she sank into the embrace. “Nothing, I…” The first roaring thunder let her pause for a moment. “Az and YN haven’t returned yet.” Violet eyes gazed out of the window, brows slightly furrowed in concentration as he tried to make out the shapes in the gloomy light of the early evening.

Then, a smile spread across his handsome face, and Feyre turned to see what had happened. “They are now. Come, my love,” the High Lord coaxed his mate toward the door to meet the pair down the hall to greet them. She followed him without hesitation, needing to see for herself that both her friends returned without harm, and had to know if they enjoyed their afternoon, needing all the raunchy details YN would spill over a glass of faery wine and a warm fire.

They only made it atop the stairwell leading down into the hall that housed the balcony primarily used to enter the House of Wind, and the pair watched a dripping YN pulling a not-less-dripping Azriel inside, a laugh dancing on her lips.

The Illyrian shook the rain off his shoulders and wings, eyes entirely focused on the brightly smiling High Fae before him. Without a thought, he let the basket drop to the floor, not sparing a single second for its whereabouts after because his entire being narrowed down to the bond beating in his chest, demanding intimacy, closeness, with the female he desired and loved more than life itself. A shriek escaped YN between laughter as Az playfully pounced on her, wrapping her in his strong arms and lifting her off the ground in one smooth motion, moaning deep in his throat at the first taste of her lips drenched in rain droplets.

As he carried her down the hall toward their shared bedchambers in long, purposeful strides, flower crown still proudly atop his head, YN laughed: “Az, the basket!” The pair above the stairs could only hear him say, “It can wait until I’m drunk and delirious on you,” before a door closed, and Feyre finally allowed the giggle to escape her she had held onto for so long.

Rhys shook his head with a humored grin, pulling the female next to him closer to his chest. “My spymaster wearing a flower crown? I won’t ever let him forget it,” he chuckled deeply, amusement and happiness dancing across his face, especially as Feyre hit his chest in warning. “Don’t you dare tease him about it!” The male grinned at that, pulling her face toward him, and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. “I can’t make such promises, Feyre darling unless you are interested in a little deal with your beloved mate.”

Now, it was her turn to let a laugh freely echo through the halls.

Thank you everyone for reading! As usual: I'd love to read your thoughts and comments, perhaps you have an idea for a future Azriel - or any ACOTAR character - fanfiction you'd want me to write. Also, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated! <3

#azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel x you #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #acotar x reader #azriel fluff #azriel one shot #azriel fic #azriel fanfiction #acotar fandom

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cherryxbooo · 4 months ago

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Just us. Just this. Just love.

Summary: Days off for Oscar are rare, but whenever he does have one, the two of you love spending it with nothing but slow, lazy mornings.

Reader x Oscar Piastri

Genre: fluff

I woke up to the dim morning light barely filtering through the curtains.

The warmth beside me was familiar, Oscar’s arm draped lazily over my waist, his steady breathing tickling the back of my neck.

For a moment, I just stayed there, wrapped in the comfort of him, listening to the quiet hum of the world outside.

It was rare for him to have a morning off, and I was selfishly savoring every second of it.

No early training, no media duties, no team meetings. Just us.

I carefully turned over in his arms to face him, my movements slow and careful, not wanting to wake him up just yet.

His features were soft in sleep, his messy hair falling over his forehead, lips slightly parted.

He looked so peaceful like this, so different from the focused, determined driver everyone saw on race days.

I traced a light fingertip down his cheek, smiling to myself when he stirred slightly but didn’t wake up.

My heart swelled at the thought of how lucky I was to have him.

Despite everything, the fame, the pressure, and the constant travel, Oscar always made time for me.

He never made me feel like I was just a part of the background noise in his fast-paced world.

Just as I was about to settle back into the warmth of the blankets, he shifted, pulling me closer and mumbling something against my hair.

“Mmm, you’re staring love.” His voice was thick with sleep, groggy and low.

I giggled, tucking my face into his chest. “I am not.”

“You so are,” he argued, his arms tightening around me.

“Why are you awake? It’s early.”

“I like watching you sleep. You look cute when you’re not scowling at data sheets or wearing that severe‘ race mode’ face.”

Oscar let out a soft chuckle, his lips pressing a lazy kiss to the top of my head.

“Race mode face? That’s a new one.”

I hummed, tilting my chin up to look at him.

“It’s real, I swear. It’s the face you make when you’re so focused, your eyebrows practically fuse together.”

“Sounds attractive,” he mused, eyes finally fluttering open to meet mine.

“Very,” I teased, poking his cheek. “But I like sleepy Oscar better.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice was still laced with sleep, but there was a playful edge to it now.

“And why’s that?”

“Because sleepy Oscar is soft and cuddly and doesn’t mind staying in bed with me all morning,”

I replied, tangling my legs with his under the blankets.

He smirked. “I don’t mind staying in bed with you any time of the day.”

I rolled my eyes, though my heart swelled at his words.

“Good, because I don’t plan on moving anytime soon.”

He grinned, eyes full of something warm and lazy, before reaching over to pull the blankets higher around us.

“Fine by me.”

The morning was slow, soft, and wrapped in warmth, the kind of morning I never wanted to end.

Oscar and I stayed tangled up in each other, limbs lazily intertwined under the covers as the early sunlight peeked through the curtains.

His arms were snug around me, his fingers drawing absentminded patterns on my back, while my head rested comfortably against his chest.

His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, a soothing rhythm that made me want to stay in bed forever.

Neither of us spoke much at first, just enjoying the peaceful quiet, exchanging sleepy kisses and whispered words that didn’t really mean much, but still felt important.

His lips brushed against my forehead, my nose, my cheeks, soft, feather-light pecks that made my heart squeeze in my chest.

I hummed contentedly, tilting my head up to steal another lazy kiss, but just as our lips met, my stomach decided to betray me with an embarrassingly loud growl.

Oscar froze for a second before bursting into laughter, his chest shaking beneath me.

“Wow,” he teased, running a hand through my hair.

“Didn’t realize I was dating a little gremlin.”

I groaned, burying my face in his chest to hide my embarrassment.

“Ignore it. I’m perfectly happy staying right here forever.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled, rubbing slow circles on my back.

“And what if I start listing all the breakfast foods you love? Pancakes… eggs… bacon… a warm croissant with butter…”

“Stop,” I whined dramatically, but I could already feel my resolve crumbling.

He grinned, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“Come on, let’s get up babe. We’ll eat, and then we can be lazy the rest of the day.”

I sighed, finally giving in, though I made a show of stretching as dramatically as possible before sitting up with him.

“Fine,” I muttered. “But only because you promised we could be lazy later.”

Oscar smirked as he got out of bed, stretching his arms above his head.

“Deal.”

Still half-asleep, I shuffled behind him into the bathroom, where we moved around each other effortlessly, like we’d done this a hundred times before.

He automatically reached for my toothbrush, squeezing just the right amount of toothpaste onto it before handing it to me.

I raised an eyebrow, amused. “Taking care of me now?”

He simply shrugged, already brushing his own teeth. “Always.”

I smiled at his reflection in the mirror before starting to brush mine, our shoulders bumping lightly as we stood side by side.

The morning was quiet and easy, one of those moments that made me feel like we’d been doing this forever like we’d always been meant to.

After we finished, I reached for my hairbrush, but before I could, Oscar plucked it from my hands.

“Let me,” he said, tugging me gently to stand in front of him.

I turned, raising an amused brow.

“Oh? You offering to be my personal hairstylist now?”

He grinned. “Maybe. You’re a little high-maintenance, but I think I can handle it.”

I gasped, swatting at his arm, but he only laughed as he started brushing my hair.

His touch was careful, surprisingly gentle, like he was afraid of hurting me.

Every now and then, his fingers would graze my scalp, sending warm shivers down my spine.

“This is nice Osc,” I murmured, watching him through the mirror.

Oscar met my eyes, a small, proud smile playing on his lips. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “I think you’re actually pretty good at this.”

He tilted his head, mockingly thoughtful. “Maybe I should quit racing and open a salon.”

I snorted. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, babe.”

He chuckled, finishing up before setting the brush down.

Satisfied with his work, he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“I like getting ready with you.”

I leaned back into him, my hands covering his. “Me too.”

Oscar pressed a lingering kiss to my cheek before pulling away.

“Alright, let’s get you fed before you start getting grumpy.”

I gasped, feigning offense as I turned to face him.

“I do not get grumpy.”

He gave me a knowing look.

“Tell that to that one time you almost cried because your pancakes took too long.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “That was one time.”

He smirked, lacing his fingers with mine as we walked out of the bathroom.

“And I learned to always keep snacks on me.”

I groaned, though I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He grinned, squeezing my hand.

And he was right, I didn’t. I loved him, more than I could ever put into words.

As we made our way to the kitchen, Oscar kept a firm grip on my hand, lazily swinging it back and forth between us.

The apartment was quiet except for the soft padding of our footsteps against the floor and the occasional yawn that slipped past my lips.

“Alright, chef,” I said, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“What’s the plan? Pancakes? Eggs? A five-star gourmet breakfast?”

Oscar smirked as he opened the fridge. “How about toast?”

I gaped at him. “Toast? That’s it? I expected something a little more… grand.”

He turned, giving me an unimpressed look.

“Did you want breakfast or a three-course meal?”

I sighed dramatically. “Fine. But at least let’s make something fun.”

Oscar hummed, grabbing eggs, butter, and milk from the fridge. “Pancakes it is.”

I grinned, immediately moving to grab the flour and sugar from the pantry.

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

As we started prepping, Oscar wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, trapping me between him and the counter.

“Are you actually going to help, or are you just going to look cute and distract me?”

I tilted my head back against his shoulder, pretending to think.

“Mmm… a little of both?”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck before finally letting me go.

“Fine. But at least stir the batter.”

I happily took the whisk, dipping it into the mixture, but after a few turns, I felt Oscar’s hands settle on my waist again.

He leaned forward, chin resting on my shoulder as he watched me stir.

“You’re whisking too slow love,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

I scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you like to do it instead, Mr. Professional Whisker?”

He grinned. “No, no. You’re doing great. Just… here.”

He reached around me, his hands guiding mine, and suddenly, we were whisking together, his chest pressed up against my back, his lips dangerously close to my ear.

“This feels like a really lame excuse to be all over me,”

I pointed out, fighting back a smile.

Oscar hummed, pretending to think. “Maybe. But are you complaining?”

“… No.”

“Exactly.”

I giggled, nudging him away playfully. “Okay, okay, I can take it from here.”

He backed away with a smirk but didn’t go far, staying close as he grabbed a pan and placed it on the stove.

“Fine. But if the pancakes suck, it’s on you.”

I rolled my eyes. “They won’t suck. Have some faith in your girl.”

As I poured the batter into the pan, I felt his hands on my waist again, and before I could react, he lifted me onto the counter effortlessly.

“Hey!” I squeaked, grabbing onto his shoulders.

“What was that for?”

Oscar smirked, standing between my legs as he settled his hands on my thighs.

“You looked too cute standing there. Had to put you somewhere I could admire you properly.”

I shook my head, but I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my lips.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me.”

I sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

Oscar gasped, clutching his chest like I had just mortally wounded him.

“Wow. That hurt.”

I giggled, wrapping my arms around his neck. “You’ll survive.”

He grinned, leaning in to steal a kiss, slow and sweet, as the smell of pancakes filled the air.

I melted into him, hands tangling in his hair, completely forgetting about breakfast for a moment.

Then, suddenly—

“Crap! The pancakes!”

Oscar and I both jumped apart, scrambling to grab the spatula as we turned back to the stove.

He flipped them just in time, revealing a perfectly golden-brown pancake.

I exhaled in relief. “Crisis averted.”

Oscar chuckled, peering over at me. “You were the one distracting me this time.”

I huffed. “You kissed me first.”

“Yeah, well, you kissed back.”

I rolled my eyes, bumping my shoulder against his.

“Whatever. Just focus before you burn our breakfast.”

Oscar smirked but didn’t argue, instead stacking the finished pancakes onto a plate before drizzling syrup over them.

Once everything was ready, he grabbed two forks, handing me one before hoisting himself up onto the counter next to me.

Instead of using his own plate, he cut a piece of pancake and held it up to my lips, wiggling his brows playfully.

“Say ahh.”

I gave him a look but still leaned in, taking the bite.

“Mmm,” I hummed dramatically.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. You make good pancakes.”

Oscar smirked. “Told you.”

We ate like that, sitting on the counter, sharing bites, laughing between mouthfuls, occasionally stopping for soft kisses in between.

The kitchen smelled like butter and syrup, and the warmth of the morning mixed with the warmth of being with him, making everything feel soft and golden.

And as Oscar reached over to wipe a smudge of syrup from the corner of my mouth, his touch lingering a second too long, I realized something.

I loved this. I loved him.

I also realized that I should cherish these moments with him the most.

After finishing off the last few bites of pancakes, Oscar stretched his arms over his head with a satisfied sigh.

“Alright, we should probably clean up before we slip into full food coma mode.”

I groaned dramatically, letting my head fall against his shoulder.

“Can’t we just leave it for later?”

He snorted. “Yeah, because future us is going to be super thrilled to walk into a kitchen full of dirty dishes.”

I huffed, kicking my legs lightly against the counter.

“Fine. But only if you help.”

Oscar smirked. “I was planning on making you do it all by yourself, but since you asked so nicely…”

I swatted his arm, making him chuckle as he hopped off the counter and reached for the plates.

“Alright, lazybones. You wash, I dry?”

I slid off the counter and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, resting my cheek against his back.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

Oscar chuckled, leaning back into me. “Yeah, yeah. Now get to washing.”

I rolled my eyes but did as he said, filling the sink with warm, soapy water and dunking the dishes in.

Oscar stood beside me, towel in hand, waiting to dry whatever I handed him.

It was quiet, the comfortable kind, with only the sound of running water and the occasional clinking of dishes breaking the silence.

Every now and then, Oscar would “accidentally” bump his hip against mine, and I’d retaliate by flicking a few soap bubbles his way.

After a particularly well-aimed flick that landed on his nose, he turned to me slowly, an exaggerated look of betrayal on his face.

“Oh, you’ve done it now love.”

I gasped, laughing as I tried to back away, but before I could escape, Oscar grabbed a handful of bubbles from the sink and wiped them across my cheek.

“OSCAR!” I squealed, swatting at him. “That is NOT how you clean dishes!”

He grinned. “Maybe not, but it’s a lot more fun babe.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched up into a smile as I grabbed a towel and halfheartedly smacked his arm with it.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Oscar wiggled his brows. “I know.”

With a dramatic sigh, I turned back to the sink and finished washing the last plate.

“Okay, all done. Can we be lazy now?”

Oscar threw the dish towel onto the counter and grabbed my hand.

“Finally. Come on.”

The second we reached the couch, I flopped down face-first into the cushions with an exaggerated groan.

“This is where I live now.”

Oscar chuckled, sitting beside me and tugging at my arm.

“Nope, you live here, with me.”

I let him pull me up until I was curled against his chest, his arms wrapping securely around me.

I sighed in contentment, burying my face in the crook of his neck.

“Mmm. This is nice.”

He hummed, running his fingers up and down my back in lazy strokes.

“Told you I’d make today a lazy day.”

I tilted my head up to look at him.

“You also forced me to clean the kitchen, so I don’t know if I fully trust you Osc.”

Oscar smirked. “That was an essential task. Now we can be lazy without guilt.”

I huffed, but I couldn’t argue with that logic. “Fine.”

He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulled it over us, tucking me further into his warmth.

“Better?”

I nodded, feeling sleepier by the second. “Much.”

Oscar pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Good.”

We sat there like that for a while, legs tangled together, his fingers tracing random patterns on my arm.

The TV was on, playing some random show we weren’t really paying attention to, but neither of us cared.

At some point, I let out a yawn, and Oscar chuckled, pulling me even closer.

“Getting sleepy on me already darling?”

I mumbled against his chest, my voice heavy with drowsiness.

“Maybe.”

He smiled, his lips grazing the top of my head.

“Then sleep. I’ll be right here.”

I sighed happily, pressing a lazy kiss to his collarbone. “Love you.”

His hold on me tightened just slightly, his voice softer than ever.

“Love you more.”

And just like that, with the warmth of his embrace, the soft hum of the TV in the background, and the slow rhythm of our heartbeats syncing together, I drifted off, wrapped up in the kind of love that didn’t need grand gestures or perfect moments.

Just us. Just this. Just love.

The end

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loveemagicpeace · 2 months ago

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Astrology Notes

Saturn in 4th house transit( not always ) but during this time, you may learn something about your family or find out that you are adopted. Although Saturn in this house is not bad, it can bring many benefits. it is the house in which Saturn otherwise feels comfortable.Very good transit for gaining independence and self-determination.

Neptune represents the grandmother, the wise old women. The first sign of a Neptune contact is a sense of loss, despair, hopelessness or confusion. Many people instinctively use this as a time to travel, a time to live on the surface of cultures, to escape from their own world and drift through someone else's. When u have transit Neptune-Moon: a visionary, drug-sensitive, spiritual time where the individual experiences the dissolving of emotional responses. Time out from the world to unconsciously reorganize one's emotional reality. Transit - Neptune-North Node: finding one's spiritual path, finding a group or "tribe" with a basis in the arts; healing; drug abuse; the metaphysical which propels one into a new life direction. Neptune-South Node: loss in the "tribe" of an old wise woman; a restructuring within the tribe of the spiritual leader, or the visionary one in the family; meeting a person from the past with whom you feel a spiritual connection.

When u choose your partner u will also feel compatible with him based on your sun. Your sun is your ego, joy, spotlight. So for ex.: gemini & gemini sun can be good in a relationship but the relationship can be very unstable. A sag sun woman & a taurus man will be difficult together. A woman will always need liveliness, playfulness, travel and passion. While a taurus man will be much more reserved, likes to stay at home and likes to be settled, he doesn't like too much change and a fast life. He likes stability and a woman who is stable. A gemini man is often associated with a merchant, a traveler. Geminis like to go through life without a plan and thinking. They get over relationships quickly and quickly find a new woman.

Virgo sun are very frugal people, they will only buy things they really need and do not like to waste money on unnecessary things. They like a practical lifestyle and like to do things that are productive during the day. They are also picky when it comes to money and won't buy something that is really expensive, they prefer to buy something that is worth it and that the price is as affordable as possible. Virgo man like order and cleanliness. They are quick to notice small details and like women who dress decently and neatly. They usually look for a woman who is a housewife or likes order and likes to clean.

The Sagittarius woman and the Virgo man are very different and rarely get along. The Virgo man doesn't like spontaneity or too fast a pace. The Sagittarius woman, on the other hand, is very unpredictable and loves adventures. Sagittarius women like to dress extra while Virgo men prefer to dress more neutrally and don't like to stand out and can sometimes be embarrassed when someone is very stand out. This is just based on sun sign. But I would also say that someone with a lot of virgo placements and someone with a lot of sagittarius placements will not find a common language or interests. They are quite different people.

It is said that the Gemini man's third marriage is the only one that is valid. However, statistics show that even among the third wives, there are almost no Scorpios. Scorpio women are such that they already accustom Gemini men to order in their first marriage. However, it is certainly true that these two must show a lot of mutual understanding if they want to live together. Gemini men should talk seriously with Scorpio women. This will also benefit their career.

Aquarius woman and Gemini man-Their relationship stems from love at first sight. They both have the same ideals, both are full of ideas that can make life more beautiful. Gemini and Aquarius love to flirt and have dinner at home. Such a marriage does not know jealousy. Gemini likes to adapt to the new ideas of their partner. And they act correctly, because Aquarius realizes what she has decided. She is sociable and with her he will meet many people who will be useful to him in his professional life.

A cancer man likes a woman who is family-oriented, fair, a homemaker. Many times they are looking for a woman who is like a mother. They are often moody and have their own habits that they stick to. They get a lot of their habits from their mother or from their family in general. They have a hard time adapting to new things. They are more inclined towards the past than the future. They have few good friends and their circle is narrow and private. They are very private about their home.

Cancer man and Aries woman are very different and often have difficulty getting along. Cancer wants a family and a peaceful life. Aries, on the other hand, can bring unrest and a lot of stress. However, they can be very compatible in the professional field.

Cancer man and Libra woman. Cancer is inward-looking, while she is outward-looking, and it is sometimes difficult for them to follow the same path. In love, they can complement each other. However, Cancer would like to marry a housewife who would replace his mother, to whom he has always been attached. Libra is excellent at her tasks, but she does not like to get her hands dirty. She likes to be a lady.

The Pisces woman has a lot of problems with men and many times they don't suit her the way she would like them to. The Taurus man and the Pisces woman are different in how they give love. With Gemini man, Pisces may feel that he is too light-hearted and not paying as much attention to her. It could also be that he won't be that loyal to her. Libra man and pisces woman are a good catch. However, he may be too focused on the attention of others or like to be adored by other women. Which a Pisces wouldn't like.

The Pisces man is naturally spiritual, gentle, in touch with his emotions. He is modest and does not care about money. However, he is very much in his own world and a dreamer. He has his own ideals and fantasies that he seeks in women. However, they are often disappointed in love. A female leo will be too fiery for him and he may feel too vulnerable or exposed around her. A marriage with a Virgo could fail because they are too different. He insists on his dream world, while she wants reality and order. She may become too critical of him over time. Libra woman and Pisces man -There is some risk in this marriage, although both long for eternal love. But sometimes they get entangled in contradictions and then they don't know how to move on. Libra should cheer up her little brain and pull it out of depressions. She is charming, but her emotions are sometimes just played. Her sensitive husband may soon notice this. Otherwise, they love peaceful coexistence.

You will usually have long-distance relationships with people you share the 9th house with. You will also travel a lot with them over long distances. These are also the people you will have the best time with on your travels.

The moon represents where you find the most comfort and how much home means to you. What you need emotionally. Venus represents the kind of love you want and the kind of relationships you tend to create. What you really want in a relationship and what you value most in the relationship itself.What will quickly attract you on the partner. Mars represents energy and what sexually attracts you to a person and at the same time what kind of energy you like in others.

Moon in Gemini -Communication is very important to you and you like stimulation in every given moment of your life.Moon in Scorpio-You value privacy and like to have a home that is deep and you need a lot of intimacy. Moon in Cancer-You like a home that is comfortable, safe, beautiful, and where you feel emotionally fulfilled.

Capricorn Venus- You show love through practical things and through building a life together with the person. You like someone who is serious and determined. Someone who will make you feel like they will never leave and will always be here with you even in difficult times. Sagittarius Venus-You like adventure, playfulness, and travel. In love, you will be very happy with a partner who will prepare a special surprise for you and who will enjoy life with you. Maybe someone who created a playlist for you. Aries Venus-Love can be something that takes you over and gives you a lot of passion but at the same time leaves space for you. A partner who will always be with you but at the same time understands your hot-bloodedness.

-Rebekah💗🌊

#astrology #zodiac signs #energy #my notes #astrological houses #astrology observations #planets

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orellazalonia · 26 days ago

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Mischief Managed

Summary: With the power to talk to animals, your feline companion, Mischief, hates everyone at the tower except you. Therefore, when you start getting closer to Bucky, you watch as she slowly starts to trust the super soldier. However, with all things, it doesn’t go well at first. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to talk to animals.

Word Count: 3k+

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist | Sequel | Finale

You never expected your strange bond with animals to shape your life so completely. From the time you were little, the voices of birds, dogs, squirrels, even ants, were a constant hum in your mind. You couldn’t explain how or why, but you understood them, and they understood you. You didn’t just hear noises or read body language. You heard words. Emotions. Stories. And most importantly, you could talk back.

At first, it was a secret. A party trick for only the most trusted friends, who usually assumed you were joking. But now, it’s just part of you. You’ve learned to filter out the constant chatter.

You’ve learned to help animals when they’re in trouble and, occasionally, when SHIELD needs it, use them for information. Sometimes, rats knew more about hidden Hydra facilities than satellites ever could.

But for all your strange gifts, you lived a relatively quiet life in the Avengers Tower. Most of the others accepted your ability with curiosity or amusement. Tony had tried to run tests on your brain, and Clint still jokingly called you “Dr. Dolittle.” You didn’t mind. Your companions whether they be feathered, furred, or scaled had always had your back. And one in particular? She guarded you like a dragon guards treasure.

Her name was Mischief. A sleek, coal-black cat with amber eyes and a resting glare that could curdle milk. You’d found her three years ago, injured and starving in an alley, snarling at rats and pigeons for scraps. She hadn’t trusted you at first, but the moment you spoke to her, really spoke, her entire posture changed. It took a few trips bringing food to her, taking things slow. And slowly, you began to realize you hadn’t just earned her trust, you’d earned her devotion.

Since then, she rarely left your side. Mischief judged everyone you interacted with, and she never hid her opinions. She Tolerated Steve. Hated Tony’s cologne. And she absolutely loathed anyone who flirted with you.

That became a problem the day Bucky Barnes moved into the Tower.

He was quiet, scarred, and carried the weight of too many ghosts behind stormy blue eyes. He barely spoke to anyone, kept to himself, and moved like someone always waiting to be attacked. You saw it the first day in how he looked at everyone sideways, how he didn’t sit with his back to a door, how he flinched when someone approached too fast.

And Mischief? She was watching him like he’d brought a knife to your front door.

She sat on the windowsill in your room, tail twitching, eyes narrowed like tiny slits of fire. He’s hiding something, Her voice was flat, echoing in your mind like dry leaves scraping across pavement. He smells like ghosts. Like regret mixed with metal and blood. I don’t like him.

You sighed, brushing a hand over her silky back. “He’s been through a lot. Be nice.”

Nice? You want nice? Find a golden retriever. I’m watching him.

You didn’t know it then, but Mischief’s “watching” would escalate. She wasn’t just wary of Bucky Barnes. She was preparing for war. And you? You were caught in the middle of a cold war between an ex-assassin with a tragic past… and your jealous cat.

It started small at first.

Bucky would pass you in the hallway, nod a quiet hello, and Mischief would hiss from your shoulder like a kettle set to boil.

You tried to explain it away as best as you could. "She’s just like that at first," You said once when Bucky raised a brow at the low growl coming from your tote bag. Mischief liked to crawl inside and travel with you unnoticed. “She doesn’t warm up easily.”

He gave a short, humorless chuckle. “Neither do I.”

You weren’t sure what drew you toward him. Maybe it was the way he always seemed almost comfortable in silence, the way he sat on the common room couch like it didn’t quite belong to him, or how he listened to conversations without ever trying to steer them. Maybe it was how he never asked you questions unless he thought the answer would matter. He was calm. Still. A rare kind of quiet you’d only ever felt around animals.

But Mischief noticed.

One night, you caught her sitting in the kitchen sink like a gargoyle, glaring at the hallway. When you asked what she was doing, she said, Waiting for the metal-armed brooder. If he comes in here again, I’ll gut the loaf of bread he likes.

Sure enough, Bucky wandered in a minute later, offered you a soft smile, and went for the exact loaf.

The next morning, it was shredded. You sighed at the sight as you went out to get a replacement.

Still, you didn’t stop spending time with him.

You started joining him in the gym after hours. The excuse given was wanting to stretch, but really, you just liked the way he relaxed when no one else was around. Sometimes you brought a dog or two in from the compound’s training fields, let them rest while you and Bucky talked. Or didn’t talk. You didn’t need to.

“I think animals like you,” You told him one evening, watching a scruffy mutt rest his head on Bucky’s knee.

He blinked down at the dog like it had just spoken fluent Russian. “That’s a first.”

He’s got soft hands, The dog murmured. I like him.

You smiled to yourself. “I think they know.”

“Know what?”

“That you’ve got a good heart.”

He looked away quickly, jaw tight. You didn’t say anything more, letting it go.

Later that night, Mischief perched on your chest like a stone weight and narrowed her eyes. You’re getting attached.

“I’m not.”

You are.

“You scratched a loaf of bread.”

It deserved it.

You sighed, having not expected that response, but then again, it was typical of her. Mischief wasn’t one to be easily appeased, and her possessiveness was notorious. But this time, she didn’t go on about it. Instead, she flicked her tail, an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. Her voice softened, almost like a reluctant admission. You’re… different with him.

“Different?” You tilted your head, trying to understand her point.

You relax around him. You listen more. I don’t like it.

It struck a chord in you. You weren’t blind to the shift in your own behavior. With Bucky, things felt easier. Calmer. He had this way of being present and patient in a way that drew you in, as if there was a shared understanding of pain that made silences less heavy. Sure, there were times where the past still haunted him. But his company was always one you found yourself subconsciously seeking.

He didn’t demand things from you. He didn’t ask for anything you weren’t ready to give. And when you were with him, the world felt… simpler.

But Mischief’s words stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m not going to stop seeing him just because you don’t like it,” You murmured, feeling the weight of her gaze.

I know you won’t, She responded in a quieter tone now. But if he hurts you, I’ll bite his face off.

You chuckled softly at the absurdity of the threat. “I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who would hurt anyone… but thanks for the warning.”

Mischief gave a long, almost disappointed sigh, as if she realized there was nothing she could do to change your mind. You’ve always been good at ignoring my advice. I’ll be here, though. Watching.

And just like that, she padded off your chest and curled up on the windowsill, turning her back to you in a huff.

You didn’t feel the usual pang of guilt for not heeding her advice. Instead, you lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Bucky’s quiet demeanor, his unspoken trust, and how, somehow, he made you feel less like an outsider.

But the cat was right about one thing: you were getting attached. And that was something even Mischief couldn’t stop.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky Barnes became a quiet fixture in your life. He wasn’t the kind to join in on group outings or large training sessions. He mostly kept to himself, which, in a way, you could relate to. The weight of his past was something you recognized in yourself. A type of emotional burden carried alone, pushing people away without ever intending to.

Mischief, however, now had different ideas about Bucky. She followed him around like a shadow, watching his every move, her eyes always narrowing suspiciously whenever he so much as looked in your direction.

And then came the first moment that Bucky spoke to her directly.

You were sitting in the common room, legs tucked underneath you, reading a book when Bucky entered, his usual silent demeanor drifting through the door like a storm cloud. You barely looked up, but Mischief did. She jumped down from the windowsill with a graceful thud, making her way slowly toward Bucky. He froze, eyes narrowing as she circled his feet.

"You've got a problem with me, huh?" He asked, voice low, as if speaking to a wild animal.

Mischief didn’t answer. Instead, she sat down and stared at him, her eyes unblinking, before giving a loud, unmistakable hiss.

Bucky took a slow, measured step back, unsure whether to laugh or be alarmed. “Right… definitely got a problem with me.”

You looked up from your book, feigning innocence. “She’s just… protective.” You tried not to laugh, but the cat’s blatant territorial behavior was almost too much.

“Protective?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Of you?”

You nodded, setting your book aside. “She doesn’t like anyone getting too close to me. Especially not new people.” You gave him a playful smile, though there was an undercurrent of caution. You had no idea what he might say next. Yeah, he’s graciously ignored her behavior the past couple of encounters. But you know that not everyone reacted well to Mischief’s… directness.

Bucky looked at Mischief, who was now sitting on the arm of the couch, staring at him with intense focus but a bit more relaxed. Like she was really assessing him now. He couldn’t seem to hide the slight tension in his shoulders, though his eyes softened just a fraction. “I’ll take her behavior as simply me being new then?” He asked with a wry grin.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Like I said before, she warms up to people eventually.”

“Eventually?” He turned to you, crossing his arms. “How long does that usually take?”

“A few months,” You answered, fully serious, but Mischief’s sudden purring interrupted the tension in the air. You blinked in surprise. Mischief didn’t purr for just anyone, certainly not for someone she didn’t trust who she had threatened previously.

You try not to make it a big deal, knowing maybe something changed her mind and she’s likely trying to give Bucky a chance for you. Or she’s trying to spite you. Either works.

Bucky let out a short, amused huff. “I guess I’m getting there.”

As time passed with your relationship with Bucky slowly becoming more comfortable, he started showing up more too. Helping you with groceries, joining you on the Tower’s rooftop garden, even sitting beside you when you fed a flock of sparrows that landed whenever you called. The birds adored you. One bold little sparrow even landed on Bucky’s knee once, chirped at him twice, and fluttered away.

“She says you look sad but safe,” You told him.

He stared at the spot where the bird had been. “…I’ll take it.”

You didn’t realize it back then, but Mischief had stopped watching Bucky like a threat. She still narrowed her eyes when he got too close, but the claws stayed retracted. And one morning, after Bucky fell asleep on your couch with a book resting on his chest, you walked into the room and found Mischief curled on the back of the couch above his head, keeping watch.

Don’t make this a habit, She warned, but you saw the way she rested her tail across Bucky’s shoulder like a soft little truce flag.

He didn’t wake up. But when he did, and she didn’t move, you didn’t miss the quiet surprise and the ghost of a smile on his face.

Bonus:

The Avengers had long accepted that Mischief was… a little difficult. And by “difficult,” they meant that she was impossible.

Steve tried to be friendly and charming, his warm smile and gentle hands never working when it came to earning her trust. He once tried to bribe her with tuna, only for her to leap onto the counter, knock the can on the floor, and give him a look that suggested he was the most pitiful creature to ever walk the Earth.

Tony, of course, had tried his usual route. Gifts. Expensive toys, cat condos, custom-made collars with diamond studs. Mischief had only hissed at him, her tail twitching with disdain, and turned her back on him every time he walked past. Tony had even tried to sneak in some extra treats with a drone, but Mischief had launched herself at it like a panther on a hunt, sending the drone crashing to the ground in a flurry of sparks and broken components.

Clint and Wanda were no better. Clint had tried talking to her like they were two old friends. He’d even imitated her meows, thinking he could “speak her language.” His reward was a sharp swipe to the face that left him sporting a red scratch for a week. Wanda had tried charm, offering the cat quiet moments and gentle pats. But Mischief simply stared, unblinking, until Wanda gave up, shaking her head and muttering, “She’s something else.”

A couple of the others had tried too, but failed just like the rest. They had all made their peace with it. Mischief was your cat, your problem. None of them expected to get closer to her.

So, when they found out Bucky managed to break some of her walls, it certainly drew some attention.

It wasn’t even anything spectacular at first. At first, it was just him sitting in the common room with his coffee, his book, his quiet presence that always seemed to put you at ease. You, in your usual spot, with Mischief curled at your feet.

But slowly, Bucky had started talking to her. Not in any particular way, just gentle words, a little teasing, soft hums that she might respond to. At first, they were just passing exchanges.

“You’re looking smug today,” Bucky had said, watching Mischief stretch out on the windowsill, her tail swishing slowly.

To his surprise, she’d looked at him, unimpressed, and flicked her tail toward the floor like she was dismissing him entirely. Bucky chuckled softly.

“That’s fine. I’m used to being ignored,” He’d muttered, before turning back to his book.

No one had thought much of it. Until it happened again. And again.

One afternoon, you came into the living room to find Bucky sitting cross-legged on the floor, Mischief lying across his lap. She’d never done that with anyone else. She was curled up, purring softly, and Bucky’s hand was resting just behind her ears, stroking her fur gently.

The other Avengers were lounging around, preparing for the evening’s mission debrief. Steve and Clint had been discussing logistics while Tony fiddled with a gadget, but all of them froze when they saw the scene unfolding in front of them.

Mischief, the aloof, temperamental queen of the Tower, was utterly content in Bucky’s lap.

Tony’s jaw dropped first. “Wait a minute,” He pointed at the scene. “Is that… Mischief?”

“Yeah…” Clint said, his voice a mixture of disbelief and awe. “Is she… purring?”

“I’ve never seen her so… calm,” Bruce added quietly, watching the scene. “She always runs away from us. We can’t even get close without her hissing or hiding.”

“I don’t understand,” Steve said, furrowing his brow. “What is he doing differently?”

Bucky glanced up, catching their stares. He shrugged with an easy grin. “I don’t know, she just… likes me, I guess.”

Everyone stared at him. Even Tony, who never really lacked for confidence, looked a little thrown off.

“How?” Wanda asked, her tone hesitant. “She’s never… let anyone get that close. Not even me, and I’ve tried for weeks.”

Bucky just chuckled, his hand continuing to stroke Mischief’s back. “I don’t know. Maybe she sees something in me. Or maybe I just smell like someone who doesn’t mind the silence.”

The others exchanged baffled glances. It was true. Bucky was quiet, reserved. He never pushed, never pried. Perhaps that had something to do with it. But no one could quite figure out how he’d managed to break through the barrier that had kept them all at arm’s length.

“I don’t think it’s just that,” Clint said thoughtfully, his eyes still on the cat, his fingers twitching like he was about to reach for her. “I’ve been here longer than you, man. And she’s never let anyone get that close.”

Bucky’s smile faltered for a moment, as if he was considering something deeper. “Maybe she just needed someone who didn’t expect anything from her.”

The team was silent, still watching Mischief as she stretched lazily on Bucky’s lap, a low purr vibrating the air around them. It was the first time anyone had seen her so relaxed in front of someone who wasn’t you.

Steve shook his head in disbelief. “I think we’ve just witnessed a miracle.”

Tony was already pulling out his phone. “I’m gonna start a betting pool. Bucky Barnes: Cat Whisperer. Who knew?”

Wanda chuckled softly, still a little stunned. “What did you do, Bucky? Did you offer her a deal?”

“I think she’s just decided I’m not worth the trouble,” He said, finally giving Mischief’s ears a gentle scratch that made her eyes flutter shut in contentment. “Sometimes, that’s all it takes.”

And just like that, the Avengers knew. There was something about Bucky Barnes, something quiet, something patient, that had finally cracked through the walls of the grumpy black cat that no one else had been able to breach.

Mischief had chosen him. And the rest of them? They were just going to have to deal with it.

#Whispers of the Gifted #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel x reader #marvel fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

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Of Roomates and Revenge

Lewis Hamilton x fake girlfriend!Reader

Featuring Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon, and Nico Rosberg

Summary: in which your search for a free place to stay leads to helping one half of Brocedes live out his petty fantasy for revenge … and falling in love while doing so

Cat and Apartment Sitter Needed (Monaco)

Compensation: €1500/week plus all the Red Bull you can drink

I’m a world-traveling young professional who is rarely home. My two beautiful and rambunctious bengal cats need someone to stay with them in my Monaco apartment whenever I’m away for work.

The ideal candidate will be an experienced cat person who is prepared to deal with a lot of energy, chaos, and shenanigans from these two little terrors. They knock everything off every surface, wrestle at 3am, and will likely attempt to smother you while you sleep. If you can handle that, we’ll get along just fine.

In addition to caring for the cats, you will need to keep my place relatively tidy (i.e. no crushed Red Bull cans or fast food wrappers everywhere), collect any packages or mail that arrives, and randomly turn a few lights on and off every evening so the neighbors don’t get suspicious.

The position is ideal for a mature student, digital nomad, or someone between living situations who wants an amazing place to stay for free in one of the world’s hotspots.

Drop me a line if you think you can handle the cats from hell and wouldn't mind living in a 230 m² penthouse apartment with a private terrace, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a badass view of the Mediterranean. Preference goes to non-smokers who follow directions well and won’t throw ragers when I’m gone.

Send a brief intro, your experience with cats, and a couple photos attached. Urgently need someone for various stretches starting mid-February.

Do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers.

Live-in Cactus Caretaker Needed (Monaco)

Compensation: €1000/week, free snacks, and you can play my Xbox

I’m a young dude who’s rarely home because of my job that involves a lot of international travel. I have a single cactus plant that I promised my mum I would keep alive until she visits again. The thing is ... I have absolutely no idea how to care for plants. Like, I nearly killed it the first week by forgetting it existed.

What I need is someone responsible who can essentially live in my swanky Monaco apartment whenever I’m gone and keep my tiny cactus friend alive.

Duties would include:

Watering the cactus like ... once a month? Twice a month? I don’t know how often it needs water

Not letting the cactus die in any other way (pretty sure they need sunlight too … I think)

Keeping the place tidy (I’m a bit of a mess)

In return, you’d get:

A sick apartment all to yourself with a stunning view, giant TV, and full kitchen (please for the love of god be careful in there ... I almost burned the place down trying to make a grilled cheese once. Seriously, I'm not exaggerating. I almost went up in flames over a silly sandwich. If you can't even operate a microwave, we may have problems. There’s only room for one idiot like that in Monaco — and it’s me)

Unlimited snacks/drinks from my well-stocked pantry

Free rein over my gaming setup (just don’t break anything)

First dibs on any events/reservations I can’t make

The ideal person is responsible, shows they can follow basic instructions for cactus care, laidback since you’ll be alone a lot, and trustworthy enough not to wreck the place or throw illegal parties. Having a green thumb would be great, but frankly if you can manage not to kill the one plant, that’s good enough for me.

Send a brief bio about yourself and your qualifications as a cactus/housesitter if interested! I’m gone quite frequently starting in February so could use someone ASAP.

No scammy offers or soliciting, please!

Roommate Needed to Drink Wine and Listen to My Woes (Monaco)

Compensation: Free rent in a nice apartment, plus all the wine you can drink

Are you a good listener? Do you enjoy dry red wines and occasional bouts of tears and venting? If so, I’ve got the perfect living situation for you!

I’m a youngish guy with a high-stress job that involves a lot of traveling. When I’m home in Monaco, I tend to unwind by polishing off a couple bottles of nice Bordeaux or Burgundy while complaining about work, my colleagues, and my rival who is giving me really mixed signals.

What I need is a roommate who doesn’t mind a little drunken blubbering here and there.

You’ll get:

Your own bedroom in my spacious 2BR/2BA apartment in the La Condamine district

Rights to my kitchen, living room with large TV, piano, and music recording equipment

Access to the building’s pool, sauna, fitness center, and lounge areas

As much wine as you can drink (and more)

In exchange, you’ll be expected to:

Listen to my periodic rants and rave sessions without judgement

Preferably nod along or offer supportive-sounding feedback like “Yeah, that’s really tough man” or “Wow, they sound terrible”

Refill wine glasses as needed

Maybe rub my back or pat my head if I’m really going through it

The ideal candidate is a decent human being who can empathize with the high-pressure struggles of a young professional trying to make it in a cut-throat career.

You’ll need a decent amount of free time and lots of patience. Prior experience as a life coach, therapist, or sympathetic drinking buddy is a plus.

If you can handle crying guys after a few too many glasses of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, inquire within! Include a little about yourself and why you would make a good non-judgmental wine friend. Merci!

Expand Your Search? Similar Opportunities:

Impartial Referee Wanted for Parking Lot Brawls (France)

Compensation: €400 per event

Two athletic young men in their late-20s are looking for a level-headed third party to oversee and officiate their semi-regular parking lot boxing matches. Yes, you read that right — we’re talking straight-up fisticuffs in the back alley behind the Circuit Paul Ricard.

A little background: We’ve been frenemies/rivals since we were kids — constantly competing in friends, employment opportunities, you name it. There’s a healthy amount of hatred between us that simply can't be resolved through words alone. Every few months, we feel the need to just take out our pent-up aggression on each other's faces.

Up until now, it’s been an unregulated shitshow with no real rules or oversight. We’re looking for someone impartial who can:

Set some fair ground rules around where/how we can strike

Ensure no prop weapons get involved (last time he tried to scalp me with a wrench)

Officiate and declare a winner once one of us is knocked out or quits

Ideally have some basic first-aid skills in case of a nasty cut or broken nose

We will pay €400 cash at the start of each bout. You’ll get a free show of two extremely fit dudes wailing on each other until there’s a clear victor.

Loser exits with his tail between his legs, winner gets to gloat for the next couple months until we run it back.

If you can be a neutral third party and aren’t squeamish about a little blood, send us your info with some details about yourself and your experience resolving conflicts (legally or not). First come first served — our next fight is tentatively scheduled for mid-May!

No flakes or perverts, please. Serious connoisseurs of violence only.

P.S. Don’t be scared to give out penalties (one of us is used to that)

Actor or Actress Needed to Annoy Ungrateful Ex-Friend (Monaco)

Compensation: €2700 per week, free luxury accommodations

I’m a successful guy in my late 30s looking to hire someone to pretend to be my significant other for a few months. Before you get the wrong idea, let me explain ...

I had a major falling out with a former best friend who stabbed me in the back years ago. We live in the same apartment building, just one floor apart.

I’m trying to show him how amazing my life still is without him … and maybe make him jealous in the process.

That’s where you come in. I need you to move into my penthouse temporarily and act as my gorgeous new boyfriend/girlfriend.

Your main duties would include:

Loudly introducing yourself to said ex-friend by knocking on his door and being line “Hi, is [insert my name] here?” Then pretend to be embarrassed and apologize when he tells you that you’re at the wrong apartment

Hang out in the hallway near his place and have very loud fake conversations detailing our imaginary passionate nights together (rated R)

Post cringy coupley photos on your social media of us dressed up going out, cuddling on my yacht, etc

Ideally you’re an aspiring actor/actress or just a really convincing liar. Being somewhat loud and dramatic is a plus. You’ll need to be willing to play along if my petty ex-friend tries to confront us.

In return, you’ll be living in a lavish penthouse with all the amenities for free. You’ll have your own private suite and can hang out on the oversized balcony, by the pool, or in the media room when you’re off the clock. Might also be able to introduce you to some high-profile people if you’re trying to network.

Oh, and my bulldog will provide plenty of cuddles.

If you can pull off a remarkably realistic fake partner act and aren’t afraid of a little light deception, hit me up! Please include a couple photos plus a bit about yourself and your acting experience. Aiming to start mid-April.

I’m an equal opportunity employer — girlfriend, boyfriend, nonbinary partner, you name it. All genders welcome to apply for the role if you’ve got what it takes! Only preference is that you have especially luscious hair … for reasons.

No weirdos please.

Hi,

Okay, I have to admit — your ridiculous request to hire a fake girlfriend to make your ex-best friend jealous is quite possibly the pettiest thing I’ve ever heard. And I absolutely love it.

I’m literally the perfect person for this role. Petty vengeance is my middle name (well, not really, it's actually Y/M/N ... but you get the idea).

A little about my qualifications:

Took some theatre electives in university so I can really sell the dramatics

Lots of experience putting on an Oscar-worthy performance faking ... well, you know ... thanks to my douchebag ex-boyfriend who couldn’t be bothered to learn how to pleasure a woman 🙄

Not afraid to get LOUD and will happily reenact our “passionate nights” at earsplitting volumes in that hallway

Can pull off playing dumb if your friend tries to interrogate me about you (“Oh [whatever your name is]? Yeah he’s just the best at ... stuff”)

No shame in my pettiness game — I once spent my weekly paycheck on a Cameo just so an ex’s favorite celebrity would call him a dingleberry

In terms of looks, I’ve been told I have just the right amount of “hot” to make your poor pal jealous without it being too unbelievable. I’m attaching a few photos for reference.

Let me know if you want to meet up for a glass of wine and we can workshop some juicy storylines for our imaginary romance. Perhaps I was a former fling you rediscovered? A hot younger thing giving you a new lease on life? The possibilities are endless!

I’m a pro at faking it, so selling our relationship will be a piece of cake. Your ex-friend will be bright green with envy by the time I’m through!

Let’s make him regret the day he double-crossed you, babe.

Cheers,

Y/N

r/offmychest

u/NotBritneySpears · 16h

My ex-best friend’s new girlfriend is the WORST!

I really need to get this off my chest. My upstairs neighbor’s new girlfriend is, without a doubt, the most insufferable human being on the planet. She’s loud, obnoxious, and seems to take immense pleasure in tormenting me for some reason.

A little background: I used to be really close friends with my neighbor. We had a big falling out a while back over ... well, it’s a long story. We don’t talk anymore and there’s a lot of resentment between us. Clearly the universe is trying to get back at me now with this new girl.

This chick has made it her personal mission to give me a play-by-play account of every single intimate encounter she has with him. And I mean DETAILED accounts. The other day I was just trying to enjoy my morning coffee and I hear her incredibly shrill voice from right outside my door:

“Oh he was an ANIMAL last night! The things he did with his tongue, I thought I was going to pass out!”

Like, seriously? Keep it to yourself, weirdo! That’s just the tame stuff too. Sometimes she’ll go into pretty graphic detail describing body parts and positions that I really didn’t need a mental picture of.

Here’s the thing — she quite obviously positions herself to be as close as possible to my apartment without actually trespassing — I mean, she doesn’t even live on my floor for god’s sake! So every word comes through crystal clear. I’ve confronted her about it a few times and she just plays dumb, like:

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry if I was being loud! We just get so carried away sometimes, you know how it is,” with this stupid ditzy valley girl voice and hair toss.

I don’t know if my former best friend put her up to this or if she’s just a massive troll in her own right. But it’s like psychological warfare at this point. Literally ANY time I’m home, I have to listen to her yap about their Sex Olympian-level escapades.

My wife even heard them once and thought I was playing porn at an insane volume! She doesn’t believe me that it’s just this deranged lady running her mouth constantly.

I’m half-tempted to start recording her rants and blast them back at full volume to give them a taste of their own medicine. Or maybe start describing lurid details of my own (admittedly not quite so colorful) sex life in retaliation.

I don’t know, maybe I’m being oversensitive. But living under these two insufferable assholes is a waking nightmare. I need to move or something because this is massively affecting my peace of mind. Who knows if they will ever get bored of tormenting me and move on.

Rant over. Thanks for letting me vent about the neighbors from hell.

u/chronicgossiper · 12h

Damn, that sucks man. Your neighbor and his gf sound like immature assholes trying to get a rise out of you. I’d look into noise complaint options or even see if you can get them evicted for harassment.

Reply to u/chronicgossiper · 11h

Seriously? You really think the landlord would evict someone over this? It’s not like they’re blasting music at 3am. Sounds more like passive aggressive pettiness than anything illegal.

u/chronicgossiper · 10h

Idk, having to listen to people loudly describe their sex acts against your will seems like it could qualify as harassment or creating a hostile environment. Worth exploring at least if they won’t stop.

u/NotBritneySpears · 9h

Eviction isn’t really an option here since we all own our apartments and there’s no landlord dictating that. It’s not that type of building.

u/nosyandproud · 8h

Did your former friend move into that building first or did you move in knowing he lived there?

u/NotBritneySpears · 7h

He was there first, I bought my place a few years after him when I could afford it. Never expected he'd pull something this childish.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 6h

So you willingly moved into the same building as your ex-best friend that you aren’t on speaking terms with? That’s just asking for drama, dude.

u/NotBritneySpears · 5h

It’s a great building in an amazing location. I wasn’t going to not pursue the opportunity just because he lives there too. It’s a big place, I didn’t think we’d be running into each other much.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 4h

Still seems like a weird decision to willingly insert yourself into his orbit like that if the relationship was so fractured. Probably should’ve seen some fallout coming.

u/nosyandproud · 3h

Yeah exactly, why would you move somwhere your ex-friend lives if you two clash that much? Kinda put yourself in this situation.

u/NotBritneySpears · 2h

Okay, let me be clear — he and I were best friends for over a decade before we had a colossal falling out a few years ago. We’re not just some casual ex-buddies who don’t get along. We were legitimately very close for most of our lives until things went nuclear between us. When I decided to move into the building, our friendship had been over for a while already. I really didn’t anticipate he’d take things to this vindictive level years later. I’m not going to miss out on my dream home just because of what happened between us.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 1h

This is getting juicyyy, do tell about what caused the falling out!

u/NotBritneySpears

Not really trying to dredge up old drama, that’s a whole other can of worms. The girlfriend situation is annoying enough as is.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 51m

Fair enough, you gave context. Still think you two need to have an adult conversation about boundaries. Purposely trying to loudly narrate their sex life at you is unhinged.

r/relationships

u/yourusername · 19h

I’m catching real feelings for the guy who hired me to be his fake girlfriend to get revenge on his ex-friend ... help?

Buckle up folks, because I’ve got one hell of a tangled situation to unpack here. This is going to be a long one.

About a month ago, I responded to this Facebook Marketplace ad from a guy (let’s call him L) looking to hire someone to pretend to be his new girlfriend. The goal was to make his former best friend/downstairs neighbor jealous after a brutal falling out between them.

I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous. But the benefits were good and I’d be living in his insane luxury penthouse in Monaco rent-free. More importantly, I really vibed with L’s pettiness and desire to get deliciously pathetic revenge on his ex-friend. My last boyfriend was the actual worst, so I was absolutely here for any slightly insane Karen antics.

Anyway, we hit it off immediately at the “audition” over drinks. L is brilliant, successful, gorgeous, and fucking hilarious in a sarcastic, unfiltered way. We both have a wicked mean streak and frankly get off on emotionally messy situations. It was like looking into a mirror — two beautiful trainwrecks finding each other in the wreckage.

From night one, we had crazy chemistry. The back-and-forth banter was electric, we finished each other’s sentences, etc. I felt so comfortable around him despite the bizarre circumstances. I assumed it was all fun and games to toy with his former best friend.

But over the last few weeks of loudly chronicling our “sex marathons”!outside said ex-friend’s door and doing phony coupley things around the city, I’ve realized my feelings are ... complicated. L and I CONNECT on a deeper level, in addition to just being partners in crime. We’ll be tangled up watching movies and he’ll make some perfectly timed quippy comment that has me cackling until my abs hurt. Or we’ll get deliriously wasted and end up baring our souls about our upbringings, dreams, fears — everything.

I’ve never been so open or comfortable around someone before. Our walls are gone. And the most messed up part? Some small, perverse part of me loves the strange intimacy we’ve manufactured through this farce. How much closer can you get than meticulously co-creating a fictional relationship?

In the beginning, I think we were both just in it for the laughs and pettiness factor. But something shifted for me recently. One night we were drunkenly rehearsing how I was going to describe our latest imaginary tryst to his ex-friend and ... I don’t know, I couldn’t stop staring at his lips while he was talking. His face was so close to mine and I felt breathless. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to ditch the script and really kiss him. I had to physically stop myself from lunging forward.

Later, when I went back to my room, I was hit with a crushing wave of realization — I have actual romantic FEELINGS for this basketcase who hired me to play-act as his girlfriend! What the actual fuck?

Guys, I’m in too deep. How did I let this happen? L is technically still my employer and this whole operation has an expiration date. His former friend is already growing visibly annoyed, so Phase 2 (feign a dramatic breakup, I move out, L moves on with his life) is likely coming up very soon.

Do I just bury my feelings and end this gig without saying anything? Do I risk the humiliation of confessing my heart to someone who was only pretending to want me around? Or should I just go for it and make out with him next time we’re tangled on the couch? I’m spiraling here!

The pettiness that brought us together may also tear us apart. Or maybe I’m just a sad clown who read too much into a fake relationship. Someone slap me with a reality check, please! I need perspective from the outside.

Tl;DR - Developed legit romantic feelings for the guy who hired me to be his fake girlfriend as part of his weird revenge plot. Not sure if I should come clean, keep it professional, or start actually making out with him for real. This was NOT part of the deal!

u/judgingloudly · 18h

Oh honey, you are in a MESS. This is like a bad romcom plot but IRL. I think your only real option is to fess up and tell L how you’re feeling. Contrary to popular belief, the fake dating trope doesn’t always have to stay pretend!

If he doesn’t feel the same way, at least you put it all out there and can move on with some dignity intact. But who knows — from how you describe the crazy chemistry and connection, he might feel relieved you said something first! Don’t let this fire burn out without taking your shot. Oh and definitely keep us updated, I’m invested now!

Reply to u/judgingloudly · 17h

I agree with this take. You already acknowledged you’re in too deep emotionally. Might as well put those cards on the table and let the chips fall where they may. Shooting your shot is always better than letting the “what if” eat away at you forever!

u/livefordrama · 16h

I’m sorry but I simply must ask — how did you land a gig like this? And does he happen to have any more openings for a fake girlfriend? Asking for a friend …

u/yourusername · 15h

Honestly it was a random Facebook ad looking for exactly this — a girl to move in and fake date this guy to drive his feuding neighbor up the wall. I applied semi-joking but he picked me!

As for openings, not that I know of ... yet. I may have to quit soon depending how this all plays out, so will keep you posted if my spot opens up!

Reply to u/yourusername · 14h

Omg please do! I would 100% take on a role like this, it sounds like a total riot.

u/unpaidtherapist · 13h

Girl, I think you already know what you have to do here. Is keeping things professional and never admitting your feelings really an option at this point? You’re clearly enamored with this guy and he seems to reciprocate the intensity at least platonically so far. I say GO FOR IT!

Just pull him aside one day, say “hey this isn’t just an act for me anymore, I really like you and need to know if there’s a possibility for us or not.” If he’s as caught off guard and freaked out as you’re implying, a direct conversation is needed to get those cards on the table. Don’t die wondering “what if?” That’s my advice.

u/everydayopportunist · 12h

This is so wild, I’m living for this drama! Seriously might need to pursue some similar gigs myself, apparently that’s where all the romance happens these days 😂

u/devilsadvocate · 11h

I’m sorry but I have to go against the grain here — please do NOT make a move or confess any feelings! This guy hired you for a very specific job under very specific pretenses. Catching real feels was not part of the deal at all. Selfishly throwing that at him out of the blue would be so unfair after he opened his home to you. I worry he could feel betrayed and violated even if he did secretly like you back.

My advice? Give it a few weeks, see if these feelings persist or if it was just a passing crush brought on by the intimacy you’ve found yourselves in. If it’s still intense after cooling off, then maybe consider looping him in. But don’t go nuclear until you're absolutely sure. You could risk imploding a good work situation and friendship over a temporary infatuation. Tread very lightly!

Reply to u/devilsadvocate · 10h

I’m with this take, OP shouldn’t jeopardize her living situation if her feelings might be fleeting. Taking a step back and giving it more time could provide clarity. It’s easy to get caught up in the fantasy.

The more prudent move is to wait until the “job” wraps up before considering opening that can of worms. If feelings persist minus the contrived closeness, she’ll know it's real. But springing it on the guy now seems wildly unfair and could blow up in her face.

r/AmITheAsshole

u/veganGOAT · 15h

AITA for turning down my fake girlfriend after she admitted feelings, only to want her back days later?

I think I may have tremendously fucked up in a spectacularly messy way. Let me walk you through the tangled web I’ve woven ...

A couple months ago, I (39M) hired this woman to essentially move into my apartment and pretend to be my new girlfriend. I know it sounds batshit crazy … but I was trying to make my ex-best friend/neighbor jealous after a bitter falling out between us.

She was the perfect partner for this ruse — sarcastic and spunky, with a hint of unhinged energy. We bonded instantly over bottles of wine and throwing deliciously overblown “loud sex” performances in the hallway to drive my ex-friend nuts. What was meant to be a transaction quickly bloomed into a legitimately fun, effortless friendship.

Soon after, we started having real sex. It sort of just … happened, albeit very awkwardly at first. Like “well this is weird, want to try it for real just to see?” And what do you know, we had insane chemistry between the sheets too! We were soon sleeping together nearly every night, always swearing afterwards that it was “just for fun” and didn’t mean anything more.

But I started catching feelings. She was hilarious, confident, beautiful — everything I could ever want in a partner. We had connected on a deeper level through the medium of batshit pettiness. And our physical intimacy only amplified that bond.

Cut to a couple weeks ago. We had just finished a particularly athletic round and were cuddled up, spent. Out of nowhere, she pipes up nervously: “Hey … I think I’m really falling for you. I don't want this to just be sex or games anymore. I want to really try being together.”

I froze. The words I had been longing to hear suddenly terrified me in that moment. My throat clenched up as a wave of panic crashed over me (yes, I’m well aware of how stupid this was in hindsight). After an agonizing pause, I managed to choke out: “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. This thing between us was only ever supposed to be fake. I don’t think of you that way.”

I could actually see her face crumble. She quickly mumbled “okay” and slid out of my bed, wrapping a sheet around herself to cover her dejection. I swear I heard muffled sobs through the wall once she was back in her guest room. I felt like a piece of shit.

The next few days were some of the most awkward, brutal tension I’ve ever experienced. She was now acting like a scorned woman just doing her job, no intimacy whatsoever. We could barely make eye contact.

It took seeing her so closed off, so cold, for me to realize how much I desperately missed her warmth, humor, friendship. How much I longed for the easy intimacy we once had, both emotional and physical. I tried a few times to apologize or explain myself, but she brushed me off — utterly walled off to protect herself.

After days of wrestling with my suppressed feelings, I realized that I was in love with this wonderful woman. Hiring her as a fake girlfriend was one of the best things I had ever done because it brought her into my life … and now I didn’t want to let her go. She was becoming my person, even if she had started out as a farce.

But here’s where I really need some impartial perspective — AITA for freezing up and rejecting her confession?

I didn’t meant to tank her feelings so callously. I think I just ... panicked in that moment. The idea of committing to a real relationship terrified me in ways I didn’t expect. My career keeps me constantly on the go, always jet-setting to the next thing. Could I really give a romance the time and energy it deserves right now?

Part of me also felt massively conflicted about the circumstances. I’m literally paying her to pretend to be my girlfriend as a sort of ongoing petty revenge. If I admitted I wanted to actually date her, wouldn't that blur consent lines in some messed up way? Like, is she just going along with it because she’s on the payroll?

I know these both sound like flimsy excuses, but they were very real fears racing through my mind in that moment. Fears that made me impulsively reject her, despite how utterly gone I was.

Now, days later, those same hangups don’t seem so insurmountable. Maybe she and I could make something work, travel schedules and all. And if she reciprocated feelings, it would be a starting point — not her just placating me for a check. We could rip up the old arrangement and start fresh.

But I haven’t confessed any of this to her yet out of gut-wrenching cowardice. She’s still giving me this cold, professional shoulder. I don’t know how to begin recanting my idiotic reaction and opening up about the REAL reasons I panicked — the commitment fears, the moral dilemma, all of it.

Part of me wonders if I even have the right to try and pursue things with her at this point? I absolutely shattered her feelings for my own hangups just days ago. AITA for potentially stringing her along further by trying to retroactively take it all back? Maybe I’ve missed my window and should just let this phase of my life be over before it gets even more painful and messy?

Ugh, I’m rambling now. The crux is — AITA for how I recklessly rejected her in that moment? Do I even have a right to try and make amends after that thunderous fumble? Or should I just take the L, chalk it up to collateral damage of being in the world’s most messy pseudo-relationship, and move on?

u/juryofone · 14h

YTA, but only because you handled the initial rejection in the worst way possible. Your reasons for hesitating are somewhat understandable. But you really dropped the ball in communicating that to her in the moment.

Instead of calmly explaining where your headspace was at, you just blurted out a kneejerk rejection that crushed her feelings. No wonder she went ice cold — that had to sting like hell! If you had taken a breath and talked it through with more nuance, maybe you could’ve reached an understanding.

The good news is, you’ve now realized how much you DO want this woman in your life as more than a pretend romance. I don’t think you’re an AH for having those feelings or wanting to pursue her again, provided you make a sincere, thoughtful effort to apologize for your tactless approach before.

My advice? Explain the real reasons you froze up, how torn you felt over everything, and make it clear you still have feelings. But lead with a heartfelt apology for how horribly you botched it at first. If she’s willing to give you one more chance after that, DO NOT blow it.

Reply to u/juryofone · 13h

I agree with this take. He’s not an AH for the situation, but majorly the AH for the WAY he handled rejecting her. That had to sting badly after putting herself out there. The mature thing is to own up to that and properly communicate where his head was at.

Reply to u/juryofone · 12h

Yeah, going straight for “I can’t do that, I don’t think of you that way” after she bared her soul was so harsh and unnecessary. He could have let her down wayyyy more gently if he was that conflicted about it all. She must’ve felt like a fool!

u/neutralpartier · 11h

NAH — I get that you panicked in the heat of the moment and why this whole situation is heavy with ethical quandaries. The reality is, you two started off pretending but real feelings developed, and that’s okay! It happens. The moral issue only remains if you knowingly took advantage of or manipulated her feelings while she was on your payroll. Since you seem just as confused as she was, I don’t think any lines were really crossed.

The way forward is to rip off the bandaid once and for all. If you have mutual feelings now, figure out if you want to date as equals. If not, it’s time to part ways amicably while you both still can. But don’t keep paying her while catching feels — THAT would make you an AH.

u/glasshalfempty · 10h

ESH ... look, you suck for how you handled rejecting her confession. That was really hurtful and avoidant no matter your internal struggles. She sucks for going into this thinking it was all pretend, catching real feelings, and expecting you to want to be serious too. You PAID her to be your fake GF and made that clear.

My suggestion is to have an honest discussion about whether you can BOTH separate the transactions from reality. If you’re both all-in on trying for real, great! But one of you is going to get burned if expectations don’t align. And please, for the love of god, stop paying her!

Reply to u/glasshalfempty · 9h

This is exactly what I was thinking too! Way too messy ethically to keep paying her as the lines blur between fantasy job and real romance. Either take the plunge and date properly or go separate ways for good.

Reply to u/glasshalfempty · 8h

Agree but like ... is this even real? How does someone end up hiring a fake girlfriend to make their former best friend jealous? That alone sounds like a bad romcom plot.

u/criticaloverthinker · 7h

I’m calling cap on this whole wild story. Childhood besties turned feuding enemies living in the same building? A fake girlfriend who moves in as part of an elaborate revenge plan? It’s all too unbelievable.

u/struggling-with-reddit · 6h

I’ll play along and rate, but no way is this post legit lol. Having a fake girlfriend you eventually catch feelings for while pranking your neighbor? What’s next, one of you is actually royalty or a secret millionaire? Too much happening here.

Reply to u/struggling-with-reddit · 5h

Hahaha I know right, the excessive details and backstory gave it away as creative writing practice or something. No judgment from me, it was an entertaining read at least!

u/struggling-with-reddit · 4h

Next thing you know, OP will be claiming he’s Michael Schumacher or something 😂

r/AmITheAsshole

u/veganGOAT · 8h

UPDATE — I’m the idiot who rejected then realized I loved my fake girlfriend … and she took me back!

When I made my initial post a bit over a month ago about this whole fake girlfriend situation, most of you understandably called it outrageously far-fetched.

Which, fair. How does someone actually end up hiring a woman to fake date them just to make their neighbor jealous? It does sound ripped straight from a Nicholas Sparks fever dream.

Well put on your straight jackets, because this ridiculous saga is 100% real. And I’ve got an update that’s even crazier than the original tale ...

After reading the feedback on my initial post (and getting a whole lot of shit from some friends too), it became crystal clear that I had to make things right. I put her through the emotional wringer by callously rejecting her in the moment, when her feelings were just as tangled up as mine were. I owed her a sincere apology and a proper explanation of why I froze — with no more deflections or excuses.

So I wrote her a long letter. I laid it all out there. How torn I felt about the ethical and emotional complexities of our arrangement. How her vulnerability awoke my own fears about commitment, my transient lifestyle, and whether I could realistically be the partner she deserved. Mostly, I repeatedly owned up to being a thoughtless prick who shattered her trust out of pure pathetic self-preservation.

But above all, I made one thing clear — despite my bumbling, I had fallen for her too. Completely and utterly. She had cracked through my defenses and healing her hurt became the only thing that mattered.

I ended the letter by owning up to the fact that she now held all the power. While she had moved into this arrangement under certain pretenses, I had violated that implied contract. The ball was entirely in her court now. I would abide by whatever decision she landed on — friendship, an amicable parting of ways, or taking the terrifying gamble of trying to make this the real deal.

When she emerged from her room the next morning, I could barely look at her. I was a sweaty, nauseated wreck, steeling myself for the worst. She sat down next to me in silence and unleashed the longest, most blistering dressing down of my life. How I had made her feel so small, so foolish, so painfully vulnerable. Words like “coward” and “asshole” were thrown around. But you know what phrase stung most?

“I wish you had told me all of this up front instead of dealing with it like a child. I could’ve understood where you were coming from.”

It was a dagger — she was absolutely right. My dumb automatic rejection utterly betrayed the openness and intimacy we had built. Still, she didn’t dismiss me entirely. She would need some time to think, but asked that I stand by for an answer.

The limbo period was … not fun.

After four excruciating days, she came to me again. This time, she was almost shy, like her old self. She told me she had thought it over extensively, and ultimately my explanation and full-hearted apology won her over. I may be an idiot, an asshole, and a bit of a mess (her words), but I was an honest idiot with a good heart under all the bravado. And that’s what had drawn her to me in the first place.

So with the understanding that we would both need to work on our communication skills and respective hang-ups, she was in. We would press the reset button altogether, end our old arrangement, and try to make this relationship happen for real — messy origins be damned.

That was exactly a month ago today, and things have never been better. Sure, we still lean into some harmless (and vaguely unhinged) pettiness with my former friend from time to time. Some habits are too fun to quit cold turkey. But ultimately, I’ve never been so grateful for the insane set of circumstances that brought this amazing woman into my life. We may have started as an acting exercise, but we took a leap together into something beautifully real.

And yeah, I still have to hear shit from literally everyone about how our romance origin story is the most unbelievable meet-cute of all time. But I’ve learned to lean into the absurdity. After all, what’s life without a little chaos and a perfect partner to share in the pandemonium?

Thanks to everyone who offered candid advice on my original post. You may have received an update sooner if not for all the people accusing me of faking it! All I can say is … this is my blissfully ridiculous reality now.

u/juryofone · 7h

Well hot damn, I have to hand it to you — this saga is even wilder than the original post let on! I went from being totally skeptical of the whole outrageous situation to being fully invested in this insane romance. Love that she put you through the wringer a bit before taking you back. You absolutely deserved that and more after treating her like you did.

But huge props to you for manning up with that apology and giving her the power to make the next move. That vulnerability and respect for her feelings despite your own doubts is what true partnership is all about. I have a feeling you two chaotic bastards are going to be just fine as a real couple now that all the crazy pretenses have been stripped away. Wishing you both nothing but more pandemonium and pettiness together!

u/neutralpartier · 7h

I’m officially obsessed with this love story. You went from hiring a woman off to punk your neighbor, to breaking her heart over catching feelings, to doing the MOST to grovel your way back into her good graces, to ACTUALLY SUCCEEDING. It’s romcom gold! I need this to get optioned for a movie immediately.

u/glasshalffull · 6h

As wild as this story has been from start to finish, this update has me straight up emotional! The groveling, the way you explained your fears, her roasting you for days before mercifully taking you back … my heart. Love that she cut straight through the bullshit by calling you an idiot AND acknowledging your good heart. That’s the ideal balance.

I’m so invested in this nonsense and need regular updates on how things progress from here. You better not blow it after all this chaos or I’ll be leading the charge to vandalize your apartment!

u/romanticempath · 5h

What a journey! To go from manufacturing a fake relationship purely for petty vengeance, to developing REAL emotional stakes, to breaking each other's hearts quite viscerally, to finding your way back together through sheer vulnerability? Incredible stuff.

I laughed, cried (a little, don’t judge), and cringed throughout this entire saga. Thank you for bringing us all along for the insane roller coaster. I wish nothing but ridiculous happiness for you and her moving forward!

u/fairytaledreamer · 4h

I’m sorry but I still can’t get over the fact that this is somehow a real series of events? You’re a madman and this is truly unhinged (but also incredible). How did ALL of this unfold before your 40s?

Romcoms have been put to bed. Welcome to 2024, where people actually hire fake GFs to get revenge on their scorned former friends, develop legit attachment issues, torpedo everything in a panic, grovel for redemption fit for cinematic history, and somehow STILL end up together in some sort of demented happily ever after!

All I can say is cherish the chaos you've manifested. I can’t wait to see what bonkers plotlines await the two you. Start recording everything for the biopic!

Reply to u/fairytaledreamer · 3h

“Cherish the chaos” is absolutely the perfect sign off for this update. I’m deceased at this whole wild drama, but also soooo invested! Cannot wait for the inevitable Netflix mini series. Thanks for the laughs, drama, and emotional whiplash!

r/offmychest

u/NotBritneySpears · 21h

My ex-bestie’s wedding to his obnoxious girlfriend was a nightmare … and so was their wedding night (unfortunately)

You’ll have to bear with me on this one, because I’m still reeling a bit from one of the most cringey, uncomfortable, and downright baffling weekends of my entire life. I need to get this off my chest before I have a full mental breakdown.

A couple years ago, I made a post venting about my former best friend’s new girlfriend at the time. For those who missed the saga, she was an insufferably loud woman who seemed to take immense pleasure in loudly narrating her sex life with my former friend right outside my apartment door. It was psychological warfare, plain and simple.

Well, I’m sure you can all see where this is going based on the title. Against all odds and reason, this woman and my ex-friend somehow stuck it out … until he put a ring on it last year. Which leads me to the first in a cascading series of mind-numbing events — receiving a wedding invitation from the happy couple!

Now, let’s be clear — I have not spoken to my former best friend in almost a decade at this point. Not since our cataclysmic falling out (a story for another day). We were thick as thieves until our bond was shattered beyond repair. For him to invite me to his wedding with the woman who crudely mocked their intimacy for my benefit was … certainly a choice.

On one hand, why on EARTH would you invite the person whose heart you deliberately stomped on so many years ago? It felt like a cruel joke, rubbing salt in an open wound that never fully healed. A reminder of their domestic bliss and my bitter ostracism.

Yet on the other hand, maybe there was a subconscious part of me that would have felt insulted if he didn’t invite me after so many shared years? As if he had utterly erased me from his life without a second thought? The thought gut punched me too in an admittedly unhealthy way.

Long story short, I RSVP’d yes … half out of morbid curiosity and half out of a deeply unwell desire to not get excluded from such a significant life event. In hindsight, a foolish decision that kicked off a horrifically uncomfortable series of events.

The wedding itself was … a lot. An over-the-top spectacle at an insanely expensive venue. My miserable self stuck out like a sore thumb surrounded by all the adoring couple’s friends and family. I sat through mushy vows reaffirming their “unlikely origin” in the “most unexpected yet fortuitous way” … while trying not to puke.

So yeah, sheer cringe start to finish. Little did I know the worst discomfort was yet to come!

In perhaps the most on-brand grand gesture of the entire weekend, the groom rented out an entire boutique hotel for all out-of-town guests to stay at after the reception. That way we could all keep the party going nearby before he whisked his new bride off to parts unknown on their honeymoon the next day.

Ever the gracious host with a penchant for the spectacle, he let wedding guests draw for their room assignments out of an actual top hat. I somehow managed to get seated right next to his parents who, while cordial enough, knew me as the ex-best friend responsible for so much fractured history.

But wait, there’s more! Wouldn’t you know, the universe is supremely messed up because I ended up with the room directly underneath the newlywed suite. Yes … I spent their wedding night listening to a live-streamed porn broadcast courtesy of the paper-thin walls and floors.

Dolphin sounds didn’t even BEGIN to cover the unholy noises raining down from above around 2am. I’m talking full-on screams of unbridled passion echoing off the walls at maximum volume. Mind you, this woman had become infamous for over-enunciating their coitus for my benefit previously. Now it was a frighteningly real-life rendition that no noise-cancelling headphones could drown out.

I finally had to flee my room to the lobby. I ended up crashing on one of the lobby couches until an employee politely asked me to leave around 6am. Disheveled, disoriented, and officially diagnosed with PTSD from the sounds I cannot unhear.

So yeah … not exactly a therapeutic reunion that could have allowed my ex-friend and I to bury the hatchet. If anything, this wedding was one massive “screw you” that opened up all the same unresolved wounds. I need about 20 years of intensive therapy to move on.

I also need to find a new place to live because I can’t bear returning to that cursed apartment building.

u/chronicgossiper · 18h

Dude, I think you need to get some serious perspective here. Your ex-friend getting married and going on a honeymoon has absolutely zero to do with you. That level of self-centeredness is off the charts.

Why in the world would this guy plan an entire wedding — one of the biggest days of his life — around secretly tormenting you again over ancient history? That makes no sense. He invited you as a polite gesture after years apart, probably hoping to start burying the hatchet. The room assignments were random by your own admission.

As for the … “noises” … look, they were on their wedding night. Maybe overenthusiastic, but 100% to be expected between newlyweds. It’s not some psychological ploy, just poor planning on their part for thin walls. You’re projecting like crazy if you think that was directed at you specifically.

At a certain point, you have to realize the universe doesn’t actually revolve around your grudges or history with this person. They’ve clearly moved on to live their best life. It’s on you to stop obsessing over them and do the same.

Reply to u/chronicgossiper · 16h

I agree, this is just pure paranoia from OP. No newly wedded couple is sitting around thinking “how can we sneakily stick it to your ex-best friend during our wedding festivities?” That’s deranged thinking.

They invited you to be polite, you drew an unlucky room assignment near their suite, and then biology happened on their wedding night. Hilarious and awkward coincidence? Yes. Intricately designed fuck you from the bride and groom? Come on now, that’s giving them way too much credit.

u/NotBritneySpears · 13h

Maybe you all have a point, and I am still holding onto way too much resentment and baggage from our falling out. My intention wasn’t to imply they orchestrated an elaborate sting operation around their wedding. More just a general sense that the universe has a funny way of reminding me about them at highly inconvenient times over the years.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 12h

Even that line of thinking is incredibly self-centered though. Why would random coincidences or them just … living their lives be the “universe’s way of reminding you” about your failed friendship? That makes it sound like they should perpetually be walking on eggshells and avoiding certain life events just because you can’t get over the past.

Look, it sucks that things fell apart so badly between you two. But they have clearly moved on, as you should too. This obsessive framing of their marriage as some universal affront to you is … not healthy, my dude.

u/nosyandproud · 10h

The wedding itself sounds like it was in poor taste for sure, so I can certainly understand feeling aggravated and triggered being there as the scorned former friend.

That said … you’re borrowing A LOT of trouble by assuming any of their private wedding night activities were purposely being broadcast to you specifically. Projection level 1000 there.

At the end of the day, these people have built a whole entire life and future together now that quite literally has nothing to do with you anymore. You looking for “signs” that they’re still fixated on you is just self-involvement. For your own mental health, you have to let go of whatever happened and see them as background characters in the story of your life now.

u/realitychecker · 7h

OP, you need to take a step back and realize that the sheer logistics involved in purposely torturing you at their wedding are just not plausible. Do you really think they were like:

“Alright honey, for our wedding night I was thinking we should make sure your former friend gets the room directly below ours! That way when we really get after it, he’ll be able to hear every excruciating moan and body smacking sound in haunting detail! That’ll show him for being your friend a decade ago! Mwahaha!”

Come on, mate. That’s delusional cartoon villain level scheming you’re attributing to them. Occam's Razor — they just wanted to consummate their marriage in privacy and didn’t account for the thin hotel walls. The world doesn’t actually revolve around your history with this!

Reply to u/realitychecker · 5h

Lmaooo the idea of them sitting around strategizing the most psychological warfare possible on their wedding night is killing me. “Yes honey, we simply MUST reenact scenes from our noisiest adult films for your ex-best friend’s terrible pleasure!”

u/buildingbridges

OP, it seems like you really miss having your friend in your life if I’m reading between the lines here. Getting invested to this level over random coincidences at his wedding doesn’t come from a place of hatred, but hurt and longing for that bond again.

My advice? Use this weekend as a wake-up call to stop obsessing, reflect on whatever caused your rift, and decide if you want to properly reconnect. If not, you need to rip that band-aid off for good and stop torturing yourself over what will never be again. Or the walls between you two will just get thinner and thinner ...

r/ask

u/amateurdetective · 15h

I think these juicy Reddit posts actually interconnect … but I need your help cracking the code

I think I’ve stumbled onto something wild here and I need the Reddit hive mind to help me piece this tangled web together. Are you ready for some batshit conspiracy-level connecting of barely-there dots? Too bad, I’m going in anyway.

So, over the past few years, I kept seeing these extremely juicy, dramatically-written posts pop up every few months that seemed … oddly interconnected despite being in different subreddits.

Hear me out:

First there was the unhinged post in r/offmychest from a guy ranting about his former best friend’s obnoxious new girlfriend. Dude was griping about how this woman would loudly recount the smutty details of her sex life with the ex-friend whenever she was in his general vicinity, seemingly just to mess with the OP. We’re talking legitimately disturbing stuff about feeling “psychologically tortured” by her oversharing.

Fast forward a few months and I stumble across a wild post in r/relationships from the perspective of this same “obnoxious” girlfriend! Except her story painted a whole different, unhinged picture — she was hired on FACEBOOK MARKETPLACE by the former friend to literally move in and fake date him as part of an ongoing revenge plot against the OP from the first post. She rapidly develops legitimate feelings for the guy and it becomes a messy will-they-won’t-they romcom situation.

But THEN there was a follow-up post from the fake boyfriend’s side in r/AmITheAsshole about him realizing he caught feelings too before nearly blowing it, followed by another saga-capping update about them deciding to pursue a real relationship against all odds and absurdity.

Are you seeing the parallels here? These three posters each gave one side of an absolute dumpster fire of a convoluted love triangle situation that seemingly intersected. And based on the intricate backstories, my crackpot theory is they all emanated from the same formerly tight friend group that experienced a bitter falling out.

The insane attention to detail, literary flair, and geometry of it all almost had me utterly convinced these were all fictionalized creative writing exercises posted separately across Reddit … but building on the same unhinged storylines each step of the way.

I’m utterly obsessed with mapping this all out into one cohesive narrative now. My working theory is something like this:

Some guy hired an actress to pose as his fake GF and torment his former friend as revenge for some past betrayal

The two fake partners rapidly caught real feelings amid the ruse, he panics and nearly torpedoes it

Meanwhile, the ex-best friend is losing his mind overhearing the fake girlfriend’s loud performances and comes to Reddit for advice, not realizing it’s all a ploy

After a saga of miscommunication, the fake boyfriend comes clean and the couple decide to actually date for real

Capping things off, the former friend is forced to attend their wedding where he’s subjected to one final night of unholy noises

Does it all track? Or have I completely unraveled the conspiracy and stumbled onto a drastically personal set of circumstances being workshopped on Reddit? If so, that’s some ludicrously elaborate storytelling!

I need to know if I’m onto something here or completely off my rocker. If the former, I’ll burn every last calorie mapping out a master record of events across all the posts. If the latter … someone needs to drop their juicy fanfic writing prompts because these were WILDLY entertaining reads.

Help me connect these dots or point me towards any other potentially linked tales! This has been a public service aneurysm brought to you by pure boredom.

u/scepeticbynature · 14h

Wow, you’ve gone full Sherlock Holmes with this. I’m dying at how insanely detailed your working theory is in tying together these random Reddit posts into one cohesive narrative. This is either a brilliant piece of performance art … or you need your meds adjusted, my friend.

Reply to u/scepticbynature · 12h

Hahaha exactly! The amount of time and brain power OP has devoted to mapping this out is beyond obsessive. I don’t know whether to applaud the commitment to the bit or get them professional help.

u/amateurdetective · 10h

I’m sorry, did you actually read through the posts in question? The intersecting pieces of random, elaborate backstory between all three distinct voices is way too specific and layered for it to be an accidental alignment. There are unambiguous throughlines about:

A pair of feuding former childhood best friends

One hiring a woman off Facebook to pose as his fake GF and torment the other as revenge

Said fake relationship descending into a very real emotional entanglement for both parties

The eventual fallout of the ex-friend having to bear witnessing the real couple’s wedding and chaos that followed

Like that’s such a bizarrely specific plot keeping consistent across three different users’ lenses! So you’re either pointing out the artistry of someone doing an incredibly elaborate creative writing exercise across multiple subs … or these people are just leading unbelievably unhinged lives. And part of me hopes it’s the latter? It’s too batshit crazy not to be true!

Reply to u/amateurdetective · 9h

Or, and hear me out … it’s all an internal dialogue you’re having with your numerous Reddit personalities to work out your own unresolved relationship issues. We’re all just incredibly intricate fragments of your aching psyche!

u/opinionatedtruther · 7h

Lmao you are both nuts, but I have to side with OP on this one. The chances of these being all interconnected fabricated stories is way too perfect to be an accident. All the tiny threads and recurring backstories/character details woven between wildly different subreddit posts? That’s not a coincidence.

I could buy it maybe being some extended Reddit fanfic experiment between a couple of redditors seeing who can craft more engaging characters and drama while world-building off each other’s plot threads. Like a weird form of collabing through the confined lens of Reddit posts. It would be pretty genius if so.

But for it to be entirely real with all the coinciding details scattered across entirely unrelated posts like that? I’m sorry, but there’s just no way. That’s beyond the scope of believability for me. OP may be bungling the conspiracy, but they’re onto something for sure!

u/amateurdetective · 6h

THANK YOU, someone gets it! And to answer your other theory … while I can’t 100% rule out some sort of viral Reddit fanfic experiment, I struggle to believe even the most creative writers would be capable of improvising THAT intricately interconnected of a storyline stream-of-consciousness style like that.

Like each voice and perspective they inhabit remains remarkably consistent across such wildly different contexts (relationship drama, life events, ethical debates, and updates). It would take incredible skill to stay in the headspaces of these distinct individuals and keep their personalities/plot orbits from tangling into an incomprehensible mess. While possible, it seems incredibly unlikely.

That’s what has me believing there’s a remarkable kernel of stranger-than-fiction truth at the heart of this whole saga being teased out piece-by-piece. Or again … I’ve finally been gaslit into being a tin foil hatter of beautiful Reddit fantasies. Either way I’m here for it!

Reply to u/amateurdetective · 3h

All I have to say is please touch some grass and post to r/creativewriting instead 🙄

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