#forced hand ~ { vincent }

[fnaf-possession-au]

I let out a little chuckle. "I'll be fine, but i'm afraid i won't be leaving the floor or this spot anytime soon." I said in a bit flustered, but joking manner, as i stroked and patted my belly as a massage attempt.

Vincent nodded, "Completely understandable. That was a massive meal... I hope youre able to leave before we have to close up later."

[pyreshe]

once again I am Thinking about livvys padawan verse and the fact that by the time she arrives at the temple when she's like 5ish, she has already straight up murdered someone.

[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.

[amomentsescape]

Yandere slashers and sinclair brothers with a reader that is pregnant and therfore much more clingy and cuddly and emotionally attached?

Yandere! Slashers with Reader That is Pregnant and Super Clingy

Yandere! Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Includes: Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, Stu, Vincent, Bo, & Lester

Warnings: Typical Yandere behavior, pregnancy of course

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Also, starting today, I will be including the Sinclair brothers in ALL future Slasher requests by default!

Freddy Krueger

Ah, he knew you'd come around

Even just hearing your voice has him sprinting to you, wanting nothing more than to tend to you

Seeing you reach out and ask for his affection leaves him with the biggest grin you've ever seen

Won't give you any time alone either

Wherever he is, you are

Will rub his hand over your growing stomach whenever he holds you

Just know now that you've given him a taste of what it's like to be wanted, he's not going to let you change that even once you have the baby

Michael Myers

He will complain about this newfound clinginess of yours

He enjoyed when you were more standoffish, and he had to force you to give him the attention he desired

Things feel just a little too easy now

He just hopes things will go back to how they were before once you have the child

Although, there still won't be much time alone with a baby crying all the time

But he misses the old you

It's why he took you in the first place

Jason Voorhees

God, why couldn't it be like this all of the time?

He actually feels needed and desired in a way that he didn't before

Hearing you call for him and feeling you squished against his side makes him even happier about you being pregnant (if that's even possible)

Will silently thank your full belly every night while you're sleeping, grateful that you need him so much

He really hopes this affection for him grows along with your stomach

He needs you, and now you need him

It's exactly what he wanted

Thomas Hewitt

He is almost unable to keep up with your demands, but God does he love it

You can call him names, scream at him, do whatever you want if it means he gets to hold you like this all of the time

Will rub your feet, spoon you, and massage your back if your heart desires

Will constantly check in on you

Hell, he has barely left the house for the last couple weeks

Not only because he wants to take care of you

He just enjoys how much attention you're giving him

And he wants to soak it all up while he has the chance

Bubba Sawyer

You've never seen him so happy and giggly before

Every single smile or touch you give him sends him into a fit of bubbly energy

But if you give him a little, he takes it to a lot

A simple hug will have him rolling you over and squeezing you like your life depended on it

A kiss on the cheek has him pressing his lips on every square inch of your skin

Thankfully, you don't mind right now

Any other person would find it to be overbearing, but you can't help but relish in it

He hopes this will never change and will only increase once the baby is born

Brahms Heelshire

He loves the constant affection

There's no limit to this man on how much you can give him

But he can't help the slight feeling of dread that pools in his stomach

He knows the pregnancy is aiding in this change

And he fears that once the baby is born, all attention towards him will be put towards the child or will disappear altogether

He can send himself into fits of rage just by thinking too much about this situation

Be gentle with him, and it will all be fine

But now that you've given him a taste of what he so desperately desires, there's no way you can go back

He will never let you

Norman Bates

Any single look or word you say to Norman has him flushing the darkest shade of red you've ever seen

His stuttering increases, he finds himself clumsier than usual, and he can barely sleep at night

He acts like a little boy with a crush

And the fact that you're carrying his child only increases that giddy feeling inside of him

He's still hesitant to initiate anything with you, but he will never say no to you if you ask him for anything

He feels so happy, like his dreams are coming true

He can't wait for you all to be a little family

And if this is what it's like whenever you're pregnant...

He's going to want a big family

Billy Loomis

Billy likes a challenge, but now you're just giving in so easily

He can't say he doesn't mind it though

He may act all cool and tough about you being so clingy with him, but there's a part of him that loves having you depend on him

He's your lover and provider

He likes it this way

But the moment you seem just the slightest bit off, he is going in on you, starting arguments and making accusations that aren't even true

So be careful where you tread

You've ignited something in him, and he likes it

Stu Macher

This works out for Stu because knowing you're carrying his child also brings out his clingy and affectionate side

It's like being one and the same, always seeming to call out for each other at the same time

He's a big foodie, so you bet he'll always bring you your favorite snacks

He might even become more comfortable and let you out in public with him occasionally

He thrives off of your attention

Will talk to your belly and say how lucky they've made him

Becomes the tiniest bit delusional and believes that you won't ever leave him now

Not that you really wanted to, but if you did, he would never let you

Vincent Sinclair

Your sudden increase in attention has Vincent all bashful

Will immediately become more shy but loves every second of it

Will beg on his knees if you ask him to

He's willing to go to literally any length to make you (and the baby) happy

Will lay and spend time with you for however long you ask

He's also big into getting you food and drinks that you're craving

As long as you hug him and tell him just how much you love him, he'll do anything for you

Bo Sinclair

He has mixed feelings about the sudden change in your neediness

It does boost his ego quite a bit and makes him feel like you really need him

You're just so helpless so of course he needs to help you

But at the same time, he's a bit annoyed

He has plenty of things to do

Spending 24/7 with you and giving you affection all the time isn't his thing

It all depends on what mood you catch him in

If he's feeling good, you being clingy doesn't bother him

But if he's already irritated, you being all over will only make it worse

Just tread carefully around him

Lester Sinclair

He can feel himself melt every time you ask for a simple hug or kiss

Feeling you crawl into bed with him in the middle of the night plasters the biggest smile on his face

He lives for your attention and touch

You could slap him and he'd be happy

Anytime you cuddle up to him, he's immediately reaching for your growing belly, wanting to give his child some attention too

Will compliment you repeatedly over your new found attachment

Prays every night that this is a permanent change

[tra1nchi]

My tummy hurts ngl,, Bttm male reader,, MINORS DNI!!,, Dub/non-con,, evil ruler,, forced femininity,, death mention,, reader referred to as her like once,,>○<

He is ruthless,, power is all his mind can think about,, not caring for any souls lost in any of his purges of smaller kingdoms,, he needs more land,, more riches and especially more concubines,,

He set eyes on your quaint little village off in the forested lands by his kingdom,, your father, The chief wanted to make peace with Vincent's kingdom,, in order to keep you,, his son safe and sound away from any danger,,

You were never a fighter!! A sweet little boy who'd rather keep to himself then pick up a sword >□< The chief was surprisingly okay with it,, he was a kind man allowing your more capable and sword trained sister to take your spot as next in line!!

Though none of her skills would help you,, Vincent and his army grew angered by your fathers peace claims,, "Your land is fertile and therefore under my law, I can take what is mine." He declared in a rather aggressively written letter,, but your father fought back,, that's his families land!!

You cradled your dying sister in your arms,, She sobbed and begged for you to end her pain but you refused,, you couldn't!! That was your own sibling!! You didn't even hear Vincent walking in,, the tall man looked down at you and intentionally thought you were a poor little maiden,,

Something snapped in his mind,, ripping you away from your dying sister,, cradling you in his arms as you struggled,, His voice softened cooing you like you were a wounded animal,,

He had taken you in as a concubine,, you didn't know if he was delusional or just plain crazy as he never seemed to acknowledge you as a man,, always "My wife.." or his "Baby girl.."

He even ignored your poor cock during the roughest of sex!! >○< you angered him by not immediately undressing for him,, what?? How dare you do that to him,, he has treated you lavishly,,

His white hair was damp with sweat,, his arm hooked under you leg,, his large hand digging into your soft flesh,, Your cock pathetically weeped against your tummy,, he wasn't touching it at all!! "Little slut,, maybe you should birth my heirs hm?" His voice was heavy in your ear,, his cock pumping in and out of your tight hole,, your legs trembled from the sheer force of him!! He isn't gentle!!

He gripped at your hair, shoving your face down into the mattress,, His hand finally touching your cock,, but he was gentle,, so annoyingly gentle!! "Whore. You like this don't you? Being treated like a dumb fucking girl, getting her pussy all filled up." letting out an almost playful giggle,, staining your insides with his cum.

[natalievoncatte]

Lena didn’t have time for traffic. She looked up from her phone and glared at the back of her driver’s head.

“Frank, why is it taking so long?”

“I’m not Frank, Ma’am. He called out this morning.”

Lena sighed. “And your name?”

“Vincent, ma’am.”

“Vincent, why is this taking so long?”

He signed. “Traffic, ma’am. Sounds like there’s a few blocks downtown closed. Supergirl is fighting some monster or alien or something.”

Lena stopped herself from smiling softly. “Ah, well then. Anyway, might as well see if you can find us a way around. I just don’t like to stand still.”

The driver nodded.

“What do you think about Supergirl, ma’am?”

Lena sighed. “Forgive me, Vincent, but I do have some work to concentrate on, here. I’m not usually one for chitchat. I hope you don’t mind.”

She sank back into her seat and flicked to the next email. There were a lot of fires to put out. Upcoming product launches, grant applications, university partnerships, charity events, plus her own work. She was becoming so strained lately that she was seriously considering stepping down from the direct CEO role so she could spend more time in the lab, where her real passion was.

Sometimes she almost sympathized with Lex; the life of a CEO could easily drive someone insane. Lena would rather spend her days in a labcoat or doing charity work than listening to another entitled silver spoon-

“You’re going the wrong way,” Lena said, sharply.

“I’m finding a way around,” said the driver. “You know, you never answered my question, before. What do you think of Supergirl?”

Lena stuffed her phone in her pocket and thrust her hand in her jacket, freeing the concealed revolver she carried in a shoulder holster under her left arm. The partition was already going up, sealing her in.

“What are you doing?”

“Answer my question,” the driver said, through a speaker.

Lena swallowed hard. “I think she’s a hero but I don’t fully trust her. I work with her when I feel it will help people. That’s all.”

“That’s not what your mother thinks.”

“Isn’t it?” said Lena. “What does she think?”

“Are you fucking her?”

Lena barked out a laugh. “Are you serious? That’s her question?”

“Are you fucking her like you debased yourself with that little tart in boarding school?”

There was silent beat.

“She told me to say that. She made me practice saying ‘tart’.”

He sounded almost bored.

“Fuck you,” Lena snapped. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it.”

“Nothing personal,” said the driver.

Lena sighed, almost annoyed at the hiss as a thin, chemical smelling gas hissed into the car, rising around her. She forced herself to stay calm, stoic, even her pulse raced.

“I’m not afraid of you, or her,” said Lena.

She coughed twice as the world irises shut around her, dragging her down into a cold, dreamless sleep.

When she snapped awake, she was alone. The partition was open, but the gun was gone from her holster. She felt around for it, then decided to clamber into the front seat, rolling over the seats facing her. The driver was gone, of course. Heavy chains were padlocked around the car, pinning the front doors shut.

There was a tape recorder sitting on the front seat. Lena ignored it as she looked around. The car was surrounded by metal walls, and a creep sense of dread rose up Lena’s spine. She fought the panic down, dropping into the driver’s seat.

Placing the tape deck on the dash, she pushed the okay button.

“Hello, Lena,” Lilian said, in her smooth, posh tones. Lena could hear that smarmy smirk forming around her words.

“You’re probably expecting an ultimatum or an offer. There will be none. I’m through trying to bring my husband’s wayward bastard back into the fold. When you betrayed Lex again, you burned your last chance. It’s time to take out the trash, Lena. I wish I could have throttled you in the cradle, but I didn’t know about you and your mother until it was too late. It’s time to correct that. It’s too bad we won’t be there to watch.”

Watch what?

Lena sat and waited. Whoever was sent to murder her had no sense of dramatic timing. She began rifling through the car, trying to take stock of what she had, what she could use to effect an escape. Breaking the-

A sharp shriek of metal cut through her thoughts. The side walls inched forward with a screech of metal, and Lena froze, terror piercing through her like an icy spike.

Oh.

Oh God.

The walls moved slightly more, and the rear view mirrors on both sides of the car exploded. The mechanism pushing the walls strained and groaned, and that was the only mercy she had.

She was in a car crusher. In the car.

The armored structure of her town car was too heavy for the machine to simply crush, but she had minutes at most. Metal groaned in protest, shrieking around her, and the glass quivered in the doors.

Oh God. Oh God.

She wasn’t going to panic. She wasn’t going to panic. She ripped open every single compartment and cubby she could find, but found only monogrammed glassware and a bottle of champagne. There was nothing.

A random, forgotten Lexosuit would be really useful right about now.

With a sudden shriek, the car began to collapse. The bulletproof glass buckled and shattered, pelting the front seat as she rolled into the back, and the doors buckled in, tearing loose from their hinges as the floor and roof began to fold.

A sudden, ringing, frankly stupid thought came into her head, but it was her best play.

Lena Luthor filled her lungs. She took in the biggest, deepest breath of her life, a breath worthy of a championship deep diver, and screamed at the top of her lungs, until it hurt.

“SUPERGIRL!”

She had to scramble into the back seat as the engine began pushing through the dashboard, ripping apart plastic and leather, splintering buried wood. Lena ducked as the roof crumpled and dove in, like the roof of a dragon’s mouth crushing down to pulp her. She closed her eyes and curled in on herself, hoping it would at least be over fast.

A single ringing thought bit through the fear.

Oh God. Kara’s waiting for me at the restaurant.

Around her metal shrieked, and she heard the vast clang of rending machinery. The inexorable crushing stopped, the bucking limousine going still. Lena opened her eyes, peering through her fingers like a terrified child, and watched in awe as one of the crushed plates tore loose from its moorings and went flying off into the afternoon air.

Hands, strangely delicate, punched through armor plating as if it were cobwebs and ripped the broken shell of Lena’s limo apart, spreading it in every direction.

Lena had never seen Supergirl so panicked. Her eyes were too wide with abject terror, and she seized Lena in her arms, winding her cape around her, and rocketed loose from the car.

Lena’s words were lost to the wind. Supergirl was blasting into the air, flying incredibly fast- too fast. Helpless, she clung to the hero for dear life, feeling woozy as the blood drained from her skull.

She thought, oh, come on, as she passed out again.

When her eyes drifted open, Lena was lying on the ground. Groaning, she sat up slowly, feeling every movement, and realized she’d been lying on a spread red blanket with her suit jacket piled up under her head for a pillow, and she was in the woods. The sun had yielded to the sky, and someone had started a roaring fire a few feet away.

Grateful for the warmth, Lena edged closer. As she did, she realized that she was sitting not on a blanket but on Supergirl’s cape.

Blinking, she looked around.

Supergirl had her back to a tree, curled up on herself with her head hanging between her knees, arms wrapped around to cover her face, and she was sobbing quietly. Lena stared, open-mouthed.

“Supergirl?” she breathed.

Supergirl didn’t respond. Lena rose to her feet, wobbling, and discarded her heels before walking across a bed of soft leaves. She crouched in front of the weeping Kryptonian, stunned when the other woman flinched.

“Supergirl?”

“Lena?”

Her voice was small and soft, all the bravado and righteous authority gone. She sounded strangely human.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“I think I am,” said Lena. “What about you? Are you hurt?”

“No,” she sniffed. “A Tauraxian hit me in the head with a greyhound bus. Tuesday afternoon at the office.”

Lena laughed softly, and sat down. “I’m sure. What just happened?”

Supergirl swallowed hard as she looked up. “I panicked. I saw what was happening and I lost control. I’m lucky I didn’t hurt you.”

Lena put a tentative hand in on her shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“More than you realize,” Supergirl sighed.

“I’m here,” said Lena.

She sat down. Supergirl looked away from her, staring I to the fire a few feet away. In starlight, with the firelight caressing her delicate features and sparkling in her blue eyes, it was impossible to miss how hauntingly beautiful she was… and how haunted herself. Supergirl looked older than her years, a deep sorrow in her eyes that Lena had never seen before.

“I’m claustrophobic,” Supergirl explained. “Not the kind of thing that you advertise.”

“We all have our fears. I have some of my own.”

Lena pushed down thoughts of a pale hand sliding beneath churning black water and shuddered.

With teary eyes, Supergirl looked at her.

“I can’t. I can’t have fears. I’m Supergirl. I have to be perfect, set an example, all that crap. I’m the perfect woman who came from the sky to do only good.”

The perfect woman, Lena thought, consuming the firelit beauty before her. No one would debate that.

Well, Lena would, maybe. There was someone more perfect, someone soft and kind with a devastating smile and laughing eyes tinged with strange sorrow. She hoped Kara wasn’t worrying about her.

It was funny how Lena always thought of Kara when Supergirl was around. Guilt, maybe. Foolish guilt; Kara was a far shore that Lena would never reach, even if she’d gladly sink in the attempt.

“Before I came to Earth, I drifted in the phantom zone in my pod. There were things outside. The pod was the size of a coffin, a tiny space to spend all that time. The phantoms would claw and slash at the canopy and the walls. I was awake for days hearing them trying to get in. Sometimes there were bigger things out there, wrapping arms around it and trying to crush their way in.”

Lena nodded. “That sounds beyond terrible. It’s okay for you to be scared after that.”

Supergirl nodded. “I can barely handle elevators sometimes.”

A jolt went through Lena, something familiar, like a word on the tip of her brain.

“I get scared when other people are enclosed, too,” said Supergirl. “When I saw something trying to crush you, I just lost it. It’s different when it’s you.”

Lena swallowed hard, trying to suppress the shiver that coursed through her body and made the small hairs on her arms stand on end.

“Back in high school, the other girls used to bully me,” said Supergirl. Once, they locked me in a closet in the locker room. I screamed and screamed until until someone let me out. Alex was furious, she…”

Supergirl went quiet, trailing off. Her eyes went wide and she jolted back.

Lena sat there for a second, unsure why…

Wait.

Alex?

High school? Supergirl went to high school?

With Alex? Alex Danvers?

Lena choked down a gasp, the wheels whirling in her head. She looked over and met Supergirl’s eyes, studying them. Her. The way the light played across her soft features, her honey hair, the little scar above her eye.

“Hi, Lena.”

“Hi, Kara,” Lena whispered.

Neither of them moved. Lena wondered briefly if Kara had ever planned to tell her, how she might have planned it. Probably not like this. Her throat bobbed.

Lena shifted closer, until they were hip to hip in a seated hug, Kara crying softly on Lena’s shoulder, powerful arms wrapped around her.

“I was scared,” said Lena. “I was afraid I was going to die and you’d be sitting at the table at the restaurant waiting for me.”

“Never,” said Kara. “I’ll always protect you.”

“And I’ll always protect you. Nobody is ever going to shove my Kara in a closet ever again.”

Kara let out a little gasp.

“Can we stay here for a while? Talk? Just you and me?”

Kara nodded. She stood and gathered up her cape as Lena moved close to the fire, and sat down, wrapping it around them both. Lena let her head fall on Kara’s shoulder.

“This makes a nice blanket.”

“It is a blanket. My cousin was swaddled in it when he came to Earth. Don’t worry, I washed it.”

Lena laughed softly, awkwardly trying to decide where to put her hands. She settled on being bold, and put her arm around Kara’s waist. Kara slipped her arms around her shoulder and pulled her in, and Lena hugged her back, tucking herself into Kara’s shoulder.

They sat for a while as the fire burned down low. It was full dark and the fire was nothing but coals.

“I was going to tell you. I wanted to.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” Kara sighed.

Lena swallowed hard, trying not to feel her blood rushing in her ears.

“You know,” she said. “You could kiss me right now, if you wanted. That seems like the kind of thing the hero does after saving the girl.”

“I could?” said Kara.

“You could.”

“Like this?”

Kara was trying to be smooth, and it made it hard for Lena not to giggle. She tipped Lena’s chin up with soft fingers and guided herself in, bringing their lips together. Kara kissed her softly, tentatively. Lena kissed her back just as softly, afraid this moment would shatter if she pressed too hard.

It was easy to shift herself into Kara’s lap, even before Kara lifted her there. Lena knew she was strong but not Kryptonian strong, and it it sent a thrill through her. She liked it.

She liked touching Kara, too. Liked feeling the bunching muscles flex under under hands, the softness of her hair, the way she gasped when she felt Lena’s lips on her throat.

“Never have I wished so badly for a tent and sleeping bags,” said Lena.

“And marshmallows to toast!” said Kara.

“Do you ever stop thinking about food?” Lena giggled.

Kara looked at her intently, and Lena shivered, not from the cold. She’d longed for Kara to see her like that, look at her like that.

“Sometimes,” Kara whispered. “Sometimes I think about other things.”

“We should probably go back,” said Lena. “We have people who are probably looking for us.”

Kara nodded.

“Do you want this to be… do you want us to be?”

“Kara,” said Lena, “I would have asked you out a year ago if I thought I had a chance. I thought you just wanted to be friends.”

Kara swallowed. “Are you saying you want to be my girlfriend?”

Lena smiled softly. “Yes.”

Kara rose and clasped her cape to her shoulders, then gently brought Lena to her feet and lifted her from the ground, holding her close.

“Not so fast this time, okay?”

“Okay,” said Kara, lifting them back into the sky.

[agxxb]

Could you do a Colin Bridgerton x reader where he saves her from an arranged marriage. Maybe she’s Eloise’s friend and reader is complaining to her and Colin overhears and confesses to her

ofc!! i hope you enjoy ◡̈

No Ring? No Problem .𖥔 ݁ ˖

colin bridgerton x f!reader

warnings: fluff. use of ‘y/n/n’. love confession. best friend’s brother. mention of arranged marriage. [1k]

Your heart ached, your father’s words still echoing in your mind. You thought you had more time, more opportunities and chances to find a husband — but you were wrong.

Your parents had found you one, a man of their choosing. You could not believe them; your first social season and they had already taken control over who you must marry.

You had never met ‘Lord Vincent Howard’, the name your father had told you belonged to the man you were to wed. You didn’t want to meet him, either. Sure, he had a title along with wealth and land, but you didn’t know him.

You sighed to yourself as you arrived at the Bridgerton household, the door opening not long after you had knocked. Mrs Wilson stood there with a warm smile, inviting you inside almost immediately before announcing to Eloise that she had a visitor.

Your best friend soon made her appearance, walking down the staircase — presumably having come from her bedroom. Her smile faded quickly after she saw the devastation on your face.

“What has happened?” she asked, walking over to where you stood in the entranceway. The tears came back to your eyes, the corners stinging as your soon-to-be reality hit you once again.

“I am to be wed, and to a man I do not even know,” you cried, sniffling as the tears flowed freely, collecting at your chin before falling.

“What?”

“My parents, they have arranged it all. I have had no say.”

Eloise’s heart broke for you. She knew you had always wanted a love match, someone who cared for you as deeply as you did them. You had always spoken highly of the romance books you carried in your hands, it being a dream of yours to experience a love like the characters you read about.

Stepping forward, Eloise brought you into her arms for a hug. She wasn’t usually one for physical touch, though knew you needed it. You appreciated her sentiment, a silent way of letting you know she was there for you.

You cried into her shoulder, cheeks growing red. You sniffled and pulled away, a small smile on your face. “I’m sorry for intruding on your day,” you said, a small, humourless chuckle leaving your lips.

“You could never intrude.”

“Miss Y/N?” You turned your head to the side, eyes landing on Eloise’s older brother, Colin. “May I have a word?”

You glanced back at your friend, the girl giving you a smile before walking in the direction of the living room. You wiped at your cheeks with the back of your hand as you turned to him, a forced smile upon your lips.

You’d always believed Colin to be attractive, his strong features had become soft in your eyes. His facial features were heaven to your heart and soul, but none was more soft and vibrant than his mouth. You could be so happily mesmerised by those lips for all the days heaven granted you to come. His blue eyes were ocean-strong, swimming with warm sunlit currents and infinite hues illuminated by newborn light.

“Hello, Mister Bridgerton,” you greeted politely, and he grinned.

“I am sure we are past formalities by now, Y/N/N.” Your cheeks turned redder, glancing down bashfully. “It was unintentional, but I overheard your conversation with my sister.”

You sighed quietly to yourself, wishing a hole would form below and swallow you. “Yes… I’m afraid I shall soon be Lady Vincent Howard.”

“Not unless you become Mrs Bridgerton.” Your head shot up, eyes moving to look into his, searching for an explanation. Colin smiled, softly breathing out through his nose. “This is not the way I imagined this to go, but…”

“What are you saying?”

“Your existence redefined poetry for me. Everything you embody has become the meaning of art to my eyes,” Colin began, taking your hands in his. “My heart is an entire forest, and you have carved your initial into every tree. When I see you, it's as if my universe begins and ends with you. I could run forever, search forever, but in the end, every path leads right back to you.”

Tears pooled in your eyes once again, though not out of sadness. You had never heard such kind words, let alone been the object of their affection. “Colin-”

“I am in love with you,” he interrupted, placing your hands against his chest, keeping his gentle hold on them. “And if you even feel even the slightest bit of what I feel for you, then I would believe myself to be the luckiest man in the world.”

Letting go of your hands, Colin got down on one knee. You gasped, covering your mouth in shock. You had never expected to see the man you’d had feelings for, for several years on one knee, proposing to you and asking you to be his.

“I do not yet have a ring, but… Y/N/N, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

You nodded, too surprised by the situation to say anything. Happy tears flowed freely, trailing down your rosy cheeks like a waterfall, and a large smile made its way onto your face.

Colin grinned, standing and placing his hands on your waist. “I love you,” you told him, your new fiancé bringing a hand up to your cheek, brushing his thumb against it to wipe away the fallen tears.

“May I kiss you?” he whispered, eyes glancing down to your lips.

You didn’t verbally reply, instead choosing to press your lips to his as your answer. It was heaven to finally kiss him, to touch him in a way you had always dreamed of.

You pulled away, resting your forehead against his. You laughed together, your fingertips dancing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

Your broken heart had been fixed, and all because of Colin Bridgerton.

[terminallydiseased]

content warning — nsfw (lewd), vincent x reader, clothed sex, overstimulation, begging, slight praising, boss/employee relationship, handjob, anal.

author's note — fuuuck.... sex penis?

summary — your boss wanted you in his office, excusing yourself from your job for a bit.

your head was spinning, the pleasure hazing your mind and jumble of noises and incoherent words escape your lips. vincent rolls his hips inside your hole, letting out small grunts and groans as he silences you with force, covering your mouth with his hand, the other hand gripped firmly on your hip.

you were bent over on his desk, taking his cock like a good boy you are to him, but you were greedy, wanting more, begging for more, yet all you could let out are noises and cries, vincent knows what you want, but he likes teasing you, tormenting you. fucking you so hard that you're so close to cumming but just can't.

"apologies, dear, you're gonna have to use your words." he mutters against your neck, he could see you clawing the desk, trying to stabilize yourself, and it was just too much for you. he thumbs the slit of your tip, earning a whimper from you, you tried your best to form your words but his roughness with you didn't help at all, in fact, made it worse.

"poor thing, i can't understand you with all that pathetic babbling." he chuckles, his voice gruff and raspy. letting go of your mouth as he tells you not to be loud. "s-sir, ah-! please, please... need it so bad..." you plead, pressing yourself against his hips desperately as he emits a low groan.

you both were a mess, you might need to change clothes soon because there's a chance you'd spurt your fluids on your trousers, which was already down to your ankles with your belt and boxers. vincent here has his hair messed up, disheveled even, he has his pants up, it's just his zipper undone to fill you with his dick.

"please...?" you beg once more, feeling his finger tracing the vein on your cock, your body shuddering at the feeling. "i'll consider." he responds, hearing you whine from his answer.

he pulls himself out from you, the tip only kissing and teasing your hole as he harshly thrusts back in, angling himself at your prostate, his hand finally jerking your weeping shaft off. you could feel your eyes rolling at the back of your head because of it, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes, drool leaking out of your lips while you let out more noises.

he pushes your head flat onto his desk, fucking you harder. "i told you to not make a sound, did i not?" he reprimands, making you bite down on your lower lip with a muffled cry. "good boy."

the way he flatters you makes you shiver, you could feel yourself nearing your release even more, trying your best to hold back any noises. "i'm- ngghh-! i'm close, sir..!" your legs tremble, wanting to relax as vincent increases his pace, signaling he was also close.

as his pace fastens, you swore you were seeing stars, your body was gonna pass out from such ecstacy you were feeling, you gripped on the edge of the desk, your throat wanting to let out a loud moan as vincent covers your mouth again, letting you moan onto his hand.

you both finally came, vincent pushing himself inside you and painting your walls white, while your dick shoots out cum all over the floor, both you and your boss gasping and heaving for a moment.

it was only for a moment until he finally pulls out, zipping his pants and letting out a contented sigh.

"clean up and go back to your job, i'll be expecting you to come back here later."

divider, banner.

[toxicanonymity]

THE WAX JOB

PAIRING: Bo Sinclair x f!reader WC: 1.3k words | MASTERLIST WARNINGS: I8+ Dark. Noncon/dubcon (captivity), you're into it, as usual with mine. sick & twisted use of wax. PIV, creampies, breeding, forced pregnancy, lactation, dark caretaking/mild dark fluff. Started as HCs. End note. NOTE: Inspired by the 30-second scene at 3:10.

Breeding you is something Bo must do, like a farm chore. He keeps you locked up in the basement and visits you at the end of each day. You're kept on a worn medical chair, similar to what you'd find in a dentist's office, but roomier. Each evening, you hear him roll the garage door down upstairs, and it makes your heart flutter. Within a few minutes, his heavy footsteps echo down the stairs, and the jingle of his belt unbuckling. Sometimes a groan of fatigue.

He stares you down hungrily as he approaches with slow steps, tan hand flexing as he rubs himself. His strong forearms are smeared with motor oil from working in the garage. He takes you to the bathroom and watches you go, then puts you back in the chair. Manhandles you if he has to. Sometimes he stops to take a polaroid.

He stands at the foot of the chair and lifts his trucker hat to wipe his brow with the back of his wrist, then pulls the hat down into place again. He takes off his boots and tight jeans, casually talking to himself about the day and how pretty you look.

He spreads your legs. You fall into a trance salivating over the shape in his boxer briefs as he climbs onto the chair with you. He shoves his underwear down under his balls, and holds his cock in his hand, squeezing it a few times as he ogles your body. Shame heats your face as you watch and yearn for his thick, veiny cock.

In the first days, he keeps you gagged the whole time, but once he sees how much you enjoy it, he wants to hear your pretty sounds.

He pulls your dress up over your tits - no panties. allowed. He wets his lips, and smiles darkly to himself at the sight of your glistening cunt.

As he notches himself at your entrance, sweat drips off his face. Your lips part as he begins to push in. He bottoms out with a groan. He stays there and twitches inside. Without moving yet, he mutters, "gonna be such a pretty mama," and runs his thumb over your lips.

He grunts as he fucks you, and each thrust shakes the chair and makes it squeak, echoing off the walls. Sometimes he's rough. Sometimes he's slow.

He braces a forearm above your head and his sweat wafts from the darkened pit of his uniform.

With your cunt spread open around his cock, your mouth falls open with a moan. A salty drop rolls down his chin and lands in your mouth.

After a minute, you begin to whimper and squirm as you approach your climax. The basement is dusty and humid and you're sweating.

"You're gonna cum for me now," he pants, and you spasm. "Yeah, cum for me, darlin'," he whispers darkly, and it sends you. Your hips lift, your body jerks, you moan as your walls choke his cock, and he chuckles, "good girl. . . That's my girl."

He becomes more vocal as he fucks you through it. Sighing, grunting, moaning, "Good g---oh, baby."

"Ugghh---Here we go, darlin'," he mutters as he nears his peak. He groans unrestrained as he bottoms out and pulses warmly, heat spreading deep in your cunt.

He stays all the way inside and with his face inches from yours, he admires your features. He gently wipes the sweat from your brow, then slowly thrusts again as his last spasms fade. "Mmm."

Once he pulls out, he adjusts the chair so your feet are up. He calls for Lester to bring dinner down. Bo feeds you a few bites, or let's Vincent do it. Sometimes he tells you a little about his day like you're not strapped down with your legs in the air.

And then, when Bo's hard again -- which isn't long -- he goes again. And again. Until you can't physically hold any more cum.

Once you're full of his seed, Bo dismounts the chair and calls for Vincent as he pulls his jeans back on. He doesn't buckle them.

-------------

Vincent comes in with an old paint can full of hot wax and stands by the chair like an assistant. He doesn't look at you. Your legs are raised again and bo spreads your thighs wide. "Good girl," he whispers, then mumbles to Vincent, "ain't she pretty?"

Vincent offers Bo a cloth. Bo braces a hand on your mound and wipes any spilled cum off your lips, getting them as dry as he can. He reassures himself, "that's okay," as he laments the lost seed.

Then, he dips his thumb in the hot wax and Vincent looks away.

Bo brings his thumb between your legs and applies the hot wax to your outer labia, one after the other. He uses his thumb to tuck your folds inside, and then he presses your outer lips together and holds them shut like a clam.

"Little more," he urges Vincent. He adjusts his left hand so two of his massive fingers are holding your cunt shut. Then he extends his right hand toward Vincent and dips two fingers into the hot wax and dribbles some on the outside. "Good," he mutters and Vincent steps away.

Still holding you shut, Bo brings his face between your legs and gently blows on the hot wax, helping it dry. He takes his time with this, and his eyes sparkle at his work. "Night sweetheart," he whispers to your cunt and plants a kiss on your mound, then one on your lower belly.

This continues until you're pregnant.

_____________

Once you're pregnant, they let you upstairs to celebrate and Lester makes a special cake. They give you a new dress.

All three of them darkly dote on you throughout your pregnancy. You're still locked up, but you're allowed upstairs with supervision.

Bo has Vincent make a wax cast of your torso every month and they're displayed throughout the main floor of the house on makeshift pedestals. Lester is the one who's responsible for making your food and taking care of your basic needs. He's polite and never tries anything.

Bo is obsessed with your pregnant body. He can't keep his hands off you. You're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he'd mad with lust.

Once your milk comes in, Bo tastes it every day. He pulls your dress up over your tits and suckles sloppily at your engorged tits.

He lets the sweet breastmilk run down over the curve of your belly and he licks it up. Once he's down there he can't resist eating you out, which makes him really hard. Sometimes he does it right after dinner, while you're still in the common area. You're laid back on a threadbare couch with your legs over his shoulders. He doesn't mind if Lester or Vincent see, although they normally don't stick around to watch.

Feasting between your legs, Bo feverishly takes his cock out with one hand as he keeps his other hand on your breast. He can't pull his mouth away until he's ready to shove himself into you. He runs his tip through your folds, then pushes into you. He fucks you slow and gentle.

He briefly sucks your tit again as he fucks you. He makes sure you cum, then when he's ready to do the same, his face hovers an inch from yours. He Looks in your eyes, then lowers his forehead to yours. He groans against the corner of his mouth, then kisses you on the lips as he cums. His lips break away with a moan, then he kisses you gently as he finishes.

He cleans you up, and lets you sleep in his bed.

----------

tagging @lunitawrites my breeding encourager

Inspired by the moment from the link and a terrible product concept - I'm haunted by Mensez Feminine Lipstick, but go have a laugh if you want. notice his logo looks like a ball sack. This man actually wants us to glue our lips shut during our period. If you have Qs about the logistics of this. Please ask that guy 💀

[hurthermore]

»»------► 𝙰 𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 (18+) - 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗

Pairing: 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗!𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗. 𝚂𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘.

Word Count: 𝟻.𝟸𝚔

Warnings: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝟷𝟾+ 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚐𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚢, 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝. 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜.

𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝚂 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝚄𝚂𝚄𝙰𝙻

𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚝, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚒𝚐? 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛

𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝙺𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊 𝙿𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚎 (𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚢 𝙿𝚃𝚅) 𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚎 <𝟹

𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚣𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚖

Alastor consumed your mind throughout the night as you cooked for your husband and cleaned the dishes; even whilst your husband violated your body, all you could cogitate was Alastor.

The tears that left your eyes couldn’t be stopped as you laid against the bed where the reality of nightmares always inaugurated when your husband used your body for his own pleasure at the expense of your pain. Closing your eyes to avoid the hell that was being forced upon you, your thoughts continued to focus on the man who you had only just earlier that day realised you had feelings for.

You wished to go back to a few hours ago, wished to embrace Alastor again as he held you like his life depended on it, wished to converse with him again whilst losing yourself into his deep, almost black eyes that always glittered with a hints of honey yellow, wished to caress your fingers against his hands that felt so silky against his rough textured skin; wished you could bask in the freedom that his presence brought you. 

A smile etched onto your lips despite how Vincent used your body as you began to replay Alastor’s voice in the back of your mind. He had asked to see you again tomorrow; he wanted to spend time with you, wanted to introduce you to someone. Who, you didn’t know, but you felt ecstatic that Alastor wanted you to spend time with you, excited that you’d be meeting someone else, possibly becoming someone else's friend too; even if it would be short lived.

By the end of next month, you’d never see Alastor again. That fact pained you more than the abuse you had endured from your husband; it stabbed tiny needles within your hollowed muscular organs that caged within your rib cage, crushing them with a weight that hurt.

You would just have to make the most of the short time you had left with him.

After Alastor had left your home, you contemplated whether or not you should inform him about Vincent's plans to whisk you away to a place that was ridiculously far away. But all you could wonder was if Alastor would even care that you’d be leaving. 

You didn’t know if you could emotionally handle the aftermath if you found out Alastor didn’t care about you.

Even after everything that had happened between you and Alastor; the lingering touches, the gift, the conversations with him that you found yourself always recalling, the looks he’d give you; you still didn’t truly know him.

Did he treat everyone the way he treated you? Were you just another person to him? Was his personality just one of a natural flirt who had no concept of personal space?

You didn’t know, and because you didn’t have a grasp on how Alastor behaved towards other people, in addition to the fact you were also a taken and defiled woman, you had to come to terms with the belief that Alastor most likely harboured no emotions for you; and although it hurt that you knew he most likely didn’t reciprocate your new found feelings, you had come to terms with being content with just having him beside you. Even if it would be short lived.

As your husband continued to push himself inside you, you could only wonder how Alastor would treat you in bed; would he be rough? Sweet? Caring? Self absorbed? Would he care to pleasure you? Or would he only focus on his own release like your husband did?

Stuffing your face into the pillows, you began to sob with gritted teeth, digging your fingernails into the sheets as you began to imagine Alastor being the one who was bucking into you; not your husband. It was an awful confliction of emotions as you imagined it. The painful ministrations began to halt as they transformed into sensational pleasure as you imagined Alastor on top of you, pushing himself inside you. Closing your eyes helped, helped make the fantasy feel so much more real; and for the first time whilst having sex, you moaned. 

“Fuck, doll. See how good it is when you just let it happen?”

The fantasy shattered instantly as your vile husband spoke, Alastor disappeared from your mind as you were forced back into the reality of the situation. It was your husband on top of you, not Alastor. You could only feel utterly sick that you had allowed yourself to enjoy the abuse your husband was putting you through, and your mind began to distort in pain as the mental turmoil of knowing you had felt pleasure whilst your husband raped you left you feeling disturbed.

What was wrong with you?

You needed to stop thinking about Alastor; you didn’t want this to feel good. You didn’t want it.

The tears continued until your husband rolled off of you, falling to sleep almost instantly as his head sunk into the pillows. Laying in the filth your husband had left you in, filled with fluids you didn’t want to acknowledge, you sat up slowly in an attempt to not awaken your husband. Your cheeks stained with dried tears, causing your irises to twitch back and forth as your mental state began to psychologically decline into the mere pits of insanity. 

Bringing your hands into the hairs on your head, you began to tug as you wanted to die from the pleasure you had experienced from the situation you had just endured.

Why did you have to think about Alastor like that?

You were sick for thinking about him like that.

Slowly, as your whole body trembled, you went on auto pilot; your feet slowly pressing against the floor as you avoided every board that was prone to creaking until your still naked form made its way out of the bedroom. You needed to throw up. Had to. You felt disgusting, despicable, repulsive. How could you have felt any pleasure from that? Even if you were thinking of Alastor; the reality of the situation made you want to shove your hands down your oesophagus and rip your stomach out of your mouth. 

You were sick.

As you fell on top of the toilet, you began to hurl, coughing as your own fluids left your mouth, and when it ceased to naturally emerge, you stuffed your fingers down your throat to force more bile to leave your stomach. 

You deserved it.

Heaving over the toilet as you began to throw up blood from the sheer amount of injury your vomiting had inflicted on the innards of your throat, you stared into the toilet bowl filled with your stomach fluids. Your head couldn’t seem to stay still as your body trembled from the mental instability you were experiencing.

This was Vincent's fault.

None of this would’ve happened if he was dead.

As your eyes enlarged, your neck and wrists began to twitch; something that had never happened before. Yet due to the state you were in, your mind didn’t acknowledge it, only standing your body up until your feet padded against the floorboards once again as you ambled down the stairs. You didn’t feel in control of your body, almost as if you were in an out of body experience as you stood limply in the kitchen. Your eyes fixated onto the knife block as your twitching fingers began to reach out onto the handle of a butcher knife. 

Swaying as the knife trembled in your hand, you made your way to the bottom of the stairs, staring up towards the second floor as voices screamed in your head, screams that begged for you to end your husband's life; to make him suffer as he made you suffer.

Stalking up the stairs, your bare feet creeped your bare form back into the room your husband slept in, his face calm and peaceful as if he hadn’t a care in the world. As if he hadn’t just assaulted you. Moving your body to stand next to his sleeping form, the shadows that enveloped the room began to move erratically; almost as if to encourage you to slash his head open into a split.

Lifting your equipped hand up, your eyes stared unblinkingly at your husband as your teeth bared in anguish.

All you had to do was just thrust the knife into his head.

That's all you had to do.

Then it would be over.

You would never have to deal with him again.

Never have to leave New Orleans.

Never have to leave Alastor.

Blinking, your body froze as tears left your eyes. Your arm twitched as you began to think of what would happen after you did kill Vincent.

Would you go to prison?

What would Alastor think?

If you killed your husband, would he ever want to see you again?

He’d probably hate you.

He’d find you disgusting.

Gritting your teeth, you cried as you fell to your knees, the knife falling from your grip before it clattered underneath the bed as you moved your hands back to your head; the tears from your visual organs filled up the palms of your hands as you screamed. 

What would Alastor think if he saw you right now?

You could only scream as the brain within your skull began to malfunction at the thought of Alastor finding you disgusting for even thinking of murdering someone, let alone almost doing it. 

Screaming louder, someone grabbed your shoulder; your fists hit the chest in front of you as you tried to get them off you before the person grabbed your wrists, halting you from attacking them. You couldn’t see him through the tears that blurred your eyes along with the darkness of the room, but you knew it was your husband who was holding you. You could hear his vile voice as he stopped you from moving, but couldn’t make out what he was saying as you continued to scream in anguish. 

“Stop it.” Was the only words that left your lips, and like a mantra, you kept repeating the words, your voice breaking more and more into despair with each word you spoke until your bones coagulated, forcing you to lay against the hard and cold floor. Curling yourself into a foetal position, your words became whispers as your tears flowed from your oculi. 

The last thing you saw was the blurred floor as you mumbled your mantra of two words.

Opening your eyes, you squinted at the harsh light that filled the room as you pushed yourself off the floor. 

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

Looking down at your body, you could see the faded yellow bruises on your naked form and the remnants of fluids between your thighs that had your stomach churning in disgust..

A bath; you needed a bath.

As you stood, every muscle in your body ached in tension. Grinding your teeth together as you pushed through the pain, you slumped your way into the restroom, adjusting your hair to avoid damping it before scrubbing Vincent's touch from your body; just as you always did after he defiled you. Leaning against the bath as you soaked in the grime of water, you recalled what had transpired last night. Despite how mentally torturous it was, you had remembered everything. From the abuse, to the thoughts of Alastor, to almost murdering your husband, and your breakdown after that.

You were a monster, weren’t you?

The only reason you found yourself feeling like vermin for attempting such a thing, was only due to how you contemplated how Alastor would react to finding out about your disturbing thoughts and acts of murder. It felt wrong; only refusing to bash Vincent's head in with the sharp knife only because of Alastor.

Would you have done it if you hadn’t thought of Alastor?

You didn’t know.

Sighing, you left the tub after scrubbing yourself clean, cleansing the dead skin that harboured the touch of your husband, only to repeat the repetitive routine of covering every blemish on your body at your vanity.

It was becoming exhausting.

Distracting yourself from the disturbing contents of your mind, you indulged yourself with your dresses, deciding what to wear before picking out a pair of small heels along with a casually sleeveless day dress that flowed just underneath your kneecaps, sitting skin tight around your chest and neck whilst flowing from your waist onwards. Despite how unstable your mind still felt, you wanted to look good for Alastor.

As long as you looked good for him, you would be fine.

Making your way to the first floor of your home, you glanced at the clock, indicating that Vincent had long left for work.

You could only scoff as you realised he had left you on the floor to suffer alone yet again.

As the walls of the house seemed to close in on you, surrounding you with awful memories of your husband's abuse, you opened the front door, deciding to sit in one of the chairs on the porch of your home as you waited for Alastor to arrive. You didn’t know how long he would be, but you needed to get out of that jail of a house. You were in need of some fresh air; and the beaming sun and the heat it emitted only encouraged you to stay outside to bask within the warmth it offered.

Looking at your hands, you tried not to close your eyes, as every time you did, all you could coherent was either your husband or Alastor. You didn’t want to think about Vincent; and you didn’t want to think about how Alastor most likely only saw you as a friend.

Everything was beginning to hurt.

Maybe it was for the best that Vincent took you elsewhere; you could handle the abuse on its own, but with the addition of Alastor, you were becoming unstable within your psyche.

“Darling.”

Startling, your whole body looked up; your irises focusing on the man who had been consuming your thoughts throughout the entire time you had been apart from him. You gazed upon his uniquely attractive features that made him a rarity of beautiful; a one of a kind.

The heart caged within your rib cage began to hasten, you could feel your pulse thump throughout your entire body as Alastor stood directly in front of you. How had you not heard him approaching you? His hand reached out towards your face slowly before his fingers wrapped around a lock of rouge hair, cascading it behind your ear before his touch lingered on the cheek of your face.

Looking at him didn’t help your mind from pulsing in alternating thoughts; you wanted to embrace him, kiss him, consume him. As his large and sharp hand retracted from your face, much to your disappointment, you averted your eyes to avoid the overwhelming thoughts before you noticed he was carrying a basket. “Whatever do you have that for?” You questioned with jest as you raised an eyebrow at him.

Smiling down at you, he took a hold of your hand, forcing you to stand beside him before he spun you into a twirl, catching you by the waist as he pulled you in. Laughing as your heart raced to speeds of danger zones from Alastor simply holding you, you watched his smile grow before he allowed his charming and silky rich voice to reach your ears. “I did the courtesy of making us a light lunch so we can have an al fresco, darling. I even made some snacks with that pork you took such a liking to yesterday.”

You couldn’t breathe as your heart seemed to stop at the utter flustation that enveloped you; Alastor had planned to have a picnic with you.

Why did that make you feel so happy and sad at the same time?

It couldn’t be denied that throughout your life, you couldn’t recall anyone, even your own husband, going out of their way to extend a gesture so sweet, so genuine, so thoughtful. It filled your chest with adoration; love, perhaps. But it also hurt. Hurt because you knew your time was short with Alastor.

Smiling up at him, you couldn’t help as tears swelled up within your glassy eyes. Alastor’s expression immediately turned to one of panic, his smile tightened downwards as he witnessed your face contort into a saddened yet content expression. Holding you even closer, he looked into your eyes. “Darling, whatever is the matter?” 

Bringing your hand up to your cheeks, you began to feel bad for making him pull that distraught expression that enveloped his beautifully unorthodox facial features. “You’re just… Thank you. I don’t think anyones done something so sweet for me before.” You smiled as you fought back your tears, preventing them from falling out of your sockets.

His signature smile softened as he chuckled, pulling your body into his chest; a chest that you could feel was toned behind the waistcoat and dress shirt he wore, embracing you entirely. It was impossible for you to not reciprocate as your arms wrapped his well built form whilst he held the back of your waist with one arm. “Oh my perfect little darling, if you think this is sweet then you’ll just die knowing the things I can do for you.” 

Hiding your face in his chest, the water in your oculi vanished as the overwhelming sensation of pleasant shocks bolted throughout your nervous system from his words. Leaning his head back, Alastor looked down at you as his glasses sloped towards the sharp tip of his nose; you reciprocated his stare as you gazed back up to him. He looked smitten as he took in every feature, every detail that embellished your skin. “Now, put a smile back onto that perfect face of yours; it pains me to see you so sad.”

Letting out a little giggle, you called him a sap before pulling away from him. And as you gave him a soft smile, his own smile relaxed from his usual forced tightened grin into something more sincere; genuine. Linking your arm through his, you allowed him to lead you away from your prison as you both walked towards the unknown.

You felt at peace as you leaned against his side as he allowed you to latch onto him; allowed you to bask in the protective air he seemed to wrap you up in, and as you looked up to him, taking in the sharpness of his jawline, you caught him staring at you from above. Quickly glancing away, your flustered state persisted; your heart rate had still yet to settle down since he appeared before you.

But as you held onto his arm, a specific voice shattered the emotions you were lazing in as it tauntingly reminded you how you had imagined Alastor making love to you the night before to escape the reality of your husband's defilement. Yet you didn’t allow the shattering recall to affect your physical posture; you couldn’t face Alastor finding out the thought you had about him.

He would be disgusted.

Looking at his basket to distract yourself from your despicable actions, you asked Alastor if he was still planning on introducing you to the mystery person he mentioned introducing you to from yesterday; wondering if they’d be joining you, or if he had decided to scrap that idea.

“Yes, darling, they’ll be there.” He responded with a soft smile, his eyes consistently looking at your form every two seconds; something you missed as you held onto his arm tightly.

The warmth he radiated was like no other, you were reveried; like you were on cloud nine as your hands grasped onto every slight muscle that hid beneath his clothed, slimmed skinned arms. Closing your eyes as you allowed Alastor to lead you to anywhere he desired, you wondered what people passing by the two of you would think, seeing you holding him. Would they assume you and Alastor were courting? 

Oddly, you hoped so.

At least then, you could live your fantasy of being his in the minds of others.

Naturally, you began to lean into him more and more, testing the limits of how far Alastor would allow you to intrude on his personal space, but he never pulled away, never flinched or backed away; instead, he leaned back against you, pushing himself close into your side. 

Why did he have to make you feel this way?

It was conflicting; it felt so diverting to finally experience the harbouring of feelings for another, an emotion you never wished to let go of, and one you wanted to relish in. You craved more of it. You wanted to see how it would feel to kiss him, to speak with him as he laid with you, to know how it would feel to make love to someone you actually wanted to be intimate with. But it would never come to fruition.

Alastor would never love you.

Opening your eyes to escape the innards of your painfully excruciating thoughts, you saw hundreds of gravestones around you.

Alastor had led you to a graveyard. 

“Why are we here?” You mumbled with furrowed eyebrows as you looked up to Alastor.

Pulling you towards a specific gravestone, Alastor didn’t answer you as he settled the basket on to the rich green grass that swayed along with the soft breeze. Reaching into the basket, he pulled out a large cloth, laying it on the earth of the floor in front of the headstone. Diverting your attention to the gravestone he had escorted you to, your heart broke at the name.

‘Augustine Hartfelt.

Beloved wife and mother.

1871-1913’

“Darling, this is my mother, Augustine.” You didn’t need the confirmation to recognise that it was his mother based on the last name and dates alone. Your chest panged as Alastor took in your form whilst you gazed upon the slab that hitched into the ground. 

The person he wanted you to meet was his deceased mother. 

You didn’t know what to say; or how to feel about that.

Staying still, you listened as Alastor began to talk to the grave that held the memories of his mother; introducing you to her as he told her ghost your name.

Pain imbedding your chest with sorrow, Alastor sat on the blanket before pulling out a bouquet of orange and yellow unique flowers from the basket; the coloured petals pointed in bizarre directions, and you realised you had seen those types of flowers only once before in your entire life; they were Strelitzias. Your mind went back to the woman at Alastor’s workplace who had mentioned the meaning of flowers; did these have a meaning behind them too?

Bending your knees, you sat next to Alastor, watching as he placed the flowers in the stone vase that moulded into the headstone. You didn’t know what to say in that moment; didn’t know what to do before Alastor leaned back only to push his shoulder against yours, placing his cheek on top of your head as he sighed. “She would’ve adored you.” He mumbled, confusing you.

Why would she adore you?

Why was Alastor being this intimate with you? Introducing you to something so raw and personal.

Tilting your head, forcing him to lift his chin ever so slightly from the crown of your skull, your eyes half lidded as you thought of what you could say in that moment. Could you be as raw as he was being with you right now? Could you let him know some of your thoughts? You decided that yes, you could. Even if it would hurt; you would return what he was allowing you to see within the depths of who he was. “I’m sure I would’ve adored her too,” You spoke with a whisper. “If she raised someone as charming and sweet as you; she must’ve been quite the woman.” 

“That she was, my darling.” He whispered before pushing himself into you so far that he forced your body to lean away with a smirk. “So, you think I'm charming and sweet?” His voice laced with an overly cocky confidence that had you rolling your eyes..

Pushing him away, you laughed; your heart racing at the relaxed and calming environment, despite being in a memorial of corpses six feet under. It was more peaceful than your home. “Not with that attitude, Mr. Hartfelt.”

“Darling, you wound me so!” He dramatised as he shook his head with every word, his hands overly animated as he played the part of an actor before finally pretending to faint into your lap. “What am I if you no longer see me in such a light?!” You could only giggle as he turned his head in your lap, looking up at you as your facial structure and sway of your hair engulfed his entire vision; you swore he looked starstruck, but you would be a fool to delude yourself.

“That’s up for you to decide, Mr. Hartfelt.” You could hear him mumble something, but you could barely hear him due to the intensely low voice he had spoken in. Raising an eyebrow at him, your breath hitched as he closed his eyes with a soft toothed smile. Oddly, he looked like an angel; his brown fluffed hair cascading the clothed thighs of your lap as he contently breathed, one of his hands over the of left side chest, his glasses reflecting the sunlight that seeped through the tussles of your hair.

He truly was a uniquely beautiful man.

One you so desperately wanted to kiss; especially in this moment.

“I can feel you staring, ma cherie.” His lips moved as his eyes remained closed.

“You feel nothing of the sort as I am not staring.” You responded as you continued to stare at him, taking in the short lashes that brushed against the creases of the underside of his eyes.

“You shouldn’t lie to me, darling, especially not in front of my mother.” 

“Then I apologise to your mother, but not you.” His eyes opened slowly, staring back at you as if you were something to cherish. Lifting your hand, you had the strong urge to thread your hand through his hair; to massage his scalp with your fingertips.

But you didn’t.

Fearing rejection, you put your hand back down. “I will always forgive you even if you don’t apologise, darling.”

“That’s not how it works, darling.” You mocked him, and immediately, he shot up; his large hand covering his face as he faced away from you. Staring at his form, a pain shot through your chest. 

Was he repulsed at you calling him that stupid nickname he always called you?

You pinched the cloth below you as you diverted your gaze off of Alastor; focusing on the pattern of the quilt you were assaulting with your fingers.

Why were you even bothering with Alastor at this point?

Sure, you harboured feelings for him, you loved spending time with him, but was the pain of knowing he’d never reciprocate worth it? 

It hurt so much,

Looking at the headstone, the blackening overbearing of emotions began to overcome you, flaring your chest up in emotional pain; Alastor had brought you here to spend time with you, to introduce you to his mother at her memorial site, and here you were, thinking about whether ot not Alastor was even worth it anymore.

You were an awful person.

Flinching back ever so slightly, a literal sandwich covered your vision. Looking over to Alastor, you watched as he held out a sandwich for you; the contents filled with lettuce and meat. “I cooked some of the left overs of pork for you, darling; I hope you like it.” He spoke, as his other hand still slightly covered the lower half of his face.

Did you calling him darling really nauseate him that much?

Grabbing the food he had prepared for you, you thanked him softly with a smile, despite how much you wished to frown; you wouldn’t allow him to witness your true feelings. Not here. Taking a bite into the food, you swooned ever so slightly. Alastor was a good cook; everything you had tried of his so far had tasted amazing. As you allowed the food to satiate your taste buds, you remembered how Alastor had told you he had learnt how to cook from his mother.

“What was your mother like?” You didn’t know why you had asked it; but the desire to know more about the radio host was consuming you despite all your doubt.

He had full control over your emotions, and he wasn’t even aware of it.

Alastor froze as the breeze swayed his hair ever so slightly; as if he were contemplating whether or not he could allow you so far into the depths of himself. “She was… She…” He struggled with his words as he continued to contemplate, and as he looked up into the blue sky, his smile softened. “She was like the sun.” Staying attentive, you waited for him to continue. “During the darkest hours, the darkest memories, she brought a warmth that made everything feel better. She was always kind, even to the most repulsive of people; she cared about everyone she met, and her love was strong.” You could feel the rawness radiating off Alastor as he poured his heart out to you.

Etching your hand closer to Alastors as he leaned back, you threaded your fingers through his; the worry of being rejected not concerning you as all you wanted to do was be there for him as he spoke; to ground him as he looked into your eyes. “She reminds me of you.” You whispered; you had always felt a safety blanket around you whenever Alastor was beside you, and despite the pain you sometimes felt in regards to his opinions and emotions toward you, he made you feel a warmth that enveloped your soul.

As he smiled softly at you, his smile began to loosen; something you weren’t used to seeing on him. “It hurts to say, but I’m glad she passed into the afterlife.” You could only stiffen up as you heard him say those words.

“Why?”

Looking over at you, Alastor gazed at you with a knowing look. “She was in a marriage that made her unhappy; a marriage that was abusive, the same one that killed her.” His gaze remained as he refused to look away from you; refused to turn away. “She’s free from that now.”

Did he know?

It was just a coincidence, right?

But his words hit you like a realisation. 

Was Vincent going to end up killing you? Giving you the same fate as Alastor’s mother?

“I’m sorry, Alastor.”

“Don’t be.” His voice perked up as his fingers tightened against yours before he pulled you against him. “Despite how much I miss her, if she hadn't died, she would still be enduring the abuse my father forced upon her.”

Turning your head up as you allowed yourself to lean against him, you looked at him once more; appreciating every decal on his face. “Do you think about death a lot?” Your lips whispered near the jaw of his face.

“...Sometimes.” His voice came out slightly lower than usual.

“Do you think some people deserve to die?”

“...Yes.”

As you asked the questions, your mind returned to how you had attempted murdering your husband; wished for him to die. “Do you think… Do you think it's bad to wish someone to die, to want someone to die, Alastor?”

“No darling.”

“Would you kill someone, Alastor?”

“Would you?”

You didn’t know.

← 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 ✦ 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 →

✦ 𝙰𝙾𝟹 ✦

𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝙼𝙰𝙾, 𝙸 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕.

𝙰𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜; 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚖𝚔!! 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚎𝚝𝚌.

@cherry-cola-100 @hana-en @undrgroundtheme @roxxie-wolf @mutifandomkid @gentle-aesthetic-bby @itsmskeisha @k1y0yo @d34dl0ve @reikamasama @taygirl24 @alastorssimp @ieatcocoa @tremendoushearttaco @spottypug @bishiglomper @marcysbear @zazamagicaldonut @little-slyvixen @wendigonamecaller @schiz0preniczz @trippoverrt @reader3 @kittyandbluey @xinhar @sol3chu @yuckypuppie @forest-knights @ivebeenthearchersstuff @feellaaya @babesway22 @straows

[fnaf-possession-au]

WHOMST is ISAAC?

"It's very concerning... it looks like this kid had witnessed a man being melted alive." Vincent replied. "By a ghost... and Mike keeps saying he looks like me.. but like obviously it's not... this 'Isaac' isn't purple... he looks more like a periwinkle or something??"

[welcometowhore-rrorville]

𝒦𝒾𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝐼𝓃 𝐵𝑒𝒹

Featuring: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair 

Word Count: 1.5k 

Warnings: nsfw, mdni, smutty headcanons, virginity mention, dirty talk, rough sex, just general nasty things

Michael Myers

Let’s be honest—this man was a virgin before you showed up

He was in a mental institution from a young age—not exactly the best place to fuck

Still, that certainly didn’t stop him

He picked up on what to do fast—it’s not all that difficult

Still, he definitely focused on himself

Whether or not you came was not his problem

You have to take matters into your own hands when it comes to that, using your fingers to work at your clit

Most of the time your body is jostled around to much to do so

He’s not gentle

Whatsoever

Things will be broken

The bed?

A bone?

Who knows

You have so so many marks

Bruises

Cuts

You always look like you fell through a wood chipper 

It’s not like you could reason with him, though

“Hey, can you, I don’t know, be gentle for once and not fuck me against a countertop?”

Yea, that would go over well

He gets. . . better. . . eventually

Still mostly selfish

But may rub against your clit as he’s pounding into you

By accident?

Unclear

Expect to walk with a permanent limp

RIP

Definitely into knife-play

So many shredded clothes

C’mon, what’d you expect?

The mask stays on during sex

Obviously

If he’s super comfortable he might pull it up enough to bite you

But don’t expect to catch a glimpse of his face

After-care? What’s that?

You clean yourself up 99% of the time

The only time he’s ever done anything was when you passed out during sex and woke up in your bed

Other than that, you don’t expect him to provide any cuddles 

He doesn’t even sleep in the same bed at night

Jason Voorhees

Tries his best to be so so so gentle with you

Also a virgin before you showed up

Not many people were lining up to fuck an undead monster haunting a summer camp

He’s. . . big. . . everywhere

It takes a while before you’re even able to take him properly

It’s not that you were unprepared, but at the slightest flinch of your face Jason would pause and refuse to touch you again for hours

You made sure to explain that you were fine and that you weren’t made of glass

But he was still petrified of hurting you

Still, when he finally calms enough to fully fuck you one night, you’re seeing stars

He’s slow and cautious, but eventually something lights a fire within him

Rubs his masked face into your neck apologetically as he rams into you

When you’re walking funny the next day he carries you everywhere

You don’t blame him for getting carried away sometimes, and even enjoy a little roughness more-often-than-not

He tries his best with after-care but is pretty clueless as what to do with you

When you’re exhausted and curled in on yourself he thinks he’s permanently hurt you

You tell him gently to run you a bath

Will attach himself to your hip and snuggle you until one of you is forced to get up

Nestles his masked nose against any marks he may have caused, letting out a low whimper

You run your hand down his back

“I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay.”

Tries to make your pleasure his number one priority

Will listen intently as you bashfully explain what you want and like

Does as told

He’s a little rough, massive fingers toying with your clit hard enough to have you wincing

But eventually he gets the hang of it

Refuses to cum until you have

Even when you’re giving him head, he always has to be touching you in some way, getting you off just as much as your getting him off

Sometimes he can’t help himself and cums before you, only to let out a low whine of disappointment, like he was ashamed of himself

You’re never far behind, anyways

One of the most selfless lovers you’ve ever had

The fact he doesn't speak doesn't even cross your mind

He gets his points across fine with his actions and occasional low rumbles 

And you were never much for dirty talk, anyway 

Bo Sinclair

He’s a wild-card 

Some days he’s feeling generous enough to nestle his head between your legs, other days he’s got you gagging on his dick until can’t breathe

You’re unsure of what impacts his attitude, every night getting ready to expect something different

You supposed he had a lot of things happen in life, you couldn’t blame him for being a little hot-and-cold about things

Regardless of what’s happening, he’s got a lot to say about it

If he’s not growling in your ear, teasing you with dirty words as he rams into you, then he’s moaning loudly against your lips or neck

You don’t think he’s ever quiet for more than a few seconds

What he says varies, too

Some days it’s nothing but praise

“Whatta good girl you are. C’mon, sweetheart. You can do it. Almost there—there it is, darlin’. Don’t you look like a beauty chokin’ on my cock?” 

“That’s it, beautiful. Keep sayin’ my name. Feel good, huh? Don’t close those pretty lips of yours. I wanna hear ya when I fuck ya.” 

Other days he’s grabbing your ass harshly, scolding you for muffling your moans against his neck

“The fuck you think you’re doin’? You’re nothin’ but a whore, don’t try ‘nd be bashful now.”

“What a slut. Look how wet you are for me. Gettin’ off on the thought of me fuckin’ you, bitch?”

It’s enough to give you whiplash

Still, you can’t complain that it’s boring

And it’s not like you don’t get your own enjoyment out of it

Whether or not he lingers after he fucks you depends on nothing in particular

Sometimes he’ll pull you close and press a kiss to your forehead, mumbling praises in your ear as he caresses your body

Other times he’ll put his boxers back on and rest against the door frame, just staring at you as you clean yourself up

He never leaves without making sure you’re alright, though

No matter how rough he was with you he gently traces over your body, making sure nothing hurt to bad

Then he’s back to his cocky self, trying to pretend he didn’t just treat you like a princess

There’s always marks littering your neck and shoulders

The sight of them is enough to let any tourists know to fuck off

You tried to cover them once with a high collared shirt but it only ended with more hickies and bite marks, this time high enough on your neck that even a turtle neck couldn’t hide them

He’s possessive, always having an arm or hand around you when talking to strangers that come by

He’ll, even around his own brothers he’s like that

He’s always smacking your ass or planting a kiss to your lips, leaving you to yelp in surprise

This man has a breeding kink

That’s just the facts

The thing is, the idea of having a kid makes him gag

He’s not a fan of the little gremlins

But something about you—thighs wrapped around his hips as he cums into you—the fullness of your cunt—the slight bulge of your belly—always gets him going

Maybe it’s the distant idea of raising a half-normal family for once

For now, you stay on birth control

Vincent Sinclair

He’s extremely introverted and self-conscious

You have to be the one to initiate most things

Even then he’s unsure of himself

He’s afraid he’ll scare you somehow

The first time you two are intimate it’s simply soft touches, your lips trailing over his skin as your hands stroke at his dick

It’s not sex

It’s too soft for that

You hated to use the word love-making, but you supposed that’s what it was

After his confidence is built up enough to take control, he catches on fast

He has a niche for precise finger-work, given his work as a sculptor, and has you cumming on his hands more times than you can count

He keeps his mask on 99% of the time

You don’t force him to do otherwise

It’s his comfort object

As long as he’s happy, you’re happy

Still, there are times where he pulls it off, only to hide himself between your legs

The first time he ate you out, he insisted upon a blanket draped over your bottom half, but he’s past that now, knelt down in front of you, fingers clutched against your thighs as he pushes his tongue further inside of you

You make sure to praise him every time he makes you feel good—wanting him to know it was him getting you off

It definitely helped his self-esteem

He’s still distant when others are around, but you’ve gotten to the point where you can sit in his lap and play with his hair while Bo lounges on the couch

Bo still gives you two playful taunts, but he’s just happy his brother found someone

Though he really needs to invest in some ear-muffs if you keep up with the moaning at god-knows-how-late-at-night

*cough* waxplay *cough*

[shirakow]

I was wondering if you could write some Vincent x reader smut from dead plate? There’s barely any on this site and I need my fix😭

˗ˏˋ꒰ synopsis ꒱ ; Vincent's always so mean to you, especially at work. (18+)

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍇 pair ⋅ ˚✮ ; Vincent Charbonneau x GN!Reader .

. . . words ; 1.3k+

EXTRA ! here you go boo, sorry if it's not up to your expectations ^3^ I wrote this in one sitting at 3 am so this is not proof read <3

"I'm mean to you?" Vincent frequently asked you on multiple occasions, only because you brought it up once and now he wouldn't let it go.

He'd unexpectedly corner you near the dumpster whenever you take the trash out—it wasn't the most romantic meet-up spot, even he knows—but it's the only place where he could be alone with you.

That or his office. But it's not like he can call you there every hour of the day, or else the chefs and Rody might get suspicious, right? So he only does it every few days.

This day is one of the few.

"Have you been watching Rody like I told you to?" He'd ask you in that same deep and brooding voice of his—charming, with a hint of danger that always lingered in his tone whenever he talked.

You just looked up at him with tear stained cheeks as he stared back down at you, "Oh right," the corner of Vincent's lip quirked upward upon remembrance. "I forgot your mouths too full." He pushed your head back down on his cock, forcing you to deepthroat him as a gutteral moan came out from his mouth.

"There we go... At least you're good for something..." Vincent whispered breathlessly, momentarily forgetting that he needs to be quiet, or else someone'll hear him and catch the two of you in such an embarrassing predicament.

However, he could just play it off: say he stubbed his toe while he makes eye contact with Rody while you keep sucking him off from under his desk. He'll make sure to start small talk with Rody too just to embarrass you further.

You gagged and drooled all over his dick, the ache in your throat growing more immense the more he continued to fuck it like his personal fleshlight. But despite the pain—you slobbered all over his cock like a fucking prostitute.

Vincent let his head fall back as his teeth bit down on his bottom lip with a silent curse following after it. His slender fingers loosened it's hold on your hair, giving you a moment of respite to breathe and slow your pace down.

Noticing the way you hesitated to continue, Vincent ran his hand down to caress your throat; gently massaging and rubbing the skin with his cold fingers.

"Was I being too hard on you?" His voice purred almost teasingly. You slowly nodded with tears rolling down your cheeks, silently enjoying the way he gave attention to your aching throat. You took his wet cock out your mouth, and gave the bright red tip a kiss, before running your tongue down the side—tracing the veins while maintaining eye contact with Vincent.

You saw the glint that appeared in his raven eyes, "What?" Vincent let out a breath which you assumed was a laugh, "Is this your way of begging?" He gave a small grin. Vincent moved his hand away from your throat, which earned a whine from you.

"Don't worry," he hummed and parted your lips, using his thumb to toy with your tongue as he pumped his cock, "I'll massage it from the inside..." Vincent whispered and slapped the tip on your tongue, "Now be a good little cocksucker and keep my dick in your mouth."

Vincent's always so mean to you, regardless if you were in and out of work. But he's especially so when you're at work.

Sometimes, he'd finger your hole before opening hours, stretching it to his hearts content while whispering all kinds of things into your ear.

"Imagine how they'll react when they see my server bent over my desk..."

"Having you walk around with a toy in your ass while you work...~"

"And the fact you're just letting your boss have his way with you too? Aren't you just a naughty thing."

And then when you're about to cum, Vincent would pull his fingers out and make you lick them clean. You'd beg and beg for him to make you cum, but Vincent only shoves his fingers down your throat to shut you up.

He'd have a grin on his face while he does it too, because he knows how much you hate it when he leaves you aching for more.

Right before you leave his office, he would put a pink vibrator in your hole and let you prance around the whole restaurant with him knowing you have something in you to remember him by.

He'd occasionally turn the level up by one, but most of the time, he'd turn it up to max just to see you squirm from the pleasure. Vincent would watch you from the hole in his office as his hand fisted his cock at the sight of you flushed with embarrassment.

Vincent felt so dirty whenever he does that, but he can't deny that acting the slightest bit perverted didn't turn him on.

He doesn't make any exceptions, however. So if you mess up at all during work hours: he will not let it slip. Even if it's because you have a toy in you, Vincent will not hesitate to punish you after closing hours.

If you let even the slightest moan out your mouth—best believe you're gonna get ravaged.

"I told you... Not to make a fucking noise." Vincent panted into your ear, tightening the belt around your neck as he takes you from behind. Your perky ass bent over his desk while he drills his cock into your hole.

Vincent reached for vibrators remote, and turnt it up to the max level; feeling it vibrate against your gummy walls along with his dick that rubbed your prostate. "Feel that? Feel my cock kissing the deepest parts of you?" He groaned against your shoulder.

You squealed into the gag, the overstimulation being too much for your poor sensitive body. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head from the sweet pleasure he gave you. If it weren't for the ball in your mouth, you'd be screaming Vincent's name over and over again like a prayer.

Your face was flushed with sweat dripping from your forehead, and down to the discarded news paper articles of missing people on his desk.

He gave the leather belt another tug, and you made a choking sound. Vincent grunted at the noise you made, finding pleasure in knowing he controls your breathing.

He could cut it off if he wanted to, but he's not that mean.

"Is it too much? Am I making you go lightheaded?" He teased while giving a particularly sharp thrust.

Your toes curled as you cried. You shook your head and held onto the desk tightly. You felt your vision going dark, like you were about to pass out. Luckily, Vincent slowed to a stop and turn the vibrator down a level to give you a break.

At first you saw it as a blessing, but it quickly became a curse when you felt your release slipping away from you. More tears rolled down your rosy cheeks as you sobbed, babbling incoherent nonsense both from the pleasure and because of the ball gag.

Vincent grinned and used his hand to turn your head towards him, "You sound so pathetic..." He pushed your head down flat onto his desk, pulling all the way out and thrusted back in.

The tip of his cock kissing your prostate as he moaned. "Don't worry... I'll give it to you soon enough."

He's such a meanie.

© shirakow ! Reblogs are greatly appreciated .

I'm starting to get into soul eater so expect something from that !! Also keep those requests coming <3 I love writing for you guys (even though I rarely post anymore)

ㅤ

[loveandmurders]

Monsters love their wives II (Bo Sinclair x f!reader)

Hello everyone! This is the last part of this mini series about Bo being an idiot and hurting his wife even though he loves her. You can find the first part here.

Hope you'll enjoy <3

Warnings: ANGST, comfort (in a dark way I guess), violence (graphic), blood, murders, fear, strong words, very morally grey reader, toxic relationship, mentions of cheating and sexual activities, mentions of torture, suicide and death, threats of sequestration... But Bo loves you 🥺

Bo had tied up the girl on the chair and had glued her lips together because he didn’t want to hear her screams.

He just needed to take his anger out and she was perfect for that, especially after what she just did. He was beating her with violence and insulting her.

“Ya saw this, whore?” he told her as he showed her his wedding ring “Kissin’ a married man, ya bitch, and believin’ I'd want ya” he said as he punched her face one more time. Her cheeks and eyes were already starting to swollen as her nose and lips were bleeding. He was about to break her fingers one by one, when he heard the door being opened which made him pause. He really hoped it wasn’t you because he didn’t want you to see him covered in blood like that. You were already afraid of him, no need to add more to it.

He was very confused when he saw Vincent coming downstairs and he turned his back to the girl who tried to scream for help.

“Better be important, Vince. Can’t ya see ’m busy right now?” he asked Vincent who started to angrily sign:

"It’s about your wife. Important enough for you?"

“... Ya know she is.” Bo nodded, a little bit worried now.

"Well Y/N thinks you are cheating on her and soon going to kill her! I promise her you were going to kill that bitch in front of her, but you better think of something very fast or you are going to lose her forever."

“What?” Bo was completely taken aback. He felt his heart sinking inside his chest. “But I love her, none of this’ true” he whispered

"Well if you hadn’t fucking hurt her the last morning and if she hadn’t seen you kissing that slut, maybe things would be better right now, fucking idiot!"

“How? What was she doin’ here?” Bo wondered, not even caring about the way Vincent was talking to him.

"Don’t know, don’t care. Bring the girl for a public execution. Because of you, I won’t even be able to use her body for the House of Wax or anything. No need to upset Y/N even more. Good job, really." Vincent paused for a few moments. "Fuck, Bo, don’t tell me you’re cheating on your wife."

“O’course not!” Bo exclaimed as he turned around and gave another vengeful punch on the girl’s face.

She lost consciousness and he started to untie her. Vincent helped Bo bring her back to the house to show you she meant nothing to your husband. 

The eldest Sinclair brother was silent as he was trying to think on how he could fix the situation with you. He also was wondering what you were doing at his garage. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that you came to earn cuddles from him - even if he would have been more than happy to drop his work to show you how sorry he was. 

When you saw the two men in the house, you had to admit you were a little bit relieved to see that Bo’s hands were covered in the girl’s blood and that he didn’t seem like he was in the middle of fucking her when Vincent interrupted him. Bo let the girl fall on the ground without a care in the world and quickly walked to you to cup your face in one hand. You refused to look at him at first but he forced you. He needed to see your eyes and he looked for them before telling you:

“Ain’t cheatin’ on ya, wife”

You swallowed hard and you fought against the thought that he seemed sincere. You removed your face from his hand and looked away. But he grabbed your face once again, in a very gentle way.

“I mean it. Ain’t cheatin’ on ya.” he insisted

“Then why were you kissing that girl?” you asked, gesturing with your head toward the woman

“And what were ya doin’ at the garage?” he asked back and it made you frown.

“Bo” Lester rolled his eyes at his big brother and Vincent also groaned in disapproval at Bo’s question, saving you from answering. 

“Alright, alright” Bo grumbled as he let go of your face and knelt in front of you “She jumped on me, didn’t have time to stop her. Didn’t ya see me pushin’ her away? And once downstairs, I wasn’t… Ya can ask Vince, I was beatin’ her to death when he came. Ya can see the state of her face” he softly told you and you looked at the woman. Vincent roughly grabbed her by the hair to show you her face, and you had to admit she wasn’t looking too good. She groaned in pain as she was slowly getting back to reality.

“What do ya think, sis?” Lester asked you and you nibbled on your bottom lip. 

It was true that it didn’t seem that Bo was cheating on you with that girl in particular. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to kill you, and it didn’t mean you shouldn’t find a way out of Ambrose whenever you would be able to.

“Just kill her already. But not on my floor. I don’t want blood everywhere” you finally replied.

The boys relaxed a little, because you still seemed to consider this house as your home. Hence, it meant you weren’t going to leave. Bo kissed your forehead and you had to resist the urge to flinch away from him. He grabbed the girl by the hair and pulled her out of the house. Lester and Jonesy stayed by your side as the twins quickly put her out of her misery. She was quite lucky you had been there or your husband would have tortured her for hours before killing her. 

“How feelin’?” Lester asked you and you simply shrugged

“Gonna grab that nap now” you replied and he nodded.

“Sounds like a plan, love” he agreed and he helped you to get up and followed you upstairs. He tucked you to bed and wished you to sleep well before closing the door behind him. Jonesy stayed with you and settled at your feet. You took comfort in her presence.

You did sleep a few hours, but you woke up covered in sweat, with the very clear thought that you needed to run away now. You didn’t remember the dream you had before waking up, but it was obviously a nightmare. You were feeling absolutely panicked. It woke up Jonesy who asked to get out of the room. So you got up, opened the door for her and then you frantically started to look for clothes in your wardrobe. You needed to find an outfit you would be comfortable in and you needed good shoes and…

You heard a very soft knock at the door and you froze, as Bo slowly opened it. He was about to ask you how you were doing and if you were hungry, when he saw you. Your hair was sticking to your forehead. You looked like a deer caught in headlights; you looked almost ill. He locked the door before coming closer to you. The gesture alone made you sick.

“Whatcha doin’?” he softly asked, his blue eyes piercing yours. 

“Just… looking for clothes… I need a shower. I’m not feeling too well” you replied, half the truth, aware he would instantly know if you were lying to him.

“Still thinkin’ ‘m cheatin’ on ya?” he asked as he took a step closer to you and your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t trust your voice so you simply shook your head. “But ya’re still afraid ’m gonna kill ya?” he asked again and you cursed yourself for having said that to Vincent and Lester. You should have been smarter.

“I just need a shower. Please let me unlock the door” you said because you were just unable to sincerely reply to this question. You grabbed an outfit, without even really looking at it and you tried to walk past him but he grabbed your wrist.

“I know I shouldn’t’ve hurt ya” he said as he brought you closer to him. He took the clothes you had in your hands and threw them on the bed. He took both of your hands in his. “I was worried my wife wanted to go. O’course, I shouldn’t’ve reacted that way. But even if ya’re afraid of me, for the moment, ya don’t want to go no more? Ya know your place’s in Ambrose, by my side, right? Ya know I want ya and only ya? Ya know I’ll never let ya go anyways?” he whispered to you with a gentle smile

“Is it a threat?” you asked as you tried to stay strong. He quickly shook his head

“Ah baby, it’s just a promise. We’re married, remember? Together 'till the end.” he mused as he stroked your nose with his.

“Yes, untill you kill me” you told him and he looked back at you, his head moving to the side. It was really saddening for him.

“What were ya doin’ at my garage earlier?” he asked but you didn’t answer “where ya trying to find a way out? Did ya think ya could find some help?” he asked and you looked away. He grabbed your face, a little less gently than earlier that day “Answer, Y/N” he sternly told you and you heard the danger just under the surface of his calm voice

“I wanted to find a way out, yes” you admitted and it made Bo groan in anger.

“And why that? Don’t ya know it’s your duty to stay by my side, as my wife?” he asked you as he pushed you against the nearest wall. You just wanted to cry again but you didn’t want to give him that kind of power over you.

“And you, isn’t it your duty to take care of me? To be good to me? As my husband?” you asked back “You hadn’t been nice to me in weeks. You even did this to me then” you continued as you moved a hand on your sore and bruised throat.

Bo stayed silent and his dark demeanour instantly disappeared. He tenderly stroked your cheek before bringing one of your hands to his lips to kiss.

“Don’t be afraid and don’t leave, and things will go back to normal” he promised

“I’m afraid, Bo” you replied

“It won’t happen again. I’ll do better. But don’t try to leave” he warned you

“Or what? You'll kill me?” you insisted, even though you knew you were playing with fire in this instant

“But love, why would I do that?” he asked as he pressed himself even more against you. You could feel his breath against your face “Don’t want to kill my wife. I want ya here, with me, forever” he whispered to you

“You can always ask Vince to turn me into a wax statue” you said and he let escape a humourless laugher

“A wax statue wouldn’t argue, talk and flirt with me, wouldn’t make love to me, wouldn’t tell me it loves me… Ya still love me, wife?” he asked as his lips were almost against yours but you turned your head to the side to prevent him from kissing you “Oh com’on, doll, ‘m missin’ ya so badly” he whined

“So what would you do if I left? You said…” you started but he cut you off

“Ya know that when ‘m angry, I say stuff I don’t mean. But I do mean that ya better don’t try to leave. I would indeed hunt ya down and bring ya back to Ambrose, where ya belong”

“And that’s all?” you asked, you needed to know what Bo had planned for you

“And I would tie ya up on that bed until ya would behave like a good girl. If I need to lock ya up inside the house to keep ya here, be certain it’s what I’ll do, without a second of hesitation. So do I need to tie ya up, love? Or will ya be a good girl to me?” he asked

You didn’t even need to think; you cupped his face with both your hands and you crashed your lips against his. You didn’t want to be tied up. You didn’t want to lose the small freedom you still had by badly reacting now. You were still afraid but you needed to be smart. Bo instantly replied to the kiss, so happy to finally be allowed to touch you that way. He was passionate, but also so gentle with you, as if he was afraid he could break you if he was too forceful. His hands were soon all over your body, enjoying to feel you. You were a drug to him, and not being able to touch you was quickly making him lose it. His lips trailed down from your mouth to your throat. He left very tender little kisses all over your skin, as a silent way to apologise for what he did. 

“Fuckin’ love ya” he whispered to you “Ya know that, right? Would go completely insane without ya in my life. That’s why I can’t let ya go. That’s why I needed us to get married. I’m gonna be good to ya, I swear. As long as ya don’t try to go” he murmured to you in between kisses.

You simply nodded because you had no idea what to answer to this. You were a little bit surprised by such words and touch, and you wanted to believe him. You wanted to let go of your fear of the man, and you wanted things to go back to normal.

But something was broken now, and Bo would need to work very hard to fix this, and a lot of time and patience for things to truly go back to normal.

“Still love me, right?” he insisted because you hadn’t answered when he had first asked you. He slightly moved from you to observe you, eagerly waiting for those three little words to resume his kisses and lovingly caresses. You nodded.

“Of course, I love you” you said and the man instantly smiled and went back to loving on you.

It was then it hit you: you might have married a very dangerous man who could so easily kill you, he was a lost puppy without you.

“Hey, Bo” you said and he looked up at you. “I don’t want you to take care of the women anymore.” you told him

“Anythin’ you wanna” he nodded

“And if you ever hurt me again… I’ll make sure, you’ll never have me again either” you promised him and he frowned without understanding

“What?” he softly asked

“Married 'till the end, you said, and you’re not the only one who can kill me. I can too” you explained and his eyes widened

“Y/N” he whined “Don’t say such things” he whimpered, knowing he wouldn’t last more than a few hours without you in his life. And he couldn’t fight Death. 

His lips found yours again, hoping to make you stop saying such horrible words and promises. He wouldn’t let anything happen to his wife. He would rather die.

However Bo never forgot those words.

Like you never tried to run away from him anymore.

--

Taglist: @murder-hobo - @lacychick ; @magical-sass ; @limehaspassed ; @loveinglymessedup ; @bloodmoon-bites ; @iwantsleepplz ; @kawaistrawberry21

[cherryskyies]

The slashers w an insecure s/o

Includes: Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt

slowly getting through this major writers block. my writing might be dog shit for a few posts but I'm forcing myself to work through it 🩷

Reader is female

Warnings: descriptions of sex (mostly bo section), praise, low self-esteem.

Masterlist || Navigation || ao3

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent doesn't understand it. 

The moment he laid eyes on you he was in awe, knowing immediately he needed you alive. There wasn't enough wax in the world to sculpt you the ways he desired. 

So to see your hesitance at removing your clothing, he was scared you had changed your mind about him — the thought of you being insecure hadn't crossed his mind until you admitted it.

Your cheeks are hot from embarrassment, apologies slipping off your tongue as you dropped your head against his chest. "I'm sorry Vin, I've never liked my body."

He's quick to silently reassure you that he loves all of you, even the parts he hasn't seen with soft hands roaming your delicate body; finger tips gliding over your curves, stopping to lift your face to his – it's a promise.

Vincent will worship the very ground you walk on, making it his goal to show you your beauty through his gentle touches and precise sculptures. You will fill his work space.

Bo Sinclair

"What'dya mean you don't like your body? You've got the best piece of ass I've seen in my life!" Bo exclaims, genuinely confused at your insecurities. 

There is not a chance he'll fully understand, regardless of his own insecurities. Bo looks at you and sees the perfect woman — so what if you have some imperfections? He might as well be blind because he can't see them.

He is very gentle with you though, thoroughly fucking the insecurities away and praising you every chance he gets.

"Look how beautiful you are, cumming all over my cock," Bo praises, forcing you to watch yourself in the mirror he's placed across the room. "So perfect."

Would definitely make you point out features you like on yourself before you can cum. Just seems like that kind of guy.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas would be so heartbroken to hear you say you don't like your appearance. He'd think it's his fault for not appreciating you enough.

The first time you say it, you're both a nervous wreck. 

"It's not you, Tommy. I just.. I've never liked my appearance," you admit, eyes downcast while your hand holds his at the hem of your shirt.

He whines, nuzzling his face in your neck. It's not fair that you feel this way he thinks, you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. 

But he understands, having his own insecurities; so the two of you make a deal to leave the lights off and keep your shirts on until you are more comfortable — which doesn't take long with the way he worships your body. 

With Thomas your insecurities are a thing of the past. 

[lunarmoves]

connected to this drabble!

"that's not sanitary, you know."

you paused, about to take a drink out of your cup of pink lemonade, and glanced up at sun. he watched you from the other side of the security desk, his arms bracing against its lip.

"what is?" you asked in confusion. you looked down at yourself, wondering if there was a stain or something on your uniform, but you were clean.

sun pointed to the cup in your hand, its straw sticking flimsily out of the top cover. "sharing drinks." there was a terseness to his smile despite it being stretched wide across his face in a vain attempt at casualness.

you only shrugged. he'd probably caught you letting the (relatively) new daycare security guard steal a few sips out of your drink before he clocked out for the night. "humans do it all the time, depending. besides, vincent's a friend. i didn't mind sharing with him. he was thirsty."

"that's not the point, friend!" sun exclaimed with a sudden loudness that had you jumping slightly. his pale, white eyes squinted slightly, but not in amusement. "exchanging saliva via straws or other utensils can lead to the transmission of germs and certain dise—"

"whoa, chill, dude! it's not that serious!" you cut off his rant abruptly, waving your free hand in the air. you made a motion to take the straw up in your mouth so you could prove your point, but before you could, sun snatched the cup right out of your hand. you let out an indignant hey! and tried to grab it back from him, but he leaned out of your reach.

"yes it is!" he said stubbornly, his fingers gripping onto the plastic of the cup. his head twitched slightly to the left, rays shifting minutely. "you could get sick! or worse!"

you huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. drama queen. you already knew you weren't getting that drink back. "it was only a few sips, man. besides, vincent doesn't have any diseases."

sun's gaze narrowed, his smile thinning. there was an edge to his words you didn't quite like. "you don't know that."

okay, well, he was right, but you weren't going to admit that. you swapped drinks with friends all the time, it was just something natural at that point in your relationship with them. "i don't know why you're getting so worked up over this," you told him irritably. "i'm sure you've seen kids eat each others' foods and drink each others' drinks all the time."

"that's different!" sun replied in a peevish manner.

you gave him a look that indicated you didn't quite believe him. "how is it different?"

at that, he seemed to pause and flounder for words. his arms moved about in the air in a manner that borderlined erratic. "it's— they're not—"

"i'm starting to think this is less about me and more about vincent," you said flatly as you raised an eyebrow at him.

sun recoiled, rays shrinking down slightly before he forced them back out to their normal size. "don't be silly!" he rushed out. "this isn't about—"

"then what is it about, hm?" you asked as gently as you could, which, in retrospect, wasn't all that. it was getting late and you didn't expect to have to deal with this tonight. "you know, i don't think you like vincent all too—"

"i said this isn't about him!" a burst of pink exploded out from sun's grasp, causing a waterfall to splash down on the desk and floor. you jumped at the abruptness of it, your eyes latching onto the tight grip sun had on your drink. his fingers had punctured holes in it, crushing the plastic until it was jagged and flat.

you stared at it for one moment, two moments, then snapped your gaze up to sun's face plate. he was staring directly at you, white pupils tiny and constricted in grey optics. his smile was wide and strained, his fingers twitching minutely at his side.

you swallowed heavily, and in a small, small voice, you said "...sun?"

the word seemed to breathe life back into him. he blinked and darted his gaze down to his hand. "oh!" he jumped slightly and loosened his grip just a tad. "silly me! sometimes i don't realize my own strength!" his body restarted that idle swaying motion it always seemed to have, and you distantly wondered when he had stopped it. "you stay right there friend! i'll get this all cleaned up in a jiffy!"

and then he skittered away, leaving you to stare blankly down at the waterlogged remains of your ruined drink.