#before he even reaches his goal of getting to Will

[coff33andb00ks]

LANDO + 36 AHHH 🤍

36: unconsciously searching out each other’s hand while sleeping

driver + number = drabble/short fic <3

Lando is clingy. Not in a bad way, it's actually endearing how much he craves physical touch. It doesn't matter what's going on, he needs to feel you. He's a hugger, a hand holder, an arm around your shoulder, head in your lap on movie night, thighs touching in the back seat, and though it can sometimes be annoying you love it. It's like he knows that each touch - the hand squeezes, every hug, each time he leans against you, all the big and little touches throughout the day - he knows that it heals the scared girl you keep locked inside you.

You love it, truly. But...

Lando's also hot. In the attractive sense yes of course, but also temperature wise. He's a furnace and still chooses to dress in hoodies and sweaters and jackets like he's freezing. You can handle it during the day - mainly because he can't cling to you and always has to do some work - but at night it's torture. Or it was. Until you finally told him you couldn't fully sleep in his arms all night or you'd roast alive. Since you'd told him at three in the morning, sweating and standing in front of the fan, he hadn't acted hurt or asked if you even loved him. He'd apologized and asked if he could at least hold you until you were almost asleep.

Compromise? In this economy? You'd agreed, and in the weeks since you've been able to sleep without worrying you'd be smothered by his heat.

He holds you and doesn't fight you when you wiggle away for your space. Sometimes you wake up to his leg over yours or his hand on your chest or his face in your neck but it's not hard to wriggle into a more comfortable position. And you make sure he gets plenty of cuddles and hugs when you're awake.

He's obviously tired as you get ready for bed and you know he's worn out. He doesn't talk about his occasional insomnia much but you know it's there, lurking and waiting for a time he needs as much rest as he can get before it rears its ugly head again. As you get into bed he sighs and reaches for you.

"Are we getting boring?" He mumbles the words against the back of your neck, his nose pressed in your hair.

"How do you mean?" you ask, grunting as his arms tighten around you, his body curling closer.

"S'posed to be putting my kids in you."

You roll your eyes. It's been his goal since you became official and he realized that his occasional fuckboy tendencies weren't going to scare you off. "It's fine baby, you can do it in the morning."

"M'just tired," he mumbles. "Still wanna fuck you though."

"I know. Go to sleep, you can do it later."

"K." He kisses your neck and wriggles closer. Until you think he wasn't joking the time he said he wished he could crawl under your skin and stay.

You read for a while, until his breathing evens and you feel him relax fully, his arm heavy over you. The heat is overwhelming and you carefully slide free, switching off the lamp while he rolls away with a sleepy groan. And you know for sure that he's exhausted because in the time it takes you to fall asleep he doesn't wiggle close again.

You dream about the kids he keeps saying he wants to put in you. Beautiful little babies with his eyes and messy hair that wreak havoc in the best way just like their dad. And in your dream you think to yourself that having his kids wouldn't be so bad...

When you awake he's still on the other side of the bed. His face is pushed into the pillow and despite the gentle snoring and sheet marks on his cheek he's still adorable to you. His arm is stretched towards you and as you become aware of your body you see his hand.

Clutching yours.

Fingers intertwined, thumb hooked over yours, his knuckles white. He's clinging to your hand like it's a lifeline and oh, you feel guilty for telling him you didn't want him holding you all night. You can tell his hand searched for yours - his arm is twisted in the sheet and yours is too And you wonder if he was able to even sleep properly until he was holding onto you, or if it had been a blind search in the night by both of you, because you know deep down your body craves his touch as much as he craves yours.

With your free hand you untangle the sheets and he stirs. And while he reaches for you with his other arm and pulls you close he's still asleep, still clutching your hand. You never want him to let go.

[veritas-scribblings]

brain - @jegulus-microfic- words: 1,008

[follow-up to 'achieve']

The world is a little bit woozy when James wakes up. He’s not in his own bed. This, he can sense from how everything around him feels slightly wrong. The sheets are firmer, scratchier. The pillows are hard and lumpy, not the soft feather-down ones Regulus is so fussy about having. 

There are voices around him. Voices he doesn’t know. Some distant. Some closer. And there’s Marlene’s voice close by, and James is sure she can’t be in bed with him. So maybe James is dead, and maybe he’s in hell. And if James is dead and this is hell, then of course Marlene would be here to greet him.

‘Wakey wakey.’ Marlene prods him directly in the face. 

All James can say is, ‘ugh.’ It’s a sound that he makes from the very depths of his soul. With being awake has come the Hogwarts Express of all headaches chugging through his brain. 

‘Took a bludger to the head,’ Marlene explains when James fully wakes and the room comes into view as much as it can without his glasses. It’s not his bedroom. Not even the first aid rooms in the stadium. It’s not even a room. ‘On-site healers couldn’t wake you, so they brought you here. They still need to do a cognitive assessment to make sure you’re not brain damaged. Your man is outside making a fuss right now. Probably wants to get you some fluffier pillows or something.’ Marlene snickers. 

Of course Regulus is making a fuss. James squints. Without his glasses, Marlene is a slight blur. She’s seated by his bed, feet propped up and draped across his legs. ‘Did we win?’ he groans, reaching up to rub his temple in a bid to soothe the throbbing. 

‘Nah. Regulus had a fit when you fell. He tried to call the game off, but they wouldn’t cancel it, so he went and caught the damn snitch to end it all. We lost by 10 points.’

Before James can say anything, Regulus bursts in through the curtains around James’s bed and hisses, ‘Incompetent idiots!’ His voice is low, quiet as not to disturb James. ‘Apparently they’re busy. They’ll get to him when “when they can”. We’ve been here for almost a fucking hour and they’ve yet—’

Regulus falls silent. He stops by the bed where James is struggling to sit up, fighting against the dizziness and the sharp knife-like pain that stabs through his temple at every movement.

In the smoke and the fog of it all, Regulus is a sight, a vision. A lovely, messy sight, all angry and fussy. He’s still in his quidditch gear, James can tell, though without his glasses he can’t see Regulus clearly enough and that really is a travesty. 

It had been raining during the match, James remembers. The torrential sort of rain that James had barely been able to see through, though this hadn’t bothered him, as not being able to see Regulus well would mean he would be less focussed on where Regulus was and watching Regulus fly, and more focussed on the game. James had known, however, that Regulus would be angry about it, and anger normally drives Regulus either to hyperfocus and over perform. Or it just throws him off his game. It is always a 50-50 gamble either way.

They’d been almost 100 points up against Puddlemere United and into the third hour. If James’s memory serves him—and he can’t be so sure—Noonan, the Puddlemere beater, had hit a bludger directly at him to prevent him from scoring a goal.

James makes a startled sound when Regulus leans down, grabs the front of his hospital gown and pulls him up into a fierce, desperate kiss. The sudden movement feels like another bludger rattling around in his head, and Regulus’s lips are the balm that soothes the pain and the discomfort.

Regulus mumbles something unintelligible into the kiss before pulling back slightly and nuzzling gently against James’s cheek. ‘You’re awake,’ he whispers, and then, ‘I’m wet and gross,’ a slight disgruntled whine, as James tries to pull him down onto the bed with him.

‘So use a drying charm.’ James tugs the front of Regulus’s shirt. Up close, Regulus comes into view and he’s breath-taking. His hair, normally loose curls, is damp and a little windswept, sticking up in places. Beautiful. So very beautiful.

‘James—’

‘You can never be gross.’ James smiles slightly. ‘I’m injured. You have to do what I want and I want to be held and kissed better.’

Sighing, Regulus goes down with some reluctance and tucks himself under James’s arm. He holds James tightly, as James had requested, and kisses him slowly, his hands cradling James’s head like James is fragile and might break apart.

It’s then that James realises Marlene has left and they’re alone. As alone as they can be in a little room made of fabric curtains, surrounded by other bed-ridden people in little rooms made of fabric curtains. 

‘You had to go catch the snitch, huh. You couldn’t have let us have the win?’ he asks, trying to look as pitiful as he can.

Regulus snorts. ‘As if. You don’t get a pity win just because you’re injured.’ He lays his head down on James’s shoulder. ‘Noonan’s getting a 5-game suspension for intentionally causing bodily harm.’

James frowns, pulling Regulus closer and squeezing him slightly. ‘And?’ he asks.

‘And…?’ Regulus tips his head up and licks at James’s lips with just the tip of his tongue, the way that he does when he’s trying to distract James or seem all innocent.

‘Come on, love, I know you too well. What did you do to Noonan? Nothing illegal, I hope.’

When Regulus smiles, it’s a conniving smile. He snuggles into James’s chest. ‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘Maybe he’ll also be laid up with a mysterious illness. Playing in the rain like that, one has to have a strong constitution. Noonan has always been a bit…weak.’ He presses a kiss under James’s chin and hums quietly. ‘Serves him right, if you ask me.’

[littlefireball]

CS|As a vampire's gift (M)

Vampire! San x Human! Reader

Heavy Smut(?)|Vampire AU|Reader cut herself (don't do that)|Unprotected sex|Oral (F received)|Riding|Multiple orgasm|Overstimulation|Drinking blood

Today is San's 126th birthday, a milestone that you are excited to celebrate together for the first time. As you browse through the boutique, you ponder what gift would truly surprise and delight him.

With his long life and myriad experiences, you find yourself at a loss, wondering if there is anything left that he desires. He has tasted different blood types, found his soulmate, and even shared intimate moments with you. What more could he possibly want?

As you struggle to come up with the perfect gift, you realize that perhaps it's not about fulfilling a desire, but rather about showing your love and appreciation for him.

Memories of the ‘marking’ flood your mind, stirring up a mix of emotions and thoughts. You blush at the sudden rush of impure fantasies, quickly pushing them aside.

You still vividly remember the details of that day, and for some reason, it awakens desires that have been dormant for a while. As you look up, you realize you've unknowingly wandered to the entrance of the restricted zone.

"Um... When did they have these things..." Another impure thought crosses your mind.

"Give myself to him as a gift."

"Ah ah ah! What am I thinking!" You cover your blushing cheeks, feeling the heat radiating from them, and your fingertips start sweating.

Feeling more and more embarrassed, you suddenly notice someone approaching.

"Damn! Why is someone here?" In order to avoid an awkward encounter, you swiftly grab a red piece of clothing and quickly pay before leaving. You haven't even looked at the details of the lingerie, but you assume San will like it since it's red.

Finally, back at home, even though you're alone, you cautiously make your way to the bathroom, ensuring no one can see you. You take out the mysterious lingerie from the packaging.

"Oh my god, what did I buy?!" This lingerie is completely outside of your comfort zone.

"This is more like underwear than lingerie!"

Feeling a mix of reluctance and determination, you reluctantly sift through the lingerie, pondering, "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Despite your initial uncertainty, you find yourself unable to come up with an alternative gift idea.

"Just this once, for his birthday," you concede as you slip into the delicate attire. Avoiding your reflection in the mirror, you keep your gaze lowered as you navigate the unfamiliar garments.

"It does feel quite airy..." you admit, noting the discomfort of the open slit in the panties. Awkwardly crossing your legs and nervously biting your lip, you can't shake off the self-conscious feeling.

To complete the look, you decide to don a sheer red outer robe from the package. The crimson fabric drapes elegantly over your fair skin, accentuating your curves and adding a touch of allure to your appearance. Despite feeling a bit exposed, you can't deny the allure of the outfit.

Still hesitant, you linger in the living room, the cool breeze between your legs adding to your unease with each step. Reminding yourself of the goal to surprise San, you muster up the courage to head into the kitchen and start preparing dinner.

"Maybe I should have changed after cooking," you grumble to yourself as you whip up San's favorite dish, blood wine.

Carefully, you slice open your chest with a knife, extracting a few drops of blood and mixing it with a potent liquor from the fridge to create the unique concoction.

"Okay, done.But this lingerie..." You still can't get used to it. Thus, you decide to put on one of San's shirts, which conveniently reaches your thighs. Sitting on the bed, you anxiously wait for San to return.

"I'm back." The sound of the door opening and San's approaching footsteps quicken your heartbeat, the rhythm echoing in your ears.

San, puzzled by his own racing heart, reaches for the light switch as you gather your courage and step out of the shadows.

"Why haven't you turned it on..." His words trail off as you wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head to meet his lips with a soft, sweet kiss.

A smile plays on your lips as you wish him a happy birthday, surprising both him and yourself with your boldness.

"Come, I've prepared your favorites," you say, taking his hand and guiding him to the dining table. The candlelight dances around the room, casting a warm glow that highlights the crystal chandelier above, creating a mesmerizing play of light and shadow on the walls.

As he follows you, his gaze lingers on your outfit - a simple white shirt that hints at the red lingerie beneath, a tantalizing sight in the flickering candlelight. A sudden warmth spreads through him, and he swallows hard, feeling a stirring in his lower body.

You offer him the wine glass, a mischievous glint in your eye as you reveal the special blend of your blood with his favorite wine. He raises an eyebrow in surprise, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, making him look utterly charming.

Curiously, he takes a sniff of the concoction, the sweet metallic scent filling his senses. Unable to resist, he takes a sip, savoring the perfect blend that glides smoothly over his tongue, leaving a tantalizing mix of wine's aroma and a honey-like sweetness.

"Do you like it?" you ask, a playful smile tugging at your lips. He nods in approval, setting the glass down. You snatch the glass from his grasp, his expression a mix of confusion and intrigue.

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you pour the wine over your body, the crimson liquid cascading over your curves and pooling at your feet. The once-white shirt now stained with the vibrant red wine, revealing hints of your skin and alluring pajamas underneath.

You press a finger to his lips, a seductive smile playing on your lips as you raise a thigh and press it between his legs. With narrowed eyes, you whisper, "This is not how you drink wine.”

San pulls you closer, his gaze fixed on your lips as he whispers, "Is it?" Your lips parted eagerly, inviting his kiss.

As your tongues danced in a sweet, sensual rhythm, a trail of saliva lingered between you when you finally broke apart. San's breath grows hot against your skin as he savors the taste of wine and the scent of your arousal.

With a quick flick of his tongue, he traces the contours of your body, his touch igniting a fire within you. Your shirt falls open, revealing the alluring lingerie that accentuates your curves.

San's heart races at the sight of your figure, and he can't resist burying his face in the softness of your breasts.

"I love your lingerie so much," he murmurs, trailing kisses down your chest and exploring every curve with reverence.

His touch sends shivers down your spine, your body responding eagerly to his every caress. As his hands roam lower, he discovers your lack of inhibitions, and his desire surges even more intensely.

"It's open," he confesses, your cheeks flush with embarrassment. A satisfied smile crosses his lips as he delves between your thighs, offering you unbridled pleasure.

His gentle kisses and playful nips elicits a chorus of gasps and moans from you, your body arching in ecstasy. He licks your clit slowly and gently with a steady rhythm. Sucking your sweet juices, he circles your clit with his long fingers.

"San...Ah!" you moan, your words lose in a haze of pleasure as he skillfully guides you to the peak of ecstasy. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your hands tangling in his hair as you lose yourself in the intoxicating pleasure he bestowed upon you.

“You’re so delicious, just like the blood wine.”

He stands tall, pressing his lips against yours once more before gently guiding you to lie down on the dining table. Your body stretches out on the smooth surface, legs entwined with his, hands caressing his face as your mouths danced in a passionate embrace. Breath mingles between you, creating a shared rhythm of desire.

“Please…” “I have to fuck you now.”

With practice ease, your hands find their way to his pants, releasing the confines around his lower body. His touch grazes your garter, causing your bra to shift and accentuating the curves of your breasts. A soft gasp escapes your lips as he nibbles at your chest, leaving a trail of tingling sensation in his wake.

Straightening his body, he positions himself at your core, seeking permission with a silent gaze. A nod from you and he enters, eliciting a gasp of pleasure as you feel him fill the void within you.

“Ah!! So big!!” You throw your head at the back and moan out.

The sensation is intense, almost overwhelming, yet perfectly satisfying as he moves with a steady rhythm, each thrust igniting a symphony of pleasure between you.

Moans of ecstasy filled the air, mingling with the sound of skin meeting skin in a symphony of desire. His movements grow more urgent, driving deeper and harder, each thrust a symphony of passion and fulfillment.

Your moans escalate, a chorus of pleasure that echoed through the room, mingling with his own primal sounds of lust.

As the intensity peaks, he flips you over, pressing your chest against the table as he enters you from behind. Each new angle, each shift in position, brings a fresh wave of sensation, hitting your sweet spot with precision and driving you to new heights of pleasure.

“So fucking tight, babe.”

His voice, husky with desire, urged you to open your eyes, to meet his gaze in the midst of ecstasy.

Struggling to comply, your vision blurs with pleasure as his touch roams your body, teasing and tantalizing every inch of your skin. His lips find yours once more, a wet and hungry kiss that leaves you breathless, lost in a whirlwind of sensation.

“Gosh!!Fuck!!” You can’t help but swear.

“Such a dirty mouth.”

His hands move to your breasts, caressing and squeezing, sending shivers of delight through you as he plays with your nipples, each touching a promise of more to come.

“Please…I am gonna…cum”

“No you can’t just hold it.”

He flips you over, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the sofa. Your position shifts as you straddle him, his back against the sofa.

"Ride me," his voice, a seductive melody that compels you to obey without hesitation. Placing your hands on his shoulders for balance, you begin to move with a slow, tantalizing rhythm. Each bounce sends a shiver of pleasure through you as you feel him deep inside you, his cock pulsing with desire.

As you picked up the pace, the friction between your bodies intensified, the sound of your skin meeting filling the room as both of you moaned in unison.

“Please, san!I can't.”

“Can’t what?”

“Pretty please… let me cum…!”

“Okay, just cum, babe. You did well.”

His primal instincts take over, and he can’t resist sinking his teeth into your chest, a mix of pleasure and pain sending a rush of sensation through you.

“Oh my god!” You reach the peak of ecstasy, climaxing hard on his cock, but he shows no signs of slowing down.

"But I didn't say you could stop," “What…?” You can feel his cock still hard and even become bigger, wondering if it’s an illusion or reality. He pushes forward as a punishment, his tip goes so deep inside as if breaking your limit and causing you a little bit of pain.

“Shit, sannie.”

“Call me this again or I can't hold back.”

Before finishing his words, his fangs found their mark, piercing your skin as a rush of blood flowed between you.

“You know what, darling. Your blood is so sweet, so tasty! I can't get enough of it.”

He savors your essence, pinning you beneath him as he shifts your legs over his shoulders, thrusting with a primal intensity that bordered on inhuman.

“Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!San-Sannnn!!!!!!Slow…..!!!” He ignores your pleas and continues sprinting. The intense love making finally reaches its climax as San releases inside you before you reach your own peak.

Reluctantly pulling away from your lips, he gazes at you with narrowed eyes, withdrawing from within you. Gasping for air, he rests his forehead against yours, feeling the fatigue spread through your bodies.

"Happy birthday, my San," you weakly whispered. He blinks, a silly smile playing on his lips as he pecks yours, teasing, "Are you my birthday present?" "Of course, aren't I? I summoned all my courage to wear this lingerie, not to mention my heart's blood," you replied.

He smiles indulgently, "Thank you, I love you. But can't you wear this lingerie every day?" Wide-eyed, you pat his chest, "Dream on." He pouts, rubbing against your chest in an attempt to coax you.

"Impossible, I won't be able to leave the bed," you turn away, avoiding his wolfish gaze.

"Oh? Admitting I'm skilled?"

"You... you..." at a loss for words, you glance around in a fluster, giving him a soft smack, "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

Pushing his chest, you make a dash for the bathroom. "Where are you going?" He catches up, desires still unfulfilled.

The next day, you struggle to get out of bed, your sore waist making movement difficult.

"Shouldn't have bought that lingerie," you mutter. Despite your words, your body spoke differently as you quietly ordered lingerie online that you knew he would love.

"Why didn't I do this before? Am I foolish?" you chuckle. Looking at the lingerie, erotic thoughts stirred once more.

"Am I becoming addicted?" Blushing, you bury your face in the covers, tossing and turning. Both of your desires remained unfulfilled.

[quitealotofsodapop]

I do feel like S2 is going to be where LBD is gonna make Macaque look like a bad guy in MK's eyes.

LBD is aware that Macaque holds a grudge against Wukong and MK is protective towards Wukong like any other cub towards their parent.

Add LBD saying to MK that Macaque only hangs with him to get back at Wukong and it's an angsty end in shadow play; Macaque lost everything he tried hard to work for and LBD reminds him that he should have done his end of the deal a long time ago.

prev.

Ooooo yes!

In the Marble Egg version of "Minor Scale" - MK is messing around with his powers after class with Tang, and accidentally ends up in the sewers/Spider cave. I imagine that Bai He is even younger than in canon, and she's tiny even compared to a baby monkey demon. Hook line and sinker for LBD to draw MK close to the stolen Furnace.

MK is cautious enough not to immediately smash the furnace at her demand.

Suddenly the "little girl" becomes a terrifying demon; tormenting and mocking him for becoming so attached to her "puppet" (Macaque), and that the hero Monkey King he so adores no longer exists anymore - all because MK himself was made.

MK runs from the horrid demon while sobbing.

Macaque ends up being the one to find MK, altered by a panicking Tang over the phone - and is confused and hurt when the little boy pushes him away.

MK: "No! You're working for that nasty bone lady!" Macaque, frowning: "Who told you that?" MK: "She did! She also says you're only my friend so you can get close enough to hurt Baba!" Macaque, hesitating: "That's not true MK-" MK: "Then why did you try hurting Baba before you knew about me!?" Macaque: (*too ashamed to answer*) MK, running away: "I never want to see you again!" Macaque: (*sadly reaches out for the cub as MK runs away from him*)

LBD ends up getting her puppet after this moment - the Mayor able to get the drop on the distraught monkey.

DBK and Nezha both are interrupted over the possession of the Map by a icy-cold Macaque, his eyes dull with tiredness and remorse. Even as Wukong watches his brothers and his former-mate fight from the airship - Macaque makes a point at avoiding him and MK all together. Even willing to take a staff strike or two so that he can reposition the cub away from his goal.

Macaque's goal for the Fire is no longer one of selfishness, but one of survival, and to ensure that neither his Peaches nor his Little Bud are hurt by the flames and LBD's ice.

[truedarkhunter]

Counterpoint: Undertaker not with Cloudia

While many people, including ones I respect, are fond of the Cloudia and Undertaker pairing, I can't quite get behind it. I don't hate it, mind you, but looking at things both in the period and in the story setting, it kind of doesn't work for me. Here's some of why. 1. Humans are fireflies. Undertaker is one of the oldest, and would have the least connection to the human world. Hence he finds the stage of human life "absurd". He watches it as a play while attempting to stay detached. While some of the Reapers do dally with humans (Grelle in her macaroni get-up in The Story of Will the Reaper, and Ron flirting with a girl in Book of the Atlantic), they aren't long-term things. Reapers have too much to do to easily maintain such relationships and what do you do when someone wants to ask questions like "where do you live?" and "what do you do for a living?" These are some basic things people want to know quickly to assess your social status. Not only can Reapers not easily answer those questions, when they can get away to see someone (lover or no), it could be a month later or more. When they don't have a clear answer for their absences, like being in the military or a deep sea fisherman, it would be hard to wait for such a person. If Undertaker knew Cloudia from when she was a little girl, would he really see her as a woman? Wouldn't that feel weird, like Jacob from Twilight level weird? I kind of think he'd just have the affection and desire to watch over and protect Cloudia throughout her life if he formed a bond with a bright, little girl who didn't see him as scary or creepy, but rather funny and kind. She might have been the reason he discovered the value of laughter. That would be a greater gift. 2. Virginity was still a goal in Victorian times. Remaining a virgin until death was still a goal, especially with the influence of the Catholic church. You wanted to enter Heaven pure. Those who did got a special crown. With Reapers being in Purgatory already, some may wonder if it's wise to get involved with anyone when the goal is to get out of there.

3. It would ruin Cloudia. Virginity was also important to be able to marry well, as having dalliances before marriage could kill a good match. Undertaker was not her social equal. Even if he could have vied for her hand, he couldn't have offered her the life she deserved, and people would definitely have talked. If she had a relationship with him outside of marriage, it could alter her life - i.e. alter the course of human events by keeping her from the life that was originally planned. That would not be a good thing for Undertaker to do to someone he claimed to care for, nor would it be wise given how the Grim Reaper Association might come down on him. Unrequited love? Absolutely! Feeling friendship or a kinship to the girl who then died at 36, causing him to reach the point of wondering what his own life and efforts amounted to? Sure! Getting romantic with someone when you know that giving into your passions would only hurt them, especially when you know that in 5 minutes (to you) their desires will calm down or they will be married off and those emotions can find purchase elsewhere? Not so much. That isn't love, just desire. 4. Demons don't eat Reaper souls. Neither Sebastian nor Claude showed any interest in munching on Reapers, so something fundamentally shifted in them. So even if humans and Reapers can have kids, how would that have affected Vincent and Francis? Is one of them a half-Reaper? How would Heaven and Hell treat that soul after their life ended? (Angels and humans together produced Nephilim, would the Grim Reaper Association even allow such a pregnancy to reach full term? Would the other Powers That Be?) How would that soul get judged or sorted? While having Ciel be a quarter Reaper is a fun concept it also comes with a severe complication. 5. It ruins the story. The whole premise of Black Butler is about the pact between a DEMON and a HUMAN. If Ciel was 1/4 Reaper, i.e. inedible stuff, why would that pact even form? (Let's face it, he'd be like a dog dropping sandwich. No matter how little dog dropping is in it, you don't want it anymore.) What special powers would it confer? It certainly robs the tale of the struggle that makes it poignant if Ciel isn't really a fallible mortal like everyone else. His choice to walk the road not taken and giving everyone else a glimpse into a Faustian pact where instead of pleasure and power, the maker of the pact wants revenge is what makes it interesting. If Ciel isn't fully human, maybe the pact can't be properly formed in the first place. It can undo the very premise of the show, and that makes it not fun. I like it more for an AU concept than the main one. This tale is a tragedy. We are about to see it play out as a version of Hamlet. I'm more wondering who will be the one(s) left to report that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead. Let's see if we get to learn Cloudia's fate. I DO suspect her death, and her close ties to the Undertaker, undid the best Reaper of the association and set him on the path of ending death itself so no one had to die anymore so he might find his own end/peace. And realize, if you do like the Cloudia/Undertaker ship, good on you. I'm still going to read posts and fan-fics about them and get some popcorn. The idea is intriguing, but comes with a lot of plot holes that I need to see filled to fully get behind the match. That said, if anyone can fill holes in plots, it certainly would be Undertaker. Ciao!

[ahoppingmagician]

The show is honestly boring because all the fun stuff happened before the series even started. You might wonder what the hell I mean. Well, this show feels like an epilogue of all the fun shit. Moxxie and Millie are great if not perfect examples of this.

The couple started off married, now this isn't inherently a bad thing, but there's a reason why many shows don't do this. You will feel more invested if you get to see the relationship make steps towards that big goal instead of starting off there. It's like playing a game, sure you want to reach that next big boss but you normally have to defeat smaller bosses to get to that fight because when you win against that boss it feels way more rewarding. I would fix this by making them more of a situationship that slowly builds into something romantic, then devolpe it into marriage.

Millie's whole family situation has already kind of been dealt with because fuck fun conflict. Moxxie's family and mafia conflict has also been dealt with before the show really starts. I mean aside from exs and ows, which felt like more of a backstory episode anyway. His self-confident issues are the only thing he needs to really overcome. Millie is still too much of a cutout to even get a fault out of, the most I have is her anger issues...maybe insecurities but that seems to flip-flop around like a dying fish.

[chirpsythismorning]

What’s up with the spores? Like, has anyone got info on what spores do to a person who is exposed to them????

This got me thinking about all the whose getting vecna’d speculation in s5, and it could very well mean ALL of them are in danger in terms of being targeted.

If all it takes is them being exposed to the spores, could they all be at risk?

Maybe they could all experience effects like nightmares/hallucinations??

This also reminds me of El’s line at the start of s4 where she says We’re all time travelers if you think about it!

Is it possible ALL of them could be dealing with having to confront past memories, ie they’re own form of time traveling to figure out how to defeat vecna??

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt my dupe ocs again... Maybe Quinn does have hashtag issues actually

[sidras-tak]

Accessibility takes too goddamn fucking long.

My brother was paralyzed in October 2023. We got him home from the hospital (in Texas, when we live in Iowa) in a clunky old hospital chair. He hated it. He was scared and angry and in pain and his life had just changed forever and he couldn’t do anything for himself in that wheelchair. His first goal (aside from learning how to transfer) was to get a wheelchair. My family was lucky enough to afford one so we thought it would be easy enough. Nope.

We couldn’t buy him a wheelchair. He needed a prescription. For a wheelchair. A doctor had to examine him and declare him in need of a wheelchair. It wasn’t good enough that he had scans and tests showing tumors cutting off his spinal cord. He needed his primary care doctor to examine him during a physical and write a prescription. He was making 2-4 transfers a day, tops. He had no energy to get to a doctor. Home health was in and out every day. He had no time to get to a doctor. He didn’t get a prescription for almost a month. Then it had to go through insurance.

We asked if we could skip insurance and just buy a wheelchair for him. Nope. They wouldn’t sell us one, not even at full sticker price. It needed to be approved by Medicare. We ordered a wheelchair, a nice one, a good shade of green, sporty, small. It would let him move around the house. He would be able to cook, to reach drawers and get stuff from the fridge and brush his teeth and put his contacts in at a sink. We were told it would take awhile, maybe two months. Silently we all hoped he would be around to see two more months.

He went on hospice care on a Saturday in March. On Monday, I was calling his friends to come see him before he died. I got a call on his phone. It was the wheelchair company. They were about to order his wheelchair, she said, but there was an issue with insurance— had he stopped being covered by Medicare? Well, yes. When he started hospice care, he got kicked off Medicare. The very nice woman I talked to told me to call her if he resumed Medicare coverage so she could order his wheelchair. He died less than 12 hours later.

We ordered that chair for him in early December. Medicare didn’t approve the order until March. He was dead before they got around to it. He wanted that fucking wheelchair so badly. The only reason he had any semblance of independence and any quality of life for the last five months of his life was because the wheelchair company lent him an old beater chair, a very used model of the chair he ordered. If I could go back and change one thing about his end-of-life, I would get him his dream wheelchair. He told me again and again he couldn’t wait to get it, so that he could feel like a person again. He made the best of what he had with that old beater chair, but it still makes me mad to this day. He was paralyzed. He needed a chair that afforded him dignity. We had the money for it. And yet, we were left waiting for five months, for a chair that wouldn’t even get ordered until the day he died.

[dutybcrne]

Okay, decision made:

He almost primarily uses his Abyssal abilities, and near exclusively in the way a Cryo Abyss Mage/Cryo Herald would, and had relied upon them alone, up until he was given an Anemo Delusion once he'd become of age.

[phantomrose96]

Thinking about Edward Elric as the Amestrian Military's specialest little unfireable boy

State alchemists can be fired for underperforming. We know this up front from the likes of Shou Tucker. And this makes a ton of sense from the homunculi's standpoint since the state alchemists are sacrifice candidates, and the homunculi would want to cull the weakest candidates and focus only on cultivating the strongest ones who stand the best chance of opening the portal.

........Then there's Edward. Who's already opened the portal.

There's no need to cultivate him. No gamble taken on whether he's good enough to open the portal. He passed the final test already. Graduated 4 semesters early.

And as such, has a free pass to do Absolute Fuck All.

And I'm imagining how funny this is from like an outside perspective.

Some newish state alchemist who'd only ever read up on the stories of Edward Elric, ready and excited to start their career of being paid handsomely with endless freedom to research and travel and do anything they want in the pursuit of science... surprised and confused to find themselves put on probation their first month for things like "ignoring orders." Which is, as best they had thought, a famous Edward Elric pastime.

Roy showing a slight bit of stress about his yearly state alchemist report, and Ed just snorting and rolling his eyes at Roy because every year HE just hastily does his on the train ride over (canon in the manga, a travesty it was left out of the anime) and it gets rubber stamped. Ed not realizing that other alchemists' reports get genuinely scrutinized and torn apart while Ed is free to turn in whatever absolute bullshit he thinks of 36 hours ahead of time. One year his report was about whether alchemy could be done via dance (conclusion: no it can't) and no one cared. Roy WANTS to tell Ed there's some kind of unknown favoritism around Ed making him literally bullet-proof but Roy has no way to phrase this that doesn't sound like he's just in denial and mad at how good Ed's train-reports are.

Guy from the Internal Amestrian Affairs sector who's responsible for auditing other internal military personel for any suspicious activity hitting about 1 million red flags for Edward Elric, issuing a STRONG and URGENT recommendation to suspend the alchemist pending further investigation into things like "literal bunk-buddies with two members of the Xingese royalty (enemy nation)" and "spent $10,000,000 of his stipend on a librarian to make her re-copy (what he seemed to interpret as?) military records in some extremely transparent effort to unearth state secrets (it was a recipe book but he was literally asking her about state secrets)" and "literally has never once obeyed an order, ever, not even once in his career, and is on public record having said 'I do not care about the goals and protections of the Amestrian Military. I am in fact only pursuing my own interests several of which are diametrically opposed to the safety and well-being of the governing body of Amestris'"

The issued recommendation is intercepted before it even reaches its intended desk. President Bradley himself has taken issue with it and denies it before a single set of eyes has seen it. The President's veto stamp is a terrifying hammer, used rarely, and it is now sitting on the auditor's desk.

The auditor sleeps with one eye open from then on out.

[screampied]

࣪.₊ 𐙚 SHE WANNA GO VIRALLL ?! ★

gojo, choso, nanami, toji, geto. cybersēx and getting freaky on camera with the jjk men

𐚁̸ warnings. fem! reader, camgirl/boy themes, phone sēx, unprotected, praise, dirty talk, toji slander, toy usage, hair pulling, guided órgasms, size kink, using a cóck ring on choso, squırting, òral (f! / m! receiving), voyerism.

𐚁̸. an. kind of lost in ikea rn so i wrote this yaya

TOJI ✩ FUSHIGURO.

“tch,” toji grunts as a third piercing smack hits against your ass. you let off a gasp as you’re just lazily arched over for him. just a few moments ago and you were leaking with globs of velvety ropes of cum. the powered on monitor you had propped up against the desk had a blinding bright glow to it. dark, viridescent eyes glance at your chat that’s spamming with donations before he squints. as he’s drilling you into your keyboard from behind, he clings onto your hip. “why the fuck does y’er chat keep callin’ me broke.”

“eheh, oh—” you swallow, feeling him reach in deep areas. indeed they were, flooding your chat with the same tiring jokes of toji. it was a common joke within your audience. as another moan leaves your throat rawly, you gnaw down on your lip. “they’re jus’ trolling, ‘toj. everyone knows you’re filthy rich, baby.”

itsnotchosover: girl who is everyone

sexymartha38: he's so hottttt. when is it my turn

drakesfatbbltbh: Dad? :0

with an eye roll, he resumes back to fucking you stupid. a being hand of his grasps onto your head, digging into your precious scalp. holding your head up, he makes you stare at your thousands of viewers with the dumbest expression glued onto your face. “bet all y’er little fans wish they were me, huh,” and there’s such cockiness dripping underneath his tone. toji’s fat cock has your mouth dangling agape—you’re almost drooling. it was so effortless on how you’d always coat his base with a translucent-colored ring. a pretty, soddened white ring that sticks against your ass each thrust he presents. it’s downright nasty, and yet—his hips were even nastier. as he’s got your hair with a firm secure grip, he lightly shoves you into the screen. moaning, you’re being pushed face first into the monitor—pupils glowing from the colors on your stream ricocheting against your dilated irises. “mhm, good girl. fuck back against me ‘n let these losers watch.”

of course—throughout everything, he’s catching all types of strays through the multicolored flood of comments.

toji could really care less though, a sly grin compresses against his lips before he makes you arch more forward. your back slouches over the wooden desk in such a sexy way that he can’t help but gift your left cheek with another rude spank. “f-fuuuck,” you’d sob out, trying to grab onto your mouse but he snatches your hand. with a quick paced speed, he makes your arm restrain around your back. significantly, he’s amping up his sloppy pace. your weeping cunt repeatedly squelches against him over and over and over. it’s never ending—profusely, your cunt’s idly dripping wet and the sounds just gets more addictive to listen to. that and the repetitive shrilling pings of your donations. aw, another goal met, it makes you smile with gratitude—and just as you were about to recite your recycled ‘thank you’ to your thousands of viewers, your breath catches in your throat and you whine. toji’s thickset base pap pap pap’s against you through and through and your mind’s just mush. not a single thought in your empty brain. “gonna cum, toji. tojiiiii, so fuckin’ big.”

“want me ‘ta slow down after you said i was small, yeah oookay,” and he’s just so sassy that you wanted smack him. that was practically true though. your chat told you to prank toji, telling him how he’s small. obviously, that wasn’t true, and here you were, feeling every staggering inch he’s presenting to your clingy greedy pussy.

a sopping string of your own slick sticks against his base each time—it’s sticky, he groans at the sight of it. a tongue of his flicks against the scar near the right side of his mouth and you wriggle your hips back into him. hissing at the almost sharp sensation between your thighs and your constant teasing, he yanks you back toward him. leaning up close to you, he licks a stripe down your neck before groaning. “sloppy fuckin’ girl, ‘m gonna get you pregnant on live. want that?”

with a sheepish whine pouring out of your throat, you grind your body against him, feeling the tip of his dick expand through every secluded crevice of your sweet cunt. “yeah, gimme a baby then. fill me up again, pleaseee.”

and as his pounding against your clit exceeds, so does your arch. the pace was almost animalistic. the chat’s spamming with comments, praising you and even trolling your expressions. your mind’s on a loop, with warm bodies clashing against each other, he groans into your ear. “fuck, gonna give you twins, girl,” and his voice was a mere pitchy deep. your limbs spike and with his rough hips, it allows a candied stretch to pry its way into your pussy. all from your girth, it’s almost delicious and you’d rate his dick five stars if you could. “shit, clamping all around m—” and before he could even finish his sentence, toji pauses. a roaring grunt rumbles out from him and he steadies your hips. not only does he shoot into you, but he gets a mean leg cramp. twitching ravened brows of his contort together and he quickly pulls out. it’s almost comedic, you stare at him through the reflection of your screen all while feeling his oozing hot cum spill down from between your thighs. hearing a giggle come from you, he grunts, spanking your ass. don’t laugh, little girl.”

“s- sorry, forgot you have skeleton bones,” you playfully rub your neck, peering your eyes at the dozens of comments trolling him.

“s— shut up,” he breathes, both hands on his hips. his leaky tip now flaccid and swollen, toji entraps his bottom lip with a teeth. exhaling out a tired whew, his eyes squeeze shut for a moment. “gimme a minute. er . . an hour, fuckk.”

and then as he tries to get up, a sudden loud crack in his bones occurs. “ignore that.”

NANAMI ✩ KENTO.

with a pout, you slump back onto the shared bed of your husband. it was near the afternoon—you knew he was busy, off on a mission or something but you missed him badly. it was almost painful at how you almost forgot what his touch felt like.

so you decide to text him. pulling out your phone, you scroll towards his contact with a heart next to his name. eagerly, you align your thumbs against the grey keyboard, squeezing your thighs together. starting off with a simple, ‘miss you baby,’ and awaiting for his reply. as you wait, you go back to playing with yourself. with your pretty legs all sprawled out, your fingers cramp up inside of your drooling pussy. shoved to the side of your thighs were a pair of panties nanami gifted you on your birthday. about four minutes later, he replies.

nanami: Sweetheart. I miss you too.

nanami: I need to hear your voice, call me yeah?

and without wasting any time, you dial those same known ten digits before pressing a thumb against the call button. on the first ring, he answers and he speaks first with a low, “hey you, how’s my pretty princess?”

“horrible,” you whine, still stuffing your cunt full of fingers. two slender fingers that were all soaked with your slick. it was a mess, your breathing patterns continue to change the more you imagine if he was really here. “i- i miss you, ‘ken. touchin’ myself ‘s so hard when you’re not around.”

“oh,” nanami says through the other line, his voice as smooth as silk. his absent presence only his fingers knew the exact layout of your pussy. nanami’s fingers were the pure definition of utopia—knowing all the right areas of your cunt with such ease. simply perfect. nanami was still on a mission, but he took care of his tasks. clearing his throat, taking a seat on a nearby bench, he sighs. “you’re touching yourself without me, huh sweetheart.”

“s- sorry,” you stammer, feeling yourself about to release soon. not before long, your thighs start to quiver and shake. “mhm,” you chew on the lower part of your lip, feeling your breathing shake up. “kento, talk to me please. help me c-cum, baby.”

“my wife decided to be filthy today,” he purrs, the sweet moans that escaped from your lips making his cock twitch. you were so loud, he’s always thought you had the prettiest voice. as you’re continuing to feel pounds of elation surge through you—you curl a finger inside, rubbing against your sensitive nub. “bring the phone up to her. wanna hear what she’s got to say too, my love.”

putting it up to your sopping cunt, you switch the phone to speaker. nanami grows mute for a second, listening to how wet you were. your fingers play and strum against your folds before you start to tremble. “k- kento, ‘m close, so close.”

“come on princess, listen to my voice, okay,” and with your back reclined against the cushioned mattress, you start to pant. your body feels limp, his voice was the perfect mixture of deep and a bit raspy—tender, each praise he gives you only makes you throb even more. “i want you to pretend you’re using my fingers,” and as he’s speaking, the tips of your fingers prod against that particular area. grazing against your clitoral hood, you nibble on your halfway lolled out tongue. “mhm, doing so well. just listen to me, play with her a bit more ‘n then let go sweetheart. let go just for me.”

gasping for any sorts of breaths—you whimper, two fingers getting lost into the depths of your pussy. it was a mess, a nice viscous amount of your slit departs from your digits as you pull them out of you before dragging them back in. “kento, ‘m cumming. all on your f- fingers,” you whine, imagining it was his thick fingers shoving in and out instead of yours. as you continue to whine through irregular breaths, the bobbing of your throat intensifies. “hnghh,” you babble, clammy fingers soaking in everything before you finally let loose. gushing out— it’s a lot. volumes of your sweet trickle onto the satiny sheets. a damp spot soaks its way into the fabric before you collapse back with a cute orgasm to follow. “f- fuck, ‘s good,” and your legs tremor vigorously. you felt like you were floating, everything throbbed and pulsed and your mind felt like it was racing at miles a minute. with an airy exhale, you put the phone back up to your mouth. “ken— you still there?”

“always,” he coos, his voice sending you various amounts of euphoric shivers. as you’re still letting go of your high, you can hear nanami’s raspy breaths through the other end of the phone too. he’s panting, almost as if he was actually there with you. “good girl, you did so good,” and nanami pauses for three seconds before whispering. “hm, i gotta go—but princess, send me a picture of the mess. i wanna see what ‘m gonna have to clean up when i get home.”

CHOSO ✩ KAMO.

it wasn’t really surprising to you that you found out your shy and timid best friend was a camboy. he was pretty well known—trendy and everyone’s favorite whiner.

pulling in thousands and thousands of views per month, he started to become a household name in the cyber world. choso was having a usual stream late at night, stroking himself off in front of his various followers. biting his lip, he tries to ignore the comments of his fans asking for him to try on his cock ring. “h- heh, if you guys want me to do that, you’ll have to help us reach our goal.”

and as soon as he says that, he reaches it.

with a frowning pout, choso’s lip quivers. “shit. nevermind then,” and as he’s fisting his own dick with solid pumps, a vein runs down his prolonged fat shaft.

he leans back, tossing his head back too—choso’s hair was unkempt and flowing down. he didn’t have his usual two ponytails today. ravened strands of hair go against his eyes and he lets off a nervous laugh toward his viewers. “ugh, s-so much for that. fine, i’ll use it for a little,” and then it dawned on him, the cock ring not only goes around choso, but it vibrates too.

as he’s just about to put the toy around his base, that’s right when you walk in. “hey, did you see my shower g-” and your jaw nearly drops once you’re trying to process the lewd view in front of you. so that’s what that noise was, the constant whining through the walls. choso’s reaction is an exact replica of yours. swallowing thickly, he’s still got his erect dick in hand, and it’s just so pretty. “oh, am i interrupting?”

“n— no,” he hitches a single breath, taking a moment to stare at your body. even dressed down, you looked so attractive. with a sheepish grin, he rubs a hand down the brief undercut that’s near his nape. he’s embarrassed, but it slowly goes away due to him being aroused. occasionally gawking at the chat, he does a hand motion with his fingers. “actually, since you’re here. i kinda need your help. please.”

“okay,” you giggle, setting aside your bag. you’re face first with his dick that’s standing tall right in front of you. it seems like he’s been stroking it for a while before stopping. the tip of his shaft was all reddened. a flustered pinkish pink. choso licks his lips and you stare at his neatly set up monitor. “hi chat,” you tease, and dozens of comments stare to flood, asking if you’re the girlfriend he keeps rambling about. with an eyebrow raise, you hum. “girlfriend?”

“sh— ignore them,” he grunts, and he grabs onto your arm. in a shaky breath, choso speaks in an almost needy whisper. “can . . i use your hand? sorry if that’s weird. you just- you have really nice hands,” and once you simper, giving him a nod, he softly grabs ahold of your wrist. choso couldn’t wait any longer, he didn’t really care if things felt rushed—with another lip bite, he hands you the plastic cock ring. “put . . can you put this on me ‘n stroke me off? mhm, ‘m close ‘n it might help.”

“ooh, a cock ring?” you stare at the toy in hand, a thumb feeling against the stretchy material. choso prepares to inhale once you stretch it out, playing with the buttons on it. your eyes briefly light up once you notice that it can really vibrate. oh, he was gonna whine for sure.

putting it around his dick, it flings a bit before you grab ahold of his base—it’s pretty, a vein runs down the very center and you can’t help but give his tip a little kiss. “mwah,” you smooch, even going far as to sliding your tongue against his sensitive frenulum. his tip was leaky, you taste a bit of his bitterly sweet precum before you turn the ring on its medium setting. once the whirring buzzes of the toy vibrates, you leer up at him. “mhm, ‘s this okay, ‘cho?”

“y- yes, kiss it more please. use your t- tongue,” and as he exhales deeply, his chest falters back. your tongue feels so good. with the mixture of added vibrations, he wasn’t gonna last two seconds. the maddening ringing in his ears was so high pitched that it was almost equivalent to tinnitus. whining, he grabs a fist full of your hair before you start to open your lips apart. choso watches with glossy eyes as you lower your head onto his length, taking him into your warm welcoming mouth. “mhm, such a nasty little t- throat,” and his voice cracks—even his attempt at dirty talk was adorable. choso then gawks back up at his audience, thousands of viewers praising choso for being so whiney, with a few comments praising how pretty you looked.

he never told you, but he told his fans that you were his girlfriend, every single stream. you were just his roommate, but he liked imagining you and him were together. a little fantasy of his.

your throat was a force to be reckoned with. it was warm and narrow, so perfect for his long inches. you almost gag a bit as he’s lightly pushing you back and down—yet he pauses every few seconds to ask if it’s too much or if you’re okay. choso was lengthy, a bit of girth and you were already slobbering on his dick. the constant teeth-shattering vibrations of the cock ring that’s wrapped around his base makes him whimper. “mphm,” you make a muffled noise, feeling him sloppily drag your head down back and forth. you’re trying to speak but choso nervously smiles.

“b- baby, don’t talk with your mouth so . . full, ‘s rude,” he swallows, feeling the inside of his throat become dry. and of course, choso barely lasts.

the pulsing in his cock only surges, and within minutes he’s already a mess—he ends up finishing early, shooting a whopping load into your mouth. it’s gooey and comes out in stringy ropes. it coats all on the back of your tongue and you’re slurping it all up. “s-so good,” he whines, and choso’s looking down at you with literal heart eyes dilating in his irises. with that throat of yours, he was already in love. he’s heavily panting, and he closes his laptop before making your bobbing head get off his length. with the cock ring still jittering against his length, he gingerly grabs you by the neck, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. despite its deepness, it was sensual. immediately, choso sucks against your tongue. half-lidded eyes staring up at you before he moans, tasting the remnants of his own cum on your lips. a free hand shakily rubs against your neglected cunt. “t- thank you,” he mewls, sable strands of hair sticking against his forehead. huffing out a single breath, he squeezes your cunt before making you wrap a leg around his waist. “i want more though. i want y- you.”

GOJO ✩ SATORU & SUGURU ✩ GETO.

with them both, they’re both major sluts.

it goes without saying that where there’s gojo there’s geto. in this case, they’d both be top camboys. fighting over the number one spot of being at the top. but as of now, they’d both be fighting between your legs. fighting over who can eat you out better.

they’d position their monitor in a good angle so that their thousands of viewers can see you with your legs all sprawled out.

“f-fuuck,” you whine, feeling each of their tongues clash and swipe against your saturated entrance. you were living every girl’s dream—as you ogle down toward your two best friends, you comb a hair through geto’s messy strands. with a tight yanking grip, you pull his hair up. “like that sugu, wanna feel your piercing more.”

“hmph,” gojo pouts, using a broad hand to pry your legs apart even further. you’d already came about four times. four times the two of them snatched out such dangerously pleasurable orgasms. with your head throwing itself back, you feel gojo starting to suck against your clit. gojo’s getting aroused himself. a free hand of his reaching down, creeping inside of his boxers.

the difference between gojo and geto—gojo was more of a clit biter, geto was more of a clit kisser.

where gojo’s sloppy sucks and slurps against your cunt would occur, they’d soon turn into playful bites and nibbles. “stop hoggin’ her, suguboo,” he grumbles, the cutest pout squeezing against his facial expressions. geto’s got a sly grin, feeling you tug all on his hair. as his face runs back and forth against your cunt, his chin pouring down with a sheeny slick of your slit, he kisses your pussy. a variety of smooches that makes you pulse right on their tongues.

“make me, pretty boy.”

they’d always bicker, always,

you’re struggling to stay still, squirming from the stimulation and it’s making your mouth water. you were sure they were gonna give you another orgasm within no time.

with your tummy heaving sporadically in and out at such irregular intervals, you let off a whiney whimper. gojo nibbles down against your cunt, and he suddenly pauses once he feels geto’s tongue flick against his. “eh. dude—”

“what, you want me to give you attention too or something?” geto shrugs, and you feel the long edges of his fingernails trace against your skin.

seductively, he gently uses the tip of his finger to carve into your leg, pretending he’s writing the four letters of his name on your flesh.

circling against your skin, he pushes his tongue in further before he’s nose deep—bedaubing all over and against your slick. “mhm, fuckin’ soaked for us.” and a thumb of his drags down your swollen, pulsing clit. your cunt continues to weep and beg for more, you’re so close—your orgasm was on the very tip of your tongue. you could almost taste it.

gojo’s still got the same pouty glower on his face as the two of them delve their twitching pink tongues into your cunt. hot, feverish breaths fan and aerate against your pussy before he cranes his head toward geto, mumbling in a cheeky tone. “you wanna kiss me so bad.”

“maybe i do.” geto rolls his eyes—and a dozen invisible question marks float over your head as your two best friends were literally flirting.

right in front of your salad—well in the case, right in front of your pussy.

by now, you’d all forgotten they were still live, hence the deafening pinging sounds of donations and notifications bringing you straight back to reality. staring down at them both, geto and gojo were still between your legs before they lean in to kiss. immediately, gojo folds before whining into geto’s tongue as the moving muscles dance amongst each other. for some reason, as they’re making out and still eating you out, it makes you throb. gojo’s pretty lashes flutter close, and they take turns with claiming each other’s lips and sucking against your pussy.

but that only lasts for a second or two—as they’re still having their lips locked, a hand of geto’s slides up gojo’s shirt, chuckling against his lips. furrowing your brows, it’s now your turn to pout. “um?? hello. did you guys just forget about me?”

[elaci]

Ten Times Too Many

You said Ghost couldn’t beat his record of making you finish five times in one night. He said he could double it.

cw: overstimulation, afab reader, more overstimulation, creampies :)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x afab!reader | 18+ MDNI

req rules ⁞ request here ⁞ crossposted on ao3

There isn’t a shred of doubt in your mind: Ghost knows how to emulate an ego death with the way he fucks.

You’re used to the rough ploys, the sick dirty talk and mind-numbing orgasms that leave you half-blind. You know how good it gets, how addicted he is to ruining you. You know his end goal is always your mindlessness, each fuck an attempt to strip you of even your own name.

What you didn’t know is how good he can make overstimulation hurt.

It was a spur of the moment thing, a bet between you gone awry when you insisted he couldn’t beat his record of pulling five orgasms from you in one night. He said he could double it, you laughed in his face— now he’s laughing in yours.

It’s a low laugh that comes from his stomach, muffled by his mask as he bottoms out inside of you yet again. You may just be hypersensitive, but you swear you can feel the vibrations of his laugh in your pussy, it makes you whine, a sweet song he’s all-too used to.

Number nine is approaching— you feel it in the shaking heat of your stomach and the rolling nausea that rolls over you, you’re so cumdrunk you feel sick. Ghosts pace stays relentless, drilling into you with a fervour that seems almost inhumane— he’s driven by the sight of you unravelling beneath him. Sweat soaks the sheets beneath you, tears stain your cheeks, Ghost groans.

“Come on, Love, do as you’re told, yeah? Come for me.”

Your mind is so blurred you can’t tell when your orgasm starts and when it ends, a blinding moment of pleasure is all the indication of time you have. Ghost grins, you can see it in the way his mask moves, predatory like a shark set on the smell of blood. You cry, choked sobs stuck in your throat dislodge with each thrust onto Ghosts cock. He stretches you open, moulds you into the perfect fit for him— as if holy hands carved you from a model of his being.

“Please,” the moment you’re sane enough to speak again, or at least try to, you’re begging for an ounce of the soldiers mercy. “Pleasepleaseplease, baby fuck… I cant take it anymore.”

Simon slows, rolls his hips into yours slow enough to give you a second to breathe. He may be a sadist, but he’s not all that evil. You take the moment to look at his body. Despite the mask covering his face, he’s otherwise naked, torso toned and scarred in beautiful ways you could stare at until your last breath. The flex of his muscles as he moves, stretching you out, is a narcotic within itself. God, he’s ruined you from the inside out.

A sudden snap of his hips into yours and you nearly scream. He’s still rock hard, and you’ve lost count of the times he’s fucked his cum into you— you take it as a testament of his need. When Ghost thrusts into you again, his balls hitting your ass with the weight he puts into fucking you as deep as he can, you reach out and push a sweaty palm against his chest.

“Stop,” you grit your teeth. “You’re going to kill me, I’m so fucking sensitive.”

Another slow roll of his hips, Ghost tests the waters. He leans in, his chest against yours in a mix of laboured breaths and sticking sweat, and laughs.

“Say the safe word.”

His dick pulses inside of you, his release near. You could tap out, let go of the all-encompassing pleasure you feel and nurse your sore thighs with a warm bath. But part of you knows you’ll grieve the fit of his cock inside you the second he pulls out and kisses you better. Ten orgasms at the hand of a man who’s done a lot worse than fuck someone into a coma— he’s not the man to push, he asks again.

“Safe word, love.”

“Fuck you.”

“What I fuckin’ thought.”

A flip switches and, although you hadnt known it possible, Ghost moves faster than ever before. His hands pawing at your tits, cock slipping in and out of you in a frenzied pace that grounds you as much as it wrecks you. If his mouth weren’t covered by his mask you have no doubt he’d be marking every inch of your neck and chest as his— staking his claim on the body he’s already fucked into favour. Deep strokes of his cock inside you are enough to bring hot new tears to surface, pooling in your eyes as you forget how to breathe, think, do anything other than feel his presence inside of you.

“Fuckin’ perfect, you know that? Last one, pretty, just one more.”

It’s everything about him, his size and weight and the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder that sticks to his skin and permeates the air around you. It’s the dedication, his fingers circling your clit in dedicated service to your pleasure, the searing heat of his cock near-breeding you stupid. It’s the way his breath quickens, and you can see his muscles tense and, despite your mind being halfway to heaven, you know he’s on the brink of cumming.

It’s the release you share, when he folds over on top of you, crushing you under his weight as he finishes. His hips thrusting as deep as he can get inside of you, sounds of sweet ecstasy leaving his mouth and staining your skin with goosebumps as you fall over the edge one last time.

Number ten, blinding— you see stars and galaxies. You could be convinced you were floating if not for the weight of Ghost on top of you. Your body spasms and jerks in response to his ministrations, a masochistic ache for more settling in your stomach as you choke on your breath.

There’s a moment of silence as Ghost buries his head in the crook of your neck, just a second to catch his breath. He could fall asleep right here inside of you if it weren’t for the pressing matter of aftercare, you could too. You’re so stuck on the mindless string of orgasms you’ve just had that when Ghost pulls out of you, you nearly cry with sensitivity.

You cant form the right words, lost in a place less real than this— your body still tingles when Ghost slips his mask off and you’re met with the tear-blurred sight of your Simon. He leans down, presses a kiss to your lips softer than any other, and then ducks his head down further to gently kiss the pussy he just fucked numb.

A cock of his head, chest still heaving with exertion.

“Cmon,” a hand extended to you, “bath. Y’need it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later.”

[sttoru]

“eat your veggies, baby girl,” satoru urges his daughter. you’re all seated at the dining table, eating the food off your own plates. your husband is right next to your child’s high chair, trying to get her to eat her broccoli.

she scrunches her nose up to show her reluctance. when satoru gives her a frown of his own, she eventually gives in. “kay, papa..” she whines. she parts her messy lips and allows the green vegetable to enter her mouth.

you grin at the cute sight. your daughter reminds you of satoru in so many ways. she’s got a sweet tooth, just like him, and both of them dislike vegetables, “heh, you sound like your papa. he also doesn’t like his veggies.”

satoru pouts and looks over at you. he puffs up his chest and tries to defend himself, trying to be a good role model to his little girl, “hey, no, i eat my vegetables. lookie here, princess.”

satoru hesitates before shoving a big piece of broccoli down his throat. he visibly cringes at the taste and texture, but tries to play it off with a big grin - hoping to encourage his daughter to do the same.

“papa don’t like?” she asks with a concerned pout, tilting her head. it’s painfully obvious that he doesn’t like it - even a kid like her could tell. her tiny hand reaches out to satoru and pats him on the arm for comfort. she’s already so emotionally mature for her age.

the white haired sorcerer shakes his head. he coughs a bit and forces himself to eat another piece of the same vegetable, “no.. papa likes it very much,” satoru makes some funny faces as he continues to eat. he’s not fooling anyone, not even his daughter, “mhm.. so good.”

your toddler grins and tries not to laugh at the sight of her dad making those funny faces as he eats. though, she fails to hold in her contagious laughter when satoru turns his head to hide his suffering from her, “bwahahaha!”

her giggles make you smile and let out a chuckle of your own. satoru nearly chokes on his vegetables when he hears his kid’s adorable laugh. he grins from ear to ear and wipes his mouth with a napkin, “oh? laughing at your papa, hm? that’s not so nice, little princess.”

satoru jokes. he makes sure your daughter doesn’t have any food in her mouth before moving to tickle her belly, making her giggles even louder. you watch as he nibbles on her ear—thoroughly enjoying those sounds of joy coming from your toddler.

satoru’s mission is accomplished. maybe not his initial goal, but this one suffices for now. he’s made his wife and daughter laugh and that’s all what matters.

[fairy-angel222]

𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓, 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐓 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—nanami is fed up of your annoying behavior

cw: smut, rough nanami, really mean nanami, heavy degradation, use of (slut, bitch), hair pulling, cumming inside you, gagging, face fucking, desk sex

a/n: this pic + mean nanami was trending months ago ik, but this is a repost so :’)

Being Satoru’s brat of a sister. Always teasing Nanami about him not having a girlfriend. You’re constantly whining in his ears about the dumbest things. You’re as annoying as your big brother, and Nanami can only tolerate so much. Especially when you decide to catch an attitude with everybody because something didn’t go your way.

That is exactly why Nanami had you on your knees taking his cock, his hand in your hair roughly bobbing your head along his thick length. “Is this what you needed to shut up, hmm?”

“Needed to be treated like the stupid slut that you are. Fuck, you’re so much less annoying like this.” He cursed, eyes dark with rage as he made you take him deeper. Loud gags filling the empty room as Nanami fucked your face.

Mascara filled tears ran down your face as you struggled to breathe. Your nails digging into the muscular man’s thighs. You could feel the tip of his cock slamming into the back of your throat with each movement of his hips. His pace fast and hard, heavy balls slapping your chin repeatedly.

Nanami’s head fell back, a string of curses leaving his mouth before groaning loudly. Two consecutive globs of his spit falling onto your face followed by the sharp slap of his palm. The man using his fingers to spread his saliva and your tears across your cheeks. “So, so much better like this.”

He yanked you up by your hair. Bending you over his desk before thrusting into your sopping pussy with no warning.

You let out soft cries as he bullied your cunt open, stretching you out almost painfully. Nanami groaned loudly when you clenched down on him. His long fingers digging into your cheeks as your moans increased in volume. “Shut the fuck up.” he grunted. Pulling off his tie in one swift motion before stuffing it into your babbling mouth.

“Just shut up and take it. Had enough of your bratty attitude.” He growled meanly.

Nanami’s hips snapped into yours inhumanly, your tits rubbing against the hard wooden desk as your body jerked with every thrust. It felt so good to put you back in your place. He was so fucking tired of hearing your voice.

Nanami this. Nanami that. I want this. I want that. Always getting on like a fucking baby when you didn’t get your way. He was sick of it.

Nanami grabbed onto your two wrists bruisingly, holding them behind your back as his other hand found its place in your hair again. Pulling you up, Nanami held you flush against him, cock reaching even deeper than before as he fucked into your shorter frame.

You felt so tiny against him, your head rested on his broad chest as your sobs were muffled by the yellow and black cloth. Forcing your teary eyes open, you could see the anger on the man’s face. His eyebrows furrowed, hooded eyes glaring down at you and his lips pressed into a scowl.

It gave him maximum satisfaction to see you so dumb on his cock. “Maybe this was your fucking goal all along. To have me ruin you on my cock and fuck that attitude out of you.” He grunted.

“Fuck, i hate you so much baby. Look at you, where’s that annoying bitch now huh?” He laughed darkly. “Gotta keep fucking you like this to keep your dumb slut of a mouth in check.”

You let out a muffled cry, his tie becoming soaked with your tears and spit as drool ran down the sides of your mouth. Knees wobbly beneath you as your eyes rolled back, the man fucking you closer to orgasm.

“Fucking look at me.” he growled, “Look at me when i break this pussy on my cock.” He demanded, his voice rough and deep. You whimpered, glassy eyes looking up at him through wet lashes till you met his brown ones.

Your pussy clenched impossibly harder, your slick running down your thighs as he fucked out your every last brain cell. Slamming up harshly until your mind was etched with nothing but him, his name, and his monster of a cock.

You could feel his veins rubbing against your gummy spot as your body began to shake. Muffled incoherent moans of his name being spilled straight into the fabric between your lips.

“Should’ve known sooner that this is what a slut like you needed. It’s all you’re fucking good for huh baby?” You nodded in agreement with a cry. Obscenely loud squelching sounds filling the room as he sloppily thrusted into your soaked pussy.

A smirk grew on the man’s face. “Maybe I should stop right now and leave you needy for my cock for the rest of the day.” You whined in protest, your tears ready to double in amount. Nanami only smirked wider, “Teach you a real lesson.”

Nanami’s mouth hung slightly in short grunts, his abs tensing behind you. “Fuck, go ahead slut. Cum, make a mess f’ me.”

Your body trembled uncontrollably, your moans and screams going unheard as you squirted. The clear liquid gushing onto the man’s thighs and tiled floor. “Dirty fucking bitch.” he spat, teeth clenched as he contemplated pulling out. “Gonna fill you up with all my cum. Someone like you is bound to be on the pill.”

Nanami stilled deep inside you, his deep groan sounding in your ear as you felt his hot ropes of cum coat your walls. “There we fucking go.” He breathed, remaining buried in your warm cunt for a few more minutes before pulling out.

Upon seeing your messy tear stained face, Nanami’s eyes widened. Did he go too far? Shit. Taking the dripping tie out your mouth, he opened his mouth to ask if you were okay. He was taken aback when you hugged him tightly, looking up at him with a wide grin. You truly were a little slut.

You giggled, “Wanted that for so long. Wish you would have done it sooner.” you pouted. And Nanami simply blinked in surprise as you nuzzled into his chest. You really were a Gojo.

[pucksandpower]

The Princess and the Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Princess of Denmark!Reader

Summary: in which you follow the time-honored tradition of Danish royalty falling in love with Australians

Note: dedicated to my favorite Dane, @struggling-with-drivers, who had to put up with me taking months to finally get the proper inspiration to write this

“And if you’ll just follow me, Your Majesty and Your Royal Highnesses, I’ll take you to meet Kevin now,” the overly peppy Haas PR representative says as she gestures down the garage.

You force a smile, trying not to physically recoil as you take in the assault of garish Haas branding surrounding you. The white, red, and black color scheme is far too harsh on the eyes this early on a Saturday morning.

“Oh goody,” your younger sister Josephine says flatly, eliciting a snort from your younger brother Vincent.

Your mother, Queen Mary, shoots the two a reproachful look before turning back to the PR rep with a polished smile. “We’re very excited to meet Kevin and support Denmark’s driver.”

The PR rep beams and starts leading you further into the Haas garage, rattling on about Haas’ ambitious goals for the season as you pass mechanics in matching black Haas polos barely paying you any mind.

You internally groan, already dreading the interaction ahead. As the Crown Princess, you’ve long perfected the art of feigning interest, but this weekend has tested even your limits.

“And I know meeting the future queen will just make Kevin’s day!” The rep continues enthusiastically. “He was so honored when King Frederik reached out about you all coming this weekend to support him.”

You resist the urge to snort. More like the royal communications secretary reached out when they realized the Australian Grand Prix overlapped with your visit to your mother’s family in Australia. Nothing like conveniently timing a royal appearance to drum up positive press.

Your younger sister, Isabella, sidles up next to you, linking her arm through yours commiseratingly. At 16, she’s already mastered your family’s signature skill — conveying boredom through a pleasant facial expression.

“I have some fresh sets of Haas merch we would love for you to wear when you meet Kevin,” the rep says, holding out stacks of Haas emblazoned caps and shirts insistently. “It would mean so much to the team for you to showcase your support.”

You force a smile, already shaking your head. “Oh, I’m afraid we can’t wear anything with advertisements or sponsors per royal protocol.”

The PR rep’s face falls slightly before she plasters the smile back on. “Of course, Your Royal Highness, I understand. Shall we?”

She gestures further down the garage to where the Haas drivers are standing with team personnel. Kevin Magnussen spots your approach, nudging his teammate before they turn towards you.

As you reach them, Kevin steps forward first, offering a short bow. “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highnesses, it’s an honor to meet you.”

You offer your hand, which he takes, bowing again as he brushes his lips over your knuckles. “The honor is ours, Mr. Magnussen. Denmark is proud to have you representing us in Formula 1.”

Kevin smiles bashfully as you drop his hand. “Please, call me Kevin.”

You return his smile politely. “Very well, Kevin it is.”

The rest of your family exchanges pleasantries with Kevin before the PR rep guides you towards the pit wall to observe the action on track. Practice is getting underway, and you’re grateful for any chance to extract yourself from the oppressive Haas environment.

As you exit the garage into the sunlight, you breathe a sigh of relief. Two bodyguards fall smoothly in step behind you as you start down the paddock, taking in the buzz of activity.

You smile softly, the excitement infectious despite your general disinterest in motorsports. There’s something about the frenetic energy at a race that gets your blood pumping.

Your eyes light up as you spot the unmistakable papaya motorhome of McLaren up ahead. Now that’s a team you can get behind. Cool retro appeal and a driver line-up you’ve heard is full of young talent — what’s not to love?

You pick up your pace, eager to get a closer look at the iconic livery, when suddenly you collide headlong into a firm, muscular body.

You gasp as strong arms wrap around you, stopping your momentum abruptly. Your hands brace against a solid chest as you glance up, prepared to stammer out an apology.

But the words die on your lips as you find yourself staring into warm brown eyes set in an unfairly handsome face. The eyes widen in surprise, clearly not having expected the Crown Princess of Denmark to go careening into his arms.

His mouth opens, no doubt to ask if you’re okay, but you stand frozen as the hustle of the paddock fades into background noise.

In this moment, it’s just you and this beautiful stranger. A stranger who hasn’t let go of you yet, one hand still pressed gently against your back.

You know you should pull away, apologize for your clumsiness and be on your way. But something about his eyes makes you want to stay right here, wrapped safely in his arms.

You stand frozen, lost in the stranger’s mesmerizing brown eyes. You vaguely register your bodyguards stepping forward on either side of you.

“Your Royal Highness, are you alright?” Henrik, your lead bodyguard, asks urgently.

You blink, the spell broken as Henrik’s hand lands on your shoulder, gently tugging you back.

The stranger’s eyes widen further as understanding seems to dawn. His eyes flick over the royal crest on Henrik’s suit jacket before moving back to your face, a hint of panic in his gaze.

Before you can offer any reassurance, a voice calls out sharply from behind the man.

“Oscar! What are you doing, mate? We’ve got the strategy briefing in five!”

You watch as the man — Oscar, apparently — glances reluctantly over his shoulder to where a thin harried man bearing a McLaren team pass stands tapping his foot impatiently.

Oscar’s hands slip from your waist as he takes a small step back. “Sorry, I—”

But whatever he was going to say gets lost as the man strides forward, clapping a firm hand on Oscar’s shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s go. No time for chatting up fans when we’ve got quali coming up.”

Oscar allows himself to be steered away, casting one last, almost wistful look back at you before the brisk man hustles him around the corner.

You stare after them for a long moment before Henrik’s voice breaks through your daze once more.

“Your Highness, are you injured at all? Shall I call for a medic?”

You blink, shaking your head quickly as heat floods your cheeks. Honestly, they must think you a simpleton, standing here gaping after a man you collided with.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assure him quickly. “Just a bit clumsy this morning it seems.”

You force out a breathy laugh, hoping your flaming cheeks can be explained away as embarrassment from your blunder.

Henrik eyes you skeptically for a moment before nodding. “Very well. But please be more careful, Your Highness. Next time we may not be so lucky.”

You nod contritely before allowing Henrik to usher you back towards the Haas garage, your other bodyguard falling smoothly back in step behind you.

As you near the garage, you spot your family gathered by the pit wall, watching as a group of track marshals examines a particularly suspicious drain cover. Your younger siblings all turn as one to look at you, eerily in sync.

The knowing looks on their faces make you shudder. Of the many curses of growing up in a big family, the inability to keep secrets ranks near the top. You’re sure they’ll have the truth out of you before long.

“Nice of you to join us, Y/N,” your younger brother Christian remarks wryly as you reach them. “Have a nice stroll?”

You resist the urge to stick your tongue out at him. Barely.

“Lovely, thank you,” you reply breezily instead, moving to stand between your mother and Isabella.

You determinedly avoid meeting any of your siblings’ gazes, focusing on the timing sheets instead. But you can feel their curious stares boring into you.

“You look a bit flushed, darling. Are you feeling quite alright?” Your mother murmurs, pressing a hand to your forehead in concern.

“Just peachy!” You chirp in response, internally cringing at the unnatural brightness in your tone.

From your other side, Isabella leans in, voice sly. “You do seem rather … distracted. Anything you want to share with the class?”

You glance at her sharply, taking in her knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes in warning, but Isabella just smiles innocently.

“Oh leave your sister be,” your mother chides. “I’m sure Y/N is just overwhelmed by the excitement of experiencing her first Grand Prix.”

You make a noncommittal noise of agreement, turning your focus back to the timing sheets. Isabella elbows you subtly and you pointedly ignore her, keeping your gaze fixed ahead.

You’re immensely thankful when the Haas PR rep appears again, ushering you towards the back to “give the team space to prepare for qualifying,” and drawing your family’s attention away from you.

You trail after your family to the cordoned off hospitality area, gratefully accepting a bottle of water from the proffered cooler.

As the mechanics spring into action around you, Isabella sidles up next to you again, playful smile still in place.

“Soooo,” she drawls, bumping your shoulder with hers. “Who’s got you all flustered then?”

You nearly choke on your water, whipping your head to face her. “What? No one! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Even to your own ears, the denial sounds feeble. Isabella merely arches one perfect brow, clearly not buying it.

You huff out a breath, scanning the room quickly to ensure none of your other family members are in earshot before hissing under your breath. “I may have accidentally careened into a McLaren crew member during my walk.”

Isabella’s grin turns positively feline. “Oh, do tell ...”

“There’s nothing to tell!” you insist, face flaming once more. “We collided and his reflexes were quick enough to catch me before I fell. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm, I’m sure that blush is just because you’re so very embarrassed by your clumsiness and nothing else.”

You scowl and take a long swig of your water.

Isabella chuckles. “So was this mystery McLaren man at least handsome?”

You nearly choke again. “Isabella!” You admonish under your breath.

She holds up both hands innocently, still grinning. “What? It’s a perfectly reasonable question. No judgment here, promise.”

You narrow your eyes, considering her carefully. Before you can think better of it, you mutter reluctantly, “He … wasn’t entirely unfortunate looking.”

“Aha!” Isabella crows triumphantly. “I knew it!”

You shush her frantically, glancing around to make sure her outburst didn’t draw any unwanted attention.

“Do you know his name at least?” Isabella asks, slightly more quietly this time.

You hesitate before admitting, "... Oscar, I think. His colleague called him that.”

Isabella hums thoughtfully. “Very mysterious ...”

You roll your eyes, shoving her shoulder. “Oh stop it. Can we please just drop this?”

“Of course, of course,” Isabella relents, though the impish twinkle remains in her eye.

You’re prevented from further interrogation by the start of qualifying. You rejoin your family, studiously keeping your gaze away from your siblings’ knowing looks.

You determinedly put the morning’s events from your mind, focusing on Kevin’s qualifying efforts. Though you can’t help the occasional wish that the handsome stranger from McLaren — Oscar — was the one flying around the track instead.

The session proceeds fairly predictably, with the top teams claiming the top spots and the backmarkers bringing up the rear.

As Kevin pulls into the garage after qualifying 17th, you paste on an encouraging smile.

“Excellent job out there, Kevin! You and the team should be very proud.”

Kevin smiles wryly back at you. “You’re too kind, Your Highness. But I think we all know 17th is nothing to celebrate for a team with our aspirations.”

You nod sympathetically. “Of course, there’s always room for improvement. But you showed admirable pace given the circumstances.”

Kevin inclines his head gratefully at your measured response. “You have a bright future ahead as queen with such judicious words.”

You thank him sincerely for the compliment before your family takes their leave, the day’s obligations finally complete.

As you all pile into the waiting cars, Isabella leans over and whispers, “Do you think Kevin would’ve qualified higher if Haas wasn’t so slow?”

You have to smother your snort of laughter into your hand.

“Without question,” you whisper back. “I think a snail could qualify ahead of Haas at this point.”

Isabella dissolves into muffled giggles next to you as the cars pull away from the circuit, leaving the chaotic world of Formula 1 behind. At least until tomorrow.

***

You stare contemplatively out the car window as the city lights of Melbourne streak by in the darkness. Despite your family’s teasing, you can’t seem to remove a certain McLaren crew member from your thoughts.

Oscar. Even his name sends a flutter through your stomach.

You know it’s foolish to get caught up over a brief collision with a stranger. And yet … those eyes. You can’t shake the connection you felt in that moment, however fleeting.

The car slows to a stop outside your hotel and you make a split-second decision. Turning to your mother, you adopt your most winsome tone.

“Mor, I was hoping you might allow me to go out for the evening. To experience the Melbourne nightlife before we depart.”

Your mother’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Go out? Alone?”

You rush to reassure her. “Oh no, I’ll take Henrik and Simone with me of course. I would just love the chance to explore the city a bit, like a normal young woman.”

You see a flash of understanding on your mother’s face and press your advantage. “In fact, didn’t you and Far meet during a pub crawl?”

Pink stains your mother’s cheeks but her lips quirk up. “I suppose we did. But those were different times ...”

“Please Mor?” You plead. “When will I have a chance like this again?”

Your mother regards you shrewdly for a long moment before sighing. “Oh very well. But Henrik and Simone must accompany you at all times. And I want you back by midnight at the latest.”

You beam, leaning over to smack a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, thank you! I promise I’ll stay safe.”

As you exit the car, your younger brother Christian pipes up from behind you. “Hey, can I come too?”

“Absolutely not,” your mother shuts him down swiftly, leveling a quelling look at his crestfallen face.

You hide a smile as you sweep into the hotel to change, giddiness rising in your chest. A night out is just what you need to clear your head from a certain handsome distraction.

An hour later you slide into the backseat of one of the discreet royal security vehicles, now wearing jeans, heels, and a silky camisole, your long hair spilling over your shoulders.

Henrik raises his eyebrows at your outfit but doesn’t comment as he pulls away from the hotel, heading for the club district.

When you arrive, the bouncer’s eyes widen at the royal crests adorning your bodyguards’ suits. But a few quick words from Henrik and you’re granted access without a fuss.

The heavy beat of the music washes over you as you enter the fashionable club. Bright lights flash hypnotically over the crowded dance floor. You glance back at Henrik and Simone stationed near the entrance, allowing the music to carry you further inside.

You weave your way to the bar, excitement simmering in your veins. Tonight you’re just Y/N, anonymous clubgoer. No titles, no expectations, no watching eyes judging your every move.

Well, except for your bodyguards of course. But they’re discreet enough to give you space.

You’re so lost in the heady freedom of anonymity that you don’t notice the nearby figure doing a double take. But as you step up to the bar, waiting to order, a now familiar voice sounds behind you.

“Y-Your Highness!” He stammers, nearly dropping the drinks he just received. “I mean, Princess, uh Crown Princess? Sorry, I’m not actually sure—”

You whirl around to see Oscar standing there, looking devastatingly handsome in a button-down and jeans.

“Oscar!” You gasp, a smile breaking across your face unbidden. “What are you doing here?”

Pink stains Oscar’s tanned cheeks. “Ah, well my mates from the team wanted to go out and blow off some steam before the race tomorrow.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “But what brings Denmark’s future queen out to the clubs?”

You shrug lightly, grin turning impish. “Can’t a girl just want to dance and have some fun?”

Oscar’s eyes gleam with understanding. “Suppose she can. Well then, may I get you a drink … er ...”

He trails off, clearly unsure how to address you in this unusual context.

You take pity on him and lean in conspiratorially. “Tonight, I’m just Y/N. No need for fancy titles.”

Relief flashes across Oscar’s face and he smiles. “Y/N it is.”

Soon you’ve got drinks in hand and are chatting easily at a tall table beside the dance floor. Oscar is witty and charming, and laughs freely at your sarcastic commentary about Formula 1.

You’re amazed by how at ease you feel in his presence, the crown’s ever-present weight lifted from your shoulders. With Oscar, you’re not an heiress apparent, but just a girl talking to a boy she really really likes.

When he asks what you think of McLaren, you perk up eagerly. “Oh yes, what is it exactly that you do there? Are you an engineer or mechanic of some sort?”

Oscar’s eyes shutter briefly and he clears his throat. “Ah, something like that. Mostly just tinkering to try and make the car faster.”

He steers the conversation to safer waters before you can inquire further. You make a mental note to look up the full McLaren staff list later and figure out his specific role.

The night flies by in a blur of laughter and stolen glances. Oscar gamely joins you on the dance floor, his hands resting lightly on your waist as you sway together.

When at last you note the time, disappointment sinks heavy in your gut. Oscar’s face mirrors your own regret as he insists on walking you to meet your bodyguards.

Outside the club, you turn to him reluctantly. “I wish this didn’t have to end. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

Oscar shuffles his feet, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Would … would you want to meet up again tomorrow? Maybe outside the McLaren garage before the race?”

Your face lights up. “I’d love that.” Overcome by boldness, you lean in and brush a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

Oscar’s hand drifts up to his cheek, eyes dazed. “Brilliant. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

You bid him goodnight before allowing Henrik and Simone to usher you into the waiting car, unable to keep the giddy smile from your face the entire ride back.

***

The next morning, you awake with a smile stretching across your face. The memory of Oscar’s brown eyes gazing into yours as you swayed together in the club fills you with warmth.

As you dress and prepare to head to the circuit, an idea strikes. There’s no rule saying you have to spend the entire pre-race hours cooped up in the Haas garage after all.

You slip into the hotel dining room, grabbing a piece of toast. “I’m afraid the petrol fumes in the garage were giving me a dreadful headache yesterday. I think I’ll take a walk around the paddock this morning for some fresh air before the race.”

Your mother’s brows furrow in concern. “Oh dear, that won’t do at all! Yes, a nice walk sounds wise.”

You thank her profusely on your way out, hiding your triumphant smile until the door closes behind you. Phase one complete.

You hold yourself back from rushing through the paddock once at the circuit, maintaining a sedate royal pace. But inside, excitement bubbles through your veins at the thought of seeing Oscar again.

As you make your way to the McLaren garage, your steps falter at the larger-than-life image emblazoned on the wall. Oscar beams back at you, brown hair just barely poking out from under his McLaren cap. The block letters beside the photo proclaim OSCAR PIASTRI #81.

You press a hand to your mouth to smother your gasp. Oscar is a driver? Your Oscar?

Speak of the devil, you spot him emerging from the garage, already dressed in fireproofs with his race suit half hanging around his waist. His face lights up when he sees you, lips curving into that boyish grin that makes your knees weak.

“Good morning!” He chirps, moving in for a brief hug.

You return the hug distractedly, still grappling with this new discovery. As you pull back, you arch a questioning brow at him.

“So … you’re a driver. Funny, I don’t recall you mentioning that last night.”

Pink stains Oscar’s cheeks and he rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, right. I may have omitted certain details about my role here.” His eyes turn pleading. “I hope you can forgive me? I just liked talking to someone who didn’t already know everything about me for once.”

You regard him thoughtfully before allowing a teasing grin to emerge. “Well, I suppose I can understand the appeal of a fresh slate. And it’s not as if I was fully forthcoming either.”

Oscar’s shoulders sag in relief. “Too right. Quite the pair we make, Princess.” His eyes dance playfully.

You open your mouth to respond but are interrupted by a shout from the garage. “Oscar! Debrief in two minutes, let’s go!”

Oscar smiles apologetically. “Duty calls. But let’s continue this later?”

At your nod, he squeezes your hand briefly before jogging back inside. You make your way back to Haas, butterflies still fluttering wildly.

Once the race starts, you have to work to restrain your enthusiasm as Oscar quickly moves up the field. More than once, you catch your lips curving upward as he deftly overtakes a competitor, and have to rearrange them into careful neutrality.

A discreet glance sideways shows your family members focused intently on Kevin’s efforts in the Haas. You allow yourself a small smile. Watching Oscar race with no one the wiser feels like getting away with something deliciously secretive.

The checkered flag finally waves after 58 intense laps. Your heart leaps as the McLaren crew begins celebrating Oscar’s podium finish. You have to force yourself not to join the applause as he climbs from his car, settling for clasping your hands tightly to contain your glee.

Meanwhile, Kevin finishes in 18th position while his teammate Nico suffered a mechanical retirement. You paste on an encouraging smile, tamping down your excitement over Oscar’s podium.

“Nice recovery there at the end, Kevin. Surely the team can build on this result in the next race.”

Privately, you think Haas would be lucky to keep a wheel attached long enough to make it to the end of a full race, let alone fight for points. But you keep that thought to yourself for now.

As your family rises to congratulate a dejected Kevin on completing the race, Isabella leans in close to whisper in your ear. “Not a great showing, I dare say. Perhaps you are considering transferring allegiance to a certain papaya team instead?”

You press your lips together to contain your smile. Trust Isabella to have guessed your conflicted loyalties.

“Indeed,” you murmur back. “One must be open to supporting all teams in the spirit of global unity.”

Isabella’s eyes dance with mirth, but she simply links her arm through yours, giving a sage nod. “Spoken like a true diplomat.”

As the celebrations kick off for Oscar’s first home race podium, you sneak glances over your shoulder, hoping for another glimpse of him through the chaos.

Someday soon, perhaps you’ll be able to cheer for him openly. For now, you hold the image of his smiling face in your mind as you reluctantly follow your family back out of the disappointing Haas garage.

If nothing else, this surprise-filled weekend has shown you that your heart will not be so easily commanded. And it seems to have rather fixated itself on a certain charismatic McLaren driver.

***

You hover near the paddock exit, half hoping to catch one last glimpse of Oscar before your departure. Your family made their polite farewells to the Haas team and you seized the opportunity to slip away.

You’ve just resigned yourself to missing him when hurried footsteps sound behind you.

“Princess! Wait up!”

You whirl around to see Oscar jogging towards you, face freshly showered but still flushed with elation. He draws up before you, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

“I’m so glad I caught you before I had to leave,” you smile brightly. “I had to come say a proper congratulations for your podium first!”

Oscar ducks his head bashfully even as his eyes shine. “And, well, I hoped maybe you were cheering me on out there today?”

Heat floods your cheeks as you let out an embarrassed laugh. “You know I can’t answer that. But I will say you drove brilliantly and I’m so pleased for your result.”

Oscar’s grin widens, clearly reading between the lines of your diplomatic answer.

“Well I’m glad I could end your weekend on a high note after the woeful introduction to Formula 1 from Haas.”

You groan good-naturedly. “Ugh yes, I think Kevin was grateful when I finally made myself scarce from that garage of doom.”

Oscar chuckles before his expression turns wistful. “I suppose this means you’ll be heading back to Denmark now though?”

You shake your head, curls spilling over your shoulders. “Oh no, we’re spending a few more weeks visiting my mother’s family in Tasmania first.”

At Oscar’s look of surprise, you elaborate, “My mother is originally Australian. Her family is from Tasmania.”

Understanding dawns on Oscar’s face. “Well how about that! Danish royalty certainly seems to have a taste for us Aussies.” He winks playfully.

Heat blooms in your cheeks but you rally to return his banter. “I suppose we do. Though from what I hear, McLaren seemed rather keen on Danes once upon a time as well.”

A rather in-depth Google search earlier that day taught you that Kevin Magnussen once raced for the papaya team. You rather wish he never left, if only so you did not have to suffer through the tedium of being in the Haas garage for the past two days.

Oscar barks out a laugh, eyes dancing with mirth. “Too right, you’ve got me there.” His laughter fades to a soft smile. “But I can’t say I blame my predecessors in the slightest.”

The tender look in his eyes makes your breath catch. Before you lose your nerve, you hurriedly dig out your phone.

“I should give you my number. So we can keep in touch.”

Oscar’s face lights up as he scrambles for his own phone. You quickly swap devices, inputting your contact info and trying not to notice how his name looks lighting up your screen.

Once you’ve traded phones again, an awkward silence descends. You clutch your phone tightly, unsure how to say goodbye when this thing between you feels so new and delicate.

Oscar clears his throat, scuffing his shoe against the pavement. “Well, I suppose I should let you get on your way ...”

“Right, yes ...” You trail off, searching for the right words. Because as silly as it sounds, the thought of not seeing Oscar’s smile for who knows how long makes your chest unexpectedly tight.

Acting on impulse, you step forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders in a hug. Oscar’s arms immediately curl around your back, clutching you close.

You breathe him in, imprinting this moment in your memory. The noise of the paddock fades away until it’s just this — the two of you suspended in time.

Far too soon, Oscar pulls back reluctantly. His eyes search your face like he’s trying to memorize it.

“Travel safely, Princess. I’ll see you soon.” His voice holds a promise.

You nod, not trusting your voice. With a final squeeze of his hand, you turn and walk steadily towards the exit. Your bodyguards fall in step behind you.

You don’t look back, though you can feel Oscar’s gaze on you until you disappear from view. As your car pulls away, you finally chance a glance backwards, just in time to see Oscar still watching wistfully after you.

Your breath escapes in a shaky exhale and you clutch your phone like a lifeline. Everywhere else suddenly feels much too far away.

***

You collapse back onto your bed, phone already pressed to your ear before the first ring even finishes. Oscar picks up on the second, voice warm and teasing as always.

“Eager today, are we Princess?”

You roll your eyes even as your lips quirk up. “Oh hush, you know you wait just as anxiously for my calls.”

Oscar’s answering chuckle makes your heart skip a beat. “Guilty. I’ll gladly admit your voice is the highlight of my day.”

Warmth floods your cheeks as you get comfortable against the pillows. “Flatterer. Now distract me from the drudgery of royal life with some F1 gossip. How go things in the glamorous world of racing?”

“Oh where to even start!” Oscar launches eagerly into the latest paddock drama — teammate clashes, contract disputes, and salacious hookups. You listen eagerly, living vicariously through his tales.

“Meanwhile Lando has been his usual chaos gremlin self ...” Oscar continues, recounting his teammate’s latest antics.

You laugh until your sides ache, picturing the outrageous scenes. “Honestly, I don’t know how McLaren copes with you two!”

“We keep things lively, that’s for sure,” Oscar agrees, audibly grinning. “Although we’d love an even livelier paddock with a certain Danish princess around again ...”

He leaves the statement hanging tentatively. You chew your lip, heart racing as you gather your courage.

“Funny you should mention that … I’ve been thinking lately that it would be nice to attend a race again soon.”

Oscar’s sharp inhale crackles through the phone. “Really? You’d come to another race?” His voice turns playful. “Any particular reason for the sudden interest?”

You laugh, hoping he can’t hear the breathlessness in it. “Oh you know, miss the atmosphere, the excitement ...” You pause before adding softly, “Getting to see a certain Aussie driver again.”

Oscar makes a pleased little noise that sends butterflies swirling wildly. “Well I’m sure that driver would be absolutely thrilled to see your face in the paddock again.”

Warmth spreads through your chest, emboldening you further. “As it happens, my godmother is the Queen of Belgium. So it should be easy enough to arrange an appearance at the Belgian Grand Prix.”

“That’s perfect!” Oscar enthuses. “Spa is one of my favorite circuits too. Say you’ll be there?”

His boyish eagerness melts your heart. “I’ll speak to our communications secretary this week. I’m sure they can make it happen.”

“Brilliant.” The tender hope in Oscar’s voice finds its mirror in your own thudding heart. A new chapter is beginning.

You chat longer about lighter topics until Oscar reluctantly says he should get some rest before practice tomorrow.

“I suppose I should let you go then ...” He trails off reluctantly, neither wanting to be the one to end the call.

You clutch the phone tighter, casting wildly for an excuse to keep him on the line. “Wait, you haven’t told me what ridiculous outfit Lando is wearing today!”

Oscar huffs out a laugh. “Trust me, words don’t do justice to the monstrosity. I’ll send pictures so you can experience it fully.”

“It’s a deal.” You know you’re only delaying the inevitable, but the thought of hanging up is unbearable.

Just then, the bedroom door crashes open and your younger brother Christian strolls in.

“Hey Y/N, Mor wants to know if … is that Oscar you’re talking to?” He raises his eyebrows knowingly.

You frantically shoo him away but Christian swoops in and plucks the phone from your hand. “Sorry mate, gotta steal my sister back. Royal duties call and all that. But great chatting, bye now!”

Before you can wrestle the phone away, Christian ends the call with a cheeky grin.

You smack his shoulder indignantly. “You little brat! I was right in the middle of important diplomatic relations!”

Christian just cackles gleefully. “Oh yeah, I could tell. Your dopey romantic sighing was a big clue.” He laughs harder at your outraged stammers.

“Just you wait until you’re madly pining over someone, I’ll get my revenge,” you threaten.

But inside, not even Christian’s teasing can diminish your euphoria. The promise of seeing Oscar again soon eclipses all else.

***

Your heels click rapidly over the pavement as you sweep through the Spa paddock gates. Bodyguards trail discreetly behind but you barely notice them, eyes scanning the bustling crowd for one face.

And then you see him. Oscar stands just ahead, back turned as he bounces on his toes, head swiveling in search of you.

Joy bubbles up in your chest. You break into a run, calling his name. “Oscar!”

He whips around, eyes lighting up when they land on you. His arms open wide and you launch yourself into them with a breathless laugh.

Strong hands grip your waist, swinging you in an enthusiastic circle before setting you back on your feet. Neither of you make any move to step back, standing tangled together.

“You came,” Oscar murmurs, voice awed like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

You lean into him, his warmth chasing away the months spent missing him. “Of course. After all, I made a promise to a certain driver.”

Oscar’s answering smile outshines the sun. Reluctantly, he loosens his hold, keeping one hand entwined with yours.

“Well then, allow me to escort you inside properly.” He presses a quick kiss to your knuckles before leading you towards the paddock entrance.

After scanning your VIP guest pass, courtesy of Oscar, you pass through security hand-in-hand, giddy smiles fixed in place.

The paddock buzzes with activity but you only have eyes for Oscar as he guides you straight to the McLaren garage.

Mechanics glance up curiously as you enter behind Oscar. He squeezes your hand, leaning in close.

“Ready to meet the team, Princess?” At your answering nod, he steers you confidently through the organized chaos.

You run a suddenly nervous hand over your hair as Oscar approaches a genial looking man conversing with a slimmer bearded man.

“Zak, Andrea — there’s someone special I want you both to meet.”

The two men turn, eyebrows raising in polite expectation. Oscar gently tugs you forward.

“This is Crown Princess Y/N of Denmark. Y/N, meet Zak Brown, our CEO, and Andrea Stella, team principal.”

Zak’s eyebrows climb higher but he recovers smoothly, extending a hand. “Your Royal Highness, welcome. We’re honored to host you in our garage.”

You return his firm handshake. “The honor is mine, thank you. Your team has been so welcoming.”

After greeting Andrea as well, Oscar steers you further inside just as a mop of fluffy brown hair zooms by.

“Oscar, mate! There you are, I’ve been ...” The words die on his lips as he spots you, mouth falling open comically. His eyes dart between you and Oscar rapidly.

“Lando, come meet the princess!” Oscar calls out cheekily.

Lando snaps his jaw shut, looking utterly bewildered but offering you a hasty bow. “Your Highness! I mean, lovely to meet you, really.”

Amusement flickers through you at his gobsmacked expression. Oscar shoots you a playful wink over Lando’s shoulder as he scrambles to regain composure.

“But, wait.” Lando glances between you again in confusion. “You mean all those times you cooed ’good morning, Princess’ over the phone … you were talking to an actual princess!”

Oscar bursts out laughing while you press a hand to your mouth to smother your own giggles. Lando flushes but eventually joins in your laughter.

After extracting a promise to explain everything later, Oscar steers you away so they can focus on final prep.

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of during the race before I have to suit up,” he promises, getting you settled with refreshments.

The anticipation builds until finally the cars are screaming away from the grid in a blur of color. Your nails dig into your palms as positions shuffle wildly on the first lap.

But soon Oscar settles into a rhythm, battling wheel to wheel with Lewis Hamilton. You’re on your feet with every overtake, yelling yourself hoarse.

The final laps loom with Oscar still fighting for a podium finish. But suddenly disaster strikes for the leaders. Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc collide attempting to lap a backmarker on the Kemmel Straight.

You watch in disbelief as both the Red Bull and Ferrari limp to a stop off the track, clearing the path for Oscar to sweep through into the lead.

The McLaren garage roars in elation as Oscar maintains the gap and finally, finally crosses the line to claim his maiden Grand Prix win.

Chaos erupts as a stampede of papaya uniforms makes its way towards parc fermé but Oscar’s performance coach Kim grasps your arm urgently. “Quickly, he’ll want you there for this!”

Kim rushes you down towards the area where Oscar guides his car to a stop. He vaults out, pumping both fists and clambering atop the chassis in triumph.

Your breath catches at the sight of his windswept hair and exultant grin. As McLaren swarms Oscar, his gaze catches on you at the barrier, pressed close by Kim.

In two strides Oscar is right there, joy and adrenaline shining in his eyes. His hand cups your cheek … and then his lips find yours.

The roar around you fades away. For one perfect, suspended moment, your world narrows down to Oscar’s lips slanted over yours, his fingers tangled in your hair.

When you break apart, eyes flying open, the full reality crashes back in. But with Oscar’s breathless laugh warming your skin, the rest of the world no longer matters.

***

You pace the plush hotel carpet, nerves jangling as you await the imminent video call with your family. Since Oscar’s podium kiss yesterday, you’ve been hyper aware of your phone blowing up with notifications but too anxious to check them.

A brisk knock precedes your royal secretary poking his head in. “The call is ready whenever you are, Your Highness.”

Squaring your shoulders, you take a seat at the polished desk as the large monitor springs to life. Your family’s faces fill the screen, ranging from sympathetic (Isabella) to highly amused (Christian).

Before you can get a word in, the royal PR advisors elbow into view, expressions like thunderclouds.

“Your Royal Highness, might we have a word about this … incident from the race?” The chief advisor’s tone drips disapproval.

Ice trickles down your spine but you keep your face neutral. “Of course.”

“I trust you’ve seen the coverage?” At your hesitant nod, the advisor continues, “Then you understand what an embarrassment this is, how damaging to the dignity of the crown.”

You clench your jaw, anger rising. But he barrels on, “Such scandalous behavior, and broadcast globally! You must see how this recklessness reflects poorly on Denmark.”

The rest of the advisors murmur emphatic agreement. Your cheeks burn in humiliation even as you desperately blink back furious tears.

“The narrative has already spiraled out of control. Such associations cannot be tolerated from the future queen.”

The scorn in his tone ignites your temper. But before you can spit out a scathing retort, a commanding voice interrupts.

“Enough!” Your father’s stern face fills the screen, pinning the advisors with an icy glare. They recoil, mouths snapping shut.

Satisfied, your father turns to you, expression softening. “My dear, you’ve done nothing wrong. What matters most is that you’re happy.”

Hope flickers tentatively inside you as the advisors gape. But your father silences them with another quelling look.

“I know a thing or two about duty versus matters of the heart.” His eyes soften, finding your mother. “I’ll not see my daughter denied the same chance at love that brought me such joy.”

Your mother smiles gently, affection shining through the screen. On her other side, Isabella squeezes her shoulder in solidarity.

The fight drains from the advisors under your father’s resolute gaze. With a few grumbled concessions, they disconnect from the call.

Your muscles uncoil in relief as your attention returns fully to your family. Isabella waggles her eyebrows.

“Soooo … looks like someone had an eventful race!”

Heat floods your cheeks but you can’t suppress a giddy smile. “It just sort of happened in the heat of the moment.”

“This Oscar must be something special,” your mother remarks kindly.

Your insides turn to mush at the memory of Oscar’s kiss. “He really is. I can’t explain it, but it feels … right with him.”

Your normally stoic mother looks touched. “Then he has my blessing.”

On her other side, Christian smirks. “Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’re in looooove.” He exaggerates a swoon, cackling when you stick your tongue out at him.

“Hush dear, let your sister be happy,” your mother chides, swatting his shoulder before smiling indulgently. “Reminds me of another young prince long ago, besotted with an Australian girl ...”

Your father laughs, eyes crinkling. “Too right, darling. Clearly our Y/N takes after me.” He winks at you. “We Danes do seem to have a weakness for Aussies.”

You groan good-naturedly at the gentle teasing, buoyed by your family’s support. With their love behind you, the rest no longer matters.

You conclude the call with hugs blown through the screen and a heart full to bursting. No matter what the coming days hold, you won’t be facing them alone.

Later, a hesitant knock interrupts your contented musings. You open the door to find Oscar, eyebrows pinched anxiously.

But at the sight of your radiant smile, the tension melts from his frame. His hands settle comfortably on your waist like coming home.

“So ...” he begins, nose scrunching up adorably, “Think your family will let you keep me around?”

You answer by pulling him down into a long, sweet kiss. When you finally separate, foreheads pressed together, Oscar sighs out, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Your answering laugh fills the space between you as he lifts you effortlessly into a spinning embrace. The setting sun gilds the hotel room in amber, basking you both in warmth and promise.

Let the world say what they will. You’ve made your choice, the only one your heart would allow. And with Oscar’s arms encircling you now, you know you’re right where you belong.

***

“Come on, it’ll be great! When’s the next chance you’ll get to come down under?”

Oscar’s pleading face fills your laptop screen, bottom lip poking out beseechingly. You try to stand firm, but your resolve is crumbling.

“I don’t know … won’t I be imposing on your family time?”

Oscar waves a hand breezily. “Nah, Mum and Dad have been hassling me nonstop to bring you for a visit. Trust me, they’ll smother you with Aussie hospitality.”

You chew your lip thoughtfully. A trip together does sound tempting. And you’re endlessly curious to see where Oscar grew up.

Sensing your wavering, Oscar presses his advantage. “There’s so much I want to show you! The beach I learned to surf at, my favorite cafes and shops ...”

His voice turns coaxing. “And just think, falling asleep under the southern stars ...”

Your heart flutters traitorously. Oscar knows your weakness for astronomy. With a defeated huff, you nod.

“Oh alright, you’ve convinced me. I’ll see if I can clear my schedule for next month.”

Oscar whoops, pumping a victorious fist. “Yes! You’re gonna love it, I promise.”

The rest of the call passes in eager planning until Oscar reluctantly disconnects to start his day. As the screen goes dark, butterflies swell in your stomach. A whole trip together!

The weeks crawl by agonizingly until finally you’re boarding the royal jet bound for Melbourne, giddiness rising with each mile.

Oscar is waiting when you deplane, sweeping you up joyfully the second your feet hit the tarmac. You cling to him, breathing in the scent of home you’ve missed so much.

As the hug extends well past proper etiquette, your bodyguard Henrik pointedly clears his throat. You spring apart, blushing when you meet his knowing gaze.

Oscar just grins unrepentantly, grabbing your hand to lead you towards where his parents are waiting.

You spot them immediately — Oscar’s smile mirrored on his mother’s face and his kind eyes reflected in his father’s crinkled gaze. They hurry over, clasping your hands warmly.

“Your Royal Highness, we’re so honored to finally meet you!” His mother gushes. “Oscar’s told us so much, I feel as if we know you already.”

You smile, charmed by her easy manner. “The honor is mine, Mrs. Piastri. Please, call me Y/N.”

She pats your hand merrily. “Of course, dear! And you must call me Nicole. Now come, let’s get you home and settled.”

The ride to Oscar’s childhood home passes quickly, filled with lively conversation. His parents’ sweet banter reminds you so much of your own.

When you arrive, Nicole loops her arm through yours, bustling you inside. “We’ve freshened up Oscar’s old room for you, I do hope it’s comfortable.”

You take in the posters of racing legends and cricketers adorning the walls, the cluttered bookshelves full of well-loved texts. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

“Excellent!” Nicole claps her hands. “Now, you two get settled. Dinner will be ready shortly.”

She disappears down the hall with a parting wink that makes Oscar flush beet red. You stifle a laugh and let him tug you further inside.

Dinner passes in a blur of delicious food and easy laughter. Chris’ eyes twinkle knowingly as he refills your wine.

“We’re just delighted to finally meet the girl who’s made our Oscar so happy.”

Oscar covers his face in exaggerated mortification, but his fingers squeeze yours under the table. You lift your joined hands to brush a kiss over his knuckles when his parents aren’t looking.

The peaceful mood continues as Nicole breaks out photo albums. You coo over baby pictures of Oscar, smothering laughter at his gap-toothed grin and wild hair.

Yawns eventually take over and everyone reluctantly shuffles off to bed. In Oscar’s room, you borrow his old karting club shirt to sleep in.

Oscar looks up from turning down the duvet, eyes darkening as he takes you in. “This was a terrible idea, you looking so cute in my clothes.”

You giggle and kiss the tip of his nose before climbing into bed and patting the space next to you. Oscar obliges, pulling you close and nuzzling into your hair.

Outside the window, the infinity of the southern skies beckons. But here in Oscar’s arms, you have everything you need.

Oscar hums contentedly, dropping a kiss to your hair as your eyes drift closed.

“Sweet dreams, my princess,” he whispers. You float off cradled in his warmth, perfectly at peace.

The rest of the trip passes in blissful domesticity — lazy beach days, intimate dinners, long talks under the stars. Meeting Oscar’s family feels like coming to a second home.

On your last night, you creep outside to sit curled against him on the back porch, committing every detail to memory.

“I don’t want this to end,” you whisper into the quiet night.

Oscar presses a lingering kiss below your ear. “It’s only the start for us.”

And basking in his touch, the infinite potential of the future unfolding before you, you know he’s right. This is just the beginning.

***

You smooth your hands over your dress, peering anxiously out the palace window overlooking the winding driveway. Any moment now, the car bringing Oscar should pull through the gates.

It’s his first time visiting the palace and meeting your family officially as your boyfriend. You know they’ll love him, but nerves still flutter in your chest.

The crunch of tires on gravel draws your gaze back outside. You watch Oscar emerge from the car, craning his head back to take in the towering palace facade.

Unable to wait any longer, you gather your skirts and hurry downstairs just as he steps inside the grand entryway.

Oscar turns at the click of your heels, face melting into a smile. In a few quick strides, he sweeps you into his arms, spinning you joyfully.

You cling to him, breathing in the soothing scent of home you’ve missed. When he sets you down, hands come up to frame your face tenderly, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“There’s my beautiful girl. I’ve missed you so much, Princess.”

Heart swelling, you lean in to capture his lips in a kiss that conveys weeks of longing. Oscar responds urgently, fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close.

A pointed cough interrupts your reunion. You pull back to see your brother Christian smirking knowingly.

“Well now I see why you were so eager for Oscar’s visit. Should I come back later?”

You stick your tongue out at him even as a blush stains your cheeks. Taking Oscar’s hand, you lead him towards the family wing.

“Come on, everyone’s excited to finally meet you properly.”

Voices carry from the dining room as you approach. Inside, your family looks up, faces alight with warmth and curiosity.

Your father strides forward first, clasping Oscar’s hand firmly. “Oscar, welcome. We’re delighted to have you here.”

Oscar returns the handshake graciously. “The honor is mine, Your Majesty. Thank you for the invitation.”

More greetings follow before your mother guides everyone to the table. Oscar pulls out your chair, pressing a discreet kiss to your temple as you sit. Happiness bubbles up inside at having him here with your family.

Dinner passes enjoyably, conversation flowing. Oscar charms them all effortlessly with his quick wit and humor. Laughter fills the room, the atmosphere light and intimate.

With dessert finished, your siblings seize their chance to grill Oscar playfully.

“Sooo tell us,” Isabella begins, propping her chin on her hands. “What exactly are your intentions with our dear sister?”

Oscar just grins, unfazed. “Why, to make her happy every single day, of course.”

You melt at his simple sincerity, grasping his hand under the table.

“Good answer!” Christian crows. “But know if you ever hurt her, you’ll have the entire Danish army to answer to.”

Despite his teasing tone, you know Christian means every word. Oscar inclines his head solemnly.

“You have my word such a day will never come. Her happiness means everything to me.”

Your siblings appear satisfied, moving on to pepper Oscar with questions about his career and interests. He takes their antics in stride, witty comebacks drawing fond laughter from your parents.

The relaxed family atmosphere reminds you so much of that first dinner at Oscar’s childhood home. Your heart swells with quiet joy at how seamlessly he fits here too.

Eventually Oscar politely extracts you both, citing early flights in the morning. Alone in the hall, he sags against the wall in exaggerated relief.

“Whew, your family is something else! I think that interrogation was more intense than any press conference.”

You laugh and swat his shoulder before lifting on your toes to kiss him sweetly. “You were wonderful. I’m so happy you’re here.”

Oscar’s eyes soften. “Me too, Princess. Being here with you feels like home.”

Heedless of any lingering eyes, you kiss him again under the twinkling chandelier.

A loud retching sound interrupts you. “Ugh, get a room you two!” Christian complains, dodging your swat.

Oscar just tugs you closer with a chuckle. “Don’t worry mate, I plan to.”

He silences Christian’s protests with another searing kiss. And surrounded by Oscar’s warmth, you can’t bring yourself to care who sees.

***

Moonlight filters through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft glow. You lay curled against Oscar’s chest, fingers tracing idle patterns over his heart.

The steady rhythm soothes you, but your own heart feels anything but calm. There’s something you need to discuss, but nerves stall your tongue.

Sensing your tension, Oscar’s hand comes up to sift gently through your hair. “Penny for your thoughts, love?”

You lean into his touch, gathering courage. “I was just thinking about the future. Our future.” You twist to meet his gaze. “I know it’s still early days for us, but if this continues to get more serious ...”

You trail off uncertainly, but Oscar’s eyes are warm with encouragement. Bolstered, you continue.

“There are certain expectations that come with being attached to the heir to the throne. Traditions and duties to learn.”

You watch Oscar’s face closely, but he simply nods thoughtfully. “Of course, that makes sense. I’m happy to learn whatever I need to.”

Relief trickles through you. You prop yourself up on one elbow, smiling softly down at him.

“For example, even before my mother was engaged to my father, she decided to learn Danish. The protocol and duties, the public role … it was a massive life change.”

You take a bracing breath. “I don’t expect you to make such changes overnight. But someday, if this continues on the path we hope ...”

You trail off meaningfully. Oscar’s hand comes up to cradle your face. “Hey, if being with you means learning Danish, or attending stuffy banquets, or anything else, I’m in this 100%.”

His eyes bore into yours. “I’ll do whatever it takes to build a life together.”

Emotion clogs your throat. You have to swallow thickly before responding. “Well, maybe we start small then. How about I teach you a few phrases?”

Oscar grins, pulling you back down against him. “Ja, det lyder perfekt.”

You jerk back in surprise, swatting his chest. “You brat, have you been practicing without telling me?”

Oscar’s eyes dance with laughter. “Maybe just a few key phrases. Wanted to surprise you.”

His smile turns tender. “I’d love nothing more than for you to teach me, sweetheart.”

Happiness bubbles up inside you. You snuggle closer, thinking. “Alright, let’s start simple. Like hej simply means hello.”

Oscar repeats the phrase dutifully, brow furrowing in concentration. You cover his hand with yours.

“Jeg elsker dig,” you murmur, gazing into his eyes.

“Jeg elsker dig,” Oscar echoes. “What does it mean?”

Sudden shyness has you ducking your head. “It means I love you.”

Oscar’s sharp inhale lifts your head. He grasps both of your hands, staring deeply into your eyes.

“Jeg elsker dig,” he repeats reverently.

Emotion clogs your throat. You lean in, whispering against his lips, “Jeg elsker dig, Oscar.”

The kiss starts soft and unhurried, a confirmation of feelings conveyed best without words. Oscar’s arms wrap securely around you as the kiss deepens, pouring every ounce of love and promise into it.

When you eventually break apart, Oscar keeps you cradled close, dropping kisses into your hair. “What else can you teach me?”

Happiness bubbles up at his tentative Danish endearment. You settle back against him, whispering translations as his steady heartbeat lulls you towards sleep.

But too soon, Oscar is reluctantly packing to leave, both clinging to these last private hours before he has to set off for the next race.

You wind yourself around him, unwilling to let go. Oscar holds you close, murmuring promises of next visits and calls into your hair.

As you finally part at the airport, his whispered “jeg elsker dig” warms you from the inside out. No matter the miles between you, your hearts remain entwined.

***

You adjust the diamond clips in your elegantly twisted updo, scanning your reflection critically. The deep blue gown hugs your frame perfectly, but nerves still flutter in your stomach.

Because tonight, Oscar will be attending his first official function as your partner — a lavish gala in honor of the new children’s hospital bearing your mother’s name.

A knock precedes Oscar peeking his head in, hands clapped over his eyes. “Safe to look?”

You smooth your skirt with a shaky exhale. “Yes, come in.”

Oscar drops his hands, mouth falling open. “Wow. You look absolutely stunning tonight, my love.”

He takes your hands, eyes roving appreciatively over you. “Going to have to beat all the envious blokes away with a stick.”

You laugh, swatting his shoulder lightly. “Oh hush. You look rather dashing yourself, Mr. Piastri.”

And he does in his impeccably tailored tuxedo, hair swept back neatly. You brush a piece of imaginary lint from his lapel, nerves melting away under his warm gaze.

“Shall we?” He offers his arm gallantly. You lay your hand atop it, spine straightening.

“We shall.”

The ballroom glitters under fairy lights as you make your entrance, immediately garnering interested looks and murmurs. On your arm, Oscar draws admiring glances of his own with his rakish good looks and easy confidence.

You greet various dignitaries and philanthropists, Oscar a steady, charming presence at your side. As you speak with the hospital’s key figures, his hand at the small of your back anchors you.

But as the speeches drag on, Oscar leans in subtly. “Is it terrible I’m already bored senseless? I’d rather actually meet these kids we’re meant to be helping.”

You hide a smile behind your wine glass. The same restlessness plagues you as schmoozing patrons preen and prattle.

As dessert wraps up, an idea strikes you. You catch Oscar’s eye, tilting your head meaningfully at a side exit before excusing yourself discretely.

Understanding dawns on his face and he trails casually after you. In the entry hall, you hurry to a secluded alcove, grabbing his hand.

“Quick, while we won’t be missed. Let’s actually go see the children.”

Excitement flashes across Oscar’s face. “Brilliant thinking. Lead the way, Princess.”

Adrenaline courses through you as you sneak out to the waiting car, bodyguards eyeing you curiously.

“Rigshospitalet, please. Quickly.”

At the children’s hospital, you sweep inside, Oscar at your heels. The receptionist gapes as you approach.

“So sorry to drop by unannounced. We were hoping there might be a chance for us to visit with some of the patients?”

The receptionist’s mouth opens and closes before she stutters, “O-of course, Your Highness, right away!” Clearly your boldness has paid off.

You exchange exhilarated looks with Oscar as she pages a nurse to escort you up. On the cheery pediatric ward, you peek into rooms, greeting curious families.

At one doorway, a gasp stops you short. A little girl sits up in bed, pointing.

“Mama, it’s the princess! And her boyfriend!”

You glance at Oscar to find him rubbing his neck bashfully. Clearly his fame extends beyond the F1 sphere here.

You laugh and enter slowly. “We were hoping we might visit you, if that’s alright?”

The girl — Else — nods eagerly, blond braids bouncing. Her mother rises to curtsy but you wave her off kindly as Oscar produces a small plush racecar from his pocket, to Else’s delight.

As you chat and play with Else, joy lights up her face. For a short time, she’s just a normal girl again. Your chest aches at her bright spirit despite her poor health.

All too soon, a nurse taps her watch. As you make your goodbyes, Else throws her thin arms around your waist.

“Thank you! This was like a fairytale.” Over her head, her mother mouths a tearful thank you of her own.

You hug Else gently before kneeling down. “It was our honor. You stay strong, little one.”

Her returning whisper warms your heart. “Don’t worry, I will!”

Similar scenes play out in room after room. Your cheeks ache from smiling but it’s a welcome ache. The children’s awed joy makes the real reason for tonight crystal clear.

Watching Oscar kneel patiently as a shy boy shows him a prized toy car, your heart clenches with love. Catching your gaze, Oscar’s eyes mirror the same emotion.

Far too soon, your bodyguards notify you it’s time to return before your absence draws notice. A chorus of disappointed groans follows you out.

Back at the gala, you slip in just in time for closing toasts. No one seems the wiser about your little detour.

Under the table, Oscar squeezes your hand. The contact says it all — this is what truly matters. Not accolades or commendations, but joy brought to hurting hearts.

You know you’ll be back. Both of you. Not for galas or acclaim, but for the chance to see young faces light up, if only for a moment.

Late that night, you slow dance alone in the empty ballroom, music and laughter faded. Oscar’s arms circle you from behind, chin tucking onto your shoulder.

“I think tonight was the most important royal function I’ve ever attended,” he murmurs.

You cover his hands with yours, leaning back into him with a contented sigh. No more words need be said.

The rest of the world may see events like tonight as social currency and networking. But you hold the truth in your heart — the only currency that counts can’t be bought, only given freely through love.

***

Two Years Later

You smooth your hands over your dress, pulse thrumming as you await the imminent news conference. Just hours ago, the palace formally announced your engagement to Oscar, sending the public into a frenzy.

Now, you’re about to face the media together for the first time as an engaged couple. Press stands crowd the palace gardens, cameras poised and ready.

At your side, Oscar seems calm and collected, fingers threaded loosely with yours. But you sense the storm brewing beneath his tranquil surface.

You reach up and gently adjust his suit collar, fingers lingering on the lapels as you meet his eyes. He gives you a small, grateful smile before you both turn to face the expectant crowd.

Because today also brings another announcement — one that will upend Oscar’s world irreversibly.

Your father steps forward first to formally confirm the engagement and expound on Oscar’s character. As he returns to your side, Oscar squeezes your hand and you nod in encouragement.

Oscar clears his throat, stepping closer to the microphones. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Y/N and I are over the moon at the chance to spend our lives together.”

He gazes at you softly before continuing. “I’m truly the luckiest man in the world to have won the heart of Denmark’s lovely princess.”

You have to resist the urge to kiss him senseless then and there. Cameras flash brightly as Oscar details your romantic (and heavily abridged) love story, punctuated with charming wit.

But gradually, his mirth fades. With another fortifying hand squeeze, he steels himself for the harder part.

“While I’m elated at this new chapter ahead, it also brings difficult changes. I’m announcing my retirement from Formula 1 following this season’s conclusion.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Oscar’s grip tightens as he pushes forward.

“As a member of the royal family, I will no longer be able to continue racing competitively. I am grateful to have achieved my dream this year of winning the championship.”

His voice falters briefly and your heart clenches. Racing is Oscar’s passion — having to walk away is unimaginably hard.

Oscar visibly gathers himself. “But as difficult as this is, marrying Y/N is worth any sacrifice. She is my true dream now.”

He turns to you then, eyes glistening. “The honor of being your husband eclipses any trophy or medal. You are my greatest victory.”

Emotion clogs your throat and without thinking, you wrap him in a fierce embrace. The rules of propriety fade away, only your pride and love for Oscar remain.

His arms clutch you close as flashes erupt around you. But in this moment, you see only each other.

Eventually you separate and Oscar takes your hand once more, gracing you with a tender smile. He turns back to the microphones for one last address.

“Til Danmark og det danske folk. Jeg lover at tjene jer med ære, respekt og kærlighed.”

The Danish press reacts first, visibly surprised and impressed at Oscar’s speech in their native tongue.

You blink back a fresh wave of tears at his poignant promise — to serve Denmark with honor, respect, and love.

Overcome with emotion, you step forward to the microphones as well.

“Oscar’s love for me and Denmark is clear to all who meet him. I am truly blessed to have found such a selfless, caring partner.”

Your voice wavers with feeling. “Though it grieves me to see his racing career ended prematurely, I could not be more proud of the man he is.”

You reach for Oscar’s hand, gazing at him through tear-filled eyes. “He gives up much out of love for me. I only hope I can bring him a fraction of the joy in return.”

Oscar’s fingers tighten around yours, eyes shining with affection. Cameras flash furiously at your raw display of love and emotion.

But you remain lost in Oscar’s eyes, the rest of the world fading away. In this moment, all that matters is your shared devotion and the bright future stretching before you.

Questions start flying from the excited press corps but Oscar politely extracts you both, ceding the floor to the waiting palace officials.

Alone inside once more, Oscar sags against the wall in clear emotional exhaustion. You wrap him in your arms, heart aching for the pain this transition causes.

Oscar clings to you tightly, face pressed into your hair. “I meant every word,” he whispers fiercely. “You are my whole world now.”

You draw back just far enough to meet his eyes, hoping he can see the depths of your love reflected there.

“I know, min kæreste. We’ll face this new future together.”

The answering kiss speaks what words cannot. No matter what comes, your love remains constant.

A new path lies ahead now, one you will walk hand in hand, till the end of your days.

***

Five Years Later

The roar of engines draws nearer as your car nears the Copenhagen street circuit. In the seat beside you, Oscar bounces his leg restlessly, face alight with anticipation.

In the backseat, your three-year-old daughter, Margrethe (affectionately called Maise for short), mimics her father’s excitement, chattering cheerfully about anything and everything.

You reach over to still Oscar’s jostling knee, smiling indulgently. “Easy there, we’ve barely arrived and you’re already wound up.”

Oscar shoots you a boyish grin. “Can you blame me? It’s been so long since I was last in the paddock. Feels like a lifetime ago.”

Your heart swells with quiet awe once more at the sacrifices Oscar has made for your future together. While racing still runs through his veins, his duties as Crown Prince of Denmark now take precedence.

But today offers a joyous reunion, with Oscar instrumental in bringing Formula 1 racing back to Danish soil for the first time since 1962.

As the car pulls through the paddock entrance, Oscar cranes his neck eagerly, drinking in the familiar organized chaos. Before the door even opens, you hear a familiar voice shouting.

“He lives! The prodigal prince returns!” A blur of McLaren papaya hurtles towards Oscar as he steps out.

Oscar just manages to brace himself before Lando Norris tackles him in an exuberant hug. Laughter bubbles out of Oscar as he returns the embrace.

“Good to see you too, mate. It’s been way too long.”

You round the car to find Oscar’s former team already swarming him, clapping his back and jostling each other good-naturedly to greet their long-lost driver.

Oscar’s eyes shine as he falls back into easy banter, trading inside jokes and reminiscing. With Maise balanced on your hip, you hang back contentedly, letting Oscar have this moment.

As the reunion finally winds down, Lando gestures to you and Maise. “And who do we have here? Don’t tell me this little beauty is your daughter?”

Oscar beams, waving you both over. “She is indeed! Lando, meet my little girl.”

Lando pretends to stagger back in shock. “No way, our little Oscar is all grown up and domesticated now!”

Oscar shoves him playfully before sweeping Maise into his arms. “What can I say, my fast living days are behind me now.” He kisses Maise’s wavy hair, eyes finding yours. “I’ve got all I need right here.”

Your insides turn mushy at the adoration in his voice. The years have only deepened your love further.

More drivers trickle over to greet Oscar, ribbing him good-naturedly about his new royal status. But the obvious affection underlying the teasing is clear.

Zak Brown claps Oscar on the back. “It’s so good to have you back, even just for a day. You and your family should stay, watch the race from the garage!”

For a fleeting moment, naked longing flashes across Oscar’s face at the thought of experiencing race day excitement again up close.

But reality settles back in quickly, his expression turning regretful. “That’s a lovely offer, truly. But I’m afraid we’ll have to make our way to the royal box.”

He bounces Maise gently, tone wry. “Some of us have a job to do handing out trophies later.” Maise giggles and tugs at his ear happily, blissfully unaware of the wistfulness simmering beneath her father’s smile.

You slip your arm through Oscar’s, offering a comforting squeeze. His answering smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

After more fond farewells, you exit the nostalgic bubble of the garage. Oscar pauses, taking a moment to just breathe and gather himself.

You shift Maise to your other hip, wrapping your free arm around his waist. Oscar leans into you gratefully, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Can’t believe it’s been five years already,” he murmurs. “Feels like another lifetime.”

You smile up at him sadly. “I know, my love. But look at everything you’ve accomplished for Denmark in that time. This race wouldn’t even be happening without you.”

Oscar huffs a small laugh. “Too right. Who needs driving when I’ve got you two anyway?”

He tickles Maise playfully, eliciting delighted giggles. The melancholy edge has left his eyes now, replaced by contentment.

Hand in hand, with Maise toddling happily between you, the three of you set off together towards the royal box. The Danish Grand Prix awaits, along with the bright future you continue building as a family.

This may no longer be Oscar’s world, but he now shapes the path for future generations of drivers. After the race, as Oscar graciously awards the beaming winner while Maise excitedly cheers from the side of the podium, you know this is precisely where he’s meant to be.