#Gold Stick in Waiting

[thepastisalreadywritten]

His Majesty King Charles III has presented new standards and colours to the Royal Navy, the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment and Grenadier Guards from the British Army, and the Royal Air Force in Buckingham Palace last week.

As the nation prepares to celebrate the Coronation of His Majesty The King, we dive into the British Army’s contribution to the big day’s pomp and ceremony you may not be familiar with.

Gold Stick in Waiting

A prominent role on 6 May will be played by Lieutenant General Sir Edward Smyth-Osbourne KCVO CBE, Colonel, The Life Guards and Gold Stick in Waiting.

This senior Army officer will ride on the wheels of the Gold State Coach during the Procession from Buckingham Palace to Westminster Abbey.

Gold Stick in Waiting was created because of a conspiracy during the reign of Henry VIII, when the King was supposed to be in danger.

A trusted courtier was ordered to always be by the King’s side, carrying an ebony staff with a gold head.

On the Restoration in 1660, this task fell to the Colonel of The Life Guards.

A second Army officer, Silver Stick, was also placed close to the sovereign as Gold Stick’s deputy to protect the King or Queen from danger.

The role of Gold Stick, now only demonstrated on ceremonial and state occasions, is held jointly by the Colonels of the Life Guards and the Blues and Royals, taking it in turns by monthly rota, both being Regiments of the Household Cavalry of the Household Division.

The Silver Stick is the Commander of the Household Cavalry, who holds the rank of colonel and oversees all Household Cavalry duties for the sovereign.

After the new King has been crowned at Westminster Abbey, the role of Gold Stick in Waiting will be played by The Colonel of The Life Guards, as it is their Sovereign’s Standard on parade.

The Princess Royal will ride on horseback behind the Gold State Coach back to Buckingham Palace as Colonel of the Blues and Royals and senior Colonel of all The Household Division Regiments.

Anointing Screen Bearers

Six members of the Army’s Household Division will carry out the sacred duty of carrying the Anointing Shrine/Screen that will cover and protect the Sovereign and Queen Consort while sacred oils are applied by the Archbishop of Canterbury in Westminster Abbey during the Coronation service.

Colours

All British Army units taking part in the Coronation Procession will proudly carry their Colours, Standards or Guidons.

Infantry Colours are among the most sacred symbols of the British Army. These flags embody the honour, spirit and heritage of the regiments that proudly carry them.

Historically, the practice of carrying Colours, Standards or Guidons served to act as a rallying point for troops in the smoke and fog of battle.

British and Commonwealth infantry regiments usually have two colours, collectively called a stand.

The King's/Queen’s Colour is typically a union flag trimmed with gold fabric and with the regiment's insignia in the centre.

It reminds all ranks of their loyalty and duty to their sovereign.

The Regimental Colour is a flag of a single colour - usually the colour of the regiment's uniform facings (collar, lapels and cuffs) - again trimmed and with the insignia in the centre.

Handmade from precious silks, silver and gilt threads, the Colours are used on the regiment's most important occasions and bear the battle honours, or those inherited from its predecessors, and symbols of the battalions.

Standards and Guidons

In the British Army’s cavalry units, the King’s Cavalry Standard and the Regimental Standard (for the heavy cavalry) and the King’s Cavalry Standard and Regimental Guidons (for the light cavalry) are the equivalents to Infantry Colours.

The two units that make up the Household Cavalry have their own unique Standards.

The Life Guards only carry the King’s Standard, whereas the Blues and Royals carry the King’s Standard and may carry the regimental Guidon.

The Standard is “senior” to a colour or guidon.

In the past, Cavalry would bear Guidons, which are smaller and lighter for carrying into battle on horseback.

In contrast, Infantry, who traditionally fought on foot, have the larger, heavier Colours, which are more easily seen from the ground.

The Sovereign’s Standard of the Life Guards is made of silk damask, with gold thread embroidery and fringe.

It bears the Royal Arms and the battle honours of the Regiment.

Queen’s Truncheon

Proudly marching down The Mall with all other British Army units during the Coronation Procession will be soldiers from The Royal Gurkha Rifles (RGR).

However, unlike their fellow service men and women carrying Colours, Standards and Guidons, the soldiers from Nepal will carry a ceremonial staff, known as the Queen’s Truncheon.

This serves as the equivalent of and is carried as the Regimental Colour.

The staff originates in the Indian Mutiny during 1857-8 when the Sirmoor Battalion (which later became the 2nd KEO Goorkhas, 2 GR) remained loyal to the British Crown.

The Battalion, together with the Guides and the 60th Rifles, held a key position for over three months of constant attack, suffering 327 casualties out of a total strength of 490.

After the mutiny, the 2nd Goorkhas were designated as a Rifle Regiment as a mark of the bond created with the 60th Rifles.

Queen Victoria directed the Battalion be awarded a special truncheon to replace the Regimental Colours that could no longer be carried by a Rifle Regiment.

The ornate Gurkha Truncheon was given to the Rifles by order of Queen Victoria in 1863.

Also known as ‘Nishani Mai’, meaning symbol of the great mother, the Queen’s Truncheon was carried by 2 GR until The Royal Gurkha Rifles were formed in 1994, when it was laid up.

The Queen’s Truncheon remains in service with The RGR and is still accorded the honours due to a Queen’s Colour of Infantry.

The Queen’s Truncheon was also on parade during the 1953 Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II.

This was the first time the Truncheon was presented to the sovereign. It was then presented a further seven times with the last being in 2019.

Military music

Bands from the Royal Corps of Army Music will perform on 6 May, with a 50-piece mounted band of musicians from The Band of the Household Cavalry leading the Coronation procession.

Four State Trumpeters from the Band of the Household Cavalry will perform fanfares in Westminster Abbey for the Coronation Service.

The State Trumpeters are professional musicians from the Royal Corps of Army Music and uniquely have to attend military riding school before being selected for a role in which they will have had to memorise up to 22 different fanfares.

Bands from the Foot Guards will be positioned throughout the procession and at key points along the route to keep the procession to time and to entertain the crowds.

During the coronation procession, the British Army Band Colchester will perform as a massed band with British Army Band Sandhurst.

Garrison Sergeant Major Andrew Stokes will be at the side of the Gold State Coach and will have the key role of stepping off the procession from his position in Parliament Square.

He has designed a method of uniting all 19 processional bands to strike up at the same time and maintain a constant beat, whilst playing the same bar, with bands separated by distance across a procession group over a mile long.

Bands from the Royal Corps of Army Music deliver musical support to the Army and across Defence, as well as supporting State ceremonial occasions such as the King’s Coronation.

During the coronavirus pandemic, the Army’s bands helped to raise morale by performing at major national events, including VE and VJ Day, the Queen’s Birthday, national Acts of Remembrance, and New Year’s Eve TV celebrations. 

The Royal Corps of Army Music also released free to download music for public enjoyment, online tutorials for aspiring musicians and virtual masterclass workshops for schoolchildren.

[screwpinecaprice]

Do your Connverse kiddos fight at all, or are they all pretty close to one another? Personally, I think Rohini probably wouldn't get along with her siblings, but that may just be me projecting based off my own kiddo headcanons.

Haha kinda with Rohini, though she mostly bickers with just Zachary, but it never gotten too serious. Other than that, there's the sibling rivalry here and there. (I mean at least so far, lol)

*inserts doodle I made that I dunno what to do with but kinda relates to the topic. Trying upper angle without reference practice.*

Ebony gets along pretty well with all of the siblings, usually acts as a mediator among them.

Rohini idolizes Ebony. Had that classic phase of younger sibling copying the older sibling. And although Rohini and Zachary have their squabbles, and she could not relate to Sakura's very feminine and vain ways, she's quite protective of them both.

The twins also look up to the Ebony, but they're relatively closer to Rohini, specially with the former started frequently going out on Gem adventure.. traveling stuff.

Basically, that's their fight to peace.. sibling meter... I dunno what's the actually term it is. (⁠ ⁠ꈨຶ⁠ ⁠˙̫̮⁠ ⁠ꈨຶ⁠ ⁠) They all generally get along fairly well and if there's fighting, it's expected to be Rohini and Zachary.

[thebirdarts]

WIP Wednesday!

Finally found some good trench-coat references so we have Celia in one, probably after a fight bc her hair is out of her ringlets, then it's Russo and her Red Reflection, then Muro holding a coffin with Celia inside

[larcenywrites]

I know it’s technically a hologram, but it lets me imagine my favs in the same room 😔

[grandmaster-anne]

15 June 2023 King Charles III and The Princess Royal present Sovereign's Standard to Royal Horse Guards © ITN

[acetechne]

gearing up to start drawing again and i’ve been reflecting on why i draw and why it frustrates me when people say they cant draw or could never draw or whatever and, okay, yes i have spent years doing this for reasons which would involve a whole nother post than what i’m actually thinking about at the moment but i digress

i think people get self conscious of their art because they think if they don’t want to put the time in or get to a certain level that art isn’t worth pursuing at all and today i am breaking down your door and i am sitting down on the floor with you and i am telling you listen: the reason to do art is not to post it and it isn’t to be good at it and it isn’t to draw every leaf on every tree. the reason to do art is because you are a magician and you are putting a little guy there that wasn’t there before. and then later you can open your book of little guys and be like :)

“oh but I couldn’t” shh! SHUT! i am TELLING you RIGHT NOW that if you draw the worst little guy possible and you look at that little guy and you laugh and smile, then that literal 60 seconds it took you to draw that is more worth all of the years that i spent learning to draw because i desperately wanted people to notice and appreciate and be friends with me in school (and yes, occasionally it does happen but mostly in my experience that motivation backfires because half the people just want shit for free but wouldn’t give you the time of day and half the people are too intimidated to even talk to you). maybe it’s because i’m old now but who cares about that shit, you draw because it’s good to create something and look at it and smile because it’s yours and it belongs to you and you did that.

[mandalhoerian]

I set out to develop an oc trying to figure out how to make a green color palette interesting when I don't vibe with how it'd look on armor (im sorry boba fett...) & messing with character creator picrews suddenly lead to a gold and white palette and now she's a yellow character instead of green. The pipeline

[illithilit]

Kophyn as Mourndax's guardian, bc that is the singular person Emp could have pretended to be and have had Daxie's trust at all.

[seud-luachmhor]

C'mon Charlie boy, dissolve parliament for us, babe. Sunak is about to tank the UK's green credentials and stand against everything you believe in - call a general election. 👏🏻

[fluffylino]

seungmin being drunk on eating you out.

pussy drunk seungmin who takes every chance he gets to taste you. his eyes getting all sparkly and big when you deny him.

you'd remember how it had all started when he wanted to try out face sitting. at first being very hesitant until he actually got the feeling.

the feeling of not being able to breathe. your pussy leaking all over his mouth and nose.

had he really been missing out on the good stuff? how could he let it all go to waste?

he doesn't even want to cum, he just wants to eat you out and make you cum. he'll make you cum over and over again until you actually have to tug a handful of his hair to pull him back.

he's the type to walk in behind you when your leaning against the counter.

an innocent smile on his face and his not so innocent hand slipping down your pants. before you can even utter another word, he's on his knees. fingers playfully tugging at the waistband of your panties.

sometimes you'd wake up feeling completely dazed. an unexplainable sensation. but its all explainable when you see his head between your legs. face buried in your cunt. seungmin doesn't even try to hide how desperate he is.

you worry about how he'd breath when you can feel his nose rubbing against your clit harshly while his tongue is all over the place. licking you completely. swallowing whatever he can take.

"seungmin..hah-" you'd whine, closing your thighs around his head. he'd moan, panting against you. he'd want you to do that. so he could get breathless and only smell your sex. your essence. seungmin wants you to push his mouth against your cunt. use him for your pleasure. make him your toy. your bitch.

"what is this for?"

seungmin smiled, unbuckling the thick collar and fastening it around his neck. 'puppy engraved into the light blue collar in gold.

"so you can control my pace"

by now you had figured he knew your pussy from the inside and out. his tongue finding all your spots in quick successions.

other times he'd make a peace sign and stick his tongue through it playfully when y'all were in public. just to tease you.

.

.

"i just don't understand how people can be so stupid" you frustratedly, holding your head in your hands. today was a bad day. everything was pissing you off.

"couldn't you wait until i was done ranting?" you sighed out airily. looking at the boy who was sitting on his knees, lazily mouthing at your heat. he locked eyes with you, obviously not hearing what you asked him.

"kim seungmin." you hissed out, tugging the chain that was attached to his collar.

he jerked forward, a whiny 'sorry' leaving him.

[seijorhi]

All In

the beta fic you have been waiting months for <33 Ushijima Wakatoshi, Semi Eita & Tendou Satori x female reader w.c 6.8k tw: yandere themes, a/b/o, noncon, (sorta) smut, nsfw, one mention of blood and oozing wounds, implied stalking, forced claiming

“They’re good guys – good alphas. This won’t be like last time, I promise. You’ll see what I mean when you meet them,” Ayako murmurs, squeezing your hand in reassurance and offering you a brilliant grin. “They’re gonna love you.”

Love seems a bit of a stretch.

But Aya looks so… hopeful. You sigh. “You really like them, huh?”

“I really like them,” she admits, a pretty pink blush tingeing her cheeks. “You come first, though. You’re my beta, and if it doesn’t feel right, we’ll walk, okay? No questions asked.” 

A promise she’s kept more than once. Too many times. Omegas like Aya, young and vibrant and oh-so-lovely, shouldn’t have any trouble finding a pack to settle down with. Hell, alphas should be banging down the door just for a chance with her – to fuck, to bond, anything and everything in between. You’re the sticking point. The reason why Ayako hasn’t bonded into a pack yet.

Alphas have no interest in betas. They do nothing for them – can’t take a knot, don’t have heats. Betas aren’t durable enough to ride out an alpha’s rut. All that compounded by the simple fact that bonding bites between the two don’t last longer than a few months, so why bother?

You’re dead weight. Aya clings to you anyway. 

She pulls your hand to her cheek, the tender, delicate spot right beneath the curve of her jaw. Scenting, you realise a touch belatedly. Omegas have stronger scents than betas do; florals, spice, indulgent, enticing things – you once knew an omega whose scent reminded you of hot caramel drizzled over apple pie. Ayako smells like lilacs and the rain, a softer scent admittedly, yet one that screams of home and comfort and familiar things. 

Your own scent is milder. Now, on top of sea salt and that faint whisper of summer, you’ll smell a little of her. She’s claiming you as pack, as hers. Her beta, exactly as she’d said

A flutter of warmth blooms in your chest, and you smile back at her, the first genuine one of the night. 

“You look great, by the way,” she tells you. “Come on, Tendou messaged to say they’re running a bit late and we should head on in without them. Ushijima’s practice doesn’t finish up ‘til about seven, so we’ve got plenty of time for the show.” She winks and lets out a bubbling laugh and you kind of feel like you’ve missed the joke.

Nevertheless, you let her tug you into the stadium. The lady behind the ticketing counter slides across two visitor’s passes on lanyards when Ayako gives your names.

“Practices are closed to the public,” the omega explains in a hushed voice while the two of you make your way towards the door for the stands. “Apparently the team get a few passes they can hand out to whoever they like – pack, usually.”

The pass has your name printed on it. Beneath it, in bold; Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

You finger the plastic edges absentmindedly. 

There’s other people in the stands, all wearing the same style lanyard draped around your neck. Some, you think, are partners. Friends and family. Pack, like Ayako said. You spy a woman maybe a few years older than you, bouncing a toddler on her lap and pointing animatedly towards the court, another guy sitting beside her, an arm curled over the back of her seat. Others appear to be there in a more official capacity – staff, you suppose, wearing the same white polo edged in blue and gold (team colours, you guess), talking quietly amongst themselves and jotting things down on expensive looking tablets. 

They pay you no mind. Ayako does the same, dragging you right up to the guard-rail with an excited gasp. You’d been expecting them to be running laps or tossing balls in pairs or something. You weren’t expecting anything like this. 

Without the roar of a crowd, every noise on the court is amplified; the squeaking of shoes, the thwack of palms meeting leather, shouts ricocheting from both sides as they scramble for the ball.

Scramble isn’t the right word, though. It flies through the air between the players, choreographed chaos.

One of the players, a dark haired behemoth, shoots up and connects with the ball, slamming it over the net with a terrifying force – you feel the impact in your chest when it hits the floor.

A whistle rings out.

“Oh my god,” Aya breathes.

The behemoth turns, dark eyes zeroing in on your figure from across the court. His nostrils flare.

Alpha, you realise. He’s one of Aya’s alphas.

Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

“You know he’s one of the top wing spikers in the country, and he’s on the national team? He’s already got like three Olympic medals! Three!” she gushes. “He’s incredible.”

You hardly hear her. The other players on the court, his teammates, are already re-setting, a blond slapping Ushijima on the back, another hurling a teasing jab across the net – earning him a middle finger in response – Ushijima’s gaze doesn’t shift, his attention doesn’t waver. You swear you see his pupils dilate. 

Your breath is caught somewhere in your chest. 

“Are you gonna wave at the alpha you dressed so pretty for?” 

“Would you stop?” you hiss, tearing your gaze away to jab an elbow into Ayako’s side, which she artfully dodges with a delighted giggle. 

“Can’t say I blame you for drooling. I practically melted into a puddle the first time Semi dragged him into the bakery. He’s hot as hell,” she sighs. 

The problem is, she isn't wrong. Weird, heavy, way too intense eye contact aside, Ushijima is the textbook definition of ‘hot alpha’; all tall and broad shouldered, his face hewn with clean, strong lines. Add on the ridiculous athleticism, the muscles that clearly aren’t just for show – yeah, no wonder Aya’s got heart eyes already. 

On the court below, the whistle blows. More cheers. Another point scored. By the time you glance down again, Ushijima’s lost interest, his focus returned to the game, nodding at something one of the (you presume) coaches yells across the court.

The tight, prickling feeling writhing beneath your skin, that doesn’t fade as quick. 

God, you’re way too worked up about this whole thing. 

“He’s very, uh…” 

“Intimidating? No– impressive? Or were you gonna say sexy? All true, by the way. Ushiwaka’s a beast.”

The other two alphas have finally deigned to grace you with their presence. Wonderful. 

Swallowing back a wince, you turn to face the duo. “Good,” you say. “I was going to say he’s very… good.”

Aya had told you the basics, of course; Semi’s the lead singer slash guitarist in a band, Tendou’s a chocolatier. The former used to be a civil servant, the latter recently moved back from a stint in Paris, and both of them played Volleyball with Ushijima in high school. 

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting. Carbon cutouts of their packmate, maybe, big, brawny, radiating the kind of imposing dominance that forces everyone around them – other alphas included – to sit down and shut up with a look alone. 

The two alphas before you aren’t that. 

The shorter of the two, more wiry in his build than the redhead beside him, smirks. “Good, huh?” 

He’s teasing you. They’re both teasing you. Your cheeks burn hotter. Before you can open your mouth to apologise, try and sidestep you shoving your own foot in your mouth as a first impression, Aya intervenes. 

“You should’ve seen her a minute ago, her jaw was on the ground. She’s playing it cool.”

The sound of her laugh digs at you in a way it shouldn’t. 

It’s not fair, not when you’re the one who’s acting like you don’t have a single working brain cell and she’s trying to cover for you, but it bothers you when Ayako acts like she has to smoothe over your edges, make you more palatable, more pleasing. You’re not an omega, you won’t ever be an omega, and sometimes you can’t help but wonder if Aya’s gonna spend the rest of your lives trying to compensate for that.

Her shoulder knocks with yours, a gentle bump, that same hopeful, painfully optimistic look in her eyes. 

Guilt, an old, familiar friend at this point, washes over you. 

“This is Semi,” she introduces, gesturing at the ash-blond with the ripped jeans, “and Tendou,” the gangly redhead. 

“And you must be our beta,” Semi surmises, slowly eyeing you over. 

The casual possessiveness rankles you, your tight smile freezing in place. Again Ayako simply laughs, her fingers, very deliberately, lacing with yours once more. “She’s my beta, you have yet to win her over.”

Neither alpha appears all that put out by the prospect.

Tendou, eyes crinkling with a wide, eager grin that takes you a little aback, thrusts a hand out towards you, a white gift bag you hadn’t noticed dangling from his fingertips. “Presents help with the whole wooing thing, right?” he jokes.

From your experience, yes. 

Aya’s received plenty. You, as her tag along beta, less so. 

One pack brought you a bouquet of pink and white peonies on your first date. Not quite as  extravagant as the arrangement of roses they presented Aya with, they had a lovely, subtle perfume and when you put them in a vase and set them atop your nightstand, they brightened up the whole room. You could appreciate that they’d at least tried to make you feel an equal part of this. 

They’d been willing to play pretend.

Back then, when Aya first started bringing potential packs around, you were… idealistic. Naive, maybe. 

You watched them dote on her. Lap up Aya’s attention like it was the sweetest fix. You saw the hunger. The arousal that flared, thick and syrupy, whenever she did something unintentionally appealing to the alpha inside of them – a simple stretch, nibbling on her bottom lip while she mulled over a menu, the sway of her hips as she walked up to the bar.

Oh, they were polite to you. Drew you into conversations, chatted about your job, your hobbies, the plans the two of you had for the holidays in a few weeks’ time – all the while tracking every movement of the omega beside you from the corner of their eyes.

They were nice to you. You didn’t want ‘nice’. You wanted what they so freely offered to Aya; hunger and captivated attention, a desire so thick in the air you could choke on it. 

Foolish, pretty fantasies. There’s no competing with biology, you know that. The most interesting, beautiful beta in the room is still just a beta. 

Down below, the court’s quieter, muted chatter drifting up to the bleachers in place of squeaking and thuds and the sharp trill of whistles blowing. Did the practice match finish up?

Aya squeezes your hand. Drops it. As subtle a cue as she can manage. 

Brain kicking back into gear, you step closer and pluck the gift from the alpha’s outstretched hand, an odd little shiver trickling down your spine when the tips of your fingers graze his rough palm. 

“Ah, thank you,” you say, remembering your manners at last.

Tendou’s eyes flutter shut, breathing in deep, shuddering a little on the exhale. When they open again, there’s a giddy sort of satisfaction creeping from his expression. He licks his lips, smiling wide. “Sea salt.”

“… Sorry?”

“The chocolates,” his chin juts towards the gift. “Sea salt caramel. I had a feeling, went with it. I’m not usually wrong.” He sounds absurdly proud of the fact. 

“Oh.” 

Beside you, Aya looks as lost as you feel. Semi, on the other hand, snorts, shaking his head. “You might wanna ease up on the beta, dude. She met you all of three minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but we’re gonna be besties. I can feel it.” Without warning he slings an arm over your shoulders, dragging you close to smush you into his side, unbothered by your startled yelp, the way the bag of chocolates smacks against his torso when the hand clutching it jerks out to steady yourself. “Don’t be jealous ‘cuz I’m already the favourite, Semi-Semi.”

Semi shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, leaning back against the centre railing behind him. Slowly, a smirk unfurls. A challenge. “For now.”

Plastered against Tendou’s side, swallowed up by the heat of him, the heady scent of cherrywood – of alpha – thick and strong, and with no sign of him letting you go anytime soon, you dart a glance to Aya.

Your best, oldest (admittedly only) friend, watching the three of you with a quirked eyebrow, expression otherwise indecipherable–

And then, she giggles, rolling her eyes with exasperated amusement. “Can we at least sit while you two fight over my well-earned spot?” 

You wonder if they notice the brief look of concern she throws your way as Tendou relaxes his hold and the two usher you over to a seat, Semi snagging the one to your left, Aya taking the right.

Her promise from earlier rings in your head. One word and she’ll walk, no questions asked. 

Aya needs a pack. She wants this one. She likes this one, but at some point, she’ll need one. 

Omegas don’t do well long term without mates. Right now her heats are okay, manageable with suppressants and toys – eventually those won’t be enough. They’ll get worse, come without warning, more frequently. The suppressants won’t help, she’ll ache and burn up, forgo food, water, sleep…

The lucky ones end up hospitalised. The unlucky ones either end up dead or in situations where it’d be a kindness if they were. 

“You okay?” she asks, whisper soft. Her voice won’t carry, the other two aren’t paying attention anyway. Semi’s thigh brushes up against yours when he spreads his legs wide, thumbing out a message on his phone, and Tendou’s leaning over the backrest between you, chin perched on his folded forearms, watching him type. 

One word and she’ll walk, that’s what Aya promised. 

Down on the court below, the players spread across the floor, stretching out and cooling down, half empty water bottles and sweat towels scattered around them. Ushjima’s lying on your side of the court, one thigh drawn over the other, twisting out his lower back. If he realises he’s got an audience in you and Aya, he gives no indication of caring, holding the stretch for a few seconds longer before repeating the motion with the other leg. 

“Yeah.”

If chocolates and overly tactile besties are what you get out of this, you can manage that. 

—

While you wait out front of the stadium for Ushijima to finish up, Semi smokes.

A lit cigarette dangles loosely between two fingers, the tip glowing cherry red with every drag. He stands separate from the three of you, a few feet away, because when he’d fished out the slightly crumpled packet from his jacket pocket to pluck one out, Aya’s nose wrinkled. Omegas are sensitive to strong smells at the best of times, and Aya’s loathed the stench of cigarettes ever since she was a kid and her dad would smoke on the back porch of her gran’s place. He died years ago, and to this day she swears up and down that every time she sets foot back there, she smells those Seven Stars.

To her credit, she hadn’t actually said anything, and to Semi’s, he hadn’t kicked up a fuss. He’d shrugged, shuffled on back and lit up anyway. Water off a duck’s back.

Tendou talks loudly and Aya’s giggling laugh echoes louder. Semi watches. Idle – bored, almost. 

Until his gaze shifts to you.

And stays there.

From a young age, you’re taught that alphas are stronger than betas and omegas. They’re quicker. Smarter. In the old days, they tell you, alphas were the hunters, the providers – protectors, when the situation called for it. What they mean, dressing the truth up in nicer, more palatable terms is that alphas are, down to their marrow, predators. 

Those instincts don’t go away just because society’s a little more civilised these days. 

Semi’s expression doesn’t change. There’s nothing particularly dangerous or threatening there, nothing to explain the sudden ball of anxiety that lodges itself in your stomach. 

Yet you can’t shake the sense that with that stare, every ounce of his focus rests solely on you. Every breath, every nervous twitch, shift of your muscles, all of it tracked, analysed. He stares, breathing out a slow plume of smoke, and you feel the physical weight of it bearing down on you.

He won’t bite, lunge for the kill – but he could.

His chin tilts, eyebrow lifting. A flicker of amusement, as if he knows exactly the thoughts running wild in your head. You shake them off, ignore the hammering of your heart to follow the wordless, beckoning call to his side, nudging Aya on the way past so she won’t think you’ve abandoned her. 

“You realise she’s gonna try and get you to quit,” you tell him in what you hope is a friendly, upbeat tone. 

Semi scoffs and takes another drag of his cigarette. You watch, off-kilter, a little dazed as his head tilts back, exposing the long, lithe column of his throat, and he slowly exhales.

With dark, sweeping lashes and angular features, the problem, you realise, is that Semi is distractingly pretty. An artless, grunged up sort of pretty. Pretty like pools of oil on asphalt after it rains. 

Pretty in the way that poisonous things often are. 

“She’s more than welcome to try.” He plucks his cig from his lips and extends it your way, his expression almost… goading. 

You don’t take it.

There isn’t much surprise to be found in your refusal, his pretty mouth pursing as his arm falls by the wayside. “Omega’s got her claws stuck in you good, huh.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it. What all this boils down to. Right from the start, the very first pack you met and every pack since – Aya’s made it clear from the get-go. They don’t get her without you. You’re her beta. 

“Is that a problem for you?”

You won’t take the cigarette because Aya has issues with it. She won’t entertain you leaving her because the two of you are too fucking entangled in one another to handle extrication.

You’re pack, you’re family, you’re all each other has left, now that her grandma – the woman who essentially raised you and her – is gone. 

You won’t play second fiddle, if only because Aya won’t allow them to push you aside like that. If that’s a problem, a dealbreaker (and, historically speaking, it has been) better they figure it out now, before she – or you – gets too attached and ends up hurt. 

Semi regards you for a long moment, taking one last puff of his cigarette before he flicks it away, grinds the smoldering butt into the cement with the toe of his boot. “Don’t know yet. Guess we’ll find out.”

And you nod, because at least that’s an honest answer. 

“Tendou came back to Japan for her, didn’t he?” It’d twigged when you’d gone to hand back your visitor’s pass and the lady behind the counter made some casual comment about not expecting to see him ‘til next season.

Not back for a visit, back permanently.

Semi shakes his head, “He was always coming back. Paris was only ever a temporary thing,” he corrects. “But yeah, he made the decision to come home early when we realised the opportunity that’d fallen into our laps.”

While you don’t love the way he makes meeting Aya sound, you understand the gravity of what he’s saying. Tendou uprooted his life for her. 

You glance back over your shoulder, fiddling with the handles of the bag of chocolates he’d made for you. They’re still talking, quieter now, both of them subtly – subconsciously, probably – angled towards the two of you; Aya with that same bright-eyed look about her, Tendou like he’s just itching to interrupt and steal your attention back for himself. He, at least, might actually like you. 

“And you? Are you all in, too?”

The words slip out before you can stop them. Semi doesn’t owe you an answer, you know that. It’s not fair that you asked, it’s just– you can’t get a read on him. For all his sharp edges and the smirks that make your insides squirm, you don’t know whether this is what he wants. Wanted, maybe.

Semi surprises you. In a move too quick for you to catch, he closes in on you. He doesn’t pin you down per se. You’re not caged in, trapped between his body and a wall. Physically speaking, there’s nothing stopping you from stepping back and regaining that inch of space as he looms over your shorter frame, tilting your chin upwards with two curled fingers like he’s going to kiss you. 

Nothing except your suddenly jelly legs. 

There’s barely anything separating you. Millimetres. Heat floods your face. Your stomach tightens, blood simmering, writhing beneath your skin. Long fingers encircle your wrist, right where Aya had scented you, his thumb digging in over your fluttering pulse. A noise escapes you then, a distressed sort of whimper you thought yourself above, and Semi’s eyes flick down to your lips, something dark and hungry flaring in response. 

Alpha. Smaller than his packmates, but no less. 

“Who d’you think called him and told him to get his ass back home, little beta?” 

You swallow unsteadily–

“Time to share, Semi-Semi,” Tendou sings, snaking an arm around your waist to haul you away from the blond. To you, he says, “You wanna come say hi to our big, bad pack alpha, don’tcha?” 

It’s then you realise that Ushijima, along with several of his teammates, have finally emerged. While they wave each other off, scattering across the carpark, some heading to their cars, others in the direction of buses and the train station, Ushijima halts near the door – Aya already skipping on over. 

“Ah… yes?”

Tendou snickers. 

“Relax,” Semi tells you with a smirk, clapping your shoulder as he brushes on past. “Ushiwaka doesn’t bite.” 

As Tendou nudges you forward like an errant duckling, you fix Semi with an unimpressed look. He winks. Asshole.

Omegas, especially unbonded omegas, tend to be picky about touch and physical affection outside of pack and family. Aya, for all her moon-eyed infatuation, doesn’t throw herself at the alpha. Ushijima offers a single, wooden pat on her head, the edges of his mouth lifting in what you suppose is an approximation of a smile.

She beams all the same.

“– and this is my beta,” she introduces. 

You’re not anticipating an overly warm welcome. For one, he looks stiff enough smiling at Aya to suspect he’s not practised with the expression, for another… the whole, weird staring thing from earlier sits all too fresh in your mind. If he’d heard your awkward fumbling with his packmates in the aftermath, you doubt that’s helped endear you to him any.

Nothing prepares you for the way he turns, every speck of goodwill falling from his features when your scent finally reaches him. Cold, remote stone, eyeing you down. 

“You smell like lilacs,” he grunts, like the very concept offends him. You, a beta, wearing his would-be mate’s scent. 

—

The izakaya the alphas take you to is only a few minutes walk from the stadium, and each one of them passes in near unbearable, stilted tension. 

Aya doesn’t question you when you make a bee-line for the bathroom rather than following the others to a table, though the small furrow between her brows says plenty.

You just need a minute.

The single unisex stall offers spartan amenities at best – a sink with a cracked mirror hammered into the wall, paper towels, and a lone, flickering light above. 

Braced over the porcelain vanity, eyes closed, shaking like a leaf with remnants of ice-cold water dripping down your face, you will the frantic, sickening churn inside you to ease. 

Fuck. 

What’s wrong with you?

Ushijima could barely stand that Aya had scented you, and you’re supposed to believe he’d let you bond into the pack with her? And if he did, what kind of life would that be? You, forever on the outside, pack but not really, not in the ways that matter. 

What place does a beta have between alphas and their omega?

More to the point, how, after all the packs you and Aya have tried this with, all the the indifference and dismissal you’ve weathered, the cruel insults you weren’t supposed to hear–

Think of it this way, dude; it’s a spare hole for you to stick your cock in while the omega’s busy bouncing on my knot.

–how are you still surprised that they don’t want you?

You let a slow breath out, shoulders sagging. Okay. 

Okay. 

Straightening up, you rip a sheet of paper towel from the dispenser, dabbing to remove any trace of distress from your face. You can do this, you tell yourself. Smile, play pretend. A few drinks, some dumplings, yakitori – two, three hours max.

Nothing’s changed.

The alphas want Ayako. Ayako wants these alphas.

In spite of that, in spite of the blushing and fawning and big, lovely doe eyes that bat ever so prettily for her alphas, she’ll hold true to her promise if you ask it of her. 

No questions asked, without an ounce of resentment, she’d walk away from them. She’d choose you. 

It’d be a few weeks of moping around, picking each other up and dusting yourselves off. There’ll be other packs. Aya’s got a few years yet before her heats really become an issue. You can always try again.

The thing is… you don’t want to anymore.

They like you as a friend. You’re in the way. They wanna fuck you, but only if the omega’s otherwise occupied. You can take care of the household stuff during heats and ruts, right? Maybe one day there could be something more. 

They wouldn’t look twice if it wasn’t for Ayako. 

Every time it hurts, like clawing out pieces of yourself, and you just… you can’t anymore. You won’t.

So tonight, you’ll be the bestie. Let her have her fun, flirt with the big, strong alphas she’s so enamoured by, and then tomorrow… tomorrow you’ll find a way to cut yourself loose from all of this. Aya gets her pack and you can find a nice, normal beta to settle down with. You’ll both be happier for it in the long run. 

Wiping a smudge of mascara from under your eye, you suck in another fortifying breath, nodding at yourself in the mirror. A few hours of pretending is nothing. A piece of cake.

Focused entirely on the veneer you have to slip into, you don’t notice the large, muscular frame blocking the door until you quite literally collide with it.

“Oof– Sorry, my b–”

The words wither like ash on your tongue when you look up to find Ushijima standing over you.

Despite the resolution you’d come to mere moments ago, you’re not feeling particularly charitable towards the hulking behemoth of an alpha, and you have every intention of wordlessly skirting around him to head back to the table and join your friend, civility be damned. 

You make it all of a single step before a change sweeps over him and he stiffens, nostrils flaring like they had back on the court. His eyes bleed black, and that’s the only warning you get before he seizes your wrist in one giant hand and starts to haul you back into the stall, slamming the door shut behind you both. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” you hiss. 

“She scented you,” he growls, looking angrier than he did before. “You smell like omega.”

No, this isn’t anger. Not exactly. Ushijima’s shoulders heave with every breath, his whole frame almost shuddering, pulled taut like a bowstring primed to snap–

And that’s when realisation hits. 

“You’re in a rut,” you whisper, eyes going wide in horror. “Ushiji–” You don’t get to finish the sentence. 

Big should mean slow. Clumsy. Ushijima’s neither. 

In an instant he surges into motion, one hand clamping down over your mouth, the other shoving you forward, trapping you on the tips of your toes between his hulking body and the vanity that was your lifeline five minutes ago. Just like then, your hands automatically reach out, clutching the edge of the sink to steady yourself. Stupid, when the full weight of Ushijima pins you precariously in place anyway.

Your heart hammers, panic and terror clawing at your stomach. You aren’t an omega, you can’t take a knot. If Ushijima tries to fuck you like he wants – like his instincts are driving him to – he’ll tear you apart. He’ll break you. 

But if any part of the mindless, snarling alpha behind you recognises that, he doesn’t care. The warm body in his grasp smells like lilacs, like the omega outside, and that’s good enough.

He noses at your hair and pants, yanking your skirt up to rip at your underwear. The fabric gives easily.

While he rips and claws at his own clothes to free his cock, Ushijima stares at your reflection, watching you shake as the tears well up and spill over. There’s nothing human there, nothing cognizant. The black pits staring back at you are pure alpha, consumed by the need to fuck and breed. 

You have seconds – seconds – to brace yourself.

Ushijima drags the head of his cock along your slit just once, bends you over, and without warning or preamble, splits you in two. 

Omegas have slick to help with sudden ruts. You don’t. 

It doesn’t matter that you’re not prepared to take him, that it hurts worse than anything you’ve experienced before and you’re choking on tears and muffled wails. You scream into his hand and Ushijima grunts, bullying his cock into you one agonising millimetre at a time. 

He fucks into you like you’re made to take his cock, every thrust slamming you into the unforgiving edge of the sink while your legs scramble for purchase. You’re fairly sure you’re close to passing out when you feel the swell of his knot start to catch. 

Oblivious to your panic, the wheezing cries and pleas dashed against his palm, the alpha snarls in open-mouthed pleasure, his spare hand coming down to cover one of your own, braced against the sink. “Mine.”

With the added weight, the vanity unit rattles against the wall, and you pray that someone’s walking by and hears it, cares enough to come investigate.

You aren’t that lucky, though.

Ushijima hauls you back upright, and as his knot swells, thick and pulsing, stretching you to breaking point and spurts of hot cum coat your insides, you cling on to consciousness just long enough to watch him tilt your chin to the side, lap at a bead of sweat trailing down your neck, and bury his teeth in your skin. 

—

Three days after your release from hospital, you wake to Aya knocking at your bedroom.

“S’posed to be at the bakery,” you mumble, curling tighter into the warm cocoon of your sheets. Soft morning light spills into your room. You can’t be bothered reaching for your phone to see the time, however your internal clock tells you that whatever the time is, it’s too early.

Aya sighs, taking that as an invitation to slip inside and plant herself on the edge of the mattress beside you. “Soon. I swapped shifts so I could start a bit later. I didn’t want…” she seems to struggle to find the right words, her shoulders rising and falling in a helpless shrug. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

That isn’t the problem. 

“You remember the day your mom left?” The stark flinch beneath the covers must serve as answer enough. “You wouldn’t stop crying. Gran was so worried you’d make yourself sick, kept bringing you tea, bottles of water, anything to keep you hydrated.” 

An omega like her granddaughter, the last of her alphas having passed away a few years before, she’d paced fretfully outside Aya’s bedroom door for hours while you’d sobbed into your best friend’s arms, an absolute wreck. 

A bittersweet feeling floods your heart at the memory. No one ever loved you like gran did. 

Aya continues, “I made a decision that day. I wasn’t going to leave. I wasn’t going to run off with a bunch of alphas to live out some fairytale happily ever after and leave you behind. You can blame me for what happened. I get it. If I hadn’t scented you, he–” she breaks off with a sharp inhale.

He wouldn’t have tipped into a rut.

Wouldn’t have fucked you.

Knotted you.

Bit you. 

“You can blame me for it,” she repeats, though her voice shakes and her eyes shine with tears she won’t let fall. “Hate me for it if you have to, so long as you know I’m not going anywhere. You’re still my beta, my best friend. All I wanted was to keep us together.”

Aya waits for you to say something. To forgive or condemn, and you try– you genuinely do, because blaming her isn’t fair, and you could no sooner hate her than you could carve out a lung. 

Only… you open your mouth and there’s nothing. 

The way her expression collapses before she has a chance to plaster over it hits you like a punch to the stomach. 

“Alright, lovely girl. I’ll see you when I get back – four-ish probably, unless we get hit with a late rush. I’ll try and steal some of those mini strawberry cakes to bring home too, I know how much you like them,” she rambles, patting your blanket covered knee and rising to her feet. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Aya–”

Already halfway to the door, she turns, perfect brow arched, “Hm?” Like she’s expecting you to ask for another blanket. Some tea. Nothing wrong, nothing amiss. 

“Love you, too.”

And it’s like the sun coming out from the clouds. Aya beams a watery smile, and quietly closes the door behind her. 

Sleep drags you back under before you hear the front door click. The doctors warned you about that; one of the many charming side effects you’d be subjected to over the next few weeks.

Bond sickness, they called it. An alpha’s bite formed a mating bond, and that bond doesn’t respond well when it’s neglected, say by putting several miles of distance between you and the alpha who marked you. For omegas it can be deadly if it goes on long enough. Alphas have a sense of it, but it doesn’t affect them in the same way. They don’t get sick. For you, it means a month or so of lethargy, aches, low grade fevers and chills, nausea, a veritable shopping list of symptoms that’ll ease and fade as the bond itself does. 

None of that had stopped one of the nurse’s at the hospital from suggesting that, despite the delicate nature of the situation, it might be beneficial for your health if you moved in with Ushijima and his pack until it did fade. 

It was Aya who’d jumped down her throat for that one. 

You were still in shock. Numb–

Except for the foreign, slow simmering anger lodged like a thorn between your ribs. A small piece of you that wasn’t you at all. 

—

Sometime around midmorning, you stir again.

There’s footsteps in the living room, pattering through towards your bedroom. Dancing on the edge of awake, your brain slow and sluggish, jumps to the most logical conclusion. 

“Aya?” 

You expect your door to open, that familiar bloom of lilacs to spill into your room along with your best friend, a bowl of noodle soup from the shop on the corner in tow, the strawberry cakes she promised earlier, extra pillows, coffee, her laptop with your favourite movie already queued up; comfort things she knows will help.

The door does swing open, and neither one of the tall, looming frames behind it belong to Aya. 

“Sorry to disappoint, little beta,” Semi drawls, crossing the threshold like he has every right to be there. “Your girlfriend’s busy, you’re gonna have to play with us instead.”

The blood in your veins runs cold. 

Drawing your legs up tight to put as much distance between you and the advancing alpha as you can, your eyes dart between the two, Tendou lingering in the doorway, fingers drumming against the jamb. 

“I didn’t report him. I’m not going to,” you tell them, clutching at the blankets around you so your hands won’t shake. “I know how it’ll go, I’m not i-interested in–”

Semi reaches your bed. That look he’d had in his eyes back at the stadium, dark, focused, predatory – it’s there again, sharp and gleaming. He’s smirking. 

“There’s no– you don’t need to threaten me, or-or try to scare me–” His knee hits the mattress and your voice jumps to a squeak as he climbs on up.

You squirm back against the headboard. Semi prowls closer. 

There’s nowhere for you to go. 

Tendou’s not so subtly placed himself between you and the exit, and even if you could launch yourself out of bed without Semi catching you – without your head spinning and stomach threatening to upheave – they’re alphas. You couldn’t outrun them on a good day, you sure as hell can’t fight them.  

“Please. You can go. I-I won’t say anything.”

“Fuck, that’s cute,” Tendou shivers, the deep red of his iris nearly swallowed by black. His fingers aren’t idly drumming anymore, they’re digging into the wood, splintering it beneath his grip. 

Inches away from you, Semi suddenly freezes, his attention snapping downwards to focus on something near his right hand. His nose wrinkles, lip curling. “You wanna know what I liked best about the omega?” he asks, lifting his gaze back to you. “I don’t think you really believed me back at the stadium.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to know. If they aren’t here to scare you into keeping your mouth shut about Ushijima, then–

A low, husky chuckle comes from the doorway. 

“When she’d show up smelling like the sea in summer.” 

He strikes hard and fast – seizing your ankle to yank you under him. His mouth finds the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder and he bites down. Hard. 

Agony washes you over you, chased by fire. 

Panting wildly, your body locks up, arcing against him; against the warmth that crowds you, the hard muscles that cage you, the face now tucked into the crook of your neck, licking at the bloody, oozing wound. 

He’s there inside of you, too. Buried beneath your skin, brimming with smug satisfaction. 

“Bite her and we’ll take her home to the nest. I’m not fucking her here,” he calls over his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on you. He pats your hair, strokes your cheek. “Little beta needs her mates, don’t you?”

“Course she does!”

You’re gasping for air that won’t come, trembling, heart beating so frantically inside your chest you worry it’ll give out.

Tendou, bounding over with puppy-like eagerness, jumps on the bed and shoves his fellow alpha out of the way. 

“A…ya,” you rasp, weakly pushing at the large body crawling atop yours. You’re not sure whether it’s a question or a plea, but you get the sense that it doesn’t actually matter either way. 

Semi rolls his eyes – you can feel the flicker of his irritation – while Tendou, pawing at your sleep tee, pushing it up and shoving his face into the soft skin revealed there only groans, huffing at your scent like he can’t get enough. 

“Pretty omega like her? She’ll have her own alphas to worry about,” Semi dismisses, a faint frown marring his pretty face as he zeros in on the bandage over your neck. 

A split second too late, you realise his intentions. 

“No, don’t–”

He rips off the gauze.

Ushijima’s bite is puffy and inflamed. Calloused fingertips drift over the edges of the wound, Semi’s eyes boring into you as you let out a low, anxious whine. As Tendou licks and nips at your chest, working his way upwards, the blond increases the pressure, digging in.

You choke on a cry, pleasure, rather than pain, flooding and overwhelming your senses, and deep in your core, the answering surge of rabid need rips through you so viciously it punches the air from your lungs–

“We don’t fucking share.”

–and you scream as Tendou’s teeth sink into the curve of your breast, claiming you one final time.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Princess Anne and her Red Feather

Princess Anne as the Gold-Stick-in-Waiting — the person entrusted with the monarch’s personal safety on the big day.

Princess Anne arrived at the coronation in her formal robes and military attire, 6 May 2023.

[vampiricgf]

☆ FAVORITE GIRL

ᝰ you think he's just another frat boy with meaningless flirty words for the person he sits next to in a boring class (he's down horrendous)

frat boy satoru x f!reader, college au, somewhat established relationship you guys are classmates, sfw no smut, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, just lots of him being an idiot with a massive huge earth shattering crush <3

"And how's my favorite girl?"

"Worse, thought you'd skip this class again and we'd have some peace." You roll your eyes as you slide the straps of your backpack over the back of your chair.

Satoru Gojo, nuance Sig Ep and unfortunately glued to your side since the first day of statistics for reasons unknown to you. You'd made an effort to avoid members of greek life on campus, not wanting to get involved in party culture or whatever new dramatics were unfolding with its subgroups. That only seemed to encourage him though, casually throwing his arm around you through the duration of lectures and begging in that whining tone of his for you to come by the house.

You never did, you also pointedly ignored most of his text messages and actively regretted ever having to give him your phone number after the one assignment you'd been paired up for. Outside the occasional drunk text where he'd plead for you to show up, which did make you feel both bad for ignoring him and a little high off the attention. Not that you'd ever admit to clicking your phone lock and grinning to yourself in bed on those nights.

"C'mon, I'm the highlight of your day!" He shoots you that signature megawatt smile and you stick out your tongue at him, scooting your chair in the opposite direction and creating a wide gap as you sit down.

You see him frown and for a half second it looks genuine, making a pang of guilt reverberate through you so you scoot back to where you were and he resumes pestering you with some latest escapade in the Eps house as you both wait for the stream of students to peter off and the lecture to begin.

"Hey so, why you been ignoring my texts?" He pulls a pout and god you wish it wasn't actually cute.

"You send me weird combinations of emojis Gojo, what can I say to that?"

"It's Satoru," he quips almost immediately, barely allowing you to finish.

"Alright, Satoru, it's because you send me weirdo shit. Say hi every once in a while and maybe I'll say it back." You shrug, opening your laptop and preparing yourself to block out his incessant whispering for the next hour while you take down notes.

~

"You actually came!"

The sheer volume in the cramped, would-be living room of the house made you wince in tandem with his shout as Satoru threw an arm around you.

"I'm just humoring you so you stop bugging me!" You shout back, accepting a cup of god knows what from his hands and already formulating a plan of when it would be polite to bow out for the night without a barrage of where'd you go texts.

He doesn't answer you, too busy immediately yelling at some other guy over the volume of the music but you don't miss the way his hand slides down your back to settle at the lower curve, just above your ass. It makes you smile a little, despite your own misgivings about the scene you're in.

But quickly it becomes too much, being jostled by a permanently sweaty and horny crowd in such a cramped space, and you find yourself drifting outside to a patio sparsely populated with only a handful of smokers. The alcohol buzzing inside your brain makes you crave one, a thick, acrid stream of smoke spreading like thick flower petals blossoming inside your lungs.

One girl catches your eye and slowly you meander over to where she's perched, away from the rest on a railing that's seen one too many coats of poor paint jobs.

"Could I bum one off you?"

"You got a dollar?"

Lamely you pat your hips, absentmindedly searching for one until she lets out a soft laugh and extends the pack in her hand out to you. Marlboro lights, the gold top of it shimmers faintly in the dim light as you slide one out and accept the lighter she passes you.

"I tell myself lights mean I'm working on quitting. What a load of shit." She huffs out a laugh to herself as you flick the lighter and it gives a few sparky coughs before the flame catches, burning the tip of the cigarette into a solid ember cherry.

"I'm Ieiri," she says cordially as you hand back the deep purple lighter.

You give her your name before taking a deep drag of the cigarette, enjoying the feeling of it settling in your chest.

"They should invent a kind of cigarette that doesn't kill you." You say absentmindedly and she cracks a smile.

"Too bad the "healthy " cigarettes of ye old days had asbestos in them."

That makes you laugh, enjoying the way it flows into the air with the breeze that plays against your skin, like a lover running fingers over it and giving you gooseflesh.

"Wait, you're the girl Satorus got statistics with right? Tuesdays and Thursdays?" She asks between puffs, flicking ash off into the dark.

"Yeah, the very same. I figured I should finally take him up on the offer to come over, I've blown him off so many times." Saying out loud makes you feel a little like an ass, he may get on your nerves but he's never been anything but sweet to you.

"You know he's like, obsessed with you, right?" She says with another laugh and it makes you raise a brow.

"Oh yeah?"

She shakes her head, another drag before continuing. "Oh yeah. Gets too drunk every weekend and cries in the bathroom because you didn't show, has a crisis every day because he doesn't know what to say to you in texts. I've never seen him excited about a math course before this semester either, usually it's any excuse to cut class until a prof bitches at him."

With every word a strange sense of giddiness grows in tandem with the alcohol drenching your brain, and you can't help but think about those devastating blue eyes. The opposite of rose colored glasses but it fits, a shade of comfortable blue that tints the world because of him and suddenly you're gripped by the urgent need to go back inside and find him.

"Hey, thanks for the cigarette but I'm gonna go find him. See you inside?" You crush the butt out with the toe of your shoe, grinding it down and giving Ieiri a wave goodbye as the wall of thumping bass and neon light swallows you back up.

It strikes you as incredible how a house can turn into a labyrinth when filled to the brim with bodies and only offering the occasional flash of strobe or neon lights to guide you in the dark. After when feels like hours and checking nearly every room you come across for Satoru, without luck, you find Ierie once again leaning against a closed door with a particularly bored expression.

"Satoru she wasn't saying she was leaving she said she was coming to find you, dummy. Open the door."

As you sidled up beside her she shot you a conspiratorial glance before pulling you closer so you could hear her over the din.

"Can you tell him you're right here? He's such a whiny drunk." She rolls her eyes but you can tell it's playful, although you get the feeling this has happened more than once.

Hesitantly you put your palm against the door, feeling the distant bass thrumming through the wood. "Hey Satoru? I didn't leave, I'm right out here with Ierie!"

There's silence on the other side, making you frown in concern until the door is suddenly wrenched open and you nearly fall right against him. Despite clearly being drunk his hands come to grasp your upper arms gently to steady you before yanking you inside the hazy dark of what you assume was his bedroom.

"You're welcome!" You hear Shoko yell through the door as he sits down in a huff, still holding onto you, against a well worn futon.

You can't help but giggle at the way he almost curls around you, as if determined to attach to your side like some sort of sucker fish. With a bit of wiggling you manage to pull back, sweeping a few stray strands of hair from those baby blues as you do.

It's in that moment, when your fingertips brush his skin, that everything seems to pause. The noise outside seemingly vanishes, and it's like only the two of you exist in a comfortable bubble of silence. You never really noticed how his eyes looked almost crystalline before, too pretty to exist.

"Who gave you eyes like that?" You murmur, more to yourself but nevertheless he beams down at you.

"So you do like me, huh?"

The way he says it, so boyish, so... happy. You can't help but smile back, a shy thing that barely tugs at the corners of your lips.

"Duh, of course I do."

That makes him frown a bit, brows knitting in thought and somehow it made him look even cuter. No fair.

"Then how come you never showed up before? And you don't text me back?" A little pout forms on his lips as he finishes and you're struck with the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

With a superhuman effort you keep yourself focused on answering him. "You're, well... All this," you gesture broadly with your hands as you pull away slightly. "And I'm just a girl you have stats with. I thought maybe you were just yanking me around, being flirty in class but that's it, you know? I didn't wanna look stupid getting my hopes up."

"A girl I have stats with? You're joking, right? You're everything." He says incredulously, eyes wide as if more shocked than insulted that you could've looked at the situation that way.

Heat rushes beneath your skin at that, you're everything, and you know it's not the alcohol making you lightheaded. In your silence he continues.

"Y'know I'm not just messing around with you, I think about you all the time. Sometimes you're all I think about all day-"

With a surge of confidence you grab him by the front of his shirt, pulling him down and cutting him off with your lips pressed against his. It grips you like a fever, a crushing need to taste him. It's all sloppy teeth and tongues and spit but it feels perfectly serendipitous at the same time, an otherworldly calm that takes hold of your mind as your lips move against one another.

As you open your eyes into his you can't help the grin that now stretches wide across your mouth, giggling as you press kiss after kiss against his lips, his cheeks, his forehead and soon enough he's dissolved into a puddle of giggles and faux pouts in your arms.

"Will you tell me I'm your favorite girl again?"

"I'll tell you that forever."

[thelostconsultant]

Not a gold digger

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: Fans think you only want Max's money. But as it turns out, you were wealthy before he came into your life--you just don't make it obvious.

warnings: No smut, but there's a part that makes me say MDNI.

note: So... I'm kinda back? Idk, I'll see if I'll stick around.

The toxicity of the fandom was becoming quite entertaining, really. It was the third time since you and Max had made your relationship public half a year ago that someone started an anti gold digger campaign to protect your boyfriend. They truly believed they were doing this for a greater good, and they all begged Max for his attention.

It always began after they sniffed out he had given you something expensive as a gift or took you shopping to a luxury boutique. While there were some people who tried to protect you by pointing out that maybe he enjoyed showering you with gifts, the rest didn't care about that. 

You lived in a small apartment back home, you were driving a five years old Renault SUV, and no one knew what you did for a living. This was enough to enrage them and make them believe all you wanted was Max's money at the end of the day. Just think about the way she's looking at him, one of them wrote about two months ago, she's so clearly not in love with him. Poor Max, someone please save him. 

Ridiculous.

“Is everything okay?” he asked when he got home and kissed the top of your head. 

You were sitting in his sim rig, using the time while it was free to practice, because you wanted to play with him when you weren't here together, and he was more than happy to show you the basics. “Someone started another campaign to cancel me,” you replied casually as you got out with his help. 

Even when you were standing in front of him, he didn't let go of your hand, instead he raised it to his lips to place a soft kiss on its back. “Gold digging?” You nodded with a sad look on your face, but less than five seconds later you were both laughing. “Look, I know you're having way too much fun with this, but–”

Without waiting for him to finish, you raised your hand to make him stop. “I'm not stepping out of the shadows, Max. I've been hiding for years, even fucking Forbes doesn't know my real name or face,” you told him.

Back in the old days, when Bitcoin appeared, your geeky uncle had gotten into mining and trading it. He knew the potential, so he put most of his savings into buying them, then he held onto them, and by the time he got sick years later, he knew they were valuable and would be worth a lot more in the upcoming years. In his will, he left his savings and his wallet to you, giving you the chance to use them as you wished since you had learned everything about crypto from him.

So now you had Bitcoin as well as old fashioned investments, and you had used your money to help out an up-and-coming tech company for a forty percent share, and it was later sold to a tech giant for a lot of money. But despite your wealth, you chose to stay under the radar, because you loved your small apartment, and you weren't about to trade it for some fancy penthouse. 

You had met Max the year before in Las Vegas. F1 was a sport you watched with your uncle while he was still alive, and you were hell-bent on getting a VIP pass for the weekend. If you asked your boyfriend, he would say it was love at first sight, but in reality he was just annoyed by you. For a solid ten seconds, he would correct you every time you talked about it.

You agreed that you would hide in Max's apartment until this latest campaign died down, which gave you some time to spend together in peace. Every now and then you checked the tags to see how things were going, and after the silence of the past few days, today your name was trending again. Ready to have a good laugh, you opened the tag, but the most popular post gave you a minor stroke.

“Oh, fuck me,” you yelled as you launched your phone into the couch.

Max pulled the headset down to his neck as he looked over at you. “Is everything okay?” You raised your finger to your lips as if you wanted him to stay quiet, but luckily he got the message. “I'm muted. So?”

You grabbed your phone and went over to him. “They know. One of those idiots from the company I helped back in the day posted a tweet to protect me, saying that if it wasn't for me being an angel investor, they wouldn't be millionaires now,” you summarized as you gave him the device.

He scrolled through a series of tweets, and found a post from a journalist of Forbes in which he promised a proper investigative piece based on this info. He handed you the phone, then wrapped an arm around your waist. “It's okay, schatje. I know that's not what you wanted, but maybe they'll stop with the recurring hate campaign now,” he tried. “And if you’re worried about the article… Don’t be. There is nothing compromising about you. Yes, you inherited the money, but you have proven you know what to do with it.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you admitted with a sigh. 

“I’m usually right. C’mere,” he said as he reached out to pull you closer, but you glanced over at the camera. Rolling his eyes, he quickly turned it off, then gave you an expectant look. “Will you hug me now? And I want a kiss too.”

With a laugh, you leaned down to wrap your arms around his neck and gave him a soft kiss. But he wanted more, his hand slowly sneaked under your shorts, his fingers running over your clothed cunt before he decided to pull your panties aside and dip a finger between your folds. You moaned into the kiss, but he pulled away a second later to lick his finger clean. 

Shaking your head with a chuckle, you patted his shoulder and walked back to the couch. You could feel Max’s eyes on you the whole time, and when you looked at him again, he flashed a devilish smile at you. “I should quit the stream. Now that I had a taste, I want more,” he told you. 

“I’m not going anywhere, just try to be patient.”

He looked back at the screen, then put the headset back on his head and unmuted his mic. “Sorry, I have to go. See you next time,” he told the others, then logged out. You couldn’t remember the last time he left the sim rig this fast, and only a few seconds later he was kneeling in front of you, eagerly reaching up to pull your shorts off you.

liked by user1, user2 and 947,896 others

f1gossips: Breaking news! Turns out Max Verstappen's girlfriend isn't a gold digger after all as she has her own fortune according to the investigative article published by Forbes. Will the fans apologize?

view all comments

user2: And here I was, thinking she's just a greedy airhead...

user3: Easy to be wealthy with your uncle's money.

↳ user4: Have you read the whole thing? She invested the money and helped out several startups--that later became pretty successful--as an angel investor. Yes, maybe she inherited a lot of money, but she knows what to do with it.

↳ user5: May I remind you how many F1 drivers started their careers with their families's money?

user6: Told you she wasn't a gold digger. Suck it, haters.

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 1,577,353 others

maxverstappen1: If you don't buy your girlfriend gifts every once in a while, you're a bad boyfriend. I love to spoil her, it's not a crime. I love her, I'm proud of her, and you can send us as much hate as you want, it will only make us stronger.

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

yourusername: I'd be perfectly fine without the gifts, I already told you.

↳ maxverstappen1: I don't care.

landonorris: You're absolutely right!

↳ maxverstappen1: You're single, how would you know?

↳ landonorris: Just FYI, I've been in relationships before.

danielricciardo: You're so disgustingly smitten with her. (I love you both.)

[nightingale-prompts]

Batboy Meets Batfam

First | Previous | Next

"Relax Batty, it's just one dinner." Dick parked the car inside the Wayne family manor's garage.

"But I hate billionaires. Can't we just go to Batburger and go home." Danny whined slumping in his seat.

"What's so bad about it? He's your grandfather now." Dick asked.

"The last billionaire I met was the only other of my kind. And he was awful. Tried to kill me, clone me, marry my mom, kill my dad, ruined my life. That last one was something he achieved." Danny's wings materilized and wrapped around him as he sulked.

"I know it's hard Danny and I can't promise no one will ever try to hurt you like that again but I can promise I'll stick by you. I can also promise to kick the butt of anyone who tries messing with you." Dick said ruffing Danny's black hair that popped out from under his leathery wings.

"Still don't wanna go." As Danny said this he began to shrink.

Dick sighed, he had learned recently that Danny was a shifter of some kind. It was useful to hide his identity but he would also use it to get out of doing things. When Dick told Danny to clean his room or study Danny would shrink to the size of a toddler and say "Im baby" to get out of it. Dick is ashamed to admit that he's let Danny get away with it because baby bat pictures are precious and worth their weight in gold. He has a wallet full of pictures now.

But Dick has to put his foot down this time.

"Danny being little won't get you out of this. Do you really want to meet your new family like this?" Dick asked.

Danny huffed and turned in his now ill-fitting hoodie the size of a 3-year-old.

"Alright come on." Dick gave up scooping the toddler-sized teen under one arm and walking into the manor. "Alfred still has Bruce's old baby clothes somewhere."

"Ahh!"Danny yelped.

"What? Don't want that? If you show up as a baby, they will think you are one. You know Tim Drake is going to be there. He's going to be in the same school as you. Do you want him to think you're a baby?" Dick said holding the kid at eye level.

In surrender, Danny grew back to his normal size.

Dinner was oddly quite as everyone studied Danny closely.

Barbara was the least concerned as he talked about work with Dick and pushed Danny a bowl of strawberry salad. She wanted good aunt points. Danny would love her the most.

Cassie studied Danny's features. It was almost creepy how much he looked like Dick. She'd believe it if Dick was his biological father. Except for the eyes. Danny had a very particular eye color they were blue in the center but kind of had a green ring on the iris. The condition was called central heterochromia and it's rare.

Damian wasn't glaring like he usually would. He looked almost wide-eyed at Danny but remained silent.

Jason was absent as always apparently he was moved by Dick's announcement.

Then again Danny was supposed to be a surprise.

Tim and Danny seem to strike a cord immediately. Danny despite how silly he was the teen was very intelligent. Tim wasn't as subtle as he wish, mostly because Danny cornered him in conversation.

"So you're more used to living in a small town?" Tim smiled politely.

"Hmm? I didn't say that exactly. I said Im just new to the city." Danny responded.

"So you're from a different city? Metro or Star?"

"Neither, It's nowhere you'd know. Not really notable."

"You're going to be family soon, of course i want to know."

They went back and forth for a while. Tim was probably irritated after finding nothing about Danny's identity. And that meant Bruce was probably suspicious as well. Dick had to bet that Bruce's overactive paternal instincts would overwrite his need to investigate.

"So Danny, have you heard of the new vigilante in Bludhaven? The one they call Batboy?"Bruce asked wiping his mouth with a napkin as he ate.

This was the question Danny was waiting for.

"Of course! Have you seen the pictures on social media! Everyone is talking about him. Like, he has wings like a bat. Do you know what I'd do to get that power?! I mean he's not Superman but come on its so cool. We don't have metas-Is that what you call them? Yeah, metas. We don't have them where I'm from so I didn't think I'd ever met one. Dick said he met him the last time he saw Nightwing and promised to get me a picture but he didn't and he said he forgot." Danny put on a pretty convincing fanboy routine.

"I see. So Dick told you he's friends with Nightwing?" Bruce probed.

"He didn't need to tell me. Nightwing found me after I ended up in Bludhaven. I was pretty banged up and he parched me up and took me to the police station. I tried to leave but he told me that Detective Grayson would look out for me." Danny said digging through his salad to pick out the fruit and nuts.

"What about your parents?" Bruce asked softly.

"Bruce," Dick said in warning.

"Its fine...my parents didn't want me anymore. I can't go back. They'd probably kill me. But it doesn't matter anymore, they aren't here." Danny said stiffly feeling uncomfortable for saying a bit of truth.

They say the best way to lie is to have a bit of truth. Danny disagreed. The best way to lie is to have no truth, so they can't tell the difference.

Dick pulled the teen closer as Danny pulled his hands inside this hoodie hiding one of the burn scars on his arm but just enough to show that they were there.

Bruce didn't say another word.

Damian seemed to make his mind up at some point and joined in the conversation.

"Do you eat meat, Nightingale? I've noticed you haven't touched anything with it." Damian sounded oddly cordial.

"Ew, no. I don't eat meat. My friend always said meat was murder and taught me about how evil slaughterhouses were. We once raided a local farm to-oop. I forgot there are detectives at the table. I promise I'm a law-abiding citizen and not an eco-terrorist...anymore." Danny smiled too innocently.

Damian nodded in understanding. They had found common ground. That still doesn't mean he liked Nightingale. But he couldn't fight him since he didn't seem to know anything about their vigilante lifestyle.

Damian had to begrudgingly admit that Danny's presence was welcome. Soothing even.

It didn't matter. He and Drake still had bigger plans. Finding out who this "Batboy" was. They just needed Dick give up some information about the bat metahuman.

Tim had his suspicions that it was Danny but Batboy had stark white hair with black streaks and green eyes. Not to mention wings.

They would have to agree to disagree.

"Danny you have to eat something other than fruit. Eat the rest of the salad." Dick tried to sound stern but caved almost immediately when Danny pretended he didn't hear that.

Bruce internally sighed. Does he step in and help or let Dick figure it out. How does one be a grandpa to a non-vigilante who you can't threaten with no patrols?

*Bonus*

Danny when he see fruit.

[grandmaster-anne]

15 June 2023 King Charles III and The Princess Royal present Sovereign's Standard to Royal Horse Guards © ITN