F1 Grid

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑: 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED! || A masterlist of Nelly’s works for Black Panther: Wakanda Forever. Be guided with the WARNINGS at the start of each fic and respect the appropriate age restrictions on every piece.

Happy Reading!

« Updated as of January 23, 2023 »

— 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐍

ೃ⁀➷ His Queen

16+ || K'uk'ulkan x Filipino!Reader || In which K'uk'ulkan pays you a visit to ask you to become his queen

ೃ⁀➷ His Timeless Love

18+ || K'uk'ulkan x Reincarnator!Filipino!Reader || In which K’uk’ulkan tells you the story of the four times he fell in love with you and the three times he saw you die.  

ೃ⁀➷ God, King, and Father

16+ || Father!Namor x Daughter!Reader (Familial and Platonic Relationship) || Standalone prequel to “The Request” Series || Coming Soon.

ೃ⁀➷ Rainbow Jasmine

Rating TBA || K'uk'ulkan x Filipino!Diwata!Reader || Coming Soon.

— 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐀 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐍

ೃ⁀➷ A Request: Part 1 of “The Request” Series

16+ || Attuma x Talokanil!Princess!Reader || In which Attuma swears his undying loyalty and love for you, even if it meant being as shameless as to declare his love to a princess when he was but a mere warrior.  

ೃ⁀➷ An Order: Part 2 of “The Request” Series

16+ || Attuma x Talokanil!Princess!Reader || In which Attuma would soon realize that his own counsel would put you in jeopardy—bloodied and near death in his arms as you gave him your first order as princess.

ೃ⁀➷ A Vow: Part 3 of “The Request” Series

Rating TBA || Attuma x Talokanil!Princess!Reader || Coming Soon.

— 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐂𝐔𝐓: 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒

ೃ⁀➷  His Timeless Love: Director’s Cut 1

Did you know? Filipino!Reader had been reincarnated in another timeline but Namor never found her.

ೃ⁀➷  A Request: Director’s Cut 2

Did you know? Princess!Reader was supposed to die in Part 2.

ೃ⁀➷  His Timeless Love: Director’s Cut 3

A deep dive into the phrase “…his hand painting murals upon your barren back.”

ೃ⁀➷  His Timeless Love: Director’s Cut 4

Did you know? Filipino!Reader’s next mission was to save Jose Rizal.

ೃ⁀➷ His Timeless Love and A Request: Director’s Cut 5

“You came.” - “You called.”   ||   Namor’s favorite memories with his daughter   ||   The moment Namor knew Attuma had feelings for reader.

➵ main masterlist

➷ She's a star (1) (smau)

➷ She's a star (2) (smau)

➷ She's a star (3) (smau)

➷ She's a star (4) (smau)

➷ She's a star (5) (smau)

not for sale (mingyu x reader).

⤿ a four-part series featuring celebrity!mingyu and small business owner!reader.

𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 —

💍 part one, or SELLING POINT.

your small business sees a sudden skyrocket in sales and your loyal customer 'k mg' might just be the one to blame.

💍 part two, or A STEAL.

mingyu tries to talk himself out of his crush on you. it doesn't really work.

💍 part three, or FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH.

your business is presented with the opportunity of a lifetime, but you're on the fence about taking it.

💍 part four, or CLOSING THE DEAL.

mingyu is all in. are you?

ⓘ celebrity!mingyu, small business owner!reader, fluff, romance. cussing/swearing. more tags to be added.

with love, kae ✎ @maplegyu and i lovingly call not for sale our middle child because, at any given moment, we have at least four kmg stories in the works 😆 i was in love with this plot the moment she made the req, and so there's not a single doubt in my mind: this one is all yours, maple.

part two's estimated post date is january 2025, while part three and four should be out in february 2025. see you all for not for sale!

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

Rocket Queen

Pairing: Slash / Saul Hudson x reader

Info: Smut; 3568 words;

Summary: Axl decides that Rocket Queen is missing something, so he turns to Y/N and Slash for help.

A/N: Hey angels. New fic for you guys while I work on the requests <3 I’m still deeply sorry for taking so long. Anyways, enjoy it <3

Keep reading

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 1

SERIES SUMMARY: You’ve been best friends with Oscar Piastri since you were seven, far before the dream of Formula 1 even seemed possible. You’ve been with him from the very beginning—due, in no small part, to the fact that you’ve been in love with him since you were a teenager. But when a breakup and championship battle rattles the very foundations of your friendship, you begin to question if you ever really knew him. (Best friends to lovers, based on the song Wildflower by Billie Eilish)

WORD COUNT: 11.1k

WARNINGS: Oscar is not a very good boyfriend to Lily and Lily is not a very good girlfriend to Oscar. Potentially changed some dates (I think Oscar and Lily started dating when they were 17 or 18, but I’m making them 18 for the sake of the flashback scenes). Reader is “the girl he told me not to worry about” through no fault of her own. This story has a lot of complex character dynamics and everyone is flawed! References to sex but no actual smut.

A/N: Ah new series! I hope this is good—I’m trying some new stuff with the flashbacks and story layers, so I hope it doesn’t read too confusingly! Also, I’m trying to be more intentional with showing instead of telling with my dialogue and such, so hopefully that is an improvement. I always welcome constructive criticism, but either way, I hope you all enjoy this.

“Lily left me.”

He only needed those three words to convey the gravity of the situation. On the other end of the line, you were silent. He was too. What was there to say?

No, it couldn’t be real. Oscar and Lily were inseparable. The dream couple of Formula 1. Your best friend had been in love with her since the pair were 18, attending boarding school in the UK together while Oscar pursued his dreams of making it to F1. 

They were each other’s everything. At least, that’s what the world thought.

But you had seen this coming for a while now. It was just a shock for it to actually happen. 

Finally, after an eternity, you spoke, still too shocked to formulate a coherent thought. “What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean she fucking left me. What else do you want me to say?” You could hear the quivering in his voice, giving away the sadness behind his abrasive response. You weren’t offended one bit. 

“Shit, Osc, I’m so sorry. I… don’t know what to say. Do you want me to come over? Or you can come to mine?” 

“I’m outside yours right now. In the car park.” 

“I’ll let you in,” you said. The mental image you conjured of Oscar outside your apartment crying in his fancy McLaren would have been comical, if not given the circumstances.

He let himself in only a few moments later, hoodie covering his tall and muscled frame. He was soaked from the rain outside—he must have come directly from the confrontation. 

“Oh, Oscar,” you said, pulling him into a hug, cringing at the contact with his soggy hoodie, but knowing that there were far more important things to be worried about. 

You rubbed your hands up and down his shoulder blades that now heaved with sobs. His entire body shook with the fervor of his tears, and you just held him, gently shushing him and promising that everything will be okay. 

“I don’t know how she could do this to me,” he said, gasping out the words between haggard breaths. “The championship—I can’t do it without her.”

“I know,” you assured him. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“No it’s not, YN, it’s not gonna be okay. I love her. And she just threw away so many years.”

“I know.” You just kept assuring him, tightening your grip on him as his sobs became more intense. “Just breathe.”

“Why would she do this to me?” he asked. “I don’t understand. I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

You knew. And deep down, Oscar did too. That was a conversation for another day. But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t seen this coming. 

You didn’t have it in you to lie to him. You had always been the type to pride yourself on being honest, even when the truth hurt, but you couldn’t bear to do it now. You changed the subject.

“Oscar, you’re soaking wet. I’ll find you something else and warm that up in the dryer, yeah? Just sit down, take a deep breath, and let me get this figured out.”

He sat down on your couch and took off his hoodie and t-shirt underneath, revealing his toned body. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before—you’d been friends with him since you were seven, growing up together. He almost felt like a brother to you, sometimes.

Maybe it wouldn’t be weird at all, except for the fact that you’d been in love with him for over a decade now. 

But right now that didn’t matter. He had plenty of old hoodies over in your apartment, which you carefully folded every time he forgot them. Placing his wet clothes in the dryer and setting the temp on high, you reached to the shelf above you and grabbed a random one. You unfolded it—an Alpine hoodie from back in the day, before his time at McLaren. You smiled at the memories that flashed in your mind, before quickly returning to Oscar with the garment. 

He had moved from your couch to your bedroom, holding a pillow on his lap, hunched over where the top of it met his chin. He was staring off into space, not breaking his gaze at the plain white wall.

You sat next to him, handing him the hoodie, and he mumbled a small thanks as he grabbed it. He didn’t put it on, instead just holding it with the pillow, as if filling his arms with the plush material would fill the hole now left in his heart.

“Oscar, I… don’t have anything profound to say. I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t respond at first, instead just silently letting the tears well up in his eyes. 

“I guess I should have seen this coming,” he said quietly. 

You paused, unsure whether or not you should agree with him. But you were nothing if not honest.

“Yeah,” you said, “it’s been a rough few months.”

“I guess we just both fell out of love.”

“I mean… how did the conversation go?”

It would be stupidly easy for Oscar to lie and say he didn’t remember Lily’s every word. But he knew better, and so did you. As he explained, the memory replayed in his head.

“I can’t do this anymore, Oscar,” Lily said, a simple yet devastating statement.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” His confusion was genuine, much to the chagrin of his angry girlfriend.

“The fact that you even have to ask that proves my point.”

“Lily, talk to me. I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” Oscar stood up, now understanding the full gravity of the situation he found himself in. 

“I’m trying to say that I’m not happy anymore, and neither are you. I wanted to at least give it until the end of the season, but I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when we both know bloody well that it’s not! Don’t you want something better than this, Oscar?” Lily pleaded. 

“I just want you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Don’t lie to me. You say that but you put everything else before me. I’m not a priority to you. I haven’t been in a long time.”

“I’ll quit F1. We can go back to the UK and live a normal life.”

“No. We both know that you wouldn’t do that.” Her tone was incredulous, twinged with a slight anger at the mere suggestion. 

“Yes, I would. I’d do anything. Don’t do this, Lily. Not now, not when I need you the most.”

Lily grabbed his hand, leading him to sit down on the couch next to her. “Oscar,” she began, “we had a good run. You made me so, so happy for so long.” She reached up to gently cup his cheeks and wipe away where tears were now forming at the edge of his eyes. “I saw you achieve things that neither of us ever thought were possible. But…I can’t stay any longer. Not when there’s no place for me in your heart anymore.”

You sighed. You knew every word that Lily had said was right. But you also knew you couldn’t get that through to Oscar, at least not until the shock wore off.

The words remained unspoken. You had been there for all of it. Lily was his first love, his only girlfriend, and everyone assumed that he’d marry her one day; you included. 

“I just…I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on acting like my life didn’t just fall apart. How did you do it?”

This was Oscar's first breakup, but you had been through too many, it seemed, since he was asking you for advice on how to handle them.

The truth? It was very easy to get over a breakup when every partner you’ve ever had was a feeble attempt at denial. When they all inevitably failed, you just went back to bask in Oscar’s platonic love. It was enough. 

“I won’t lie to you, the first one is always hell. You feel like you’re going crazy for a while. You lose hope that you’ll ever feel happier, because everything reminds you of them. And then one day it just…doesn’t. The only thing that heals it is time and finding love around you, you know, friends and family.”

“No offense, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

‘Well, I’m not going to lie to you and say it’ll be easy, because it won't. But it will be okay—not today, but someday. You’ve got something to focus on with the championship. And I’ll be here.” You gave him an empathetic smile. 

Maybe you weren’t the most comforting friend to most. But you and Oscar had a bond that was very different to most friendships. You understood each other’s idiosyncrasies in ways no one else could. So when shit hit the fan, it was always each other that you went to.

You continued, “You can stay here as long as you like.”

“Thank you.”

There was only one problem: your apartment only had one bed. And to the dismay of fanfiction writers across the world, you all would not be sharing it. 

You distracted Oscar by cooking a meal and watching a comfort movie—Cars, a classic. You could tell he was exhausted by the way his head on your shoulder sloped just a little too heavily downwards as the credits rolled. 

“Okay, let’s get you to bed,” you said, gently pushing him awake. He sleepily stumbled back into your bedroom and collapsed on the bed, almost instantly falling back asleep.

You took the couch, but despite the money you spent splurging on the extra cushioned sofa, no sleep came to you. 

It wasn’t any physical discomfort that fueled your insomnia, but rather, the events of the previous evening. Lily had actually left Oscar. She had finally pulled the plug.

Yes, in some ways, it was expected. But at the same time, you couldn’t imagine a version of your best friend that wasn’t madly in love with his girlfriend. 

From the outside, though, you couldn’t blame Lily one bit. You wondered what had been the last straw. 

You could think of three possible moments. First: The Apartment. 

“I’m moving to Monaco,” Oscar began, and you felt your heart drop in your stomach. Of course, one day he’d make it to Monaco. That was the dream of every Formula 1 driver, right? The beauty of the French Riviera and tax evasion. And you’d be left at your aging flat in the UK, waiting for those precious few days a year where he was free to grace you with his presence. 

“That’s amazing!” you said, only half believing it to be true. 

“In a few weeks I’m gonna go look at condos. Come with me? Lily can’t get off work.”

“Of course,” you replied. You’d already been to Monaco before for Oscar’s races, but you wouldn’t turn down any reason to get out of the constant dreary rain of the UK. 

You felt like a celebrity as you coasted through the Monte Carlo streets in the passenger side of Oscar’s McLaren, on your way to tour fabulous properties for your best friend (the actual celebrity). You breathed in the saltwater breeze, fresh and tinged with the air of wealth and splendor.

But it hurt your heart to know that you were helping your best friend leave. You imagined him getting up and doing his morning runs along the harbor, the sun blazing down the strained muscles on his back. Then you laughed to yourself at the thought of Oscar, the pastiest Aussie you knew, getting sunburnt. 

At the first property you met the realtor, who (after mistaking you for Lily; not the first time, and certainly wouldn’t be the last) took the pair of you to different condos throughout the day. 

Oscar decided on the final one you saw; two bedrooms, plenty of natural light, and a great view. Elegant, refined and practical—just like Oscar himself. 

The realtor handed him the paperwork and left as you stood on the balcony, looking at the beauty of the city before you. You were quiet, unusually so, and Oscar noticed. 

He sat the paperwork on the kitchen counter and walked onto the balcony next to you. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice lowered. “You’re gonna make such beautiful memories here.”

“Are you getting sentimental on me now?”

You smiled and laughed. “A little,” you admitted, “I can’t help it. I’ll miss you all.” 

“You could always come with us. You seem to like it here,” he teased, tilting his head toward the edge of the balcony.

“You’d have to give me a raise if I was gonna afford Monaco rent prices.” You’d been running Oscar’s merch store and social media for the past few years, making a great wage, but nowhere near the immense wealth you’d need to call a place like this home. You joked with him, knowing Oscar actually had nothing to do with how much you got paid. 

“I would if I could. But, I mean, if you had a place to stay it wouldn’t really be that bad.”

“Are you suggesting I move into your guest room?”

Now he laughed. “No, but I’m just saying, if you had an apartment, you could make it work.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused, but trying to go along with the joke. “Well, sure, but apartments don’t just appear out of thin air.”

“You never know.” Oscar scratched the back of his neck and looked away, a sign of the awkwardness that now blanketed your moment on the balcony. 

“What are you getting at?”

“Well, theoretically, if someone were to have a spare apartment that they weren’t using, you could live there and Monaco would be a reasonable place to live, no?”

You didn’t answer his question, instead just giving him another confused glance until he gave up whatever he was trying to say. He still couldn’t meet your gaze. 

“Look—I don’t want to live so far away from my friend. Is that such a bad thing?”

“Oscar, you…”

“I got you an apartment.”

“You… bought me an apartment. In Monaco.” It came out more like a statement than a question, evidence of your shock. He reached into his pocket and dug out a key, holding it out to you.

You just looked at him with an incredulous expression. “Oscar, I can’t accept that.”

“Why not?”

“How much was it?” 

“I have more than enough money.”

“Answer the question.”

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “About 4 million?” 

Your eyes widened in shock. “Before you say anything,” he began, “I made over 30 million last year. I have more money than I’d ever know what to do with, so why not just spend it all on the people I love?” 

“Oscar… I can’t, that’s too much.”

“Will you at least go look at it with me? Actually, I’m driving, so you don’t have a choice,” he joked, walking back into the apartment. “Let’s go.”

You sighed, smiling to yourself. There was no way you could let Oscar buy you a 4 million dollar apartment, but also, how could you not? The wind whipped through your hair as you rolled down the window of his McLaren, drinking in the beauty of the city around you. 

The apartment was smaller than the one he had picked for himself and Lily, but you didn’t mind one bit. It was perfectly cosy, and God, the view was spectacular. You could see the whole city from his apartment, but here, you could see the water. You stepped on the balcony and took a deep breath, taking in the sound of the ocean waves beneath you. 

Oscar followed you. “It’s a bit small, but I figured you’d like the view.”

“Oscar…”

“If you really don’t want it, I can rent it out. But I’d much rather have you close.” He held out the keys again. “What do you say?”

You could have told him you needed more time to think about it, but deep down, you already knew what you wanted. You took the keys. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Oscar. Seriously.”

“No need to thank me.” He smiled.

Back in the UK, he showed Lily the photos he had taken of the condo he had chosen for them as they went over the paperwork one last time.

He grabbed the pen to scratch out one of the boxes Lily had checked, hoping she wouldn’t notice. 

“Oh, did I mess something up?” Shit. She leaned over his shoulder, reading the paperwork aloud. “Please indicate if you own any additional properties in the principality of Monaco.” She looked at Oscar. “You already have a property there?” 

“Oh, erm, yeah,” he said, hoping the conversation would end there. 

“How come I never heard about this?” 

“Um, I just got it a bit ago.”

Lily could sense her boyfriend’s hesitancy. “Is this something I wasn’t supposed to know about?”

“Oh, no,” he said, “it’s not like that. I just didn’t think to mention it.”

“So, what is this property?”

“An apartment.” 

Lily hated feeling like she was having to interrogate Oscar, but clearly there was some piece of the puzzle missing that was causing his reluctance. 

“An apartment?” she questioned. “You got another apartment?”

“Yeah, I, um,” he looked at the ceiling while scratching his neck, a clear sign of his nervousness, “I was planning on giving it to YN.”

“You bought YN an apartment in Monaco? When were you planning on telling me about this?” 

His walls of defense had finally broken down. “It’s not a big deal. I made more than enough last season, I could afford it.  And it’s just easier to have her there for the brand shoots and media stuff. Plus, I mean, she came to London to support me after graduation, even though I know she hates it here. I just figured I should repay the favor.”

“...Okay,” Lily began, her voice tinged with skepticism. “So, you do realize what this looks like, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my boyfriend bought an apartment for his “best friend” and tried to hide it from me. That’s the kind of thing cheating husbands do in movies, buy an apartment for their mistress for her to keep it quiet.”

Oscar wasn’t sure what annoyed him more, the air quotes Lily placed around “best friend” or the insinuation that he had been unfaithful. 

“Lily, seriously? I’m not cheating on you, I love you and you know that.”

“When were you going to tell me about this?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. You know YN and I have been friends forever, it’s not like I did this for some random woman. I don’t appreciate being accused of lying.”

“But you were lying by omission.”

“Lily—”

“You know, nothing against her, but one of the reasons I was looking forward to this move was having more…us time. Without YN.” 

The statement brought a bitter taste to his mouth. Despite what she had said, it seemed like Lily did have something against you.

“You know, this kind of thing is why I was putting off telling you about it.”

“What are you saying?” she asked. Oscar knew he was tempting fire, but he didn’t care.

He continued, “You’re freaking out because I did something kind for a friend. I’m allowed to do whatever I want with my money.”

“I never said you weren’t, and I’m not freaking out. But I guess I’m just such a horrible person for saying I want to spend more time with my boyfriend.”

“If you’re putting down my “best friend” to do it,” he said, mocking her air quotes, “then yeah, that’s not cool.” 

“Oscar, you’re being so…weird about all of this. I’m not insulting YN. I just want to spend more time with you.”

“We’re literally going on vacation in February!”

“With friends. You invited your friends to our romantic getaway, Oscar.”

“You know I only have so much time off during the off season, and I’m spending most of it with realtors and accountants and eight thousand other people preparing us for this move. God forbid I want to invite my friends to Italy with us. Not everything can be just us, Lily.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “I’m done with this conversation.”

The second next instance you could think of happened on the trip.

It was a beautiful getaway to the Amalfi Coast, your dream destination that you’d somehow never made it to.

The group of Oscar’s friends, including you and Lando, had plans to come and go, with everyone being gone before the fourteenth so that Oscar and Lily could have their Valentine's Day date. Of course, you knew nothing of the arguments they’d had in the past about this, but you had common sense enough to not be a third wheel. Oscar thought this was a good enough compromise. 

Well, he thought. 

From the moment he picked you up from the airport, you could tell that the energy was different than usual. He blamed it on jet lag, but you knew better. You knew your best friend too well.

It didn’t take you long to figure out the problem was between him and Lily. She was colder towards him; not enough for anyone but you and him to notice, but still there and undeniable. 

Even weirder was Lily’s…preoccupation, it seemed, with pointing out single and attractive men to you. It wasn’t a hushed reality that you were single, and had been for some time. You'd given up on dating a long time ago—you knew that you had already found the love of your life, and he just happened to be Lily’s boyfriend.

But, of course, you’d never tell anyone this. Lots of people were confused because you seemed so fine being single. But you thought that Lily, one of your best friends (at least, by association), would know that you weren’t really interested in meeting anyone. 

You sat with Lily in a restaurant overlooking the coast, the balcony having been rented out by Oscar for one of your last dinners. You all were waiting for him and Lando to join you, passing the time by ordering wine and appetizers.

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Lily said, gesturing her head to your waiter that was walking back into the main restaurant. 

You didn’t really know what to say. You glanced at him through the glass wall. “Lily, he most definitely plays for the other team, if you know what I mean,” you joked, reaching for a slice of bread on the table. “I didn’t know that was your type.”

“Well I don’t mean for me, I meant for you.”

You chuckled. “For me?”

“Well, yeah. Don’t you want to get yourself a hot Italian man?”

“I’m perfectly happy being single.” You tried to diffuse the awkward conversation, keeping a kind tone in your voice as you ate the bread and looked into the distance at the coastline.

“Oh, come on. We’ll get you someone, don’t worry.”

“I really am fine being single.”

“You know who else is single?” she asked, clearly ignoring your protests. “Lando!”

You laughed aloud. “Oh God, no. If I wanted to be cheated on, I would have stayed with my ex. Besides, Oscar would kill him.”

A curious fact: Oscar had never approved of a single person you had ever introduced him to. You had to spend hours talking him out of running over your ex with his F1 car after you found out about his infidelity. 

“Oh, who cares what Oscar thinks? I think you should go for it,” she said, watching as the waiter returned to pour your glasses of wine. 

“Lily,” you said, holding your glass, ready to take a sip, “I don’t want to be in a relationship, like, at all. It’s just…not for me.” You sipped the wine, but through the reflection on the glass, you could see that Lily had pursed her lips in an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“If you want me to stop third-wheeling you and Oscar, you can just say so,” you joked as the boys made their way to the balcony to join you. 

You didn’t know it, but your joke cut deep in Lily’s heart. 

Nothing was said about it during the dinner, but Lily’s strange energy continued. It quickly became uncomfortable how much she was pushing Lando and you to interact. 

And when you all made your way to a local nightclub after the dinner, it didn’t get any better. Lando quickly got himself lost in the crowd, and you were once again left to be the third wheel. 

You could tell that Lily was getting annoyed, but to be fair, she was also annoying you. 

“Go dance with Lando!” she shouted over the thumping bass. She gestured to the opposite corner of the small club, where Lando was currently making out with some random Italian woman. 

You pointed this fact out to Lily, who just grimaced. 

“Do you just want me to go away?” you joked.

“Yes!” she said, and you were taken aback, because she was definitely not joking. 

Oscar was at the bar getting drinks, far enough away that he couldn’t hear. To be honest, you didn’t even want to be in this club anymore. 

So you snuck out and began your walk home without telling any of them.

As you walked along the cobblestone streets, Oscar handed Lily a drink, pausing when he noticed that you weren’t there to receive yours. “Where’s YN?” he asked.

“She wasn’t feeling well, so she headed back,” Lily said. 

“By herself? Should we go check on her?”

Lily wanted to roll her eyes. “No, she’s just tired. C’mon, let’s go dance!”

Oscar obeyed, but couldn’t ignore the feeling inside him that something about this whole night had been odd. 

The next time he saw Lando, he decided to say something about it. 

“Hey mate, are you going back soon?” he asked. Lando nodded, clearly tipsy. “Can you check on YN? Lily said she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Sure,” he said, annoyed at the mention of you again.

He did come back to the house soon, but with an equally drunk and giggly woman on his arm, the same girl he had been making out with in the corner of the club. 

You didn’t expect any of them for a long time, so you sat in the living room of the AirBNB, watching the waves cascade into the shore, romanticizing this complicated feeling that coiled itself inside of you. 

That was, until Lando stumbled in. 

His eyes got wide as dinner plates upon seeing you. The girl on his arm giggled and walked off into the nearest bathroom. 

“Hey YN,” he slurred. “Are you dying?”

You laughed. “I’m fine.”

“Lily said you were sick.” 

“Nope, I’m good.” 

He looked to the closed door of the bathroom. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“You’re fine. I’m…uh, not interested, anyway. I don’t know what Lily’s been on about today.”

“Oh, thank God,” he exhaled. You laughed, despite the sting of rejection in his relief. “Well, I’ll keep it quiet.”

“I’ve got headphones.”

You made your way to your room and put on your noise cancelling headphones, passing the time by scrolling and catching up on work emails, before falling asleep.

You didn’t sleep through the night, instead waking up in the early hours of the morning, when the sun was just beginning to round itself along the golden coast. You left your room to get a glass of water, not expecting to see the rest of your friends in the kitchen.

Lily looked hungover as hell, leaning her elbow on the counter, her hand resting uncomfortably on her forehead. Oscar was leaning against the counter on the other side while Lando sat at the bar next to Lily, drinking something out of a mug. His flight home was going to leave soon. 

You nodded to your three companions as you sipped your water glass, feeling the tension around you like an oncoming migraine. 

“You feeling okay?” Oscar asked. “Lily said you weren’t doing well last night.”

“Ah, just tired,” you answered. Lily had lied to both Lando and Oscar. That was a conversation for another day. 

“Well rested now?” Lily asked, her voice tinged with anger and fake sympathy.

“I’m fine,” was all you could answer. You glanced at Oscar, who gave you a knowing look. You had no idea what had gotten into her.

“Are you feeling okay, Lily? You look like you’re about to throw up,” you said, a more genuine concern in your voice.

“I’m fine too,” she said, clearly not fine.

Lando’s Uber pulled up, and you took the opportunity to help him transfer all his bags in one trip.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on with her?” he asked as you heaved the suitcase up into the trunk.

“No idea,” you answered. “Before you all got to the restaurant last night she was being…weird. For the record, I didn’t put her up to any of that.”

“I figured as much. You’re not the type.” Lando was right—it was common knowledge that you were happily single. 

“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. For the record, it made me uncomfortable too.”

He exhaled. “Eh, we’re cool. No hard feelings, yeah? I’m sure she’ll snap out of it.” 

“I hope so,” you said, giving him a wave as the car disappeared into the winding roads of the coast.

Back in the house, you could hear Oscar and Lily whispering to each other. You wanted nothing more than to disappear and act like this weird night and morning had never happened, but unfortunately, you had to cross through the kitchen back to your room. 

A hush went through the room when you entered. You walked as quickly as possible through the kitchen, but were stopped by a voice.

“YN,” Lily called. “I think you should leave.”

“Lily—” Oscar interjected.

“I was just going back to my room anyway,” you explained.

“That’s not what I meant. I think you should go home.”

“Lily, don’t do this—” Oscar pleaded. You just stood in shock.

“Actually, let me clarify,” she continued. “YN, I don’t want you here. Go home.”

“Lily!” Oscar interjected. “Don’t say that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, even though it was definitely not fine. “Let me pack and I’ll be on my way.”

You turned and continued back to your room, fully prepared to do as you had just said. But Oscar followed you.

“YN, wait. Stay,” he said. 

“Oscar, it’s fine.”

“I am so sorry that Lily said that, but I want you here.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two or why she’s so upset at me, but if someone tells me to go, I’m not going to overstay my welcome.”

“Still, that was so rude.”

“I’ve got thick skin. I won’t cry myself to sleep over it.” You looked out the window to the coast. “Look, I’ll just find someplace else to stay. A hotel for a few nights is cheaper than trying to reschedule my flight, anyways.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about me, Osc,” you said, patting his shoulder. “Go talk to her, figure out what’s wrong.” 

He sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “I already know what’s wrong. She’s mad that we don’t spend enough time together.”

“Then go spend time with her.”

“That was the plan! But, I mean, I’m pissed that she said that to you. And she spent all day yesterday trying to set you and Lando up, which was fucking weird.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled with a twinge of laughter. “Look, with my record I can’t exactly give you love advice, but I don’t mind leaving. You all clearly need some space, anyway. Just text me if you need anything, okay?”

Oscar gave you a flat smile and nod. 

You packed and quickly booked a private room at a local hostel for the next few days, planning to enjoy the last few days as a solo trip. You truly didn’t care, but in the back of your mind, you hoped that everything would be okay. You never received that text from Oscar. 

Back at the house, Oscar and Lily were alone. And neither of them were happy.

“Just fucking go with her if you’re that mad,” Lily said, egging Oscar on. He had always been slow to anger, but he couldn’t deny that he was pissed.

“What is wrong with you?” he questioned. “Why would you say that to her? Do you understand how rude that is? And not to mention the fact that you were being fucking weird with her and Lando all night.”

“Oscar, I’m not having this conversation right now.”

“No, I’m pissed!”

“And, as usual, it’s all about your feelings, hm?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t act stupid. Do you know how much I’ve put up with because I don’t want to hurt your feelings? Every vacation, every race weekend, she’s always there. And I put up with her because she’s your friend, but I don’t like her, Oscar.” 

“What did she do to you?” he asked. But Lily couldn’t answer. It wasn’t like there had been a specific incident or falling out; in fact, you had always been kind to her. Lily’s silence was all the answer that Oscar needed. 

“You knew that YN and I were a package deal from the beginning.” 

Tears came to Lily’s eyes. “But this was supposed to be our trip. Just us.” 

“Lily, they were only here for a few days. I specifically set it up so that we’d have 2 weeks to ourselves after they left. Is that not enough?” 

She was silent, at first. Then came a question out of left field. 

“Were you going to propose?” she asked.

Oscar made a face. “Propose?”

“I thought the point of the trip was that you were going to propose.” She looked away, trying to hide her tears. “I’m tired of feeling like an outsider in my own relationship. I’m sick of YN third wheeling, so I thought if I set her up with Lando, maybe she’d leave us alone for a while.” Her voice was tinged with an angry mocking. 

She continued, softer, “Oscar, I want to be your wife, I want to grow old with you—”

But Oscar had little sympathy for her. “That’s really what all this was about? Lily, I’m not proposing any time soon.”

“We’ve been together for nearly five years.”

“I know. But with the season starting soon—”

“There’ll always be another season, another race. Is your plan to just marry me when you retire?” The sarcasm had returned to her voice. “Do you even want to marry me?”

“Of course I do. But we’re young, we have time. I’m in no rush.” 

“I feel like you don’t care about what I want at all.”

“Lily, I’m trying. But I feel like you want me to cut off my best friend and settle down at 22. You’re asking things of me that I can’t give you.”

“Then why are we even doing this?” Lily asked.

“Because I love you, and I want this to work! But Lily, you can’t treat my friends like that. If you’re angry at me, talk to me, but don’t take it out on them. YN is an important part of my life, too.”

“I’m well aware.”

Oscar sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I’m going back to bed,” Lily announced, leaving the conversation altogether. 

When she woke up, her head was pounding. Oscar was asleep beside her, his back towards her, no warmth even in his unconscious state. She had slept through the entire day—the moon hung high in the sky. 

As she quietly made her way to the kitchen and got some water and a snack, the memory of what had happened came back, rushing over her. She felt horrible. 

The sleep and food had reset her mind. Make no mistake, she was still upset at Oscar, but what he had said was right—she shouldn’t have taken it out on you. She needed to make it right. 

She texted you. Hey YN, are you awake? I’d like to talk. In person, if you can. 

Only a few minutes later you responded, affirming that you were available and sending the address of your hostel. Lily got there quickly, quietly walking through the rooms to your private room in the back. When you shut the door behind you and you both sat on the bed, she broke down. 

“YN,” Lily began, “I am so sorry about this morning. Truthfully, I was upset at Oscar and I took it out on you, and I shouldn't have. I was so rude.”

“It’s okay,” you assured.

“No, it’s not,” Lily interjected. But she seemed at a loss for words. “I just… sometimes, I feel like I hardly get any alone time with Oscar anymore.”

“Because I’m always there?” you joked, not knowing how close to the truth you really were. Lily didn’t respond. “Look, if you want me to take a step back, I can do that.”

Her response was quiet. “Would that be too much to ask?”

“No.” But it was, in a way. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, but your expression gave away nothing. “I understand.”

“I don’t think he loves me anymore,” Lily confessed. You normally didn’t want to know the details of their relationship, because the truth was too heavy to bear. But it seemed cruel to cut her off. “I feel like he never wants to be around me, like he prefers his work and his friends over me. I want to get married and he doesn’t. He keeps saying it's too soon and he’s busy, but it’s been nearly five years! I mean, how long does he want me to wait?”

You felt uncomfortable, not sure how to comfort your best friend's girlfriend. So you were honest. “I don’t know, Lily. I don’t know what goes on in Oscar’s head any more than you do.”

“Yes you do,” she replied. “You’ve known him longer.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“No, no, no,” you said, wrapping Lily in an embrace as she cried. “No, he’s not. He loves you so much.”

“No,” she echoed. “He doesn’t.”

You didn’t know how to respond. You just held her. 

At one point, your phone buzzed, illuminating the screen. Some unimportant notification, but you noticed the date and time more than that. It was past midnight; Valentine’s Day. 

The third instance was during the first weekend of the 2025 season; the Australian Grand Prix.  

You hadn’t heard from Oscar since the trip. You didn’t really know what to say, and part of you was dreading having to speak to him, knowing that your mere presence was now a strain on his relationship.

Of course Lily wanted more time with him. It made sense. You were present at…most things, actually. But Oscar always invited you, and besides, they lived together. If you had known that you had overstayed your welcome, you never would have gone in the first place.

But on the other hand, you and Oscar had been a part of each other’s lives for nearly double the time that Lily had been around. It wasn’t a competition, but you couldn’t shake that sour feeling that rested in your stomach, that if given the chance, Lily would want you gone for good. 

Regardless, between the trip and the grand prix, life went on as normal. It was odd, since your job was literally running all the official OP81 media pages and merch website. You couldn’t not be a part of his life—you made your living by posting memes about him on the internet and organizing all his merch sales.

So, naturally, you went to nearly all the races to take photos of fans, the paddock, and the garage. It was one of your favorite parts of the job. 

But Australia was different. It was Oscar’s home race, and a place full of memories for you. 

Your family had moved to Australia when you were only seven, having absolutely no friends, except the sweet boy next door in your cul de sac. At first he was cold. You thought he hated you. But you were nothing if not stubborn. 

You remembered it like it was yesterday; for Christmas, you asked for a pink motorized jeep, just like the black one that Oscar—the neighbour boy, back then—had. You squealed for joy when you got it. And the very first thing you did was challenge him to a race.

He ignored you. So you rammed your car into his, causing both of them to break. Ever since, somehow, you’d been inseparable. 

Your parents traveled a lot for work, so instead of constantly going with them, you found yourself staying with the Piastri family for months at a time. Nicole truly felt like your second mom, and Hattie was the sister you never had. And Oscar was…Oscar. It was impossible to describe the bond between you. 

Your parents were never too keen on Oscar, though. They kept it quiet when you were little, but as you grew, their dislike became more outward.

He was 14, leaving for boarding school in the UK. When he told you, you cried. That’s the only time he ever saw you cry.

You wanted to go with him, but your parents couldn’t afford it. He promised he wouldn’t let your friendship die, and he was true to his word. When he got into the higher formulas in racing, he helped you get your job so that you all would never be that far from each other again. 

But your parents always said he was using you, stringing you along, exploiting your labor. Though you’d never admitted it to another soul, they knew you well enough to understand that you loved him. 

You cut your parents off a long time ago. 

Sometimes the fans were worse. Half of them loved you—the half that understood that you could give them access to your idol—but the other half of them called you a beneficiary of nepotism, a gold digger, or a homewrecker. You learned at a young age to develop thick skin. 

And it was how you both behaved on race weekends that really exemplified the difference between you and Lily. 

You liked to be everywhere at once—in the garage trying to interpret the engineers’ technical jargon, in the grandstands taking photos of fans, in the pitlane shooting the shit with the race stewards. You always wore Oscar’s merch, and you wanted to be in the middle of all the action.

Lily, in contrast, was more reserved. She always looked put together, and frankly stunning, at all her appearances. She preferred to watch the race from the comfort and privacy of McLaren hospitality, and when she did interact with fans, she was respectful but short, very conscious of her space.

Neither of you were better or worse than the other. But no one could deny that you were polar opposites. 

You got to Australia before Oscar himself did, having been invited to spend a few days with your surrogate family before you’d have to stay in the hotel, per F1 employee policy. Nicole had told Oscar, who you assumed had told Lily, and when you didn’t hear anything for a few days before you were meant to fly out, you thought everything was fine.

Of course, you thought wrong. 

You spent 3 days with Oscar’s family, relishing the warm feeling of belonging that you’d missed. The Piastri guest room felt more like your own childhood bedroom. Of course, Nicole asked how you’d been, but you were politely distant, wanting to respect the fact that Oscar and Lily’s relationship was none of your business. 

When the pair finally landed in Australia and made their way to Oscar’s childhood home for the night, though, things worsened. 

When Nicole got back from picking them up from the airport, you were in the kitchen prepping dinner. Hearing the front door close, you looked up and smiled, greeting the group.

“YN! What are you doing here?” Lily asked, her voice tentative. 

Nicole answered for you. “Oh, she’s been here since Sunday. I’m so happy to have all my kids under the same roof again,” she joked, turning to Oscar to reach up and pinch his cheeks.

Lily just gave a pained smile. 

You didn’t know what to do. You hadn’t talked to Oscar in nearly a month. You wanted to honor her wishes—but it seemed like her wish was for you to vanish into thin air. 

The rest of the night you were unusually quiet, trying to blend into the background. It wasn’t difficult for Nicole to notice that something was up, but she knew better than to bring it up in front of the whole table. 

After dinner she wanted everyone to gather in the living room and watch a movie, which you quickly bowed out of, complaining of exhaustion. 

As the credits rolled, Nicole leaned over to whisper to Oscar, “Is everything okay with YN?” 

Lily overheard and interjected, “She’s fine.” Nicole raised an eyebrow. 

Oscar responded, “The home grand prix is always busy for her.”

The answer wasn’t sufficient enough to crush Nicole’s suspicions, but she didn’t have any more time to pry as her son and his girlfriend quickly decided to retire for the night themselves. 

The next morning, as everyone was packing to get to the hotel, Nicole decided to ask you herself if everything was okay. But predictably, again, you just said that you were fine. And the morning was so hectic that she didn’t really have the time to interrogate you.

Once you all got settled and to the track for media day, work mode took over, and you forgot all about the tension at the Piastri family home. Though you quite literally were paid to follow Oscar around all day, you felt more like the paparazzi than his friend, hardly ever speaking to him.

And as you went back to the hotel room alone to edit and post for tonight, you felt like a stranger in your own body. 

You didn’t want to do this anymore. You missed your friend, but more importantly, you missed being yourself.

But what were you supposed to do? You loved Oscar. Oscar loved Lily. Lily hated you. 

You were stuck between three impossible choices: stick around and be forced to subdue yourself into a shell of your true personality until Lily decided she wasn’t upset at you anymore, lose everything you’d ever built by quitting and moving away like you knew she wanted, or continue being yourself and possibly cost Oscar the love of his life. 

Yeah, this was a wonderful predicament you found yourself in, through no fault of your own.

You moved like a zombie through the free practices and qualifying. When it was finally time for the grand prix, you assumed your usual place in the McLaren garage, for work if nothing else.

But then, Oscar won. 

No team rules. No convoluted strategies. Just Oscar doing what he did best.

You couldn’t hear your own thoughts over the shout of the garage and the crowd in the distance, cheering out for their hometown hero. You ran out with everyone to the barricades to greet your best friend.

Though he still had his helmet on, you could see the effects of his smile in his squinted eyes. He pumped his fist in the air, cheering to himself before running to the barricades to jump into the waiting arms of the crowd. You cheered with them, overwhelmed with pride. 

Oscar locked eyes with you, cupping your face with his gloved hands and pressing the top of his helmet to your forehead. “I did it, YN!”

“You did!” you yelled, smiling ear to ear. 

Of course, people took photos. Photos that Oscar posted later that night. 

Lily didn’t like it—the sweet intimacy of the moment, front and center on Oscar’s Instagram page. Why would you post that? It was like you were taunting her. 

Lily sat on the edge of the hotel bed while Oscar showered, both of them preparing to meet you, Lando, and a few McLaren team members to celebrate his win. 

When Oscar emerged from the bathroom, Lily asked him, “Osc, can you do me a favor?”

“Hm?” he murmured as he dried his hair. 

“Can you take down that picture that YN posted?”

“YN posted something?” he questioned, grabbing his phone. As his social media manager, you had access to all his accounts, but occasionally he’d post something himself, too. “I don’t see what you’re talking about.”

Lily pursed her lips. “The first picture from the post she made an hour ago.” 

“Oh, this?” Oscar held up his phone. “I posted that.” 

Lily was silent. 

“Why do you want me to delete it? It’s a good photo.” 

Lily just looked at him. Oscar sighed and archived the photo. “There, happy?”

His tone was much harsher than he intended, but to be honest, he was getting tired of the constant fighting, and his patience was wearing thin. 

Lily kept quiet, just silently going into the bathroom to start doing her makeup.

In the lobby of the hotel an hour or so later, you awkwardly stood with Lando waiting for the couple to arrive. Once again you were torn—should you miss out on celebrating with your best friend on his first ever home win, or should you go and strain his relationship further? 

You were just going to say screw it and go back up to your room when you saw Lily and Oscar walking towards you. Though there was no tension between them, there was no love either. They both just looked…tired. 

Everyone had decided to keep it relaxed for tonight, just doing a nice group dinner with Oscar’s family. It was fine, albeit a tad awkward, because you were sitting between Lando and some McLaren employees you didn’t know, at the opposite end of the table from Lily, Oscar, and his family. 

You knew this couldn’t continue forever. Something had to break. And it did, when you and Lando ended up back in Oscar and Lily’s room, drinking your way through a bottle of nice champagne. 

The alcohol seemed to have calmed Lando’s nerves, as he was actually normal with you. And Oscar was a blushy, smiling mess and he and his teammate laughed at something you couldn’t remember. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but the mood was ruined by Lily’s drunken slurring. “Oh my God, YN, just shut up! Go away!” she giggled and grabbed Oscar’s arm. 

Usually, you were calm, letting any infraction roll off of you like waves on the beach. But the alcohol emboldened you. 

“Lily, what the fuck is your problem with me?” you asked.

The mood shifted, and Lily gave you a look of disgust. “I was just joking, God.”

“No you weren’t.” 

Lando chimed in. “Well, I think I gotta call it a night.” He got up and patted Oscar on the back. The two men stood up to walk out, leaving just you and Lily alone in the hotel room. 

“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is with me, but don’t act like there isn’t one. It’s obvious that you don’t want me around, I don’t know what I ever did to you.”

Lily had clearly been sobered up by your seriousness. Still, she burst into tears. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep doing this.” 

You sighed, unable to keep your anger in the face of her cries. She continued, “I just… Oscar and I were each other’s first everything. First love, first kiss…first time. I love him so much.”

“I’m not trying to steal him from you.” 

Lily was quiet, and so were you. Something she had said gave you pause. 

They were each other’s first everything—no, that couldn’t be true. 

Because you were Oscar’s first. 

It had been many years—you were both 18—and you had never spoken about what happened. But you remembered. 

He came back home for Christmas from the UK. It was before he had even met Lily. 

You welcomed him home with an embrace—even with the frequent phone calls you had, you couldn’t help but miss your best friend, now here before you, in the flesh.

Neither of you could sleep that night, and somehow you both found yourself in Oscar’s childhood bedroom, quiet in the early hours of the morning.

Though it was warm outside, Nicole had a habit of keeping the house frigid, so you and Oscar huddled together under the handmade quilt that decorated his bed. The moment was tender and quiet, together in the soft darkness. 

“Do you like it in the UK?” you asked him, your question searching for a genuine answer. 

“It’s okay, I guess. It’s what I have to do for the races.”

“But do you ever get…lonely?”

He paused. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

You traced small circles on the skin of your leg. The closeness of the moment was uncomfortable. 

“But you have friends, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re not, y’know, friends for life.”

“I get you.” You really did, not having many friends of your own since Oscar left. “But you must have a ton of girls, though. They all want the cool race car driver.” You smiled, trying to use your humor to lighten the intimacy of the moment. 

“No,” was all he answered. “And if I had a girlfriend, you’d be the first to know, anyway.” In the dark of the room, you could only see the outline of his features, but you could feel the pull of his eyes looking at you. “What, do you have a boyfriend? Is that why you’re bringing this up?” he asked. 

“Of course I don’t.” 

“What do you mean, of course?”

“I mean, why would I have a boyfriend? I have no friends and half the people at school think you don’t even exist.”

“What?” he laughed.

“Well, yeah, when I say my best friend drives race cars in the UK, most people think I’m making you up.” 

“Shit,” he laughed. 

“So, yeah, it doesn’t exactly get me dates,” you laughed. You felt your throat stiffen. “I haven’t even had my first kiss or anything.”

The silence in the room was thick. “I haven’t either,” Oscar confessed. 

You found it hard to believe. Oscar was handsome, funny, everything a girl could want. Neither of you had ever been social butterflies, though. 

Under the blanket, Oscar reached for your hand, placing it in his. Your heart was beating out of your chest; you had never even held a boy’s hand. 

“We could just…do it now,” he said. “Just to get it over with.” He feigned his usual nonchalance, but you could feel the increase of his heartbeat and the ever so subtle tremble in his voice. 

It would be easy for you to laugh it off like a joke. But you knew it wasn’t. And you wanted him. 

“Okay,” you said, your voice breathy with nervousness. 

You sat up on the bed, and saw the dark outline of his figure leaning towards you, gently tilting your head. 

And when his lips met yours, it felt like home. Like everything in your entire life had left you up to this moment, here in the warmth of your best friend’s childhood bedroom.

The kiss lasted longer than you anticipated, but when he did pull away, it was too soon. You were grateful for the darkness that hid your expression. But even without the light, Oscar could see the truth behind your eyes.

“We could…keep going.”

“Okay,” you repeated. 

One of his hands found your waist now, pulling you closer, as his other hand pushed back your hair that had fallen in your face.

Once again his lips met yours. It wasn’t like a spark within you—more like a calming, a sense of peace and safety. Of all the boys you’d crushed on before, Oscar was different. You trusted him with everything. 

And you showed him so. 

He slipped his tongue past your teeth, tentative, as if he was scared to do the wrong thing. But you let him close the gap, your own tongue gliding along his, goosebumps going down your back the closer you got. 

He wanted to put his hands all over you, but he was nervous.

He pulled away. “I…don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t either. Is it actually your first time?”

“Yeah. You don’t mind me being your first?”

“I trust you.”

So you both took it slow, taking each other’s hands where you wanted to be touched, not focusing on anything but the other. 

The love you made was quiet and simple, beautiful yet imperfect. But you didn’t need perfect. You just needed him. 

The next morning, you slipped out of his room before anyone was awake, afraid of what would happen if they found out.

But no one ever did. Oscar never said a word about it ever again, and neither did you; after the holidays, he went back to school and met Lily, and the rest was history. 

But you remembered. And as you sat in that hotel room years later waiting for him, you felt numb. 

By the time he got back Lily had calmed down, but you couldn’t stand to be there anymore. You announced your departure, but Oscar decided to walk you out, too. 

You closed the door behind you, but Oscar pulled you to not leave so quickly. 

“Hey, is everything alright with you and Lily?”

“No. It’s not.” 

He sighed. “I don’t know why she’s being like this.”

You just stared at him, your face blank. 

“What,” he asked, “don’t tell me you’re mad too.”

“Was Lily your first?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.” 

Oscar looked over his shoulder. “I’d really rather not talk about this in the hallway…”

“So do you want to go in the room and talk about it? In front of her? Because you lied to one of us. Which one was it?”

“YN, it’s—”

“Which one of us did you lie to, Oscar?”

He let out a sharp exhale, knowing there was no way to escape your line of questioning. He leaned down to whisper to you. “I didn’t lie to her. She just…assumed, and I never corrected her.”

“That’s still lying.”

“You really think I should go in there and tell her the truth?” His voice dripped with frustration.

“Yes. She deserves to know.”

“You know why I never told her? Because I knew this shit would happen, she’d get jealous and try to push you out of my life. If I tell her now, she’ll make me choose between the two of you.”

“Do you blame her?” you asked, astounded at how Oscar could be so clueless.

“Seriously?” he retorted. “You think she’s justified in doing all this to you? The entire reason she’s mad is because she knows if she tries to make me choose, I’m not choosing her.”

“Don’t say that! Oscar, she’s your girlfriend. You should love her.”

“I do. But things just…aren’t the same anymore. It’s like she wants me to change my whole life for her. I can’t do that.”

Unbeknownst to you, Lily got up from the bed and walked to the door, pressing her ear to it, where she could faintly hear you and Oscar arguing. 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Oscar continued. “And if you don’t want her to split us up, just let me handle it.”

“Oscar, she deserves better than this. I’ve missed spending time with you, but… you’ve got to tell her the truth.”

Lily opened the door. “I knew it,” she said, her eyes full of tears. “I knew you were cheating.”

Your eyes were wide as dinner plates as Oscar cursed to himself. “Lily, I swear to God that is not what happened—”

“Don’t. Don’t even try,” she said, but Oscar pushed his way back into the room anyway. He looked back to you, and even without words, you knew it was time to go. You needed some sleep.

Unfortunately, Oscar would not be getting any sleep tonight. 

“Oscar, just stop lying to me! I’m tired of this!’ Lily cried, curling her legs to her chest as she sat on the bed.

“Lily, I swear, I have never cheated on you. What YN and I were talking about was something from a long time ago.”

“We’ve been together for five years!”

“Can I just explain myself? Please?”

Lily just broke down in sobs. “Do whatever. I don’t care anymore.”

Oscar sighed. “Look, I…I have lied to you. You weren’t my first. YN was.” He looked at his girlfriend, who was still just silently crying. “It was before we even met, and it was just once, and we’ve never done anything since. I would never cheat on you, I love you and—”

“When and where was it?” Lily asked, cutting him off with her statement more like a command than a question.

“The December before we met, when I came home for Christmas.”

“In your bed?”

He nodded.

“Oscar, I slept in that bed next to you the other night.”

He said nothing. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Haven’t I been good to you?”

“Lily, I promise, I love you more than anything.”

“Then why would you lie to me for five years?”

Oscar took a deep breath and said, “Because I was afraid you would be upset. People don’t understand that me and YN are just friends. I mean, we were raised together, she’s like my sister.”

“You had sex with her. You took each other’s virginity.”

“It wasn’t…like that.”

“How can it not be like that? Do you even hear what you’re saying?” 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

About an hour after you left, you heard a knock on your hotel room door, and you answered. It was, of course, Lily. 

“Tell me whatever Oscar wouldn’t,” she said. Her eyes were still puffy and red. 

You welcomed her in, beginning to tell her the entire truth. “Oscar and I had sex when we were 18, before he met you. We never talked about it afterwards. After you met I didn’t want to bring it up, I just assumed he’d do the right thing and tell you. I didn’t want to pry into your relationship.”

So, your stories matched. And Lily knew that you were nothing if not honest. 

“Do you love him?”

“Of course I do, he’s my best friend.”

“No, I mean, are you in love with him?” 

You didn’t answer immediately. What were you supposed to say?

Tears fought their way to the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “I don’t know,” you began, but that was a lie, you did know. “I guess…I have a special type of love for him. We grew up together. When we were younger, yes, I wanted to be his girlfriend. But then he met you, and… Lily, he was so happy! I just…I realized that I wanted him to be happy more than I wanted him to be mine. So I made peace with the fact that this is how it had to be.”

Lily was overwhelmed with your honesty, in the face of so much deception. 

You continued, “I don’t blame you for being upset at me. Oscar should have been honest about what our friendship was like from the very beginning instead of lying to you. But I swear, we haven’t done anything while you all have been together. I’ve been cheated on and I know how much that hurts, I would never do that to anyone else. I’m so sorry it ended up like this.”

“No,” Lily said, “You’re the only one who’s been honest with me throughout all of this. Thank you.”

After that, you hadn’t heard from Oscar after that for a long time. Or, at least, a few weeks felt like a long time to you. But you had other pressing matters—your workload was through the roof with Oscar’s wins. Lando had snatched himself a win too, setting up an early battle for the championship. It was too early into the season to call it, but you knew Oscar was feeling the pressure with the possibility of his first championship dangling so close in front of him. So you kept your distance, not wanting to be a distraction.

That was, until he called you, saying just those three painful words.

“Lily left me.”

The sun was cresting over the horizon, illuminating the thick glass of your balcony and flooding light into your living room. You hadn’t gotten an ounce of rest. 

From your bedroom, you could hear Oscar snoring. You just let him sleep. 

God knows you both needed it. 

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

Guns N’ Roses

Main Masterlist

𝕊𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕙

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤: 𝟙

𝕃𝕒𝕥𝕖 ℕ𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 - 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖

𝔼𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕪 𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 - 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖

𝕄𝕚𝕕𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕤 - 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖

ℍ𝕠𝕥 𝕄𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕤 - 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖

𝕁𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕪 - 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕗𝕚𝕔

𝔸𝕤𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 - 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤

𝔸𝕩𝕝 ℝ𝕠𝕤𝕖

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤: 𝟙

𝔸𝕤𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 - 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤

𝔻𝕦𝕗𝕗 𝕄𝕔𝕂𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕟

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤:

𝕀𝕫𝕫𝕪 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕚𝕟

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤:

ℂ𝕚𝕘𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 - 𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕖

𝕊𝕥𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝔸𝕕𝕝𝕖𝕣

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤:

Baby Fever Angst

F1 Masterlist

Charles Leclerc Play Pretend - He's Lightning McQueen. You're Elle Woods. But, when Charles misses you, he makes it known that perhaps your career isn't as important as his wishes to start a family Part Two - Lightning McQueen realises he misses Elle Woods. Or, when Charles finds out your goals always had him in mind, he realises he should've done the same

Daniel Ricciardo Bedtime Stories - For the past six years, you've been dreaming of a future with Daniel. Until one silly little interview shatters every illusion Part Two - Daniel made a silly little comment that lost him everything. Over a year later, he tries his hardest to fix his mistakes

Fernando Alonso ~ COMING SOON Toy Cars - Step dad Fernando Part Two

Lewis Hamilton Tantrums - After 10 years together, Lewis keeps pushing back the date on when “forever” can start. Realising that forever applies to her job and not their relationship, she makes it clear that she’s had enough Part Two - Having flushed a 10 year relationship down the drain, Lewis realises he wants nothing more than to win you back

Lance Stroll Pocket Money - Since the start of the relationship, fans have been convinced you're only with Lance for his money. When he mentions your future in an interview, they accuse you of trying to baby trap him Part Two - After some time apart, you and Lance realise your love and future mean more than fans' hateful comments

Lando Norris Princess Party - Lando enjoys participating in all night life has to offer, particularly with his best friend. When Y/N falls pregnant after one drunken night, he panics. After all, why should he trade a club party for a princess party? Part Two - After a drunken night with his best friend, Lando ran away from the consequences. Over the next eight months, he's reminded that he made a huge mistakes

Max Verstappen Lullabies - Six months ago, Max walked out of your life after a conversation about your future. When you find out he' ended up in a's dating Kelly - who has a child - you work through your emotions in the best way you know how; revenge music Part Two - Max left without letting you fully explain. Nearly a year later, he realises he made a mistake when he thinks you're moving on

Oscar Piastri Growing Pains - When fans begin commenting about your future plans, Oscar begins to worry that your long-term relationship is preventing you from truly experiencing life Part Two - Oscar thought leaving was the best thing for you, but quickly realised he cannot function without you

you'll change your name or change your mind (and leave this fucked up place behind)

summary: When the King’s Justice — the royal executioner — died, the Realm’s Jewel proposed a perfect replacement: Nādrēsy, her dragon, the infamous Cannibal. Even if many eyebrows were raised at the Small Council, the King hastily agreed, happy to have an excuse for keeping his granddaughter close to him, even if it was for only a few days every moon. Or, as it always ended up, for a bit more than that.

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 5.3k

warnings: angst, death, grief, implied suicidal thoughts, reader's having a teenage rebellion moment at the young age of barely nine, daemon slander (it will get better i promise)

author's note: i don't really like this chap lol. in fact, i fucking hate it

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Your father has a haunted look on his face. 

He holds you for hours as you cry, pass out, wake up and start crying again, nestled in your bed still bandaged, the wound on your head hurting more than ever. Milk of the poppy only makes you comatose and the migraines are making your head explode, and he doesn’t really know what to do.

He’s lost, he lost his sister and almost his daughter in less than a sennight, and probably feels like a terrible father for not being there when you needed him the most. But thankfully, in a day or two your crying stops; you seem to have understood that the more you cry, the more your pain worsens.

“My little girl,” he coos, taking you to the balcony and holding you in his arms. “I promise nothing bad will ever ever happen to you from now on, not while I’m here.” 

Nādrēsy is always buzzing out of your window, waiting for some kind of sign from you; that’s why Laenor often brings you to the terrace, other than to get some fresh air. To calm your dragon, who has been destroying everything that comes in his sight for the last few days. Soon enough you are finally sleeping again, and slowly, the bandages get less and less bloody: the wound is closing. 

“Do you think I will ever find a husband?” you murmur quietly to him one evening, cuddled close to his chest. He looks down at you, questioning. “I mean… with the hideous scar I’ll be left with, nobody will ever want to marry me.”

“My love,” Laenor says, eerily calm. “If someone doesn’t want to marry you because of a measly scar, then you shouldn’t even consider them. Real men aren’t scared of scars, nor are they repelled by them, as they probably have many. Besides, your beauty hasn’t even been tainted the tiniest bit.”

He boops your nose, earning your first laugh since a while. “How could you ever lose your beauty? You have taken it allll from me. And it’s not going to fade any soon — in fact, it’s only going to bloom more and more as you grow, and as much as I would like to hold you in my arms forever, I can’t wait to see you blossom into a fine woman.”

The Grand Maester visits you every hour — per your grandsire’s request — and checks your wound, who slowly but surely is getting better and better every day. Viserys is already informing himself about headpieces that could hide the scar and is worrying about in having them made by the best goldsmiths of Westeros, and even if the scar will always be there, the thought of hiding it makes you feel a bit easier. 

To take your mind off of the last few days your grandsire lets you sleep in his quarters — on his king sized bed — happily reading you tales about Old Valyria and telling you stories of the great Balerion. He’s taken to sleeping on the daybed by the bed, worried that you’re going to bleed out to death or something like that, and it is only upon Corlys’ pressing that he agrees to the servants bringing another bed to the chambers so that he can sleep there. 

Your parents look relieved for the first time in weeks, visiting you everyday with the maesters, making sure the pain has subdued and you are well. Your father pinches your cheeks and your nose, reminding you that your sword is set to arrive on your ninth nameday — which isn’t that far — and your grandsire promises to call for yet another big celebration in your honour. It boosts your mood to another level, so Rhaenyra for once in her life is actually happy about her father downright spoiling you rotten. 

But soon enough, your grandsire and uncles have to leave for King’s Landing; he has duties to attend to, and they have prolonged their stay for too much time already. Helaena will stay with you and return to Dragonstone with her own dragon when the time comes — and you pretend to not notice the look he gives Alicent when he says that, like it’s a punishment meant for her. 

Punishment or not, you’ve never seen your aunt happier. She says that by being betrothed to Jace, she has just avoided marrying Aegon, which she is ecstatic about. She’s making a point of bonding with Rhaena and Baela as well, often inviting you all to her chambers to embroider or take some tea together. Things are going back up again, but before you can really get back up on your feet, tragedy strikes again.

You are taking a walk with your grandparents right after supper, happily trotting around High Tide like you own the place, when a servant calls for the Lord and Lady Velaryon to immediately follow him to their chambers. 

Neither the sight of your father’s burned body by the fireplace nor the screams of your grandmother will ever get out of your head. 

“In my own chambers!” your grandfather screams, enraged, breaking vases and making servants and guards flinch. “How could you allow this to happen? How?!”

Nobody seems to care enough about you to get you out of the room — with your grandfather going mad and your grandmother lost in her own grief — and as you stare longer and longer at the burned face of your father, where his eyes once were, you suddenly realise why Nādrēsy prefers her preys raw or alive. He doesn’t even look like your father; all that’s left unscathed on his body is the medallion around his neck and the ring in his left hand. 

You don’t have the courage to say anything, but your throat feels raw, the screams of Rhaenys and Corlys melting into one in the back of your mind. Is that even your father? You wouldn’t know, his face is deformed beyond recognition. But the hands are not, and— yes. Those are the same hands that held you non-stop just a fortnight ago. 

You spent an entire lifetime knowing his face, just for him to end up dying with another one.

You fall to your knees, taking his hand in yours, hoping he squeezes back. When he doesn't, it all clicks; this is real. Your father is dead. Laena has brought him with her.

“Father,” you murmur. “Father,” you say louder, shaking his body. The fabrics are still hot and melting, and they stick to your fingers and burn your hands, but you don’t care. “Please,” you beg. With who are you talking — the Gods, the sea, old Valyrian Gods? You have no idea. You just hope someone, anyone, will listen to your prayer.

Nobody hears. 

You’re ripped from your father’s body by rough hands, and it takes you a moment to understand that it’s once again Daemon, holding you back once again. “No!” you scream, hysteric, and only now you notice that your mother and brothers are by the door, behind them your cousins and Helaena. It seems you weren’t the only ones the servants called. “No, no, my father–”

“Your father is dead,” it’s said with an unnerving and cruel calm — the calm only someone who has stopped crying for his parents a long time ago can have. “No tears nor hysterics from you will ever change that.” you ask yourself if he has told that to his daughters, too, when their mother died, because if so you’re pretty sure Rhaenys would love to have a little talk with him. 

Your cries only get louder, and as you trash in his hold you deliver a good kick to his shins. He gasps, letting you go and going to cover with his hands the hurt area. “You little–”

Before you can run up to your father again, it’s Corlys who stops you, caging you in his arms and kneeling down. “He’s gone, sweetling,” he murmurs delicately, tears in his eyes. “Shh, shh, everything’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” 

It’s not.

Nothing’s okay as days later Corlys recites his eulogy, nor when your father’s corpse is thrown in the waters below High Tide, in the same place where his sister was thrown just weeks ago. Your father has died, and for what? A stupid jealousy spat, as Ser Qarl put it? You hope he had a bad time in Nādrēsy’s mouth and stomach, at least half as bad as what you’re going through right now. 

After the funeral you’re in shambles, finding yourself in the same position where Laenor once was: down on your knees in the water, crying your heart out alone. Your brothers had tried to follow, your mother to stop you, but it was all in vain. Your father now belongs to the sea, so to the sea you’ll go for comfort, as you once did with him. 

“Why?” you ask. You don’t know exactly who you are talking to — the sea, to the Old Gods of Valyria or the Seven. “Weren’t Laena and Harwin enough? Hasn’t our family already suffered more than is necessary?”

A storm is clearly brewing, with the salt waters unclear and high waves in the distance. A thunder almost replies to you, making your eardrums shake and your head hurt. “He was kind, gentle and loving,” you weep, “why did you have to take him away from me?”

This time, no response is heard from the sky — there's only the thundering of the waves, who are getting more and more violent, and you take it as your father sensing your pain.

In the days following Laenor’s death and funeral, you do not eat, talk, or get out of your room. You stay bundled up in bed, the same bed where once he had comforted you, and you do not even find in yourself the strength to cry — nor the tears, as you’ve shed an abnormal amount of them in the last fortnight. 

Every day three times a day a servant comes in with a tray and begs you to eat, then leaves the tray filled with food and water on your nightstand, hoping that you will eat something. You barely do. 

Often they leave some letters, too, and leave them on a stack on your settee; they’re all the condolences the lords and ladies of Westeros are sending you, surely, and at least half of them have the Targaryen emblem, meaning your grandfather — who missed the funeral — is probably growing antsy. 

Sometimes your family knocks at the door, and that’s the only moment you get out of bed — to lock the entrance. You do not have the heart to look at your grandparents in their faces, nor your mother or brothers. You fear you’ll find disappointment in their eyes — that they’ll search for your father in your features and will be able to find nothing. The scar is still new and red, and as of now, is as noticeable as ever, even with the bandages.

This trance lasts for almost a sennight, until one day you get up, put on your nightgown and venture down into the kitchens. The hour is late, but not late enough for servants to already be in bed, so you’re not surprised to find them still bustling with pots and pans. 

One of them almost screams once she sees you. “Your Grace!” she yells, spooked, all of them hurriedly and clumsily bowing. “May– may we help you with something?”

Your eyes are dull. “Are there any lemon cakes left?” there are no lemon cakes in the trays left in your chambers.

Soon after you’re sitting on a little crooked chair, eating the lemon cakes that were left from dinner, as they all stand away, staring at you scaredly. You realise they are waiting for some kind of response. “They’re good,” you tell them, voice raspy. 

The servant from earlier nods hesitantly. “We– we’re happy to hear that, Your Grace. Should I… should I call for the guards? To escort you back to your chambers?”

“No,” you murmur, finishing the cake and getting back on your feet. You sincerely hope nobody has seen you, because you don’t want stares from anyone in your family, not if they’ll look at you like the servants are doing right now. “I don't need one.”

The walk back to your chambers is quiet and dark, as the corridors are barely lighted by the torches, and you make sure to lock the door to your chambers once you enter. You spare a glance at the letters on the settee, and think that maybe it is time to read them.

As you predicted, half of them are from your grandsire, made of begs for forgiveness for his absence and memories about his own father’s death, also mentioning that the headpiece he had commissioned is almost done and will be ready for your nameday. How will you tell him you do not wish to celebrate it anymore? 

There are various letters, all from pretty prominent lords — Lannister, Tully, Baratheon — but also from the ones of smaller houses, like Blackwood or Mormont. They all apparently wish their deepest condolences to you and will be happy to assist if you ever need their help with what your father has left behind. Aka, they all already seem quite interested in remarrying your mother — scandal! The mourning period has just started for her and she won’t be able to marry for at least a year — and also, you know that some of them are still married. 

The last letter makes you honestly frown at the direwolf wax crest keeping it closed. Now, why would Cregan Stark, barely three-and-ten, be interested in your mother? But as you open it, interest in your mother is the last thing you can find. 

To the Crown Princess, firstborn of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon.  I was truly sorry to hear of your father’s passing. I remember Ser Laenor very well, and he has always been nothing but kind to our family, always welcoming us with a smile on his face the little times we went to King’s Landing. I myself lost my father almost three years ago, and I must say, the pain dulls over time. It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, but living with it becomes easier. The void parents leave behind never fully heals, and it is easy to fall back in despair every once in a while, but I recommend crying as much as you can during the mourning period and then keeping yourself busy — at least, that worked for me, and I share this with Your Grace in hopes to help her. I wasn’t much older than you when the late Lord of Winterfell died, and losing a father isn’t something easy to process. Parents are the first to welcome us into the world, and the pain that their passing brings isn’t something even barely imaginable to someone who hasn’t gone through it.  Remember to always keep your head up, for the crown is a heavy burden and your shoulders must get used to it — as unpleasant as it may be. 

You’ve never received a letter from him before, and if it wasn’t for the situation, you’d probably be jumping around and twirling in your dresses. 

Your eyes dart to his knife, sitting upon your desk — as it always is. You rarely leave it behind when you go somewhere, as you have grown quite attached to it. A scary thought passes through your head, making you shiver. Is this what father meant, to think of death as a relief? You doubt you’d ever have the courage to do it; your family is already broken enough as it is. 

You realise you need a change of air. 

The ride to Dragonstone is rushed and a bit scary, with the Stark knife sitting on your hip, heavier than ever. You don’t plan on staying too long, as your mother will worry and your family still is on Driftmark, hoping to bring comfort to Corlys and Rhaenys. 

The servants greet you with messy clothes and tousled hair, clearly having just woken up, but it doesn’t take long for them to accompany you to the nursery. 

It seems Joffrey has just woken up, too, whining in his crib a bit; you coo at him, brushing the brown tufts of hair away from his forehead. “Hello, little guy,” you whisper. “Missed me?”

He stirs as you take him in your arms, bleary hazel eyes looking at you; then he smiles, showing you his toothless gums, reaching a hand out for your cheek. You laugh, “Aren’t you the most precious thing?” you hum, tapping delicately his nose. “Hidden here from all the pain of the world, not knowing a thing about what’s going on?”

You press a light kiss on his head as he takes your index finger in his hand. “Father won’t be here to see you grow up, but I’ll be. And I promise to make sure that you’ll be as loved and taken care of as I was when he was here, still with us.”

Four moons pass agonisingly slowly; you all get back to Dragonstone at the end of the first, for your grandparents seem to be able to go on without your presence, and the time to get used to life on the island without your father has come. As Lord Stark suggested, you keep yourself busy: you show Helaena and your cousins — who, with their father, have moved to the castle with you all —, you’ve helped them set their things up in their chambers and every day you visit little Joff in the nursery, often with your brothers present. 

You started eating again, much to your mother’s relief, and have convinced your grandsire to avoid hosting a feast for your ninth nameday, on the promise to let him go all out for your tenth summer — Laenor’s loss is still too fresh for you to feel like you can start enjoying yourself again. He still insisted on giving you a present, though, and has told you to come to King’s Landing as soon as you could, during or after your nameday. 

The day before you officially turn nine summers old, though, your mother calls you in her chambers. You’re surprised to also find uncle Daemon there; you know they are... close, but as you have a particular dislike towards him, it is rare for the two of you to be found in the same room together. 

Trying to hide the disdain for your uncle, you focus on Rhaenyra, who’s smiling nervously. “You sent for me, mother?”

“That I did, sweetling,” she says, eyes a bit unsure. “I– we, me and your uncle, have to tell you something.” you don’t like the tone she’s using — it’s like she already knows you won’t like what she’s about to say. You have an inkling of what she could be hiding, but you wait for her to spill the beans, because you don’t like your intuition one bit. 

“We’ll get married by the next moon.” what happened to breaking news softly?

Looks like you were right, but that doesn’t mean you’re more ready to hear it from her mouth. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It would strengthen the both of us,” she reasons, already trying to calm you down. “My claim to the throne would be strengthened by the union and Joffrey would have a father to look up to as he grows up.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “I know that the passing of your late father’s–”

“Late father?” you hiss. “Late father? Mother, you can’t even say his name now?”

She sighs. “Laenor was a good man, but you know I didn’t love him–”

“Does it really matter?” you scoff. “The mourning period isn’t even over yet! By marrying him, you’ll bring disgrace to my father’s name!”

She has tears in her eyes; she knew from the start that this discussion could only go downhill, and the fact that Daemon has a smirk on his face only worsens things. “I know you’re angry, but you have to understand that me and Daemon hold love for each other and our union will–”

“I don’t care!” you boom, “I don’t care if you love him, father loved you too! Maybe not in the conventional way, maybe more like a sister or a friend, but he held enough regard for you to have me despite his limits! He would’ve never done this to you! And my brothers’ father — he’s dead, both of them are, and you won’t just– just replace them with him!” you point an accusatory finger at your uncle, sat without a care in the world on the couch and sipping on a goblet of wine. "Harwin Strong, too, was a good man, an honest knight, and he was loyal to you until the very end!”

Your mother bites back — because even with all the love she holds for you, she is quite prideful, too. “That is enough!” she rages, “I told you because I wanted to let you know before your brothers and cousins did, not because I needed your approval! Daemon is a good match and the decision is taken, so you better change your attitude! Besides, why do you hate him so much?”

“Ooh, I have a list,” you boast. “For starters, he ripped me off of my dead father’s body when it was still warm. But I can go on.” you don’t wait for her reply to continue, “He’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen — I’m sure horses can look better. He’s so old he’s not only my uncle but yours too, and by now his hair is fair not because he’s a Targaryen, but because it’s turning white! He’s so old he’s starting to smell like a decaying body, and don’t even get me started on his wrinkles! He has lost his wife and child not even four moons ago and he’s already replacing them with a widowed lady and a fatherless child! Out of the two wives he has had, both have died! If you think I am ever going to accept that thing into my house then you’re wrong! Marry him if you want, but don’t ever, ever expect me to be present to the ceremony nor be cordial to him!”

You are breathless by the time the last sentence is finished, chest heaving, and the two adults are looking at you bewildered. Your mother has tears in her eyes, while Daemon stares at you with his mouth open. “First of all, I am not that old. Second, this is not your house. This is your mother’s house.” he says. Then he looks at your mother. “Third, you didn’t tell me she behaved so much like me. I feel like I needed to be warned that.”

If your rage could be held back before, it can’t now. You scream at the top of your lungs until your throat feels raw, “I am not like you and I will never be! I’ll cut my throat before I will even start to resemble you, you… you whore!” you’ll have to ask Aegon for more effective insults towards men, because calling him a whore right now feels like a jest. “You’ll never be even half the man my father was, as you are even barely a man. What is a prince without honour? You must be some kind of dragonseed, because I know you have none!”

Your mother says your name sternly. “You’ve said far more than I should’ve allowed you.”

You stay silent. “Alright, then.” you head over to the door, taking the handle in your hand, and almost open it before she speaks up again, “Where do you think you’re going?” she asks. Her voice has a strange tremble to it, but you cannot understand if it’s out of anger or something else. “I told you, the decision is taken. Nothing you will do will make us change our minds.”

You open the doors, turning to look at them. “Oh, I’m not telling you not to get married. I’m just telling you I won’t be there to witness it.” you get out of there, shutting the doors closed behind you, and despite her yells, your mother doesn’t follow you — nor does Daemon. 

Maybe it’s stupid, but it doesn’t feel like it. You don’t care that Daemon is old, nor do you care about the fact that he’s ugly — it’s just that you don’t like him, and they’re disrespecting your father’s memory by marrying so early after his death. As long as she’s happy, you’d let your mother do anything; but this feels like too much. You get that she didn’t love your father, but at the very least she should care about the love that you and your brothers held for him. Besides, just the thought of little Joff calling Daemon ‘father’ makes you shiver. 

“Your Grace!” as you storm off, a page follows you, breathless and dazed. “Your Grace, a ship has just arrived down to the harbour. There’s a man in the courtroom — he says he’s searching for the late Ser Laenor Velaryon.”

You frown, stopping for a moment. There’s no way any westerosi man has never heard of your father’s passing — he has been dead for four moons by now, and word is quick in Westeros. He should know better. 

The courtroom is almost empty, spare for the guards and a few servants bustling around and whispering to each other, looking at a gruff looking man. He has tanned skin, hair and beard black and unkept, and the dry skin of someone who has stayed on a ship for a long period. His clothes are modest and his gaze is confused. 

“Good evening,” you start, making him jump. He probably hadn’t seen you. “May I help you?”

“Erm…” he mutters, unsure of himself. He’s clutching a parcel in his hands. “Me no talk westerosi good. Ser Laenor Velaryon here is?”

You raise an eyebrow. A Tyroshi. So, that’s why he doesn’t know your father is dead. He has been travelling. “My father was Ser Laenor Velaryon. He passed away four moons ago, I’m afraid. Whatever you had to tell him, you can say it to me.”

He looks unsure — maybe he didn’t understand you pretty well — but slowly nods. “Master said to deliver parcel to him.”

Ah, you understand. A slave. “You can give it to me. I will treat it with the utmost care.” you tilt your head, staring at him. “Do you need anything? Food, some water, a refuge?”

He vehemently shakes his head and places the package in your hands. “Me can’t. Other works to deliver I have. Ship sails again soon.” 

He’s gone before you can protest, a certain urgency in his walk, and the guards are happy to show him off. You look at the parcel in your hands, confused, not remembering anything your father commissioned the Tyroshi. 

You get back to your chambers, curiosity getting the best of you, immediately tearing off the silk wrapped around the wooden box. A piece of paper sits between them, and your confusion only grows when you notice there are words written on it. Tears pool in your eyes once you recognise the writing. 

To the fairest Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, whom the Gods allowed me to raise and cherish.

You open the box with shaky hands, finding a sword. Written on the blade there’s a small inscription: From Father, with love. You start crying even before you can take it out from its box, clutching it close to your chest by the hilt, careful not to cut yourself — you had completely forgotten about it, about the fact that your father had it commissioned for you. With everything that happened, it completely slipped off of your mind.

Even with eyes clouded with tears, you take a better look at the sword: it’s shorter than a normal one, right for your size, and the grip is shaped like a seahorse — it’s the only part of the sword decorated with blue shiny rocks and gold. It’s not a common design, surely not a convenient one — you doubt you could ever go to war with a thing like this — as it’s more of a ceremonial weapon, much like the knife you stole from Lord Cregan. 

Even dead, your father always manages to give you something for your birthday. 

You try to recompose yourself, and now there’s only one thing in your mind — rage. Your father was a good man, yet your mother is ready to disrespect his memory when his passing is still so fresh. You have no intention of staying here to watch. 

It does not take you long to get yourself in your riding attire, the Velaryon gold emblem flaring on your chest; you carefully put the sword in its scabbard, tying an old pearl string that Laenor gifted you years ago to the guard of it. You then tie it to your belt, as you’ve seen knights do, and you don’t forget your — Lord Cregan’s — dagger, who finds its place just beside the sword. The buckle that holds together your leather straps is one with the Stark emblem on it — in this moment, you’d even wear the Lannister’s lion crest just to forget for a minute about your Targaryen blood, which as of now you’re really ashamed of. 

The plan is simple — flee to King’s Landing, then give your grandsire a reason to keep you there, which should not be too difficult. Fate has a funny way of working, and the King’s Justice has just died — news flash! You’ve got a dragon who could use some human flesh between his teeth regularly, and he doesn’t even have to be paid. You have the literal perfect candidate in your hands, and surely, the King won’t be too sad to have you around for a bit. 

You leave right after saying goodbye to Helaena and your brothers, not telling them exactly why. Because even if you hate Daemon, you don’t hate your mother, and you could never bear any of them thinking that you’re leaving because of her. 

“Can I come with you?” Luke asks, dragon plush in his hands, big brown eyes pleading. You melt a bit, gently shaking your head, “You must stay here, you’re still too young to ride a dragon. Besides, who’s going to protect Joff and Jace if you’re gone?”

Jacaerys huffs, crossing his arms as his younger brother lights up and makes sword moves with the plush. “I will take care of them,” he sniffs — you know he’s just trying to act tough, though.

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t have to cry. I’ll come back… sooner or later, anyway.”

He lunges at you for a hug, knocking the air right out of your chest. “Please don’t go,” he whimpers. You caress his head — he’s still much shorter than you, and you hate to think about the day he will be too tall to fit right into your hugs. “I’ll be right back,” you whisper. “I promise.”

Stability

A/N: My dudes, I’m so sorry that I have been kinda MIA. I finally got the Steven Tyler fic out that I had been working on for ages. Well, I’ve been working on this one for a lot longer and it’s finally finished. I hope to get all my current requests done soon. Let’s hope in a timely manner. I just need to get my butt in gear and sit down and write this shit. I also hope to have the second part to songs for any occasion done soon. But, time flies when you’re doing just about anything, so we’ll see. Requests are open and I hope you enjoy. Love you guys!!!

*~~*~~*

Masterlist

Slash x Reader

Summary: Y/n’s parents are like every uptight Christian parents of the 80s. So, thinking Footloose would be the right direction. They want nothing to do with rock music and want to keep their daughter far from it. That is until she starts dating a man in a rock band. Now, Y/n’s afraid that they may never see him the same way she does.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: None??? (Slash is referred to by his actual name because Y/n’s parents definitely wouldn’t approve if they had to call him Slash).

Y/n sighed, bored with the conversation that had been going on for what felt like hours even though it had been mere minutes. It wasn’t like it was the first time she’d had to have the conversation - it seemed that every time she’d mention or alluded to rock this conversation would start.

“I’m not saying you can’t date him, Y/n,” her father told her while he flipped through a stack of bills. “All I’m saying is that he isn’t good enough for you. Will he be able to support you once his music career fails? Will he even want to marry you or just discard you once he gets bored?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter, wishing nuclear fall out were an option.

Her mother nodded from her place in front of the stove. “Your father has a point, dear. Stability is key to a happy life and he may not be able to offer you that,” she told her daughter while she stirred the pot in front of her. “So, why waste your time with him if you may never get married?”

Like always, she just shrugged. There was no use in arguing as her parents weren’t going to listen to reason. They were those good Christians that the 80s were known for. And like good Christians of the time, rock music was what the devil listened to and Ronald Reagan was the ideal president. Why not? Y/n didn’t care much for politics, so she never cared to understand what was so great about the president. Rock, on the other hand, was something she cared about but her parents never wanted to hear about.

They had been sucked in on the propaganda about the musical genre that had spread around the neighborhood. Anything of the genre was outlawed in her house, which was alright with her. She was limited when around them and anyone else her parents associated with, but she still had freedom outside of the house. As much as her parents wanted to create a safe enviorment like the pastor in Footloose, it wasn’t going to happen. Whether they liked it or not, she listened to the Devil’s music more than she listened to God’s words. 

But what really hurt wasn’t that she couldn’t enjoy herself at home and do as she pleased, it was that anything remotely related to that dreadful music wasn’t good enough for her parents. Y/n didn’t care if they liked the same music she did or called her favorite artists and bands Satanist, what she cared about was that they wouldn’t even given the man she loved a chance.

Y/n groaned, sucking in a deep breath. “Who said I want to get married? And that’s not even close to what I was talking about.”

“Than what were you talking about, dear?” her father asked, hiding behind a newspaper. 

“I just wanted to know if Saul could come over for dinner or something like that. You know, so I don’t have to hear any more about how he’s not good enough for me from the two of you when you haven’t even met him.”

“I’ll think about.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing herself off the counter. “You do that, dad, you do that.”

*~~*~~*

Saul rocked on his heels nervously, waiting for the door to open. He had been excited to meet Y/n’s parents, after all, his parents were head over heels in love with her. They wanted to be around her more than him, which stung a little. But, damn, it was better than them hating her. After a few seconds, the door opened, exposing an older woman that Saul assumed to be Y/n’s mother.

Opening the door all the way, the woman smiled, “You must be Saul.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do come it.” She moved out of the way to let him in. “Y/n will be out in a minute. Why don’t we take a seat in the living room.”

It was odd how formal the woman was, but at least she was kind. Her smile didn’t meet her eyes, but how many smiles really did? Y/n didn’t talk about her parents often, but when she did nothing good was said. From what he’d gathered, they were people pleasers and one with the crowd. But, some people were like that, society bred people that way and it took too much strength for some to break away from the crowd. 

Stepping into the living, the guitarist glanced over the photos and paintings that dawned the wall. Pictures of Y/n as a small child among her family on vacations, Christmas, and school events. Even if she complained, at least her parents were present. Saul let out a small sigh as he made his way over to the couch, pillows and a blanket strategically placed. He could hear what he thought sounded like a knife hitting a cutting board and feet hitting stairs. Not even a few seconds pasted before Y/n walked into the living room, a huge smile upon her face.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said with a smile, embracing him before looking over his apparel. “And I’m so glad you finally figured out how to dress nicely.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “My mother happened to teach me how to do that, I’ll have you know.”

Y/n glanced behind her to see her mom walk off to the kitchen. Turning to her boyfriend, she let her shoulders relax. Around Saul, she didn’t have to be the good girl her parents wanted her to be. Around him, it seemed that anything and everything was possible. There were no cookie cutters or boxes that she couldn’t think outside of. The world was her’s to conquer with him by her side and she hoped, she prayed to god, that her parents would see that he was more than just some drugged-up rock star.

“She didn’t give you a hard time, did she?”

Saul shook his head, giving her a small smile. “She was actually really polite. You made her out to sound like she tears heads off of children.”

Y/n laughed, shaking her head. Her mother, tear of heads, not a chance. “She would never do such a thing, not with god watching. And I don’t know why I expected less from her. She’s a saint, I’ll have you know.”

“Then I’m sure my mother will love her. They can discuss saintly things over tea,” he joked, running a hand through his hair, which he through into a neat ponytail. 

“My mom doesn’t like tea.”

“Coffee then.”

Before any more could be discussed on what the potential meeting of their mothers, Y/n’s mom poked her head into the room, her presence silencing their conversation. 

“Dinner’s ready if you two will head to the table.”

*~~*~~*

With food piled on their plates, everyone was silent. Y/n munched on her green beans, trying to pretend she couldn’t feel the tension that filled the air. Saul seemed unfazed, but Y/n knew better than to believe that. He played cool whether he was internally or not. That was how he went through life. He’s acting skills were amazing whether he knew he possed them or not.

“Y/n tells me your a musician,” her father stated, picking through his salad.

“Yeah, I am,” he confirmed.

Her father shook his head, disappointment written all over it. She knew he was hoping for a different answer. “I hear there isn’t much money in that. Have you considered any other career options?”

Y/n let out a sigh, wishing the world would just swallow her whole. It was no surprise to her that this conversation would come up, but she wished it didn’t matter. The average blue-collar job isn’t for everyone, her father should have known that. Her grandfather was a member of the circus for years. Of course, no one talked about it because it wasn’t an acceptable job in their minds, it still paid the bills.  

Placing his silverware on the table, Saul thought for a moment before looking the man in the eye. “Well, I have thought of other career options but I have no passion for them. I know, without a doubt, that music will never be boring to me. Plumbing or accounting or anything else, sure I may make more money doing that, but how long until I get bored? And to be honest, sir, money means nothing to me. It may buy you fancy things, but it really can’t buy happiness, that’s found in the heart.”

Y/n’s father was speechless, but not angry like Y/n and her mother thought he would be. His eyes seemed to light up right before his lips tugged into a smile. “That is a better answer than I gave your father,” he turned to his wife, shaking his head. If only he was smart enough to think of an answer like that.

Y/n couldn’t help but smile with him as she realized that Saul was at least acceptable in her father’s eyes. Her mother, well… she would eventually see the same thing Y/n did. But at least there was no fear of them not approving of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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YOU LOVE BLOOD TOO MUCH (BUT NOT LIKE I DO) | RYOMEN SUKUNA

awakened in a new era, ryomen sukuna found endless opportunities to hurt and maim others. he also found you, a sorcerer with an ever-expading soul bonded to oaths of pacifism and self-control. allured by the strength you decided to hide, sukuna realized this era could be far more fascinating than he expected.

PAIRING: ryomen sukuna x reader, satosugu, itafushi, chosoyuki, mechamiwa, nobamaki, inuokko, shokohime, hainana, momomai.

WARNINGS: fix-it; no major character death; canon levels of violence, blood and gore; in character ryomen sukuna; eventual smut; enemies to lovers; slow burn; cannibalism, hurt/comfort; murder couple; awful villains and insane sorcerers; miwa is not useless + i'll add more as we go.

THEIR SHARED PLAYLIST: ptolomea by ethel cain / i am an animal cannibal by mysteron / strangers by ethel cain / tear you apart by she wants revenge / void in blue by glare / me and mr wolf by the real tuesday weld / rule #34 by fish in a birdcage / oxytocin by billie eilish / killing butterflies by lou bliss / that unwanted animal by the amazing devil / relay by fiona apple / nowhere to go by bad omens

TAGLIST: @snowsilver2000

tell me if you want to be tagged!

BELLA'S NOTE: we're solving plot points with power of friendship, mlm/wlw pairings and a gun toji handed me by accident. think of a dead character. wrong, they're alive. yes, even that one. yes, specially that one. yes, thank you for remembering about this random guy, he's also thriving. in this series i want to explore the quiet moments of jujutsu kaisen, battles within clans and how being perceived as a monster since birth can push people into paths they otherwise wouldn't cross. and blood. a lot of blood. and, of course, i want to make those characters happier. they deserve it. they will suffer a lot before reaching that point, but it'll be worth it.

check it on ao3! ★ check the pinterest board!

ARC I. FEARSOME WOMB

i. a blinding glimpse or the one you politely offered your heart to the king of curses in an attempt of mocking him.

ii. postpone or the one you threatened to obliterate satoru gojo.

iii. the first night or the one ryomen sukuna contemplated suicide.

interlude or the one ct is explained.

iv. three is a magic number or the one with unsupervised kids with knifes.

v. know who to call or the one you tried to protect yuji itadori.

others to be add!

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