#g: black PRS

[kaus-quietis]

iYeRkFolYeXnwiROkbdGsDrCelDVomRksXc cYwEmRzvOKceBOdRKdsDpOOvCVsuOZKsX cYOXdgSxoNxYgdRKdgOMkX'DcRKuOPbOO S kW iYe kxN iYe kbO Wo

[b3crew]

Shameless Tuesdays: Livre 133 | Aly G | B3 - Boston Bastard Brigade

Her name may match a certain Sacha Baron Cohen character, but unlike the faux chav, Brooklyn's Aly G keeps it real and on the streets. Her attitude roars like a fire in her recent song "Super Power", as she whoops the asses of any mugger or attacker with her words. The same can be said about her previous (and debut) single "Build It Up", which proudly raises a middle finger against gentrification. With these two songs, Aly G is proving to the masses why you wouldn't wanna mess with her space! And to keep building it up, Aly G's prepped a super-powered Shameless Tuesdays to keep the foundation shaking!

[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.

[sassycheesecake]

MEET AND GREET DAY 1:

#13, Setter Atsumu Miya of the MSBY Black Jackals

Man’s flirtin' with ya nonstop

The moment you step up to the M&G, it’s like the heavens have send him an angel

Usually Atsumu has a problem with shutting his mouth, but when he saw you, he was lost for words

He calls you lots of nicknames and you’re almost a melting puddle at hearing his Kansai dialect in person

Atsumu keeps giving you this look with his hooded eyes, along with his lazy smirk(YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHICH ONE I MEAN)

Of course, Atsumu’s teammates are used to his flirty nature with some people, they know it’s a show he puts on in front of the world

A cocky, arrogant and overconfident bastard can actually be a funny, loving and protective person in private

They watch with high interest from the sidelines, because the usual confident smartass is actually nervous and gives out an honest smile, not the usual fake ones he uses with the press

But they obviously wouldn’t be teammates if they don’t tease each other once in a while

"Tsum-Tsum it’s been almost 15 minutes since the game, why is your face still so red?" Bokuto’s comment turns Atsumu’s face a couple more shades red and the Setter wishes to sink into the next hole in the ground

ANYWHO

With one unfortunately not too long lasting hug, you say your goodbyes and without your knowing, the sandy-blonde Setter looks longingly after you, like he just said goodbye to his lover

It’s like almost there was a voice inside his head, telling him to run after you

Get a full name, a number, an email, anything he can get so he can contact you

So when the Setter runs after you, ignoring the staff team’s shouts and yelling, he still can see the back of your outfit and he calls after you

Hearing your name being called out in a deep familiar voice, you turn around and find the sandy-blonde Setter halting to a stop right in front of you

Atsumu rambles on about feeling his heart beat faster whenever you speak or look at him and the sandy-blonde has never felt this way before

After a bashful goodbye and an exchange of numbers, the two of you part ways with exciting smiles on your faces

As soon as the blonde twin enters the locker room, he can’t contain his excitement anymore

"Guess who just got himself a number by a gorgeous fan!" 😍😍 Atsumu is so happy he could shout it from the stadium’s rooftops

Despite getting a good chewing out by his captain, coach and PR team, Atsumu doesn’t hesitate to contact you that same night, asking you out on a date ❤️

[spidybaby]

We never go out of style

Summary: Pedri agrees to let you be his stylist for the day and change his wardrobe for the better.

Warnings: cursing.

A/N: a little something because I know how much we loved the Mercier look for the party. He looked so good, and I couldn't help myself thinking about what it would be to help him change his style.

"Can I be your stylist today?" You ask Pedri

You notice how he's looking for an outfit for the reunion at Pablo's house. He loves a good blue jeans and some random t-shirt he has.

But you know he got some pr sent to him from the Brand Mercier, and you already made a few outfits in your head for him.

"I promise it will look good in the end." You smile.

He narrows his eyes to you, not sure about that. He knows you have an amazing style, but he's not the type to take a lot to get dressed.

"I'm not sure if I want to try a new style today, preciosa."

You pout, all your ideas for his outfit thrown down now that he declined your offer of styling his outfit.

"Can I at least give you a recommendation?" You ask. He nods, moving to let you pick something and showing it to him. "What about this?"

You grab some white muslin cargo pants, a plain black shirt, not too tight, not too loose. And pair it with his white D&G portofino sneakers.

"If you don't like it, I get it, but at least give it a try."

You go back to finishing your hair, letting him decide if he wants to wear the clothes you picked or if he wants to go with his own picks.

"Ready, preciosa?" He asks.

You turn, noticing how he's wearing the outfit you picked for him. You smile at him, loving how the outfit fits his aura.

"You picked my choice!"

He laughs at how excited you look. "I did, me veo bien?" (Do I look good?) He asks, posing for you.

"Muy guapo." You hug him, giving him a small peck. "Let's go, we don't want to be late."

When you two arrive at the reunion, Pedri gets a lot of compliments. Every room he enters, a compliment. Every person he greets, a compliment.

"Platanito." Ferran shakes him by the shoulders. "Joder! You got better at dressing yourself or what?" He jokes.

Pedri smiles, rolling his eyes at his friends tease. "I got myself a stylist." He laughs, turning to you.

"Finally!" Pablo says. "That person did an amazing job because this suits you."

You smile, not revealing you are the creator of his outfit. Letting him get all the compliments and the attention.

"Can you help me with my outfit?" He asks you from the closet. "Por favor."

You were watching a movie with him, but he got a call from his agent to go to a quick meeting with him and some other players that were represented by him.

"Si, let me pull you something together."

You take a few minutes to pick the right things. Not wanting to go out of his comfort zone but not wanting the skinny jeans to make a comeback.

"Do you have your blue sambas?"

"I do. I never thought I was going to wear them, but I think I was wrong."

"Put them on. It will make a difference with the outfit."

You let him finish his dressing on his own, walking to his bathroom and picking his favorite perfume.

"Let me spray you." You ask him, signaling him to open his arms so you sprayed his chest area. "That's it."

He smiles, taking a turn to show you his outfit, you smile at how confident and happy he looks.

"A model," you joke. Pecking him. "Go already, so you can come back quickly." You jokingly push him out of the room.

He got the same reactions he got at the party, everybody was telling him how amazing he looked.

How this new style fits him better than the skinny jeans, how it makes him look more mature and more presentable.

He was over the moon with how many people around him and even on the internet because Fer sent him some tweets he saw were praising him.

"I need your stylist number." Ferran says. "I want to update my closet."

He smirks. Nobody knew it was you because you let him have the shine and the praise. "You have her number already."

"Really?" Ferran sks, confused. "Is someone we met before?"

"It's Y/n." He confess.

Ferran was surprised. He praised how good you were at styling your outfits, but he never thought Pedri would agree to change his comfort style to experiment.

"Would you be mad if I ask her to help me with my style?"

Ferran is your friend, you two have a good relationship. But he asked pedri first because he didn't want things to get misinterpreted.

"Just don't copy my new style." He jokes. Hitting Ferran on the head. "Adiós, tiburón. See you at training."

Pedri drove back to his place. You were waiting for him there. He walks into his room, noticing you were playing on his iPad.

"I'm back, amor." He got closer, kissing your forehead.

"Hola!" You grab his cheeks. "How was your night?"

He taps his nose to yours, rubbing it in an Eskimo kiss. You love it when he does that. "I missed you." He kisses your nose and your cheek.

"Missed you too."

He hugs you, you wrap your arms around him and pushed him down with you. Making him lay down on top of you.

"Ferran asked me if it was true that I was the one who is behind your new style."

"Es un tonto." He laughs. "He wants you to help him too. But you're not allowed to give your best ideas to him, save those for me."

"You always get the best of me, guapo."

"As I should." He laughs, kissing you.

You love how confident Pedri has become since he decided to change his style for the better. He loves being praised.

"Pedri is so happy with you." Ferran says. "He's also so confident now. Love suits the two of you."

You blush at his words. You love hearing how Pedri is happy to be with you. Mostly because you are very happy to be with him.

"We are here, niña." Ferran parks in front of Pedri's house. He was standing in front of his door waiting for you. "Lover Boy waiting for his princess." He jokes. Making you laugh with him.

"Adiós, Ferran." You kiss his cheek goodbye. "Thank you for today, it was fun."

"Thank you, I love you for helping me. And don't worry, I will make it up to you."

You shake your head, opening the door and walking out of the car. "Adiós, Fer!"

He waved back again. "Adiós, Pedri." He shouts as he drives off.

You walk to the entrance of his house, he's waiting with open arms for you. "How was it, preciosa?"

"Mmm, kiss me first." You smile, grabbing his face and planting a kiss to his lips. "I love you so much."

He smiles into the kiss, he loves how your love language is physical touch. You are clingy in a good way. And he can't complain because he loves it as much as you do.

"It was so good, so fun." You say.

You helped Ferran with his closet renovation, helping him with the shopping and picking some outfits for the next games they have.

Pedri can't deny he felt a little jealous, not from Ferran in a bad way. But about how he ignored how much you loved doing styling jobs.

And he feels like the way you help his friend is to get him to a next fashion level. He's not a fashion icon, he's not Jules Koundé.

But he's ready to let you do what you asked him to do many times. He is going to let you change his style.

"And I got myself a bag." You lift the paper bag from the store. Showing off your purchase. "It was so much fun." You finish with the story of how your day with ferran was.

He warms dinner for you, you talk with him about his schedule, planning for a dinner date.

"Hey, are you free tomorrow?"

"I am." You say thinking. "Just need to pick my pills from the pharmacy. Why?"

He doesn't know how to ask, he feels weird because of all the times he declined your help, saying that he knew what his style was like.

"Want to go shopping with me?"

Your eyes light up, you were so happy he asked you that. "Si!" You smile like the Alice in Wonderland cat. "But first, we have to do a purge of your closet."

"Let's eat dinner and go do that."

You two talked about what kind of clothes he wanted to include into his style and what kind he wants to stop wearing.

"You are going to hate me." You say, walking with a box that you marked as "donations".

You place it on the floor in the middle of his walk-in closet. He rolls his eyes in a funny way. He knows this would be hard but he needs to.

"Preciosa, don't worry, you have full permission to do what you think is right."

You have a devious smile. Your eyes are already on his cut-off skinny jeans. He follows your gaze. Shaking his head and walking closer to the jeans.

"Give it." You order. "Now."

"But I wanted to take them for vacations."

You let him think you moved from them. Grabbing some Jean shorts, putting them into the box.

"Any jackets, mi amor?" You ask, making him turn.

You grab the jeans quietly and put them on the side of the box. He was picking two jackets that were not a fit for him.

"Seriously?" He asks, noticing the Jeans on the box. "Y/n!"

"I love you." You smile at him. Grabbing the jackets and putting them on top of his jeans. "Back off, Pedro."

"It's Pedriiiii." He laughs, making the i sound for long. "Repeat after me. Pe."

"Pe." You roll your eyes at him, smiling.

"Dri"

"Dri."

"Pedri." He smiles.

"Pedri!" You smile. "Pass me the t-shirts you want to let go of, Pedri."

"Mhm, that's better." He kisses the top of your head, handing you the clothes. "I'll pick you up tomorrow, and we can go to the mall early so we don't find that many people."

"Okay, Pedri." You joke with him.

"It's amor, for you." He pouts, kissing your lips.

"Turn around." You say, clapping your hands at the sight of him. "Joder, you look so good."

"You think so?" He asks, blushing a little. "Isn't this jacket too much?"

You walk over to him, fixing the necklace of the jacket and fixing his hair. "Look at yourself." You point at the mirror. He turns, eyes on yours. "Do you like how you look?"

"It's new to me because I never wore this type of style."

"But are you okay with the idea of wearing this? Do you feel uncomfortable?" You ask him, again.

"I don't, I like the way I look so much!"

You smile, giving him more options. "You look amazing, Pepi." You say. "The last few clothes."

He nods, walking fast to the fitting room. He changed again, walking out for you to see him. "That's amazing, my boyfriend is a piece of cake." You take pictures of him to show him how good he looks on photos.

"Thank you for doing this with me, I love you for always having time for me and for always making me feel good in everything I want to wear."

"Don't thank me, I'll be there for you no matter how atrocious your outfits are." You pitch his cheeks, making him laugh. "No, really. I'm here for you, always."

Yourusername has added to their story

Pedri has added to his story

[volleychumps]

HEY, HEY, HEY!! I love your Haikyuu fics, so I was wondering if you could make a fic where the reader is an absolute simp for the boys and shows her lovesickness no matter what, she'd have nosebleeds, compliments them every single time, has literal albums and photos of them everywhere on their phone or at home, she always treats them like kings, etc. The boys could be Bokuto, Akaashi Kuroo, Kenma, Kags, Tsuki, Miya Twins, Sakusa, Ushijima, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Yamaguchi, Tendou if possible

*you can choose from these if you can't write for them all, i dont mind :>

*you can also make them fem or g/n, whichever your comfortable with

- I suddenly remembered that i loved ur reader wears their jerseys fic, so i was wondering if you can make smth like that. But no pressure!! Have a great dayyy💗💗

When You're a Hardcore Simp (w/ Bokuto, Kageyama, Sakusa, and Iwaizumi) x Fem! Reader

HAHA WHAT UP GANG- wait sorry if this isn't as good as my usual stuff, let's see if I can ease back into it <3

warning(s): manga spoilers!!! In Bokuto and Sakusa's. Mention of slight blood in Bokuto's. (like a nosebleed)

Bokuto

“Y/N, you’re embarrassing. Since when were you a loser?”

You dab at the dark red liquid under your nose, a satisfied smile on your face as the owlish-haired man spikes a cross-spike across the court in an astonishing manner, the crowds of people in awe at the ace’s movements. Your eyes trace his broad shoulders, the black uniform stretched to fit his body handsomely with a confident tinge in his golden eyes. His arms-

You sigh dreamily, Kuroo Tetsurou rolling his eyes from next to you as Bokuto leaps in joy, slapping Hinata on the back and bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“Jealousy is a disease, Tetsurou.” You don’t let the tall raven-haired boy damper your mood, wondering how you got so lucky as Bokuto drinks in the cheers from the audience. Kuroo rolls his eyes, reaching in his gym bag for a pack of tissues before offering you one as he leans on the railing. You accept it, taking your eyes off the love of your life momentarily to tilt your head upwards. 

“At least I don’t act like a perv in public.” Kuroo snips, eyeing you carefully as you glare at your long-term friend from high school. “Hey, are you okay? This isn’t normal, you know.”

“I’m good.” 

“You sure about that?” Kuroo nods at the court, and your eyes meet Bokuto’s golden irises all the way from where you’re standing near the upper-railing as a grin stretches across his handsome features, closing his eyes while waving in your direction with both of his arms in large gestures. Your eyes fill with adoration again, turning away quickly as the blood flow increases out of your nose.

“Nope! I take it back, my heart can’t handle this.” 

Kuroo scoffs, practically seeing hearts in your eyes as Bokuto wilts on the court as you turn your back to him. 

“Is Y/N avoiding me?” He frowns as Atsumu snickers, Sakusa shaking his head in slight disgust and disbelief at how unbelievably down bad you were. Atsumu points into the crowd with a smirk, Bokuto’s eyes lighting up at the sight of you leaning across the railing with your hands cupped to your mouth. 

“I LOVE YOU KOUTAROU!!!!” Your voice booms among the cheers of the audience, but Bokuto hears it so clearly. Kuroo is holding your waist back in annoyance at the attention you were getting from onlookers nearby, keeping you from falling off the railing. Bokuto’s eyes sparkle as he laughs at the dramatic kisses you were blowing in his direction. “YOU’RE SO HANDSOME-!” 

“I LOVE YOU MORE BABY!!!” He’s giddy, warmth evident in his features as his manager palms his face in absolute exhaustion. Hinata waves excitedly to both you and Kuroo as Sakusa and Atsumu raise a single hand in greeting. Talk about a PR disaster. 

Your cheers are loud in his ears as the Black Jackals take the final set, and Bokuto looks as handsome as ever with sweat trickling down his temple, his arms bulging with heavy use as he winks at you from up in the stands. You squeal when he motions to the passes around yours and Kuroo’s neck to come down for special access to the court. 

“I take it back.” Kuroo is annoyed and exhausted as you leap into the Ace’s arms with a squeal, Bokuto catching you by the thighs as you wrap your legs around his middle section in a passionate kiss, obviously unable to keep your hands off each other. 

“You’re both losers. Get a room before the press attacks.” 

Kageyama

“Stop wasting your money, Y/N.” Kageyama chastises you quietly, a box of white milk tapping the edge of his desk as your little school girl skirt takes the seat in front of him, an easy smile on your features as the tips of his ears burn a bright pink. 

“Waste?” You frown, tilting your head a little bit with your cheek in your palm. “Why is it a waste if my baby likes it?” 

Kageyama’s cheeks flare up next, obviously short-circuiting as you withhold a giggle, Hinata watching the exchange with a slight pout on his lips. 

“So cruel, Y/N-chan, you’re breaking our setter.” The orange-haired first year complains. “And you didn’t get me anything!”

“You know I’d never forget you, Sho.” You roll your eyes, a can of orange juice hitting the edge of Hinata’s desk yet as his eyes brighten tenfold, excitedly popping open the beverage as Kageyama embarrassedly distracts himself by sticking the straw into the box. You smile a little knowing grin as he refuses to meet your eyes, but it’s obvious it became less special to him when you got one for his idiot friend as well.

Casually, you reach a hand out to grab Kageyama’s hand as he internally combusts at the actions, holding a conversation with Hinata in the midst of it as you play with the tips of his fingers. 

Kageyama’s jaw slackens, the softness of your hands making his head spin in a good way before you make eye contact with him. You looked at him with so much love in your eyes, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

“Break time’s over! I’ll see you later, Sho.” You grin at your friend as Kageyama looks at you in expectation, and you try not to coo at the hopefulness in his blue irises before leaning down, kissing his cheek softly and so sweetly even Hinata has to look away with a blush. 

“I’ll see you later, Tobio.” You cup his cheeks afterwards, kissing the tip of his nose for good measure before beginning to bounce off with a giggle. “Have a good practice later, okay?” 

Tobio sits there for a second before a puff of smoke almost visibly comes out of his head, cheeks a deeper red than ever before. Hinata groans, calling after you as you skip your way out of his classroom. 

“This time I really think you broke him Y/N-chan!” 

Sakusa

“Yer’ so down bad it’s laughable.” Osamu quips, and you look at him in false offense, sporting Sakusa’s jersey number as well as his number written on your cheek in black paint. The black jackals cap sitting atop your head tilted slightly to the side, as if you have no idea what the hell he was talking about. 

“I don’t know why you would think that.” 

“Don’t piss me off.” 

You laugh, Osamu humming in content as he lazily watches his brother get blatantly rejected by your boyfriend in his attempt of a double high five as the game nears its close. You bite back a smile at the subtle, knowing glance he sends your way, stomach fluttering in anticipation of seeing Sakusa after his game.

“Ya look like a crazy fan that he should get a restraining order against.” Osamu continues, nudging your shoulders as you pout. 

“Do you think it’s embarrassing? Maybe Omi thinks it’s silly?” You question the shop-owner, beginning to smudge off the ink on your cheeks as your mood dips, Osamu blinking once before beginning to feel a little bad he made you insecure. Instead, he clicks his tongue, reaching out to help clean up the now smudged mess on your cheeks.

“If yer’ gonna wipe it off, at least get it off all the way.” 

“No!” You exclaim with puffed out cheeks, astonished he would even offer as you take an abrupt step back. “Only Omi can touch my face.” 

Osamu blinks at you again in disbelief, slightly impressed at the public display of your loyalties at 100% before getting annoyed again. “Oi. Don’t make me out to be some sort of-” 

“Good girl.” Your eyes light up as Sakusa taps a hand on your head, scowling at the inky mess on your cheeks before meeting Osamu with a deadpan stare. “What happened to my jersey number?” 

Osamu’s eyes flit between the two of you as Atsumu can’t help but burst out laughing from the court below, the cook coming to a slow realization as Sakusa turns your head to the side with a slight pinch in your cheeks with one hand, a sanitizing wipe doing just the trick as you meet his seemingly indifferent stare with a look of pure adoration. 

He’s just as whipped as you are. 

Sakusa finishes ridding your cheeks of ink before tugging you along, bringing his mask up over his face as you hum giddily, smile etched into your features when he stops outside the locker room with an outstretched hand. 

“It’s not embarrassing?” Your voice is quiet as you look up at him with a hopeful glint in your eyes, putting the black paint marker into his hand as Sakusa rolls his eyes. He writes #15 in elegant strokes on your clean skin, laser focused, capping the marker after in satisfaction. 

“No.” His response is simple as he tugs down his mask to place a quick kiss on your eyelid, a heat warming your cheeks as Sakusa hesitates for a second before placing one on your lips as well, sending your heart soaring wildly. 

He’s already walking ahead of you as you stare after him in slight bewilderment for a second, already bounding up next to him as you slip your hand into his. 

“Thought it was too public for you, Omi.” 

“That’s your prize for not letting Miya touch what’s mine.” 

Iwaizumi

“Y/N’s rizz is unmatched, as always.” 

Matsukawa grins into his canned coffee at lunch time, watching as you somehow manage to get Iwaizumi to smile a bit in the selfie you were taking, a flirtatious wink in your eye as your hand cups his cheek lovingly. Iwaizumi nods in quiet approval at the bento you had made for him, shooting you a small loving look he only reserves for you before tugging you into his lap casually. 

“I still don’t understand how Iwa pulled someone as adoring as Y/N.” Hanamaki whistles lowly, Oikawa nodding in agreement with a grin. 

“She’s such a simp.” 

“We’re sitting right here, what the hell.” You glare a little bit at the three of them as Iwa matches your action, Oikawa almost laughing at the uncharacteristic expression on your face you obviously adopted from your boyfriend. 

“I’m not a simp!” You proclaim as Iwaizumi arches an eyebrow amusedly, but doesn’t say anything. “You can’t prove it.” 

“Turn your phone around.” Hanamaki doesn’t miss a beat, finishing off his own bento as you wilt a little, showing the clear phone case littered with heart stickers and a single polaroid photo of Iwaizumi overlooking a strawberry patch. Iwaizumi looks away to hold back his expression, but the guys could tell from his eyes he was pretty happy.

“Most girls do this.” 

“Uh-huh.” Matsukawa’s next, smirk beginning to tickle the edge of his lips. “What do you have his name under in your phone?” 

“Iwa.” 

“Why are you lying for fun.” Oikawa plucks the phone out of your hand, ignoring your whine of protests before showing the group your blatant lie. “I’m pretty sure this says ‘Future Handsome (DILF) Husband’”.

“See, that was a typo.”  But your cheeks give your poor lie away anyways, upset at how Iwaizumi begins to hide his grin in your neck and hold you a little tighter in his lap. 

“Is this not a whole album dedicated to your relationship with him- how the absolute hell do you have 600 images of him? I only have one and it’s from fourth grade!” Oikawa’s rant of complaints is cut off by you snatching the phone out of his grasp, before pushing off of Iwaizumi’s lap to run out of the room in embarrassment. Iwaizumi’s mood darkens, turning to his friends as Oikawa freezes up with a nervous grin on his face.

“Too far?” 

“You three are apologizing to her later.” Iwaizumi doesn’t leave room for comments, his tone changing drastically into a shy mutter as he stalks out of the classroom to go find you. 

“Even if she is a bit of a simp.” 

“You say that like you didn’t spend a year and half liking her, Iwa-chan!”

[bbjobo]

Hello hi it’s me, your resident entertainment PR enthusiast. I simply need to talk about the sequel announcement. This is all speculation, but I work in entertainment-adjacent communications and once convinced a household name celebrity to stay at my event to do select press interviews when his wife was going to go into labor at literally any minute, so I like to think I've got a pretty good sense of all of this.

So buckle in, because I'm about how actually fantastic this rollout was, because I’d wager they’ve been planning this since the premiere. 

RWRB came out truly smack-dab in the middle of the actors' strike. We all know just how much press we must have missed out on, because the strike started before promo would have kicked off in earnest. And when it was finally over in November, the actors are potentially out of contract for promotion, and that’s not even taking into consideration that the holidays are coming up and the six weeks from American Thanksgiving to New Year’s is truly a black hole of press. So this little movie has to rely almost entirely on fan reaction and word of mouth to hit because they’re so limited in what they can do for promo. And it IS a hit! Records are broken! Comments for an extended version (which, ok Matthew we get it, does not exist) and a sequel start almost immediately.

The marketing team makes the most of what they’ve got: they’re keeping up the official character accounts, they’re dropping deleted scenes and BTS. We get cornettos! The fireside scene! Bloopers! Notably absent? Brownstone Thanksgiving. We’ve seen BTS photos of it, we know it exists. Thanksgiving 2023 would have been a great time to drop it, but they don’t. This is the approximate point at which my own personal sequel speculation began. After the strike ends, the posting pace slows considerably but it’s still consistent. It’s just enough to keep it in your mind but not enough to be like “why are you still posting this much about it?” And this continues into 2024.

On the contracting side, conversations were likely actively happening at this point. I wouldn’t be surprised if negotiations picked up literally as soon as the strike ended. The producers would have had that time to get Matthew and Casey back on board and be fully prepped and ready to move on to contracting actors the minute they could. It’d be a shot in the dark to try to guess when these were finalized, but at some point between November 9 and May 9, yeah, they’re in.

But whew, Nicholas is booked and BUSY. Mary & George drops internationally March 5, The Idea of You closes SXSW on March 17, two weeks later M&G starts airing in the US and Canada, and a month after that, TIOY is available for streaming (and limited theatrical release, which is another whole post), and in between all those premieres, he’s everywhere. He’s criss-crossing the country (and tbh the Atlantic Ocean) for all of these appearances, truly going non-stop. The pacing of the premieres makes it nearly impossible to squeeze in another project announcement, and if they had, it would have been a bigger part of every interview he did after, which is something his own team would be working to balance. Plus between TIOY and RWRB, Prime would have been pitching stories against themselves. Better to let him finish out his other promotional appearances and then switch over.

At the same time, we’ve got awards and red carpet season starting. At nearly every red carpet appearance not for their own projects, both Taylor and Nick are asked about a sequel. If an interviewer is given enough time, they ask about a sequel. Sure, fans comment about a sequel on every vaguely rwrb social post from an official account, but the press asking about a sequel felt like a lot to me. Everyone always gave the same vague answer, that they’d be up for it if the story is right, that they don’t know but would be happy to. (Except one time, Nick does slip up and give an answer that feels a little more definitive here where he says “conversations are being had” all the way back in late February/early March). Press are asking the question so consistently that it felt like if it wasn’t happening, PR teams would have put the sequel on the do not ask list.

Then Prime starts actually ramping up on a FYC campaign for the movie. I'm gonna be honest, I was so surprised. It's a rom com, the odds of a rom com getting any sort of awards recognition is so slim, but I thought, "ok, sure, use FYC as a way to get the promo boost they need for an announcement of whatever's coming next." And then I looked up and Variety has picked it as the winner in the best television movie category, which is blowing my mind. The other categories they're submitting in are stacked and I think a nomination beyond television movie will be a long shot, but again, it's big for it to even be considered. And if they're being talked about, that means Prime's gotta put out a great showing for their FYC campaign.

Which brings us to this week. We start off on Monday with Nick at the Met Gala referring to Uma as his mother-in-law. Incredible. Love it. Wednesday and Thursday are a one-two punch of a FYC event and fan event, and the gang’s all here. At the FYC, we get the industry side of things: new portraits and interviews with Deadline, process talk, etc. Because this little rom com is actually doing pretty well and beating the odds? Knowing what we know now, the PR teams spent this week pre-briefing the press on the sequel announcement. Notable (at least to my knowledge) the sequel question doesn't get asked at the FYC event. Because the press already knows it's coming.

Now, on to yesterday. They do a fan screening and Q&A, and they literally roll out the red carpet. Nine months after the premiere and exactly six months after the strike ended, they get the gang back together with fans of the movie, who they relied on so heavily during the strike to help make the movie a success. The tagline on the screen’s giant promo image has been updated to specifically thank fans for “making history with us.” The moderator for the Q&A is the same person who interviewed Taylor and Nick at the beginning of FYC campaign season, their first joint interview since GQ (right? pretty sure. it's all a blur tbh). And at the end of the Q&A, minutes before 12 AM ET, when the embargo on the press release would have lifted, they make the announcement not to press, but to the fans. The fans who loved the book, who watched it over and over, who spread the word about the movie to help make it one of Prime’s top three rom coms OF ALL TIME.

It’s just… an absolute masterclass in how to execute a major announcement that embraces the fans in a time where fandom and interaction between creators and fans can be an absolute minefield. Prime saw the opportunity to lean into the fannishness of it all and they took it and it was a slam dunk.

So where do we go from here? IDK but here’s some unconnected thoughts in list form like Alex would want.

The book’s 5th anniversary is next Wednesday, the 14th.

Casey’s been posting about working on [redacted] for months at this point, which is almost certainly the screenplay

Nick mentioned needing to be back in the UK for filming soon

They would probably like to release this in US election off-cycle years, so that means 2025 or 2027 (and 2027 is too far away). 2026 would be less bad since it’s a midterm election, but still.

Filming could reasonably start sooner rather than later, and even without an unfinished script

I guess we’re back on content watch for blond hair and BTS pictures

[toxicanonymity]

the narrative.

4.7k, darkish!Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

"Control the narrative. You probably say that when you cum." - Roman Roy, Succession, s1 e1. PREMISE: Javi is in the middle of a publicity disaster due to his illegal activities and big mouth. Enter you (and he will). Penthouse vibe and attire inspired by Justified City Primeval. WARNINGS: I8+ ONE SHOT, dark(ish?) Javi, canon-typical lack of realism, drug references, gratuitous bulge, alcohol, praise, mention of someone sucking Javi's dick in the past, unprofessional behavior, power dynamics, pressure, DUBCON unsafe p in v (etc.), mild gun play, romance. A/N: Dedicated to @noxturnalpascal 🖤 Never thought I'd start the year with this guy, but thots happened. I only have one other Javi G. fic.

When you show up to Javi's home in the Hollywood hills, you're mildly surprised the car is stopping. It looks like any other skyrise. It's not his main residence, but he has the whole top floor to himself. You’ve refreshed yourself on the task during the ride – Javi Gutierrez is a PR nightmare lately, and he needs to be reminded how to handle press, especially questions about his recent run-ins with the law and ties to his family business. You'll run through a few practice questions with him, refresh him on the way to his event, and say goodbye. It should be simple. 

On your way into Javi’s building, the concierge greets you, then makes polite conversation as he escorts you to the penthouse. 

"Mr. Gutierrez already has company," he mentions as he uses a key card then holds the door open for you. 

You step into Javi’s apartment and the door closes behind you. It feels intrusive, just showing up in his personal space without someone to introduce you.  It's quiet for a moment, and you take in the opulence -- the sky high ceilings, the glittery floor sparkling under your modest wedge heels. You adjust your little black dress and fix your hair, then stand and wait with your bag.

You take a deep, calming breath. At least this isn’t a celebrity you have a crush on. He isn’t necessarily your type. He seems like such a teddy bear. He’ll be cool. He’s down to earth, you tell yourself, but can’t think of any evidence to support that claim. What kind of company does he have, you wonder. Is it a woman?

"One more, one more," Javi begs out of view, and your breath hitches at his voice. It's not the pitch or measured cadence you hear in the movies or even interviews. It's deep, gruff, and unpolished. "One more, Nick." 

Your heart jumps at the name. 

Nick sighs. "Alright, what are we drinking to?"

"Balas y drogas," Javi booms. (Bullets and drugs). "Brindemos" (cheers). 

"As always," Nick monotones, and you hear their glasses clink. A few seconds later, boots begin to click and echo, and they're coming in your direction. 

Entranced by the sparkle of the floor, you see a pair of snakeskin boots cross in front of you first. The boots pause, and your gaze pans up over his unexpectedly bare legs, which are muscular and only slightly hairy. Your eyes continue up over the swell of his thighs, and then–by the time you see it, it’s too late not to look right at it--a generous bulge under a blue striped swimsuit. You yank your eyes upward so fast, you almost don't see the gold pistol he’s holding at his side. Javi raises an empty highball glass, gestures it toward you, and you're studying the rings his hand when he complains, "You are early." He taps a ring on the glass and looks around behind you. “They sent you alone?”

“Yes, Mr. Gutierrez.” You introduce yourself. When you speak, he holds surprisingly warm eye contact, given his opening line. It feels like he’s really seeing you, maybe even connecting with you. 

“Please, call me Javi.” He walks around the counter and makes no effort to close his silk robe, trailing behind him.  "Make yourself a drink," he nods toward a wet bar behind him as he puts his glass in the sink. His curls are a mess, but he doesn't look bad. His strong chest glistens under his gold chain.  "Make Nick something, too. NICK--" 

"I'm right here, Javi. I really have to go." Nick greets you with an unenthused nod, "Hi,” then his phone rings and he quickly bids farewell to Javi: "I'll see ya later bud." Nick slowly staggers toward the door as he answers the phone. 

-

As the door closes behind Nick, Javi watches your face. "He has a key, you know. He'll be back," then he again urges you toward the wet bar, slightly more politely this time.  "Please, help yourself.  Why did they send you so early?"

"I'm an hour late," you tell him. His security team stalled you because he wasn’t ready.

He looks at his gold watch. "Mierda" (Shit). He meets your gaze again with apologetic eyes. "An hour late. . . maybe I do like you. . ."  The third time he refers you to the bar, you go around the counter and at least browse his liquor selection. 

A few minutes later, you're mindlessly reading the liquor bottles when you see a reflection in a bottle of mezcal. Something moves behind you.

"Tequila," Javi murmurs a few inches from your ear. “If you cannot decide.” You stiffen but manage not to jump, or so you think. "Relax, mamacita.” A large, warm hand comes to your bare shoulder, making your chest get hot. Javi’s lips brush the shell of your ear. “Relax,” he repeats. “It is only Javi.” He smells faintly of pipe or hookah smoke.

He lingers for a moment, smells your hair, then his hand trails down your bicep, and butterflies rush through your body so fast you have to step away.  He looks only slightly bemused. He checks you out even more obviously this time, then silently walks backwards through the kitchen, and you forget not to stare. You follow the way the light highlights his little belly. His happy trail leads you right to the slight swing and jiggle of the massive lump precariously contained by that swimsuit. How much of it is balls, you wonder. And at that moment, he reaches down to adjust himself before turning around and heading to his bedroom. 

Your face is on fire, and you’re tingling down South. You pour yourself a drink. You need one. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer quite a view of the city. It feels like Javi is taking a long time. In the distance, he begins to sing. You didn’t expect to be attracted to him, but now you have this feeling in your chest, like you’re waiting for a date with someone you like. Someone you’re still getting to know. You try to brush it off and not read too much into the look in his eyes. He’s an actor. He probably knows how to make people feel special, you remind yourself, but you can’t help but feel a little giddy as you wait. 

You take a seat on his velvet sectional. You sip your drink and begin to feel more confident. When you go to put your drink down on the nearest coffee table, there isn't much space amid the array of empty bottles and glasses, and a hookah. You set your drink on a silver tray, and only then do you realize you've disrupted the geometric residue of tiny white lines. “Shit,” you whisper. 

While Javi gets ready, you read some of his past quotes to the press. It messes with your head. Sure, he was rude to you at first, but then so warm. There’s one particular quote you’re stuck on. It isn’t too hard to imagine him saying something like this. You catch yourself feeling sad about it, not because it was so rude of him, but because of the insinuation of him with another woman.  In your mind, you know this feeling is irrational after having only interacted with Javi for only a moment. You have to compose yourself into professional mode again. 

—-

Javi returns freshly showered, wearing slacks and a patterned, long-sleeve, button-up shirt that hugs his biceps. He checks you out as he fastens his last cuff link. Then he sucks in his stomach and tucks in his shirt by shoving his hands all the way into his pants. He keeps eye contact with you as he tucks in the front, and finishes it off with a subtle cup of his balls. Then he stands normally again, and the curve of his little belly presses against the shirt above his pants. He doesn't put on a belt. He gestures for you to walk in front of him. 

Javi stays close on the way downstairs. On the elevator, you can feel his breath on your cheek. When the doors open, his hand on your back ushers you out. The soft padding of his stomach grazes your arm.

—-

Back outside Javi’s apartment, the car you arrived in – the one that picked you up at the Dobis PR office – is gone. You’ll ride in Javi’s car. His security team wants to accompany the two of you in the vehicle, and it’s clear they normally ride with Javi. But Javi convinces them to follow in another car this time. Just this once. You get into a black Mercedes sprinter outfitted with a raised roof, big leather bench seat, and a bar. 

As you settle into the van, Javi is making sure you’re comfortable, making small talk, and you just want to chat with him, but you do have a job to do. He’s sitting in the corner of the bench in the very back of the van, and you’re next to him, with your body mostly facing him. You begin to broach the topic at hand, distracted by his closeness and the aftershave molecules wafting into your nostrils. “Okay Javi, so, I’m familiar with your, uh, difficulties with law enforcement recently, and my role here is to kinda help you help yourself with that in the press.”  

He nods. 

“So let’s start where we are. Do you remember what you said when Page Six asked for a comment?”

He briefly leans in the opposite direction from you to open the minifridge. He pulls out a bottle of champagne. “Page Six, remind me which one is that.”

Is he going to make you say it? Fine. “You don't remember telling the writer her lips were made to suck your dick?” 

“That was out of context,” he mutters. You search his face for whether it‘s a joke, but he’s not laughing, and he’s not meeting your eyes.  

You ask, “Is there a context where that’s a good comment to make?” And you hope it lands softer than it sounds to your own ears. 

“Yes,” Javi nods and brushes a curl out of his forehead. He shifts in the seat and wrings his hand around the neck of the champagne bottle in his lap. “With a cock in her mouth.” Hearing the word cock in his voice gives you a zing of arousal. 

You’re at a loss for words. “Are you saying you weren't answering a question when you said that?”

“The conversation was over,” Javi nods. 

“--And she had your–”

“My cock, yes,” he confirms. “In her mouth.” He reads your face, then shrugs. “She wanted a taste of Javi, and I am afraid I could not resist.” Your mind is going places - How did that happen, you wonder. Did she just drop to her knees? Does it happen all the time? Could you have a taste of Javi? Do you want one? No, you don’t want to be just another girl.

You and Javi look at each other for a moment, neither of you completely focused, then you say the only thing you can think to say, “Fair enough,” as you close your folio. Then you can’t help but add, “Optimally, it's not the best idea to sleep with. . . certain people . . .who can make you look bad.” The thought falls apart as you watch his face, and you wonder if you're overstepping. 

“It was only a mouth,” Javi clarifies, then lowers his voice. “I would never make the love to her.” 

Now his eyes are fixed on your lips. His mind is going places. You watch him salivate over the shape of your mouth and don’t dare to interrupt his filthy train of thought. But that bulge in his swim trunks is seared in your mind. The subtle way it moved with each step. You have to stare at anything else to keep your eyes off his pants. You look at the bits of silver in his beard and the sparkle in his eyes

“Hm?” he asks and you snap out of your trance. 

“We need to control the narrative,” you mumble, as if you're thinking about work. 

“I don’t have a narrative, I have the truth. And the truth is too dangerous, mami.” He extends an arm behind you. 

The intrigue shakes you from your dirty thoughts. You shouldn’t pry, so you try not to, but having heard his explanation for the Page Six comment, you’re wondering if there really is a good explanation for how he got caught riding dirty with both narcotics and unregistered weapons.

He scoots closer, so he’s mostly on your bench rather than in the corner, and he extends an arm behind you. “I have to say, you are a smart girl.” He brushes your shoulder with his thumb. “Very pretty, too,” he adds quietly. “And very smart not to ask.”

“Thanks,” you mumble. What else can you say?

He looks you over, and his face hardens in an instant. “You should fire them,” he says. “They put a pretty girl like you in a van with me.” He scoffs. “They don’t respect you, I’m sorry to say.” 

What is that supposed to mean? You stare at him blankly, then say, “I can’t fire them, I work for them.”

“Well then you should fire your job. Quit it, the job.” You suppose he’s that out of touch. He probably doesn’t even know how much rent is in LA. Increasingly incredulous, he asks, “They sent you here alone?” 

Your mouth feels dry. You nod and try to swallow. 

His face softens. “No, please do not be scared,” he tries to recover, cupping your shoulder warmly with his palm. “But they should care more about you. You are precious.” 

“Well. . . Thanks, I think I’ll be okay,” you stammer.

Javi chuckles and locks all the doors to the van. Your upper body quickly goes cold as he settles in again next to you, his knee touching yours. How did he even do that?

He smiles darkly. “You felt that, right? In your spine?” His thumb brushes the nape of your neck, then the top of your spine.

You nod, otherwise paralyzed. 

“Fire them,” he repeats in a whisper.

You stand up just an inch to smooth your dress, and before you can sit back down, the van lurches out of nowhere.  You’re propelled face-first into Javi’s arms. The unopened bottle of champagne rolls away. Your faces are only a few inches apart. His shirt is soft, his body is warm, and you’re breathing his minty breath. The van lurches again and he hugs you into him, protectively. 

“I apologize, sir,” the driver announces through a speaker. 

You slowly begin to sit up from him. His arms are slow to release you. As you sit up, he lays a hand on your thigh. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I should warn you,” he murmurs. “Traffic is very bad here.” 

—--

You sit there with Javi’s arm behind you and his other hand on your thigh, and neither of you speaks. He’s practically enveloping you with his whole body.

“You are thinking about it, right?”  

The pitch of his voice and a nod toward your skirt tells you what he’s talking about, and you don’t answer.  He takes his hand off your thigh only to adjust himself, and your face heats up. 

He sighs. “So, if you are the press, what should I say right now?”

After a loaded beat of silence, you snap out of it and begin to ramble, “Well, I haven't asked you a question, so you don't have to say anything, in fact, unless they ask–”

He reaches for your face. He rests four fingers on the side of your face, then brushes his thumb over your lips. “Shh. I won't say it,” he whispers. “That this press is the most beautiful girl. . .” Your lips part and let his thumb into your mouth, but your tongue pulls back.

“That I need her. . .in a way I cannot explain.” You gasp and look down. He takes his thumb  out of your mouth, then his hand drifts to his pants. “That I want to twist her legs around me like a pretzel.” The glint of his rings catches your eye, slowly moving atop his pants. His eyelids are heavy. “I should not say it, right?” 

You look at his mouth then meet his eyes again and shake your head no, ever so slightly. 

“But I can think it,” he whispers with a nod. “I can feel it,” he nods with a raise of his eyebrows. “Dios mio. . . I can have it.” 

He hugs you, slides a hand under your opposite thigh, and swiftly pulls you into straddling him with your knees on the seat and your skirt hanging loosely in his lap. You aren’t wearing stockings, but you’re wearing modest boy shorts. His hips lift up to meet you as he pulls you down with a sigh. His warm package feels even bigger than it looked. He closes his eyes and runs his hands over your back as your loins throb against each other. 

He holds your body firmly in place for a few gentle little thrusts that make you gush with each push of his bulge. Then, satisfied that you're not going anywhere, he pulls your face in for a long, steamy kiss, with his rings pressed against your cheek. As he feeds you his tongue, his hips keep moving, slowly pressing himself against you.

He pulls his face away and asks, “Do we have to go to this thing?” 

“No,” you say, pleased at this turn of events. He cups your head, and you explain, “Not at all. We wanted you to lay low. But you insisted-”

“I want to lay low with you,” he murmurs against your cheek. “Let me lay with you.”  Your insides are throbbing and swelling. His lips and the slightest hint of his teeth drag down your neck while his thick manhood hardens more against the crotch of your boy shorts. “I'll give you more than a taste, Mamacita. We're going to lay together.”  

He asks the driver to take you back to his place. Then he latches onto your neck, and you let out a little moan.  The van turns around to head back to his place. 

“I just need to text the team,” you tell him and get off his lap. You straighten your dress and begin to text your manager.  While you're on your phone, he keeps kissing and nibbling at you. 

Your manager calls, and you clear your throat. Javi occupies himself by popping open the bottle of champagne. You receive accolades for talking him out of the event. 

—--

When you're off the phone, Javi has somewhat composed himself. “Now we have all night.” He hands you a flute of champagne. A voice comes over the intercom saying there's a security matter Mr. Gutierrez needs to be briefed on. The van pulls over and Rafael, Javi’s head of security, joins you. 

“Your brother is back,” Rafael tells him. “And he's not happy about what you took.”

“Puta Madre,” Javi grumbles. “You know what he would have done with it.” 

“I know,” Rafi nods. 

“I have plans tonight, Rafi.” Javi looks at you adoringly. “The most important plans of my life.” He turns back to Rafi.  “Do you see this beautiful woman? We have plans.” 

“You have to stay with me,” Javi tells you. “I’ll keep you safe.” 

When you arrive back at Javi’s place, Rafi insists on escorting the two of you up to the penthouse. The place has already been cleaned up, and a maid is on her way out. 

“Thank you, Sandy,” Javi says as she passes by. She nods. 

——-

You excuse yourself to freshen up while Javi rants to Rafael. There's a crashing noise and you take your time coming back from the restroom, unsure what awaits. 

You come back to the main room and put your bag on a stool at the counter. Rafael is on his way out to stand guard by the door. Javi is sitting on the sofa with his pants off and his shirt unbuttoned, holding his gold pistol against his thigh. 

“I asked Rafi to give us some privacy,” Javi says. “We will not let this ruin our night.” He looks at you hungrily. “Come. Sit.” He makes space in his lap and looks down at himself. He’s wearing black boxer briefs.

You straddle him but don't sit yet. His free hand slides up the back of your thigh and he grabs a handful of ass. “You are the most beautiful woman,” he sighs. “And you feel so good in my hands.”

With his other hand, Javi nudges the golden gun under your skirt, and the metal on your bare thigh makes you flinch. “Shhh.”  He slowly slides the barrel along your inner thigh where the hem of your underwear is. He slides it lightly back and forth, breathing deeply through his nose. Then, his lips part as he rubs it along the damp crotch of your boy shorts. Your whole body erupts in goosebumps. He watches your face as he rubs you with the barrel of his pistol. He angles it upward each time he reaches your front. 

He palms your ass at the same rhythm as he massages you with the gun, as if encouraging you to ride it. Then he holds it still between his legs, pulls you closer against it, and your hips move on their own, seeking more pressure against the barrel. You twitch and gasp and he sucks in a deep breath through his nose. He moves you on the gun and you grind against the barrel until you’re almost at the edge and your thighs are trembling. 

“Good girl,” he sighs. He brings the side of the barrel to his nose and sniffs. Then he makes eye contact with you as he presses his lips to the side of the barrel and dips his tongue onto the metal.  He kisses the gun goodbye, then puts it aside. “I will keep you safe,” he reassures you again. 

Javi takes your hand in his and puts it on the hard bulge and you almost come. He’s so big, and so hard, the seams of his boxer briefs must be ready to burst. He uses your hand to massage himself. At the same time, he grabs the back of your head and pulls you into him for a passionate kiss. Your palm begins to massage his shaft. Feeling the hard shape of him, you can tell how thick he is, and it's more than a handful. Your fingers cradle his balls as you massage the lower part of his shaft. He pulls his underwear down and your skin meets his bare cock.

Both his palms engulf your ass cheeks and he lifts your dress all the way up over your ass so he can see your hips before desperately pulling you fully onto him. He smacks your ass, then kneads it again and licks into your mouth as he grinds up against you. 

He gropes your breasts and pulls your dress all the way up, taking it over your head. His hands find your bra clasp, and he frees your breasts, taking one to his mouth right away. He reaches into your smooth, stretchy boy shorts and gasps at the feeling of your bare, dripping cunt. He holds his cock in his hand and brings the tip to the bottom seam of your underwear. He wedges his cock into the garment, resting against your inner thigh, then a little further, and the bare skin of his tip nudging between your slippery folds makes you weak in the knees. He puts his cock all the way into your underwear from the bottom, wet from your slick, and pulls you tight against him. You grind together and his shaft massages your clit. The pressure builds and quickly boils over, and you moan as you begin to pulse against him. 

“Oh, my love,” Javi sighs, then moans as you grind and come against his cock in your panties. “Such a pretty sight and sound.”

With pleasure still washing over you, he wraps an arm tight around you, turns and lays you down on your back as your orgasm wanes. 

His cock slides out of your underwear as he makes space to finish undressing you both. He tears your underwear down in a frenzy and can't get out of his own soon enough. Within seconds, you're both nude on the sofa in the dimly lit room.

Javi sits on his knees between your legs and pumps himself slowly, belly pushing out, eyes dancing across your body. His cock is so stiff and thick, you can't take your eyes off it. You throb and ache for it. He runs his flattened fingers through your dripping seam and moans at your wetness. 

“I cannot wait another moment to feel you, my love.” 

Javi gets on top of you, his belly pressing into you as he positions himself then notches at your entrance. His gold chain hangs and grazes your chest. He hikes your leg up and you wrap it around him. 

“Good,” he whispers.

Javi shoves into you, punching the air out of your lungs with a brief burn at the stretch. He groans as he fills you with his flesh as fast as your body will allow. “Javi,” you gasp as his girth spreads you apart. His dick twitches at the sound of his name on your lips. He sighs your name and you're almost flattered he knows it, giving you a brief twinge of uncertainty that's quickly replaced by pleasure as he withdraws a few inches then slams into you. 

“You are so beautiful,” he pants as he begins to fuck you steadily. He kisses your chest and your neck. “It was fate that you came here to me.” 

He moans and grunts as he buries his cock in you. You wrap your other leg around him. His body is solid and soft against yours.  So much skin on skin and it all feels right. You feel safe, and you feel adored. The way he looks at you, the way he feels you, moves on you, it’s like he’s been waiting for you forever. He hooks a hand under your shoulder for more leverage, and the force of each punch of his hips jiggles your breasts. He slows down and fucks you more tenderly, but still with power. The movement of his hips is fluid and smooth. 

After a few minutes, he moans, “Ohh, my love,” then sighs your name. “I have to give you my cum, I have to give it to you.” You aren’t sure, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything to disrupt this moment. You’ve never had someone make love to you this way. “I’m going to explode,” he warns.

He buries his mouth in the crook of your neck, bottoms out, and groans as he erupts deep in your core, sending you for another climax of your own. Then his lips scramble up your neck and jaw to find your lips and he kisses you passionately as warm bursts of his cum fill you up. “Mmm,” he moans into your mouth as you clench around his cock. 

When you’re both finished coming, he stays inside for a moment. “We will be joined again,” he assures you as he pulls out.

He lays half on his side, with a bit of his weight on you for a moment. He strokes your face and admires you tenderly. You excuse yourself to the restroom, and he goes with you, escorting you to his master bath instead of the guest room you used earlier. He shows you his bedroom on the other side and says, “you will stay here with me.” 

-

When you come out of the restroom to Javi’s bed, you approach hesitantly. “Are you sure?” you ask. 

“I would not dream of letting you leave,” he assures you. 

[killxio]

pr mishap | e. yaeger

word count: 627 [ 2 min 20 second read] | ✪ content warnings: porn w plot (is this enough to be considered a plot?), writer who thinks they’re funny, p in v sex, car sex

famous!eren x influencer!reader

✭ curse eren and his stupidly good brain melting dick.

so.

you and eren recorded a little dancing tiktok. you were both big social media presences, so you expected big numbers, but this went reaaaaaaaaal large and you couldn’t figure out why.

until you did.

at a point in the dance, eren spins around and in his back left pocket there’s just enough fabric to make out what it is:

a lacy thong.

this had y’all’s followers up in ROAR!! you’re away at a shoot all day as twitter explodes, barely having time to check your phone.

─────

─────

and of course, here is your idiot big head boyfriend keekeeing on the timeline.

─────

─────

so how exactly did eren become eren Panty Snatching yaeger?

you and eren share feverish, desperate kisses. you don’t wanna let each other go, but eren doesn’t want to miss a second of your body being revealed to him as he undressed you. unbeknownst to you, he slips your pretty soaked thong into his pocket after tugging your shorts off.

eren pulled up on you taking promo pictures for a swimwear line and couldn’t keep his hands to his goddamn self. so, here you are in the back of his tinted black audi fogging up the windows.

he’s taken time to kiss from your nipples to your clit, spitting at your cunt for extra lube before sitting up and tugging down his jeans.

you moan, low and deep, fist clenching ,as he enters you. he begins to fuck into you, deep and on a mission to fuck you stupid.

and he does. his fingers are relentless against your clit, determined to make you shake with the help of his other hand keeping your hips in place.

“eren.. ohmygod so good ssso good so g-good” you quietly chant, eyes unfocusing a bit but still locking on his gaze.

“is it, baby?” he questions, smirking down at you in between loose strands of his hair.

“y-yessss.. ah- too good, too deep,” your praise changes after he uses his hand to lift you up and pull you towards him more, going deeper and knocking the fucking air out of your lungs.

you bring your hands up, desperately trying to push against his pelvis to slow him down. he just pulls his hand from your hips and moves yours up to his lips, kissing your knuckles before letting them fall back down. he knows you don’t have the strength to try again.

before he goes to help you maintain the arch, he pushes your thighs up and out a tiny bit despite the constricted space.

“fuck, how much tighter can you get princess?” he asks in awe, the repositioning having helped, “oh fuck, damn near choking me.”

you have him moaning, not groaning, moaning out in your ear.

it’s enough to drive fling you over the edge, passing up eye contact for rolling your eyes back and beginning to shake under his touch.

“eeereeeeeeennnnnn..” his name is long, breathy and drawn out from your lips, a beg for something unspecified.

he doesn’t falter in place despite the twitching of his cock, a silent signal of how close he is, not allowing you to come down from your high. by now you have no defense left and are a babbling, moaning mess under him, still cumming on his dick. eren cums, the two of you moaning so loudly you’re sure anyone walking past the car had to hear.

after a few slow strokes he pulls out, the plat plat of cum dripping onto his leather seats is audible over both of your harsh breathing. a string of cum breaks when his lower abdomen disconnects from your pelvis.

by the now, the last thing you were worried about was where the hell your panties were. no worries, 1/4th of twitter found them for you.

[ventismacchiato]

40 behind the lens — paper rings !

scaramouche x g!n reader

⇢ ˗ˏˋ time skip of three years ࿐ྂ

˗ˏˋ headcanons ´ˎ˗

✰ you and kuni graduate at the top of your respected classes and have been dating for almost five years now, known properly as the campus it couple

✰ neither of you moved in together until last year when everyone else started moving out of the shared content houses

✰ first xiaoae move out together, then childe, then heikazu, albenari, then ayaka going back home and venti living on his own

✰ living in the houses on your own was essentially a waste of money and space so jean ended your leases and you guys finally moved in together

✰ and after graduation, with jean’s help, you’re able to slide into the industry pretty easily with your large fanbases

✰ you start off as side characters that grow in popularity since your fans watch the shows and movies you star in just for you both

✰ i like to think kuni double majored in child psych along with film in case acting didn’t work out in his favor so he’s pretty and smart

✰ but since this is fiction it did work out for him cus dreams come true #livelaughlove

✰ id like to think star/you would also act but probably dials it down to direct full time instead

✰ you preferred to direct compared to acting so eventually you started to fund your own projects with kuni on your cast which helped you grow

✰ you try not to cast kuni in every one of your movies because then it’ll look like favoritism but he prefers to star in ones you direct

✰ you also get your friends to be extras a lot, most of the time it’s childe who begs you to let him be in the back for movies

✰ you guys probably don’t get engaged for a while despite living together, blaming it on scara’s commitment issues and the fact that your careers are your main focus

✰ alongside luna, your previous black cat, you probably adopt another white one alongside scara

✰ as for actor!scara headcanons imagine scara on hot ones, that one show on youtube, and he has a straight face the entire time as he eats the hottest wings and answers questions about you

✰i think he’d have a lot of fun on shows like that, example would be eat it or spill it by jimmy fallon, he would annihilate them

✰ he probably does all his own stunts, always giving you a heart attack as you see him falling from heights on harnesses, sometimes he convinces the staff to fool you into thinking he actually got hurt due to a broken rope as he plummets to the ground

✰ he does it so much that there’s enough content for ‘scara pretending to die in front of yn for ten minutes straight’ compilations

✰ you guys probably stream when you can but not as much with your jobs, i think star doing behind the scenes vlogs of you and scara together would be so cute though

˗ˏˋ headcanons ´ˎ˗

✰ was a communications major so he’s the PR manager for scara and you after graduating

✰ yes i know technically jean could do this but she has enough on her plate! i’m just thoughtful like that #feminist

✰ constantly trying to prevent you guys from getting into scandals, which is hard when scara cannot keep his opinions to himself

✰ aether probably has a heart attack everytime scara goes off to do interviews since scara always ignores the pre written answers and goes on tangents, which his fans love but twitter not so much

✰ xiao as an animator wud be so sexy guys. like walk with me here imagine an operation true love anime after the drama and webtoon are a hit so he gets to animate for the anime and storyboards with albedo

✰ i’m tryna intertwine all of them even after they graduate can you tell

✰ as for him and aether they probably tie the knot a little while after graduating, small wedding with just close friends and family

✰ xiao would edit one of those pretty wedding videos that youtubers do

✰ but they don’t film the entire wedding for their channels cus they gotta gatekeep

✰ id say xiao probably still streams but he mainly just draws with music in the background or works on his stardew town with aether

✰ xiao probably strains his wrist a lot from all the work he does so at promotion events he’s always wearing a brace on his hand

˗ˏˋ headcanons ´ˎ˗

✰ okay in this au let’s all pretend he’s the creator of operation true love cus rmbr he’s a writing major and a huge romantic

✰ like how sexy is that, obviously it does well cus all his fans all read it and so it gets turned into a drama

✰ directed by you of course starring kuni as eunhyuk

✰ he’s still head over heels and throwing up in love with heizou, they probably adopt a cat together when they move in together

✰ i imagine if kazuha ever wrote a murder mystery novel he’d have heizou read it to decipher if the culprit was too easy to figure out

✰ nothing really exciting about heizou’s major in this au, he probably just becomes a detective and streams on the side, known as kazuha’s partner in the entertainment industry and attends all the events when he can

˗ˏˋ headcanons ´ˎ˗

✰ obviously goes into the art industry, works on a lot of graphic novels and novel covers and sometimes album covers

✰ when kazuha’s work gets turned into mangas or graphic novels he always does the art for it

✰ he probably paints nari’s favorite flowers for him and they adorn their house’s walls

✰ i’d say he doesn’t stream as much anymore but if he does it’s probably just him doing commissions with music in the background

✰ nari’s major is also not exciting in this au, probably becomes a forest ranger or a college professor

✰ albedo builds him a greenhouse in the back of their house for him

✰ the type to bring hurt animals home and fosters them back to health

˗ˏˋ headcanons ´ˎ˗

childe

✰ stealing from my pookie mrbeast for inspo

✰ he probably does stuff like has a whole business for his videos and side hustles like merch and a food company

✰ like maybe he and diluc collab to make an energy drink or something

✰i mentioned he fancies diluc like once in a previous chapter so that’s why he’s with diluc who streams a little

✰ they probably met properly at another twitch con or creator event

✰ very wow factor oriented like he does more than just stream games, he prefers to work on big challenge videos and loves giving away money

✰ like he would host those extreme hide-and-seek challenges with all his youtuber/streamer friends in weird locations and get them to do weird dares with him

✰ i think heizou would win those types of videos most of the time, whereas scara barely tries and still seems to almost win

✰ diluc probably does one stream a month because it’s not his entire focus, probably also a business major and just appears in childe’s videos once in a while

✰ how cute would it be if childe was always at his 110% in videos and extra hyper to make them more entertaining but when diluc joins him he’s more calm and cute

venti

✰ his streaming fanbase gives him a jumpstart in his music career yk how it is

✰ does a bunch of osts for shows and movies. still streams but also is a popular musician

✰ not an idol 😍🤞 has to be a little different than jptp but does start out by opening for tours and makes it on billboard

✰ i do think he’d eventually do a world tour though on his own and stray away from streaming to focus on his music, would probably just upload vlogs if anything

✰ does the operation true love ost so everyone is working tgt and he’s single in this au cus #singlerep

ayaka

✰ honestly i don’t care what happens to ayaka she’s just there ig

✰ keep doing what ur doing queen! i’ll support you from all the way over here!

behind the lens !

masterlist — prev | next

yes i’m using yeonjun as scaras face 🤞

also sorry if this isn’t as in depth as the jptp one i’m just tryna wrap this fic up ☠️

author’s notes — just like jptp i just wanted to do a bunch of headcanons :] this is how i envision their future and if u don’t agree talk to the wall cus idc 😊

synopsis — you, better known as STARDUST, and BALLADEER have always been in competition for the top streamer spot on twitch, which is especially impressive since the two of you have never shown your faces. you’ve never been on good terms, constantly one-upping each other in matches and getting into petty arguments on twitter, causing your fans to also dislike each other. that’s until BALLADEER does a face reveal that breaks the internet with his good looks…which makes you realize it’s the same guy you went on a date with last night. the type of date that made you crave to see him again. the only problem was he didn’t know you were STARDUST and he was way different behind the lens than he portrayed himself online to you. should you keep your identity a secret to salvage the relationship or just let him go?

taglist is closed — @captainzep @elysiumarchieve @plinkuro @sakkakuu-squared @eliqusgenma @vuvulia @kunikuzushiit @ins4nebish @stxrgxzxr @lilacponds @uma-umie @mitsukifilms @caesars-bubbles @wheneverthesunrise @its-like-twilight @kazuhalvrr @erosdevil @thenightsflower @p1utto @noodleshark420 @lxry-chxn @court-jester-stuff @lauragalliart @veyu002 @kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @leathernourishingshoepolish @satowaluverr @lexlapis @drunkwithfever @exhaustedcommunist @vincanzu @ainlaw @ovaliz @kitsuvil @whatamidoing89 @celestair @kunihaver @kazioli @xiaosoneandonly @cridtiins @cherrybeomgyu @asukahiriko @moon-320 @orionicchaos @cartierfiles [1/3]

[foolishlovers]

MUTUAL PINING FIC RECS: Below you'll find a list of Good Omens fics in which Aziraphale and Crowley are pining for each other.

You can request more fic recs here.

you play with my feelings (right from the start) by PenroseSun (G, 3k)

There were three things of which Crowley was absolutely certain: 1. Aziraphale, being an angel, was required to be kind and loving towards all things, even when those things were flawed or sinful or fallen. 2. Notwithstanding that obligatory kindness, Aziraphale would never, and could never truly love a demon, in any meaningful sense. 3. Despite this, Crowley was desperately, hopelessly, in love with him.

For To Quench My Thirst by apliddell (G, 6k)

After moving to Sussex with Aziraphale, Crowley is trying so hard to be satisfied with friendship and the suddenly beautiful life he already has.

Slow by write_away (T, 9k)

It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions. You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it. It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart.   Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

got a pretty face, pretty boyfriend too by KissMyAsthma, leukozyna (T, 9k)

Aziraphale and Crowley are next-door neighbours. They’ve been attracted to each other since they met. The only thing keeping them apart is a thin wall between their bedrooms and Atticus and Freddie, Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s respective life partners… or are they? A human AU glued together by misunderstandings and wet food.

speed limits (and how to break them) by darcylindbergh (E, 13k)

There is a trick people do with a mint candy and a bottle of cola which results in a small eruption, and something very like it, for much higher stakes than a laugh in a car park, is about to take place in Aziraphale’s back room. Or: what happens when you finally unscrew the cap on a six thousand years of repression, and drop in Valentine’s Day.

Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak by triedunture (M, 17k)

"Yes, exactly. Retire." Aziraphale reaches for the last remaining tartlet brimming with summer berries. "Somewhere along the south coast, perhaps." Or: Crowley and Aziraphale learn to move in tandem.

32 Questions That Lead To Love by ffonippop (E, 32k)

”First formulated in 1997, [32] questions to fall in love is a study by psychologist Dr. Arthur Aron which took place at Stony Brook University, New York. The aim? Speeding up the creation of intimacy between two strangers.” The Cosmopolitan Okay, fine. Crowley was 32-Questions-That-Lead-To-Love-ing Aziraphale. Sue him. He had no expectations, all right? Just, an innocent curiosity.

Flowers From The Grave Of Our Friendship by WaitingToBeBroken (E, 50k)

Crowley is very good at temptation, not so good with what comes afterwards. Aziraphale knows demons don't love so he is happy to take anything Crowley would give him. Both of them are too blind to realize the thing they want is right in front of them.

Fledging by FeralTuxedo (M, 53k)

Cool Dad was at the school gate again. Clambering out of his ridiculous sports car like a great big spider, all black denim and designer sunglasses. What a prat. He made his way towards the entrance, followed by his equally lanky son. All the mums' eyes were on him. Which was fine. At least they weren't staring at Aziraphale for a change. Cool Dad high-fived his son goodbye, because of course he did, then sauntered back to his car. Making it look so bloody easy. Aziraphale Fell is much too young to be looking after eleven-year old Pepper. He barely has his life together as it is, with his minimum-wage job and a half-baked dream of trading rare books for a living. And as if adopting a recently bereaved pre-teen isn’t enough, there are some rather more adult problems to navigate: playground politics, the shadows of his own childhood, and the growing question of how Crowley, the only other dad at the school gate, feels about him. A human AU/kid fic.

Style and Substance by Cabernet_Woebegone (E, 89k)

“But y’know, if my boss finds out I’m helping you even a little, they’re gonna throw me out on my ass.” “Yes, I understand it is a bit of a conflict of interest for you… Is there something I can offer you in return? Something you would like?” Aziraphale questioned hopefully. You, Crowley thought loudly as he took a second sip. I want to know if you moan when you kiss the same way you do when you try something delicious. I want to know if your lips taste like Zinfandel. “Yes, actually.” Aziraphale is having difficulty running his restaurant, and it isn't helping that he believes the place across the street is trying to sabotage him. To his surprise, chef Crowley comes to him on friendly terms. Together they come up with an arrangement that could benefit them both.

On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (E, 133k)

1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles. Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning. Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5. Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water. Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.

Old Vines by sevdrag (E, 189k)

A.Z. Fell, one of the most respected names in wine and food blogging, has been sent on assignment with his assistant Warlock Dowling to spend six months in California Wine Country. Under direction (by his boss, Gabriel) to use this experience to double his blog followers and write a novel, Aziraphale is both excited and anxious about the opportunity. Anthony J. Crowley is the owner and viticulturalist of Ecdyses, a winery that unexpectedly fell into his lap eleven years ago when he hit rock bottom. He may be in debt, yeah, but he’s paying off his loans — and despite pressure from his lenders and their team of inspectors, Crowley has found a kind of contentment tending his little corner of terroir and producing extraordinary wine. Crowley’s old vines are the heart of his vineyard, and he’s never let anyone in. Crowley finds Aziraphale intriguing; Aziraphale finds Crowley enthralling. Turns out a famous wine expert and an experienced viticulturalist can still learn things from each other. The summer of 2019 unfolds.

[yourpsychosomatic]

I'm from the Stayblr community and saw the Kinktober ask game... is it on currently? If it is, can has reader giving Felix oral? Just a question... >w<

whispers. yes, yes you can. ✨

edit: I accidentally posted this instead of saving as a heckin DRAFT I am so sorry. 😭 but I’ll be writing this soon!! (and probably posting in an edit to this ask, so keep watch) ❤️

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Fixations

Kinktober Prompt #15 — oral sex Felix (receiving) x reader MDNI

Warnings: oral m!receiving, pet names, a few cuss words

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Today was lovely — the cool breeze flowing through multicolored leaves on the trees, ducks and geese alike honking as they swim around the river nearby. And it wasn’t as if today was special or drastically different than any other, just an ordinary autumn day.

Except for the fact that you and Felix were outside at a park, having an early dinner picnic and you were quite parched… but not thirsty for water.

He wasn’t entirely mindless of your fidgeting, but being that it was only about ten minutes into your day out, lounging on the soft blanket, he wasn’t so curious as to ask questions just yet.

It really wasn’t your fault….. not your fault that you kept thinking about his black skinny jeans, not your fault that the denim fabric bunched up just so around his crotch, not your fault that your eyes would dart over every time he shifted. God, it looked so smothered, like it was in the midst of asphyxiation… no, definitely not your fault.

He was simply eating the last of his sandwich when he noticed, again, your fidgeting. How you had only been taking small bites of your food and he had nearly finished before you — a feat in and of itself because he knew you loved to eat whatever he made for you. You were always the first one to finish, but not this time.

The only ‘bad’ part about it was that he caught on quickly to your moods — after all, that’s what sensitive boyfriends do, right?

“Alright, so are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or are you gonna continue nibbling on your grapes like a baby bunny? What’s wrong, love?” He was frowning, pulling your chin up — and sadly — away from sight of his bulge so he could look you in the eye.

“What’s got you wound up, precious..”

Immediately you’re blushing, pet names have always been your kryptonite, chewing on your bottom lip and attempting to avoid eye contact as best as you can, one hand fiddling with the hem of your sweater.

“It’s nothing ‘lix, I’m just a little distracted is all-“

“Aaahhhh, nah nah, I’m not buying that.”

He scoots closer and you can see his pants shift, fold, bend. His crotch is literally r i g h t t h e r e. Your mouth waters and you attempt to swallow back the excessive spit, clearing your throat as you glance back up at him.

“I- ah- I’m….. distracted by your pants.”

Felix raises a brow and nearly smiles, giggling awkwardly as he tilts his head. “My pants?? What’s wrong with my pants? Are they too skinny?”

“Or… I guess… I mean…”

You weren’t very good with your words and Felix knew that, especially when it came to things like this - sexual things - so instead of answering again, you press your lips together, reaching forward to run your hand slowly up his thigh as his reaction changes. And now he was the one clearing his throat, glancing down at your hand as it smooths over the soft tent of his skinny jeans before both of you look back up at each other.

His eyes had darkened slightly, squinting at you as a slow smirk formed over those pretty pouted lips.

“Oh?? You wanted something different for dinner? Why didn’t you say so?—“

He was now grinning stupidly wide, reveling in how your cheeks had reddened even darker as he takes your hand and pulls you both up, giggling like a school girl as he practically drags you over to the car. Both of you stumble a bit over the scattered gravel parking lot, letting out slightly breathless laughs that finally breaks the ice. You bite the corner of your lip as he presses you against the door, leaning in to give your cheek a gentle play bite as you play with his fingers intertwined with yours.

“You want my dick so bad, don’t you, precious? ‘S’at why you’ve been staring at it the whole time we’ve been here??”

His voice had gone so low that it tickled your eardrum, causing you to shiver and squeeze your thighs together as he unlocked the car.

“Yes, babe, I wanna taste it. Want it more than our dinner.”

“Then let me be your main dish~”

He’d pulled the back passenger door open as you were talking, stepping backwards into the car and scooting across the seat as he tugs you with him. You were happy to follow, pulling the door shut and pushing him down on the seat, trapping him underneath you. A chuckle escapes his lips as you lean down to kiss along his neck, pepper them lightly across his jaw and finally press your mouths flush as your hands work, fumbling quickly to open his jeans.

He already looked so sinful with his hair fanning out messily on the seat, cheeks flushed showing off his freckles even more. Felix looked like the sweetest little cherub and it made you want to defile him all the more.

He cards his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck, kisses growing ever so slowly more sloppy as you tug his pants down, shoving your hand into his underwear. Felix gasps and immediately a heavy groan is ripped out of his chest as your fingers grip tightly with the first tug on his length, already half hard from the thought of you sucking him off alone.

“Want your tongue, wanna feel your mouth, honey..” He was mumbling against your lips, not knowing where to put his hands as they grab at your clothes, your hair, even brushing over your chest. You hadn’t even started yet and already he was close to being such a mess for you, pliant in your hold. You pull back a little from your heated make out, licking your lips as you watch his eyes glaze over, lids fluttering, chest slightly erratic as he pants. Soft, short moans fall every time he breathes out and you bite down on your bottom lip a little harder, tilting your head as you work your hand up… and down… and up… and… down… slowly, ever so slowly.

“___, baby, please.” He croons your name and you can’t help but giggle at him, leaning down again to press a chaste kiss to his raw cherry lips before getting to work.

Felix was so gorgeous, and he was all yours.

You squirm back on the seat, pulling away to peel off your sweater and shirt with a short whine from him from the loss of friction. He was already reaching for it to quell his frustration.

“Oh, quit that, I’m right here you big baby~”

You snicker and swat his anxious hand away from his dick, leaning down again and stretching your tongue out to lick a fat stripe slowly up the bottom of it. That causes him to yelp and he reaches behind his head to grip the side of the door, the other hand twining back into your hair as you fist his cock again. You squeeze the base and keep the pressure on it for a little bit, staring down at it as the tip slowly grows an angry reddish purple. God, it looked so cute… you wondered if you had the money to buy a cock ring and decided to file that away for later, you’ll probably buy one when you both get home. It surely would come in handy and be a lovely addition to fun times like this.

Humming softly, you purse your lips and blow cool air over his tip, watching his hips shudder as he whines from the neglect, pulling at your hair gently, gingerly attempting to guide your head down.

“Mouth… your mouth.. please…”

You answer with a soft ‘hmph~’ in amusement, smirking up at him one last time as he’s looking down at you, lids half hooded and heavy with lust, lush lips parted with a soft ‘o’.

So you open your mouth and close just your lips around the tip, using the tip of your tongue to lap over his head with soft kitten licks. It was maddening for Felix, a weak yelp bursting out as he tugs on your hair, squeezing his eyes shut from all the teasing and tossing his head back on the seat.

“God damn it, ___.”

But with the last of your name on his tongue you push down and swallow his dick whole, pressing your own eyes shut as it knocks the back of your throat, gently stretching it. Felix gasps and groans your name loudly in surprise, both hands now fisting your hair as he quivers under your touch. His leg falls off of the seat and you settle between them, hollowing your cheeks out as best as you can before starting to nod your head.

And lord, did he taste so good.

You were so enamored by his length, his girth, the weight of it in your hand, on your tongue. You couldnt stand to not touch it, wanting it all the time like a bitch in heat — and who was Felix to deny you such a gift.

You moan around it and in turn Felix keens softly from the vibrations, no longer trying to prevent himself from bucking up into your face. He at least was holding back from being too forceful, but your inner self just giggles at his intense responses as you use your palms to press his hips down on the back seat.

Wanting to feel a little more of his skin, you pull Felix’s pants and boxers down just a bit more, sliding your hands over his bare hips, smoothing your thumbs through the dips on either side of his cock as you continue to suck all the precum and spit down your throat. You experiment a little and dig your nails into his hips, eliciting a squeak and jerk of his hips into your face so hard you almost cough, nose wrinkling as you bear with it and force a moan to get through the awkward feeling — you do NOT want to stop sucking. But you’ll definitely keep on using your nails to give him that extra tingle.

Felix starts to pant heavier than usual, moans turning into groans into grunts and you gradually let him guide your head down, controlling the speed of his hips with your hands and in turn giving him that delicious scrape of your nails as they meander back towards his ass. Each time, his voice rises a little higher in pitch, his ruts stuttering, his dick leaking into your mouth.

His hands grip your hair tighter by the second as your tongue works around his shaft in short curves, suckling eagerly on his tip every time he pulls back just enough to catch it.

“Ah, fuck.. that’s it baby… just like that…”

Felix was nearly mumbling nonsense at this point, and sometimes his tongue would loll out of his mouth as his panting turned uneven, although you couldn’t really see it too well. Glancing up at him through your lashes wasn’t something you liked to do too often since it felt uncomfortable, so you just resigned to listening to his pretty little noises as you worked his dick with fervor.

As your jaw and lips were beginning to get sore, you opened your mouth a little bit more and let the lewder sounds spill out, slurping and humming as you used your tongue to your advantage. Drool dripped from the corners of your mouth as Felix whimpered from the pulse of your tongue against the bottom of his length — he could feel his boxers getting damp against his thighs which made him even more horny, fucking up into your throat faster as soon as the heat in his stomach started to rise. His bare ass was probably scratched up like a cat’s clawing post at this point, but he was loving every second of your nails burrowing into his skin.

Although you may have been feeling some discomfort from being in that position so long and the rut of his hips was definitely making his dick rub your throat raw, you’d be damned if you didn’t see this through, would definitely hate yourself for ruining his orgasm. And in fact, you desperately wanted to taste it.

“I-I-…. fuck, I’m-…. I need t-… baby~ b-baby—”

Felix stopped gripping your hair so tightly and seemed as if he wanted you off him, but you would not let that happen — you wanted to taste his come so much that you tightened your jaw again, pressing your lips as tight as you could around his girth and kept on going at the pace his hips went before he started quaking in your hold. You dig your nails into his ass and Felix keens, arms whipping back for his hands to scramble for purchase as the first wave of his orgasm hits him.

Your boyfriend squirms in your grip as you hold him down, sucking along his length gently as his come spurts down your throat. You attempt to swallow it all every time his hips buck, wave after wave enveloping his lungs and releasing onto your tongue, and so you relax your mouth around him in exchange for lapping at the remnants dripping down his length. Slowing down with each nod of your head and gently pressing your lips against his pelvis at the base as you stop, nuzzling your nose into his pubic bone. You liked it here, loved being nestled so close to him, as his dick slowly softened. Even down here he smelled nice, all those pheromones and musky scents mingling together in the back of your sinuses. Mmmm…

You might want to pull away before you wind up giving him another blowjob. After all, you were still at the park.

He’s still panting, but a lot less harsh now, one hand coming down to card haphazardly through your hair, the sifting somehow gentle even though you could tell he was shaking.

“Fuck. ___, why’d you do that, you didn’t have to swallow, y’know..”

Finally, you gingerly pull your mouth off him, licking your lips to catch any stray and put some moisture back into them before dabbing at your face with your long-sleeve, chuckling weakly. He sits up and leans on his hands, quirking a brow in your direction.

“It’s okay to tell me, sweetheart.”

“Well, I-…. I’ve never tasted all of you before, so I just… I wanted to try it.”

Felix furrows his brow and bursts out laughing before he pulls his boxers up, tucking his dick away and reaching over to pull you against his chest. You can’t help but grin wide, giggling softly and hugging his waist as he presses soft, weak kisses over your cheeks, sighing and pressing his forehead against yours as his eyes close.

You feel so warm in his embrace, soft smile still plastered to your face as you fiddle with the neck of his shirt. You could stay like this forever and you’d be totally fine with that. …. Although, sucking him off was great, you’d miss it— on second thought—

Felix hums and pulls back to look at you, reaching up to fix your hair and tucking a few strands behind your ear, mumbling as he leans in for another kiss.

“We need to clean up the picnic…. but as soon as we get back home, it’s my turn on you, got it?”

A surprised giggle slips out and you nod eagerly, scooting away to pull your shirt back on.

“Got it. But now I’m actually hungry.”

Cue his deep cackle.

[octahedral-chaos]

Starfolks and Colour Variant: A Basic Summary

(AKA finally decided to go ham with my Spec-Evo stuff for them)

As seen in this post, I briefly mentioned the colour variations amongst starfolks, so here's a longer version that goes more in-depth.

Mask/ Core Colours

A Mask, also known more informally as the Core, is the bright, luminous spot at a starfolk's "face." It may act like the face itself, or appear as eyes. As a result, it is heavily believed to act like photoreceptors in organic beings, such as eyes.

In terms of colouration, we have several variants, from dominant to recessive, they are:

Light type: Blue - Light Blue - White

Dark type: Orange - Red - Yellow

Dual/ Hybrid Type: Green - Purple

As seen above, "Natural" types seems to have three types of alleles of the Mask gene, while Dual types seem to only have two types of alleles.

Mask genes are designated as "M," with the colour variants, in order, being designated as B, C, W, O, R, Y, G and P.

So, if a dark starfolk with the alleles M(OR), it would still appear as an orange-masked starfolk. But if the individual has M(RY), it would appear as a Red-masked starfolk, and only starfolks with M(YY) appears as yellow-masked starfolks.

This is a basic rundown, as starfolks can have mask colouration that are atypical to their types, which is seen in the "Mutations" section.

Body Colouration

Just like masks, a starfolk's body colour is usually linked to it's polarity. These are the Colouration, from dominant to recessive.

Light types: White - Light Grey - Light Blue - Light Pink

Dark Types: Black - Dark Purple - Dark Green - Brown

Dual/ Hybrid types: Green - Teal - Yellowish Green - Purple - Grey

As seen above, starfolks tend to have a wider variety of skintones compared to their mask colours. But it should be noted that colouration depends on factors like environmental conditions and general health before adulthood. For example, a starfolk that was extremely stressed during childhood would have a duller and more desaturated colour than a starfolk that has a relatively stress-free life. But this can vary and is more complicated than this.

Just like core colours, the more dominant colours masks the more recessive colours in a heterozygous individual. The genes for body colour is designated as B, with colours being W, G, C, P, B, Pr, Gr, Br, Gn, T, Yg, Pu and Ge.

So a dark starfolk with colour combination B(BPr), they would still appear as black, but an individual with genes B(PrGr) would be dark purple. And of course, an individual with genes B(BrBr) would be brown.

Mutations

Now this is were it gets fun!

Mutations often arise from abnormalities from genes, other recessive genes or even fusion. There are two types: Genetic and Fusion mutations. Genetic is, of course, inherited and is present during hatching. Fusion is where a starfolk absorbs some of another starfolk's essence, and often genetic material, resulting in it taking on new characteristics.

First off, the most common (and arguably the prettiest) one: Iridescence.

This can appear on any starfolk, regardless of type or colouration. It results in a rainbow shimmer on the starfolk's skin. It is, surprisingly enough, a dominant gene, although it is unknown why almost all starfolks have the recessive gene...

Iridescence is denoted by I, with matte being i. A Ii starfolk would still be Iridescence, but a ii starfolk would have no Iridescence at all.

Then there's points, which results in a mainly dominant body with the actual colouration on the extremities. It is designated as Po.

For example, let's take our B(BrBr) starfolk, and let's say it has two copies of the Po gene. It would appear as mainly black, with brown face, arms, legs and tail, if it has one. Of course, it can vary depending on how much limbs, heads, etc the starfolk has. It should be noted that this is written as B(BrBr)-Po.

Reversed Points is the same thing, except with the dominant colour being the extremities, while the base colour is the main colouration.

This is signed as RPo. For example, our B(PrGr) individual from earlier would appear as dark purple with black extremities if it was a B(PrGr)-Rpo individual.

Leopard (Leo) is basically when there's spots in a darker shade than the original colour. In black/ white starfolks, this may be in the recessive colour (Heterozygous) or completely absent (Homozygous).

Thylacine, Quagga and Tiger-Stripe are all the same gene (Tig), but different intensities. Thylacine results in stripes from the lower back to the base of the tail (if it has one), Quagga results in stripes on the head to the lower back, and Tiger-Stripe is full body stripes.

Countershade (Cs) is exactly that, a lighter shade on the underside of a starfolk. Absent in white and black individuals.

Ticking (Tk) is where there's a lighter (or darker in white light starfolks) shade of the base colour mixed in with the base colour itself. It does not affect the extremities.

Metallic, or Akhal-Teke (Akt) is where the body has a metallic sheen. Very, VERY visible in dark starfolks, with B(BB)-Akt (Or black with Metallic) starfolks appearing almost silver in the right conditions, but can appear in any other polarity.

Somatic, or just Soma for short, is both a genetic and fusion mutation. In fact, it is commonly believed to have originated as a fusion mutation from failed Dual-type starfolks, before becoming a proper gene. It results in starfolks of one polarity having visible colouration of another polarity, and can be mostly observed in "Natural" starfolks.

This is marked as Soma, with "ranks" of I to IV. Ranks are used to determined how much colouration is of the opposite polarity, with I being least amount, while IV is almost indistinguishable from the opposite polarity.

So, a Rank I dark starfolk would only have a small patch of white on its leg, while a rank IV dark starfolk would have a almost, or even pure white, body with blue mask.

That's right! This gene affects the mask colour too! In fact, it is somewhat common for Rank I Somatic starfolks to have a mask that is partially or completely the opposite polarity's colour. So a dark starfolk with blue mask could exist!

Albinism and Melanism are also mutations found in starfolks, except they present differently from Organic Beings. Albinism in starfolks could appear as pure orange body and mask (Dark), pure blue body and mask (Light) or Pale green body and green mask (Dual-type). Melanistic individual would be dark blue, dark orange and dark green respectively.

Of course, there's more mutations than this, but I think this would be a gold point to stop for now. If you want, I can do a more in-depth post on other Starfolk mutations and marking types.

[cherrycolored-punk]

WADWSH - Chapter One: The Contest

Masterlist

pairings: 2000s!actor!Steve Harrington x fem!Reader, 2000s!bestfriend!Eddie Munson x fem!reader.

summary: Bad boy Steve Harrington is in trouble and desperate to clean up his image by any means necessary.

author’s note: we’re having fun, amping it up and d r a w i n g it out. we need angst, and pining and indecision (we is me) 🖤 I hope you all enjoy this chapter and this story. Remember, it’s completely re-written so things are different 👀

comments/reblogs and any feedback is always appreciated !

w/c: 6.8k

warnings: mentions of parental death, absent/neglectful parent

“Are you fucking seeing this?” Steve gruffed, pacing the length of his living room as he clenched the phone pressed to his ear.

“Yes, I’m seeing it just like I saw the tabloids of you cruising around West Hollywood holding a bottle of Ciroc,” Tad’s voice was full of frustration, causing Steve’s jaw to clench. His gaze shot back to his plasma TV.

Images of his wild night out were plastered on the screen as Ryan Seacrest narrated a version of his night out.

Hollywood’s most famous bad boy is back at it again! 

“Steve Harrington was spotted making the rounds and leaving Bar Deluxe with two of Victoria’s sweetest angels.”

“Guiliana, what are the chances he will ever settle down?” He asked as he turned to his cohost. 

Rancic cringed and stared into the camera.

“It’s not likely,” she laughed, and Ryan joined her. 

Their laughs grinding every last one of Steve’s nerves. 

He’d had enough and snatched the remote from the coffee table, angrily pressing the power button until the screen went black. 

“What are you going to do about it?” His voice raised an octave, pointing at the TV with the remote as though his manager were there.

“Harrington, I’m already in contact with the best PR firm in the city. Trust that I am taking care of this.”

“You know this will ruin my chances with Hewitz for his latest film.”

“Just don’t plan on any more late nights. The firm is working on a plan, and as soon as I hear what it is, I’ll call you. Don’t go making my job any more difficult.” The older man grumbled on the other end of the line, voice deeper from years of smoking. 

“Take care of it, Jenkins.” Steve flipped his phone shut, tossing it and the remote onto the couch before plopping himself onto the cushion.

He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose as his mind whirled with thoughts.

Henry Hewitz was the most prominent Hollywood Director to date. Anyone who starred in his movies was guaranteed success, a shoo-in during award season, and Steve wanted the role of the leading man in Hewitz’s current project more than anything. 

Hewitz, however, did not want him.

Steve had a reputation and not one that many directors wanted attached to their films. Offers were already coming in less frequently. The stench of his troubles kept most investors away; try as he might, he couldn’t clean up his image. 

And he did try, stints in rehab or starting new hobbies. None of them stuck, not the way that partying did. 

He was antsy for the remainder of the afternoon, bouncing between activities. Tanning by his pool, lifting weights inside his gym, and even trying to copy a recipe off the Food Network. He quickly realized that “Foolproof Ribs” weren’t foolproof enough for him, and nothing would keep his mind occupied while he waited for Jenkins to call him. 

Harrington leaned against his marble-top kitchen island, reluctantly nibbling on a piece of his creation. 

Why didn’t I just ask Dorota to come and prep something?

He winced at the taste and plucked the nearly burnt rib back onto the plate with a heavy sigh. 

His phone rang beside him, loud and shrill, and he hurriedly grabbed it when he spotted his manager’s name flashing on the screen. 

“Tell me you’ve got something already, Tad,” Steve turned toward his fridge, thirsty for a beer. Voice a little desperate. 

The older man coughed loudly, and Steve pulled the phone away, his face twisting in disgust, before putting it back to his ear.

“I’ve got something, but you’re not going to like it,” Jenkins coughed again and cleared his throat.

“Lay it on me,” Steve rolled his eyes as he used the bottle opener to pull the cap off the glass neck, guzzling down half its contents while he listened to his manager prattle on. 

But it was something the older man said that caused him to choke on the amber liquid and press a finger to his mouth to keep it from spewing all over the kitchen floor.

He gulped loudly.

“You want me to do what?”

“When I agreed to come to the movies with you two, I didn’t mean that I was game to watch your Romeo, Steve Harrington, poorly act his way through another rom-com,” Eddie whined as the three of you walked towards the auditorium.

“Majority rules,” Beth stuck her tongue out at him, her arm linked with yours as the two of you walked a few paces ahead of him.

You giggled along with her.

“Don’t be such a poo,” you called over your shoulder, and he rolled his eyes. 

“Excuse me for not finding the appeal of some Hollywood bozoo.” 

“He’s not a bozoo, Eddie, he’s-” Beth began.

“Dreamy,” you chimed in.

He stopped in his tracks and tilted his chin to the ceiling. 

“God, I know that I ask for a lot, but if you’re ever going to answer my prayers, I ask that you strike me down now.” Eddie’s hands were clasped together in a plea. 

You grabbed a handful of popcorn and threw it back at him with a teasing grin.

“So dramatic.”

“It’s not nice to litter, Sunshine.” He followed after you, picking popcorn from his brown curls and popping it into his mouth. 

The auditorium was nearly full as you entered it, the eager eyes of the crowd already pinned to the screen. The theater itself had not been updated since the eighties; the same dusty drapes lined the walls and smelled slightly of mildew. 

The three of you climbed the stairs and took your seats. Eddie on one side, Beth on the other and you situated right in the middle. Just as it had always been since the three of you were old enough to ride your bikes to the cinema. 

The room fell silent as the lights dimmed and the opening trailers began to play. You and Beth squealed when you saw the trailer for Steve’s latest project, each holding onto the other as you caught glimpses of his profile through the flashing images.

“Oh, brother,” Eddie grumbled and slinked further into his seat, aggressively chewing off a piece of his Twizzler. 

He sat through the movie with his arms crossed, bored and occasionally glancing at you. Watching the range of expressions that crossed your face. He could always read you so easily.

If your eyes glittered when you smiled, you were happy. Truly happy. 

If you smiled with an arched brow, you were feeling mischievous. He saw that look often.

If you found something funny, you snorted, and he knew you found something hysterical when there was complete silence. The only evidence that you were amused was how you held your stomach, eyes crinkled shut. 

If your eyebrows scrunched together, you were worried or seconds from crying, just like now. 

Eddie watched as you held back tears at the pivotal moment, Steve’s reunion with his love interest after years away at war.

The strings of the orchestra music playing in the background of the scene pulled at your heart, the emotion palpable.

“And how is this different from his other movies,” Eddie leaned over and whispered into your ear. 

“Shut up,” you nudged him with your shoulder and shoveled more popcorn into your mouth. 

You sighed in satisfaction when the two on-screen lovers finally kissed. 

The credits began to play, and Beth leaned over your frame.

“How good was that?” 

Eddie’s face twisted in disbelief.

“I’ve shit turds that were better than that.”

“Ew,” both you and Beth said in unison. 

“I just wonder if he’s really like that, y’know, all sweet and romantic.” Her gaze tilted to the ceiling as she imagined Steve gazing at her like he did his costar. 

“He has to be. There’s no way he could play a character so well if he weren’t,” you chimed in.

“He’s an actor,” Eddie reminded you.

“An hour ago, you said he couldn’t act,” Beth scoffed.

 It was the umpteenth time he’d had the same argument with the two of you. 

“It’s a sign - I’ve lost my mind.” Eddie held his hands in front of him, his gaze fixated on the ground as he put on the charade of someone who wasn’t all there.

“You’re such a butthead.” Beth leaned over and pushed at his head of curls before she stood up to leave. The auditorium was nearly empty, the screen had gone black and the theater workers waited patiently for you to leave so they could finish their closing tasks.

It was late, and you were scheduled for the opening shift at Family Video the following day alongside Eddie.

The three of you walked towards Eddie’s Volkswagen Rabbit, Beth’s beat-up Corolla parked beside it. 

“See you tomorrow,” Beth called over her vehicle as you opened the passenger door to Eddie’s car. You waved over your shoulder before plopping into the seat. The car smelled like him - weed, tobacco, and spiced vanilla. A scent you’d become accustomed to in all the years you’d known him.

“Don’t be late!” Eddie yelled back at the strawberry-blonde, index finger pointed at her.

“You’re only my manager between the hours of twelve and eight within the confines of Family Video!” She flipped him off and climbed into her car, getting the last word. 

Eddie tapped his knuckles against the hood of his car as he watched her leave, watching the tail lights of her car get further away before jumping into the driver’s seat. 

“Do you have to pick at her?” you questioned as he got comfortable in his seat.

“I only dish up what she’s dishing out,” Eddie shrugged as he started the car. 

And it was true. While you and Eddie were best friends, Beth and Eddie would be considered something closer to frenemies. 

You’d known him since you were kids. He was the first kid in the trailer park to say hi to you after you moved in with your grandma days after your parents died.

Sure, Uncle Wayne was the one who insisted he said hi, but what came after the small introduction was all Eddie. 

The two of you grew up thick as thieves, soldiering through the complexities and horrors of middle and high school together. There was no one on the planet you were closer to, especially after your gran passed away two years ago. But you’d never admit it, especially not to Beth. 

You’d met her towards the end of eighth grade when she transferred to your school in the second semester. You warmed up to her immediately; Eddie was still working on it.

In many ways, they were alike - not that either of them would agree. Both were headstrong, sarcastic, witty, and total pains in your ass. 

“You get lost in your head over there or something?” He glanced at you before quickly returning his gaze to the road. 

On drives like this, you couldn’t help but think of your parents, couldn’t help but miss them something fierce. You hated when it was time to return home, to the empty, quiet trailer that gran had left you in her will. 

It hadn’t felt like home since she passed, but even before it still always felt temporary. Despite your gran's best efforts, you never felt settled or like you belonged. Constantly yearning for a place that felt like yours, chasing the feeling you had when your parents were alive.

“Just thinking of them,” you answered honestly, staring out the window and eyes darting to the stars that dotted the night sky.

Eddie didn’t need a further explanation; he knew how you felt all too well. He became an orphan two years before you. Even though his dad was alive, he was as good as dead. His absence felt at every birthday, Christmas, and band gig he didn’t attend.

Without asking, he took the road toward Lover’s Lake instead of the one that led to your home. He wasn’t up to any funny business; he just knew you weren’t ready to go home, and you didn’t question him as the paved road turned into a dirt one lined heavily with trees on either side. 

He pulled near the lake and cut the engine, rubbing his palms along his jean-clad thighs. 

“You good, Sunshine?” He watched the side of your face, worry creasing in his brow.

Your eyes rolled in amusement at the nickname he’d given you when you were just kids. 

“Just peachy,” you responded, fingers swirling in your hair absently, and still staring out the window.

“Never been a good liar, sweetheart,” he nudged your shoulder.

“Do you ever feel stuck?” You stated abruptly and Eddie’s eyebrows shot up into his bangs, hand falling back into his lap.

“Be more specific?” He was studying your face, what he could see of it, attempting to decipher what you were trying to say.

“Here in Hawkins. O-or like you don’t really have a place to call home?” you stammered and turned to him. Your eyebrows were knitted together and he knew you were worried, sad even. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Not exactly my dream to still be living with my Uncle, who was forced to take me in while I manage a movie rental shop in the worst city along the bible belt.” 

Your lip jutted to the side.

“Wayne loves you,” you insisted and Eddie nodded at your words.

“Yeah, he does but I still flipped his life upside down,” he chuckled without humor and began to pull at the frayed edge of his jeans.

You wanted to assure him but knew he wouldn’t believe you so instead you changed the subject.

“What would you do? If you could do anything, no limits?” 

His lips lifted into a sideways grin, the kind of smile you saw when he was amused and you knew that it was the distraction he needed. That you both needed.  

“Get my music out there. Cut a record and get the fuck out of Indiana. I just want to buy my uncle a house and let the old man retire.”

You nodded, teeth digging into your bottom lip. Your dreams felt so much simpler in comparison, almost lame.

“And you?”

You took a deep breath and sighed heavily, blowing a raspberry as you did. 

“I just want my own house. Maybe with some land. You know, like my family used to own?” 

You used to have a home. A big ranch-style house that your parents were still paying on at the time of their accident and when there was no one who could pay, the bank took it away.

He nodded and smiled wider at the image in his head. Eddie could picture you sitting in a rocking chair on a wraparound porch, the golden retriever you’d always wanted resting at your feet. 

His silence made you self-conscious, and you laughed, but Eddie knew it wasn’t one you meant.

“I know it sounds lame, but-”

“It’s not lame,” he assured, “I know it’s going to happen one day. Going to have that dream house on forty acres with two-and-a-half kids-”

“Six,” you interrupted with a wide grin.

“Holy shit, ok, six kids and a loaded husband. Who the fuck can afford six kids?”

“We said no limits,” you reminded him, and he nodded in agreement. A broad dimpled grin spread across his lips.

“If anyone’s dreams are gonna come true, it’ll be yours.”

“How are you so sure?”

Because I’ll make it happen even if I have to work three jobs until my hair turns gray.

But he didn’t say that part out loud.

“Just trust me, it’ll happen before you know it.” 

“It’ll happen for you too.”

Eddie began to scoff, but you shot him that look, the one that dared him to question you. He held up his hands, calling a ceasefire before any shots were fired.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as you stared at the lake. It was always easy like this with Eddie; easy conversation without awkward pauses. Comfortable enough to sit with just the sound of crickets chirping around you. 

Family Video was dead; the afternoon rush before a weekend had settled into a quiet lull. 

You sat at the computer, scanning in returned videos as Eddie worked in his office. His molten honey gaze darting to the clock every so often. Beth was nearly thirty minutes late. 

The Goonies played on TV - Eddie’s choice instead of the endless cycle of previews for Steve Harrington’s newly released movies. He drew the line at his job.

Beth barged through the front door, huffing and obviously distressed. Her hair disheveled and sticking to the sweat that lined her forehead. 

“Are you okay?” You questioned as you took in her appearance.

“Oh, just great,” she responded sarcastically.

“That’s twenty-eight minutes, Walden!” Eddie shouted from his office, addressing her by her last name.

She groaned. 

“I had a long night!”

“You left before us?” 

Eddie’s voice grew louder as he left his desk and leaned against the doorway. 

“Doesn’t mean I went to sleep,” she said in a low tone, gaze avoiding that of her two friends as she clocked in and set her bag underneath the counter.

“What kept you up, or should I say who kept you awake?” You questioned, voice breathy in faux flirtation. 

“You know that cutie from the bar?”

“You didn’t!” You gasped, mouth rounded and eyes wide in excitement. Beth had been eying the curvy brunette behind the bar for ages, never working up the courage to ever introduce herself. 

“I did. Twice!” She held up two fingers as you both squealed. 

“Gross,” Eddie gagged, and Beth shot him a dirty look.

“Don’t be jealous.”

“How did you blast off twice and have a bad night?” You interrupted, using the code name the two of you had come up with in high school. Not that it was any use, Eddie had caught on years ago when you and Beth tried to talk in code about her trysts. 

“Because my car wouldn’t start this morning, and she expected a ride home. So by the time I got it working and dropped her off, I was already running late.”

“Oh.”

She turned her head and looked at Eddie with pleading eyes.

“Could you, pretty please, take a look at it, Eds?” 

“It’ll cost you,” he pushed off the frame of his office door and moved to lean against the counter across from her. You turned your attention back to the computer as they bartered with each other, scanning in the last rental return. 

You hummed to yourself as you opened your email and skimmed through the new messages you’d received. Eyes practically bulging out of your head when you saw the subject line of one in particular.

Win a Date with Steve Harrington!

“Oh my god!” You shouted, catching the attention of your friends. Both of them looking at the back of your head with concern.

“What is it?” Beth leaned over your shoulder and read the email, fingers gripping your skin as she neared the end.

“Holy shit!” She shouted with you, and both of you began bouncing in place.

“What is it? Rick check-out Fast Times again?” Eddie chuckled, amused with his own joke.

“I could win a date,” you paused, “with Steve Harrington!”

You and Beth squealed again.

“Yeah, right. Let me see.” 

He nudged you out of the way as he read through the e-mail.

“Seems like a scam.” He backed away from the computer and shook his head disbelieving.

“It’s not!” 

You clicked the link and read through the site to confirm that it was indeed official.

“See, he wants to donate the money he raises to Feeding America.” 

You and Beth awed in unison; Eddie couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“There’s no way that King Steve doesn’t have some sort of ulterior motive,” he grumbled. Referring to Steve as the nickname he’d had for the brief moment in time he’d walked the same halls of middle school as you. 

“That was almost thirteen years ago, Eddie!” The two of them began bickering again.

You turned your attention back to the screen and read through the contest rules.

“I doubt he’s some gem now.”

“Not everyone donates to charity with an ulterior motive.”

Beth turned away from him and read through them with you.

“Grand prize includes a first-class flight to Los Angeles, lux accommodations at the Waldorf Hotel, styled outfits for the date, and a private dinner with Steve!” You gripped Beth’s hand excitedly as you read the entry rules.

“Says we have to pay one hundred dollars for a ticket to enter,” your shoulders sagged. 

“Shucks,” Eddie snapped his fingers in fake disappointment. He knew that you didn’t have a hundred bucks to spare.

Slowly, you and Beth turned to him. 

You looked at him with pleading eyes. 

Beth looked at him with murderous intent.

“I think you want to donate twenty-five to the cause, don’t ya Eds?” She asked as she stood straight and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Would you, Eddie? Please?” your lip practically jutted out into a pout as you waited for his response. 

And how could he ever say no to you?

He groaned and reached for the wallet nestled in the back pocket of his jeans before handing you a few bills he didn’t bother to count.

“Guess I can’t say no to feeding the hungry,” he muttered, refusing to acknowledge that there was even a slight possibility you’d win.

You jumped up and wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him close before acknowledging the money he was willing to give you. Your lips pressed to his cheek, and you pushed off his chest before grabbing the money.

“You’re the best, Eds!” You gleamed, but Eddie was still in shock—cheek vibrating from where your lips had just pressed, and how affected he was by the moment wasn’t lost on Beth.

She shot him a knowing smile as he shook his head from the stupor but didn’t say more about it as she reached for her purse. 

“Eddie gave you thirty, and here’s twenty more. Now you just need fifty.”

You bounced with excitement, pulling them both close in another embrace.

“Have I said that you guys are my best friends?” 

“I know I am, but Beth?” 

The strawberry blonde shot her hand towards his ribs, and he winced as though he’d been mortally wounded. 

You were too blissed out to notice - images of your imaginary date with Steve Harrington already popping into your head. 

Three Weeks Later…

The Hideout was crowded, bodies pressed together and huddled around the makeshift stage. You and Beth weren’t amongst the large crowd, though, opting instead for your usual seats near the bar—the spot where you’d have the perfect view of Corroded Coffin as they played their usual Thursday night gig. 

“I can’t believe the turn-out,” you exclaimed, eyes darting around the hole-in-the-wall that never saw this many people. 

“I know,” Beth remarked incredulously. 

Both of you were shocked for very different reasons.

Eddie had begun to play shows at the local bar back in eleventh grade. His usual crowd had consisted of the same five drunks, but over the years, the popularity of the band, his popularity, had grown exponentially. Far surpassing the occupancy limits of the small space. 

People had started to come from all over the state, even out of state, to see them perform. Their followers on MySpace had nearly tripled what they used to be, and their monthly listeners had doubled, but Eddie had yet to accept that his band was known, that they could play at a bigger venue, or even book a small tour. Even when you’d shown him the evidence, he’d rolled his eyes. Too afraid to believe that his dreams might be within grasp. 

The bar lights dimmed, and the stage lights came on, illuminating the wooden platform in shades of red. The crowd began to cheer, surging forward to get as close as possible to the stage.

Gareth, Jeff, and Xander took the stage with their instruments, each giving a small wave as they did. Jeff began to strum on his guitar before Gareth joined with his drums, freestyling before Eddie came on stage. 

They loved to tease the crowd. 

Eddie came out a few moments later, waving his hands to greet the crowd. Amping up the energy even more. The buzz of it felt in the air. 

“Holy shit,” He breathed into the microphone as he took in how many people were there.

“How are we doing?”

The crowd’s yells grew even more in response to his question.

“I hope you’ll indulge me tonight. I want to do something a little different than our usual sound. Something I’ve been working on with the guys,” he turned and pointed to his bandmates with a bright smile. 

The audience cheered, and Eddie nodded as they did.

“Anyone a fan of Audioslave?

They roared a resounding yes.

“Me too,” he nodded again, “This is a cover of Like a Stone. I hope you enjoy it.”

The stage lights changed, washing the band in blue. A more somber mood settled over them as they began to play the song's opening. Eddie bobbed his head as his friends played, eyes closed as he felt the music and your gaze focused on him. You loved seeing him in his element, a different kind of focus that fell over him that you only ever saw when he played dungeon master during campaigns. Passionate. Happy. And it looked so good on him.

“On a cobweb afternoon, in a room full of emptiness,”

Eddie’s voice was rich, enveloping you in its warmth as he sang. Your eyes traced over his features. Noticing him in a way you hadn’t in a long time. The slope of his nose, the apples of his cheeks, the sharp edge of his jaw and it was like your childhood crush was rearing its ugly head. Surging forward and nearly knocking you to your feet. 

His eyes found you in the crowd, and it felt like he was singing to you.

“I’ll wait for you there like a stone,

I’ll wait for you there alone.”

You swallowed harshly, blinking rapidly as you gripped the glass cup you held before chugging down its contents. 

He isn’t singing to you. Get a grip.

You were best friends, but there was a time when you wanted more. 

Throughout your senior year, you yearned for Eddie to notice you the way that all girls wanted to be noticed when they fell in love with their best friend, but he never saw you that way. His attentions were on Paige, some girl who claimed she’d help him get his music to a reputable producer, and then on Chrissy, the head cheerleader he’d had a crush on since all of you were in middle school. 

It was never you, and you had accepted that long ago, but seeing him on stage roused something inside you. Something that unfurled its wings and took flight in your gut, creating a flurry of excitement. Making you nervous, anxious, and overwhelmed. 

The song continued, Eddie’s deep voice turning you into a puddle. He was right; it wasn’t the band’s usual sound. It was melancholy, a longing felt in each lyric, and you wondered who it was for, who Eddie thought of as he sang.

You glanced back up and noticed that Eddie’s attention was still on you somehow despite the size of the crowd. 

His vocals kicked up, and he hit every note like a plea.

“I’ll wait for you there like a stone,

I’ll wait for you there alone.”

Your breath hitched, lungs squeezing tightly as though you were in the middle of the crowd being pushed on all sides. Claustrophobic. Overwhelming.

“I know I usually shit on Eddie, but oh my god,” Beth cut through your trance and you gave her a tight grin.

“They sound so fucking good,” her breath was warm in your ear. The smell of gin enveloping you. 

“He does,” you breathed. 

Your muscles were tensed the rest of their show, and you felt like you were drowning in your thoughts. In the feelings that’d crept up from their burial site deep within your ribs. You didn’t take a breath until Eddie was no longer on stage. Until the stage lights dimmed and the bar lights came back on.

“Listen to me,” Beth grabbed your arm and your attention.

“Do not tell Eddie what I said. He can’t know that I think he’s good.”

“Why not?” You laughed, brows pushed together in confusion.

“Because he’ll never let me live it down!” She insisted with a roll of her eyes. You knew that she wasn’t wrong. If there was anything that Eddie enjoyed, it was teasing her. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” you promised, holding up your pinky finger to seal it. Her finger encircled yours, and you kissed the side of your hand—an official pact. 

“What’s the secret?” Eddie interrupted, sliding into the bar stool next to you. You jolted at his sudden appearance, frazzled by the sight of him. 

“What do you mean,” you questioned, avoiding eye contact but entranced by the smell of his cologne: spice and vanilla with a slight hint of tobacco. 

And why is your mouth watering? 

Your eyes widened at the realization.

“I walked in on the sacred pact. I know you guys are hiding something,” he pointed between the two of you. 

“Great set tonight,” you changed the subject - sort of. 

“Yeah, yeah, it was fun,” Eddie glanced around the bar. At the strangers who were still eying him and debating whether or not to approach. 

“Surprised by the new song,” you began to broach the subject. 

“Just a little something I’ve been working on,” he shrugged.

“I heard, but who has my best friend all glum?” You poked his side with a grin that didn’t meet your eyes, and he could tell something was bothering you.

“Just a girl,” he chuckled.

“Must be some girl,” your smile fell, and you played with the condensation on your glass.

“She is,” Eddie assured, eyebrows lost in his bangs—a mournful look painting his gaze.

Did you really not know?

“Eddie, use your newfound local fame for some good and get us some free drinks,” Beth interrupted, begging as she finished her gin and tonic. 

“No way,” he scoffed.

“Come on!” She whined.

“What if I played you for them?” You challenged with a lilt of your brows.

“Ok, but if I win, you’re buying the drinks.” Eddie set the terms and pushed off the bar stool.

“Deal,” you held your hand out to shake on it. His warm palm slid against yours, his large hand enveloping your smaller one. You could feel the calluses on them, evidence of his years of practice and manual labor. He shook your hand gently, holding onto you for a moment. Swallowing hard at the simple contact. 

“Go win us some drinks!” Beth interrupted again, shaking your shoulders and egging you on. Your hand slipped from his, heat growing in your cheeks.

“301?” you challenged as you pushed off your barstool. 

“Game on,” Eddie said in agreement and followed.

The two of you walked towards the dartboard, pushing each other playfully as you did.

“I’ll take a pina colada, Munson. Make you order something the bartender might hate you for,” you teased. Eyes tracing up his jean-clad legs, admiring how they hugged his thighs as he pulled the darts from the board.

“Oh, you’re toast,” he muttered over his shoulder. 

He walked over and handed them to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. Had he caught you staring?

“Ladies first,” he beckoned you to stand in front of him, allowing you to start the game.

You lined up, feet dancing along the tapped line that desperately needed to be replaced. Your tongue stuck out to the side as you concentrated, arm moving back and forth as you got ready to aim. To start the game, you needed to double in.

“Scared to lose?” Munson questioned, his breath fanning against your ear. You tried to hide the shiver that traveled up your spine in response and threw the dart - hitting the double ring next to the number eighteen.

“Not a chance,” you flashed him a cocky smile.

“Lucky hit,” he rolled his eyes and stepped back to allow you to throw your other two darts.

They landed where you aimed them, bringing your score down from 301 to 231.

“Your turn, Munson.” You walked to the board and grabbed your darts, standing behind him as he lined up with his own.

You giggled as you noticed that the two of you shared the same look of concentration. Eddie’s brows were pushed together, tongue jutted out as he looked to aim. You stood on your tiptoes, leaning close to his ear.

“Miss, miss, miss,” you whispered. 

Eddie stilled, and you felt his muscles tighten underneath the palm of your hand that rested on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, the scent of your perfume filling his lungs: vanilla musk and jasmine. 

He turned to you, chestnut eyes boring into your gaze, as he released his dart. If this were a movie, he would’ve made the shot. But it wasn’t, and he didn’t. Instead, the dart fell to the ground, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Eddie was entranced all the same. 

“Already losing, and you haven’t even joined the game,” you swallowed harshly. Teasing him to cover how his gaze was affecting you once more. 

The game continued like this, each of you trying to distract the other, but in the end, you had won, much to Eddie’s chagrin. Beth cheered from her seat, nearly falling off the barstool in her excitement. 

“Looks like you owe me that pina colada,” you raised your eyebrows smugly as you looked at him. 

“Fuck me,” Eddie grumbled to himself.

Getting your drinks wasn’t an issue; the issue was having to talk to the bartender. Violet Jennings had a massive crush on him since the second grade, one that never faded or wavered, and every time he was in the bar, her eyes remained glued to him. It might even be cute if she weren’t so intense. 

As he approached, Violet dropped everything she was doing and walked to where he stood. The only thing separating them was the wood of the bar top.

“What can I get you, Eddie,” she said his name. Breathy and affected. 

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, his cheeks turning pink because he could feel you and Beth watching him—your giggles carrying through the air.

“Can I get a pina colada, a gin and tonic, and just a pint of whatever is on tap?”

“Whatever you desire,” she nodded her head and jutted her chest out, but Eddie didn’t dare glance down. No matter how great her cleavage may be. 

She began to prepare his order, and he looked toward your table, you and Beth throwing him a thumbs up. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, tapping his fingers against the bar as he waited.

“Here you are, on the house of course.” She winked at him. It wasn’t his newfound fame that got the drinks but her neverending crush. 

“Thanks,” he tilted his chin towards her as he grabbed the glasses. Doing his best not to drop the drinks. 

“Here you go, assholes,” he murmured as he pushed the drinks onto the table. You excitedly grabbed for yours, humming as the sugary drink slid against your tongue and the rum burned your throat. 

“We won these fair and square,” Beth argued and took a sip of her drink, shooting him a glare.

“No, Sunshine here won them fair and square. You just made her do your bidding.” 

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes and looked over at the bar. Spotting the girl she’d spent the night with three weeks ago. Her eyebrow raised, a warm feeling settling into her stomach as she recalled that night.

“This a snooze,” she looked at you both before jumping from her seat and walking towards the girl. You chuckled as you watched her leave, sauntering to the brunette whose name you still did not know.

You looked back at Eddie, a smile still wide on your lips.

“Did you ever hear back about the contest,” he asked suddenly, feigning disinterest. 

“No,” you sighed, “but it was a long shot anyway. Plus, in what world would I go on a date with Steve Harrington.”

“You say his name like he’s some god,” he scoffed.

“Shut up, I do not,” you grumbled, cheeks growing warm.

“Y’know there’s better guys out there than some lame actor, right?”

“Eddie, you act like even if I had a date with Steve, that he’d be interested in me. I wouldn’t measure up to the models and actresses he’s dated.”

“He’d be an idiot if he wasn’t interested.” 

Your heart stuttered in your chest, and you struggled to respond. Settling on deflecting instead of overthinking what he said.

He’s your best friend; of course, he’s going to say that.  

“Yeah, well, I don’t have to worry about hypotheticals and whether or not he would or wouldn’t be interested because I didn’t win. Now enough about me,” you nudged him, “You need to do something with the attention Corroded Coffin has now,” you urged.

“I want to,” he closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, “but I just don’t wanna make the wrong move, and what if no one is interested?”

“There is plenty of interest. Did you not see the size of the crowd?” You waved your arms around the room. 

“Yeah, from fans, but that doesn’t mean a record executive will be interested,” he gulped his beer down.

“You are stubborn as always,” you tilted your head up and looked back at him.

“Submit the demos. The worst that someone can say is no, and you’ll still have the growing fanbase if they do.” 

You looked at him with pleading eyes, and he shook his head. 

“Stop,” he pushed your face away, “you make that face, and I fold.”

You beamed and grabbed onto his arm, taking note of how his bicep felt beneath your fingers.

“Please, please listen to me, Eddie. I know your big break is around the corner, and when you make it, the only thing I ask is that you remember little ol’ me when you’re jetting around the world or marrying Heidi Klum.”

“Who?”

It was your turn to push his head away.

“Just promise?” you held a pinky finger up. It was his turn to make a pact. 

“I promise,” his pinky circled yours and you kissed the other side of your hand, gaze never leaving his. Wishing that it was his lips that you were kissing instead.

The next morning you woke up, head a little heavy from the alcohol you drank and dragging ass to the restroom to start getting ready for work.

You started the shower, turning the nob until it was nearly scalding, just how you liked it. Steam already filling the small bathroom when you stepped behind the shower curtain. You hummed as you worked the shampoo into your scalp, thinking of all you had to do at work. Creating a grocery list in your head for when you got off and went to the grocery store. 

It was a Friday night, movie night with your two best friends, and it was your turn to host. You debated whether to torture Eddie with another rom-com starring your favorite actor or if you should give in and watch one of his favorites. You always chose based on what was easiest to make themed foods for and never found it easy to make anything around any of the horror movies Eddie loved. 

The sound of someone pulling near your trailer interrupted your thoughts and caused you to stop humming as you listened closely. You could hear car doors slam shut and the sound of footsteps approaching. 

You rinsed your hair, shut off the water, and stepped out into the cold air.

What the hell?

A sharp rap at the door startled you and you hugged your towel close, quickly darting to your room to change so you could answer the door.

You took hesitant steps, pressing your body against the wood and peering through the peephole. A woman stood on the other side, preening as she waited for you to answer. 

Slowly you opened the door, poking only your head out.

“Can I help you?”

She said your name excitedly, and your eyebrows pushed together, unsure how she knew you or your full name.

“Yes?” 

“I’m Vanessa with WRTV!”

“Okay?” 

Everything came out like a question because why was she here?

“I’m here to interview you about winning a date with Steven Harrington,” she beamed, cameraman rushing up behind her. Lens focused on you.

“I won?” Your eyes bulged, and you threw the door open.

“Congratulations!” 

You squealed and jumped in place excitedly, wet hair sending droplets of water in the air. 

People began to poke their heads outside their doors at the ruckus and the scene of news trucks outside your trailer. All the neighbors stared including Eddie. 

“Eddie, I won!” You turned to him and invited him over, but with the camera pointed at you, he only arched a curious brow. 

Usually, you’d shrink away from the attention, but as you prattled through Vanessa’s interview questions, all you could think about was your luck. 

How you’d just won a date with Steve Harrington.

-

next>

tag list: @ali-r3n, @12thatsanumber, @lonely-phantoms, @Chickocrit

Request to be added to tag list here 🩵

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Though I think Meghan first acknowledged her heritage publicly was in 2013, when there was a huge uproar in the Suits community when they cast Wendell Pierce to play Rachel Zane’s father. Meghan had to clarify to fans wasn’t clickbait casting. But yes, 2016 (more specifically, 2016-post relationship reveal) was when Meghan first really began to self-identify as a woman of color.

RTA, there was no reason for the unknown aspiring actress, Meghan Markle, to acknowledge her heritage publicly before 2013. She was a nobody to the general public, therefore no reason to issue a public statement. Even the 2013 Suits casting of Pierce/Markle was a nothingburger to the greater public, which didn’t watch, or care, about a middling show on a minor cable network. It was only when she forced the public acknowledgement of her relationship with Harry (the Love Shield statement) that her ethnicity came into greater public awareness.

But we only have to look at the numerous pics of her as a child - from both sides of her family, Markle and Ragland - to see that she was well aware, painfully aware imo, from childhood that she was a poc. She has stated this, too (comments about her hair, not fitting in at school, etc). And she clearly looked biracial as a child (still does, too, despite her massive cosmetic alterations to erase her African features). Imo, child Meghan was deeply jealous of her older half-sister Samantha’s youthful beauty and whiteness. I’m not buying Meghan’s revisionist claims that she didn’t see herself as a person of color until Harry and life in the UK. She’s in denial, or lying. She wanted to believe that she wasn’t seen as biracial in the US, but that simply wasn’t true. She aspired/aspires to be seen as white, thus the hair straightening, rhinoplasty, cosmetic dentistry, etc. Not to mention her joining a white sorority, when poc sororities were an option at NU, and exclusively dating and marrying white men. Or her intrepid PR quest to associate her “roots,” and therefore herself in public perception, with Mediterranean places such as Italy and Malta (since refuted). So…

What do you make of the rumors that Meghan is colorist or that Meghan herself is the racist royal?

Yes (again imho…“what do you make”), Meghan is definitely colorist. She was angry and insulted that the BRF and the UK even acknowledged/“saw” her biracialness. She wanted to be seen as white. Period. Like Diana and Kate. She was insulted that Charles enlisted the poc Episcopalian Bishop and hired the gospel choir for the wedding. (M had/has zero affiliation with the Episcopalian Church or with AA church rituals like gospel choirs.) She was insulted that QEII offered her personal poc equerry to be Meghan’s assistant, thus emphasizing her biracialness. She was insulted that the issue of race was ever attached to her at all, that is until the ra ce card proved to be a useful tool for her (Love Shield, Archie’s expedited Prince title, securitayyyy, etc). The racist royals are Meghan and Harry (a whole other can of worms).

(PS: Speaking of royal diversity, let’s not forget that Diana’s DNA, and therefore William’s, Harry’s, and G/C/L’s, includes Southeast Asian/Indian, and that Kate’s DNA, and therefore G/C/L’s, includes Jewish. js. And no, Queen Charlotte’s DNA, and therefore QEII, KC3, W, H, et al, didn’t include Moorish black. That also has been refuted. I haven’t included Archie and Lili here because I am not personally convinced yet of the DNA, if any, that they share with H and/or M. That remains to be revealed imo.)

[sheep33hallow]

Paws (GhostSoap) Call of Duty

Rating: G-T

Summary:

Soap, Ghost, Gaz and Prince have been in the Heavy Metal band, Underground 141, for over 20 years. They know they're a successful band, their manager Laswell has them working as a tight unit, and their accountants would agree as well. Three out of the four of them have kids, two are married and Ghost likes being the odd man out. 

AO3

___

Soap, Ghost, Gaz and Prince have been in the Heavy Metal band, Underground 141, for over 20 years. They know they're a successful band, their manager Laswell has them working as a tight unit, and their accountants would agree as well. 

Three out of the four of them have kids, two are married and Ghost likes being the odd man out. 

In his bones, he is a woodsman at heart. He likes wilderness activities, and collecting guns. His home is a fortress, yet it's also littered with teenagers' junk since Soap’s kids like being at his home as much as their Father does. 

He never understood his friends' fascination with him, and his kids have caught it as well. He's had to yell at them a few times when Gaz and Price bring their kids over and they want time with him as well. 

He knows more information about how the people think about their band than he's used to knowing, now that Emilio, Soap’s oldest, likes to record them for his TikToks. 

Ghost is always in his mask when he's recording. The world has never seen his face. He performs with it, does photoshoots in it and interviews. 

He was homeschooled as a kid, and the only person with photos of him as a kid is his brother. 

Against his will, he's learned the internet likes to ship Soap and he. He finds it odd. Shouldn't they ship their lead singer with someone who's handsome, or his ex-wife. He doesn't understand the appeal that two middle aged men have to people. 

Valeria, Soap’s ex, and PR manager, called him a Puta, when she told him to post more pictures of him and John on his insta instead of the fish he catches. 

Later that day, a photo of him without his face showing, and shirtless, with his fish he caught, shows up on Johnny's Instagram. They spent the weekend at one of Ghost cabins, making a fire, and cooking soup the old fashion way. It was something they liked to do from time to time. He knew Soap took photos of him, always has since they met. The little freak likes to act like the paparazzi and take photos of him when he thinks Simon isn't paying attention. 

The Internet instantly knows it's Ghost body. He may not show his face, but he shows his arms every now and again. It gets hot on stage playing the guitar for four hours, while Gaz will play the drums while they shower him with water during one of their theatrical sets. 

Valeria high fived Soap the next time they had a management meeting. 

He stood up and took a bow, everyone clapping for him. 

Ghost didn't clap, he was just confused. 

“Simon, ye just don't know the appeal ye have on people.” Johnny said when the meeting was over, as they walked down the hallway for their studio session. Johnny had his arm wrapped around Simon’s, leaning his head on the tall man’s shoulder. 

“Your attention is enough to fill a stadium. I don't need more people gawking at me.” Simon said, behind his half mask. 

“Ye just need me, big yin?” 

“I got you, even if I don't want you, don't I?” 

Soap laughs. “Damn, right.” He reaches over and rubs his hand on Simon's stomach over his signature black hoodie. “Ye gonnae cook fer me later?” 

“If you can make whatever those lyrics Gaz was trying to explain to us in that meeting sound good, sure.” 

They arrived, at the entrance of the studio, and Soap, wrapped a hand around Ghost wrist, “As long as ye, haz a right melody for me to holler to.” 

“Oh, I'll give you something to holler to, Johnny.” 

Ghost watched the blush flush up Soap's face, before opening the door, and pushing the Scottman inside. 

_____

Ghost shouldn't be surprised that it took this long for it to happen. 

Soaps have been hinting around for a while on the subject, and even the kids have been showing him videos and dropping horrible concealed hits on the topic, and now he's in this predicament. 

“Guys, guys, look at the new puppy my Uncle Ghost got!” Emilio was recording him while the dalmatian puppy was trying to take his sock off as he sat on the floor in front of his couch in the living room. 

The curly hair teen had his phone up, moving around in slow circles trying to get every angle, Ghost guessed. Soap was sitting on the couch next to him with Ghost's head resting on his knee. 

He had his official Ghost mask on since he knew the boy was going to record at some point during their time together. 

Soap’s daughter Tila, was in the kitchen eating out of a bag of grapes with the fridge door open. 

“Get ye a bowl, wee an.” Soap yelled for about the third time, but the 12 year old continued eating on the floor. 

“It's fine.” Ghost said he had one of his arms curled around Soap’s leg. He caressed his friend's ankle. “You MacTavish always eat me out of house and home. Don't know why you just don't move in at this point.” 

Soap stuck a few fingers under the back of Ghost’s mask, fiddling with the hairs on the back. “Dinnae thinks a Britt like ye, could handle us Scotts 24/7.” He murmurs. 

Simon huffs a laugh. He glances as Emilio picks up the puppy, and records themselves dancing together to some song. The boy had his ear buds in. 

“Oh, and 23/6.5 is clearly my limit.” 

Soap hums. 

“Well, both of our names are on the wee dug's certificate.” He says with a tone of nonchalant. 

Ghost firmly grasps Johnny's ankle. “Yeah, even though it's my dog.” 

Soap hums again. He takes his hand out of Ghost mask, and slides down on the floor with him. 

“Be careful Johnny. You can't get up and down like you used to.” Ghost teases. 

“Name the time, Si, and I can show ye, how much I can still get up and down just fine. Treat yeez like a bonnie cuddy.” He takes Simon's hand into his, and grins a feral grin at his long time friend before licking his bottom lips and biting it. 

Simon laughs at him. “I thought you needed a wedding before you'd give it up again.” 

“Aye, I do.” He looks at Simon meaningfully. 

Oh. 

“Oh.” 

Soap chuckles at him. “Let's talk more when the bairns are asleep, yeah? Maybe I'll show yeez a good winch.” 

Ghost is speechless after that. 

AO3