#I even linked it for your convenience
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the song crazy for this girl by evan and jaron is future Zekina coded in addition to being a BOP
#if you see me dancing to it at Walmart mind your business#itâs a childhood throwback so Iâm just gonna break it down in the lawn and garden aisle next to the water hoses#I even linked it for your convenience#bobâs burgers#tina belcher x zeke#tina belcher#zeke whose last name remains undisclosed#Zekina
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â part 1 đŠ
fun fact, they are almost the same age frida was when rune went to sleep. funny how time works
#to keep things even - i think i may do the equivalent of five pages per thread for this one??#if it's still not wrapped up by page 10 then there will be another link at the bottom going next -->#i may also make a page on my blog that links to every complete part. or a new pinned post. all the links under the readmore maybe???#and yeah one of the twins is trans#it's crow#their names are actually ravn and krÄke - but as these are also words; i am translating them for your convenience. you're welcome#welcome to vampire wednesday :-)#fdkgjh idk if it'll actually be a thing but it might as well be#depends on how good i am at keeping it consistent#idk how comics on tumblr work i'm just kinda winging it as i always do
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derangement aside I do recommend getting into bms, even if you don't end up playing any of the charts. the amount of insanely creative songs and music videos that get released every year For Free just for this community game is amazing and the fact that some get picked up and licensed for commercial games and artists who started out making work for bms get commissioned for them as well is just. idk
#blah blah if you play rhythm games even a little bit i can almost guarantee youve heard at least one song that originated from bms#and that song wad probably conflict BUT THERE ARE OTHERS and you can play the original charts for free on your computie#bemuse.ninja is an in-browser bms player if you want to try it out but dont want to download anything. it comes with songs as well#theres a really good english language guide for beatoraja which comes with links to song packs and skins and the like#beatoraja is just. quite convenient to set up actually i never tried lr2 and quite frankly from what ive heard im a little bit afraid to#idk look tl;dr if you want a rhythm game with basically infinite content and big free song events multiple times a year#then there is a Game For You. and no you do not need a controller there are good keyboard layouts for it just avoid the default keybinds#bmsposting
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anyways the people magazine sexiest man poll is over in less than a month and i need all of you to vote joel tlou as sexiest pedro pascal. im begging
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Skin Deep
Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand her horizons, gets her first tattoo from Simon. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.
Sequel here.
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âI bit the bullet!â you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friendâs ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.
âYou bit what?â she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep.Â
âThe bullet,â you laugh. âI called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!âÂ
She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. Sheâd been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped youâencouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to âmake more mistakesâ, to live life more fully. Now sheâs staring at you like youâve grown a second head and itâs the one doing the talking.Â
âWhat guy I recommended?â she asks.Â
âKevin!â
âOh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?âÂ
You frown. âYou said you went to Kevin.âÂ
âIt wasnât a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! Heâs a creep; thereâs a reason why I never went back.âÂ
You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. Itâs not just the tattoo. Itâs the icing on a shitcake of a day.Â
A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life.Â
âYou conveniently left that out. Ugh. Iâll cancel it. What am I even fucking doingâthank youââ you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. âânone of this is like me.âÂ
Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. âYou were the one who said youâd always wanted a tattoo. Youâre an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions youâre old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and heâs highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?âÂ
âAlright,â you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesnât work out with this next tattoo artist, then you wonât be getting one at all. Youâll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all.Â
-
What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it.Â
The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to peopleâs disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isnât until youâve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand ringsâand itâs him.Â
âHello?âÂ
âIâm free Wednesdays for consultations,â says a baritone voice from the other end of the line.Â
Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. âI work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?âÂ
He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him.Â
âName a time. Iâll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,â he says.Â
Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isnât trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that youâve already made an impression so foul that itâs incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted?Â
âAlright,â you answer cautiously. âHowâs five?âÂ
âFive. Donât be late.âÂ
He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.
-
You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itselfâa tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagramâis locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesnât help. How are you supposed to get in?Â
All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy.Â
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost.Â
Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting.Â
Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize.Â
âI have a consultation,â you blurt out. âAtâŠfive?â
He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. Heâs so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.
âSit,â he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sipâof tea, judging by the smell. âName?â
You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek.Â
âThe water is for you,â he says.Â
âOh!â You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. âThank you.â
âThis is your first tattoo.âÂ
âWhat gave me away?â you ask with a weak laugh.Â
He doesnât laugh. âEverything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.âÂ
âWhat? No, of course not. I want this, Iâm just, Iâm an anxious personality. I promise.â You hesitate and then add: âI probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.âÂ
His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as youâre comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.
 He asks what you want and God, thatâs a harder question.Â
You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silenceâpausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair.Â
He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing.Â
He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and youâre just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book.Â
âI think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and weâll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?âÂ
âI mean, it hurts?â you offer.Â
He stares. âTwo sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.âÂ
You think that maybe heâll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you canât help but watch him.Â
Heâs handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. Itâs almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again.Â
âHere.âÂ
You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didnât make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean.Â
His thoughtfulness touches you.Â
âI love it. I want it,â you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you.Â
âThis is just a first sketch,â he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. âIâll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?âÂ
âYes,â you say, nearly buzzing. âI really want to book.â
Heâs expensiveâbut judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, heâs got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldnât bore him to death.Â
âThanks again for meeting with me,â you say as he sees you out. âIâll be waiting for your text.âÂ
âYouâll get it.â He glances past you out the window. Itâs dark. âDid you walk?âÂ
âNo, my car is just there.â
âIâll wait.âÂ
And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears.Â
-
You didnât tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend.Â
GHOST? Cute? Iâve never even seen his face lol. Heâs always wearing one of his masks.Â
You chew over this information. Yes heâd been wearing a mask, but heâd lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something? Â
Masks are cute, you say.Â
Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe heâll ink you for free.Â
Youâre terrible.Â
YouâreâŠthinking about it.Â
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Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. Itâs from GHOST.Â
The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness.Â
I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think thatâs the one.Â
Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate. Â
And fuck, you didnât even think of that.Â
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âYouâre being ridiculous,â you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another.Â
âYou are,â your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. âYour tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.âÂ
The look you give her is the one the phrase âif looks could killâ was modeled after, surely. She doesnât even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. Youâve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed.Â
âBe glad youâre not going to creepy Kevin anymore,â your friend says.
âVery glad of it.âÂ
You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a wordâit didnât embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions.Â
âYou should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. Heâs been doing this for years. Iâm sure heâs seen it all,â she saysâthe first good idea sheâs had all night, miles ahead of âJust let Ghost see your cute titsâ.Â
That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you arenât overstepping some weird artist-client boundary.Â
Iâm a little nervous.
You can cancel, is all he says. Iâll refund your money.
Itâs not that.Â
What is it?Â
Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true.Â
But all he said back was: how can I help? Â
I donât know, you admit. Then; sorry. Iâm probably bothering you with this while youâre working.Â
Iâm not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you arenât going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. Iâll let my piercer know Iâm with a client and not to walk in. Iâll keep you covered every moment I can. Better?Â
Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better.Â
-
You bring the pasties anyway.Â
-
The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase âknees knocking togetherâ, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghostâs hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass.Â
When it does, heâs like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in placeâtypical for him, if your friendâs words are to be trustedâbut his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasnât been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs.Â
Youâre horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friendâs words echo in your mindâfuck the tattoo artist, maybe heâll ink you for free.Â
âHi,â you squeak.Â
Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.
âIâm still nervous,â you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesnât.Â
âThatâs normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if itâs still what you want.â
Itâs exactly what you want, and more.Â
âItâs perfect. Youâre very talented.âÂ
He huffs a little, like you shouldnât have said such a thing.Â
The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once heâs gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years.Â
You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. Thereâs just something about a person who knows exactly what theyâre doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.
âReady?â he asks at length.Â
You nod, hoping your nerves donât show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt youâre wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. Heâs not watching a strip tease, heâs looking at a canvas.Â
Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you.Â
âAm I hairy?â you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way.Â
âYes,â he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. âEveryone is. Everywhere. Itâs normal.â
âIâm just teasing you.âÂ
âDidnât think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,â he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. âYouâre nervous, I mean.âÂ
âWould you take the mask off?â you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face.Â
âNo,â he says. He adds: âSorry. Itâs more sanitary fâyou if I keep it on.âÂ
You get the feeling that he really is sorryâand thatâs well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax.Â
After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. Itâs sexy. Youâve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than youâd ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadnât expected. You feel soâŠbadass.Â
âGood?â He asks.Â
âVery good,â you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.
But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt.Â
âThank you,â you say softly.Â
He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. âIâll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.âÂ
âIâm not backing out.âÂ
He clicks his tongue as if to say, Itâs your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line.Â
It burns more than you expected it to. Thereâs a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a catâs tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isnât overwhelming. In factâŠa strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe itâs the rush of endorphins.Â
âGood?â He asks.Â
âGood,â you squeak.Â
You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.
âLet me know when you need to break.âÂ
You donât know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs.Â
âAlright. Break,â he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. âTake ten.â
He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it.Â
âDo you need to get that?â you ask, offering him an out.
âNo,â he says. âI make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.â
It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up.Â
âGood for more?â
And so it repeats.Â
At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. Itâs too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through.Â
His thumb gently strokes your sternum.Â
âItâs rough. You can take it,â he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. âJust keep breathing. Thatâs it. Good girl.â
Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast.Â
âYou can do it. Just a little longer for me, and weâll break.â
âHurts,â you breathe, flinching again.Â
He hushes you, surprisingly tender.Â
âThis is the worst of it.â This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear. Â
âBreak. Ten minutes,â he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain.Â
You call out: âHey, waitâIâd rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.âÂ
âI need breaks too,â he says stonily.
You duck your head, feeling silly. âRight. Sorry.â
âDonât be.â He vanishes again.Â
He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoicâwhat bits of it you can see from behind the maskâas he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again.Â
This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breastsâa fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail youâd give your life to follow).Â
âI think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,â he mutters at length.Â
âEager to be done?â you wonder.Â
He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said.Â
âI donât have anywhere to be,â you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply.Â
So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently.Â
âGo take a look. Iâm going to cover it up.âÂ
Itâs beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.
âI love it,â you choke out. âThank you.â
âCan I take a picture of it?â he asks. âFor Instagram.âÂ
âSure!â It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are coveredâthe very far edgesâbut you canât deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way.Â
After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: âLet me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Donât do anything stupid to it. Understand?âÂ
âI understand.â
âAnd if you have any questionsâtext me.âÂ
-
You get home to find that Ghostâs personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental âlikesâ). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable.Â
-
Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you donât text him like he asked you to. You call.Â
Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much?Â
The internet doesnât help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.  Â
With shaking hands, you donât even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring.Â
Heâs going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone elseâexcept he doesnât. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering.Â
âYes?â Ghost says into the phone, as if thatâs a decent hello.Â
âThereâs something wrong with my tattoo!â you cry.Â
âWaitâget out of my goddamn way.â There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. âSay it again. Now I can fucking hear you.â
âThereâs. Something. Wrong,â you say through your teeth. âWith my tattoo!â
âWell? What is it?â
âItâs falling off, for one!â
He snorts. âThatâs normal. That's why you called?âÂ
âItâs all swollen and hot. And it hurts.âÂ
Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. âHurts how bad?â
âWorse than getting it.âÂ
âFuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop inâŠtwenty?âÂ
âTwenty minutes from now?âÂ
âFrom when else?â He hangs up. Man doesnât know the meaning of the word goodbye.Â
-
The night is cool. You donât bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop.Â
Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow.Â
Heâs dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your titsâor resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes.Â
âWell. Sit. Show me.â
You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. âWhat, just flash you?â
âNothing Iâve never seen before.âÂ
Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands.Â
âI was smoking,â he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation.Â
âYouâre worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?â
âFuck my lungs,â he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. âCan I?â
You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. âAny fever?â he asks.Â
âNot that Iâve noticed.âÂ
âYou feel warm, but Iâve felt warmer. I donât think itâs infected. Have you tried icing it?â
âNo,â you admit.Â
âIce will help. Just use something clean, for fuckâs sake.â As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. âWhen you called, I thought it was for me.â
âIt was for you,â you say, brow furrowing. âWho else?â
He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. âForget it.âÂ
âForget what?âÂ
âTalking about it goes against forgetting it.â
You groan, tossing up your hands. âYouâre impossible.âÂ
He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttonsâyou end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one.Â
âThank you for meeting me. Iâm sorry it was for nothing.â
âIt wasnât for nothing,â he says. âAnd I wasnât doing much.â
âYou were with friends,â you insist.
His eyes narrow. âWho told you that?âÂ
âI saw it on your Instagram tonight.âÂ
âNosey.âÂ
âI could buy you a drink sometime,â you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out? âMake up for the ones I lost you tonight.âÂ
âMaybe.â
God, itâs like heâs not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesnât it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt.Â
âWould you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to beâŠpositive?â
He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You donât cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off.Â
âMaybe you should look closer.âÂ
His eyes flicker up to yours. âCloser.â
Your mouth is dry. âYeah.â
âCanât get much closer than I am.âÂ
âYou couldâif you wanted to.âÂ
âIf Iââ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: âCloser.â
âMhm.â
The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching.Â
âFucking hell,â he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want thisâand whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already youâre achingâhave been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the streetâbut he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat.Â
âPretty little tits,â he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly.Â
âFuck,â you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair.Â
âBe still,â he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. âLet me play with you.âÂ
âPlease,â you gasp. âPlay with meâeven if thatâs all you wantâjust donât stop, please.âÂ
His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. âYou donât even know what youâre saying.â
âI do. Iââ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. Heâs so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattooâand then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness.Â
You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex.Â
âDriving me fucking crazy,â he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple.Â
You gape at his admission. Had you been? Heâd been so closed off and coolâŠthough now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind.Â
He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until youâre no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. âYou the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?âÂ
âUh-huh,â you promise, head bobbing.Â
He buries his face in your neck. âGood. I wonât last when Iâve got my cock in you. Iâd like you to cum at least once before then.â
âOh god,â you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips.Â
âWhat else do you need?â he asks.Â
âMyâtouch meââ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly.Â
Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he canât believe what heâs seeing.Â
âFucking perfect.â You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. âLook at me. Look at me.âÂ
You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure.Â
He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth.Â
When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. Itâs probably a good thing too. You arenât sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.
Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh.Â
Fingers enter your visionâyour ownâreaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. Heâs so bloody tall, tooâŠbut he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso.Â
âDoes it hurt?â You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola.Â
âNo,â he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. âYou can play with it.â
You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite.Â
âYouâre soââ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: ââhot.âÂ
He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You canât help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. âYou broken, or can you take more?âÂ
âI want more.â
âWant my cock?âÂ
You nod, feeling like a bobble head.Â
âI want to hear you say it.âÂ
âI want your cock.â
His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artistâs hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps.Â
He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief.Â
âOh my god,â you mutter.Â
âNo gods here,â he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art.Â
âCanât believe you let me ink you,â he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. âPractically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. Theyâll know who touched you.âÂ
âGood,â you breathe.Â
His sigh is shaky. Youâre learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means heâs pleased with you. Youâve said something right.Â
He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to youâfor inspection, you realize, though youâve had so few one night stands (try zero) that youâve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length.Â
Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily.Â
âRelaxâŠthere you go. Let me in,â he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretchâheâs thick everywhere goddamn itâbut itâs a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure.Â
âGhost,â you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.
âI think you can take it,â he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. âBut what do you think?âÂ
âYour cockâwant itâpleaseââ
âAlright,â he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. âNo need to beg.âÂ
He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until youâre clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin.Â
His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when youâre pinned beneath it.Â
âStay still,â he mutters into the juncture of your neck. âStay still or Iâll cum and this is all over.â
âCanât,â you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. âHave to move, âm so fullââ
âFucking hell,â he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. âRoll onto your side.âÂ
He gives you instruction but isnât shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit.Â
You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat.Â
âWant you to cum again,â he says, stilling your movements so that you canât fuck your self back against him. âGive me one more. Then itâs my turn.â
âGhostâI canâtââ youâve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms.Â
âIf you canât, then donât,â he says simply, like itâs the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit.Â
You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you arenât the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex.Â
âOh fuck,â you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again.Â
He hums behind you, a smug sound.Â
âNot sure I want you to cum now,â he says. âHold it. Iâm thinking it over.âÂ
âGhost!â
He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead.Â
He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you.Â
The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didnât know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs.Â
He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you.Â
Sooner than youâd likeâbut heâd warned you, hadnât he?ïżœïżœïżœhis thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat.Â
âFuck,â he whispers. And again: âFuck, fuck. You broken?âÂ
âYes.âÂ
He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he canât see.Â
-
âSorry about this,â he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. Youâre still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself.Â
âRegretting it already?âÂ
âYes,â he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: âShould have at least taken you to dinner first.âÂ
âDinner?â
âYou owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.â He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasnât relaxed, he says: âI donât regret the sex. Do you?â
You shake your head.Â
He scoffs a little.Â
âI mean it,â you insist. You touch your tattoo. âI wanted itâŠthe day you didâthis.âÂ
He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.
âI didnât think you were interested,â you admitted sheepishly.Â
âI jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,â he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. âI was interested.âÂ
You laugh; you canât help it. âDinner, then? Or drinks?âÂ
âYeah,â he says. âAlright. Get dressed.â
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I saw a comment on your blog that says 'the way you eat does not cause diabetes'...are you able to expand on that or provide a source I could read? I've been told by doctors that my pre-diabetes was due to weight gain because I get more hungry on my anti psychotics and I'd like to fact check what they've told me! Thank you so much!
Pre-diabetes was rejected as a diagnosis by the World Health Organization (although it is used by the US and UK) - the correct term for the condition is impaired glucose tolerance. Approximately 2% of people with "pre-diabetes" go on to develop diabetes per year. You heard that right - TWO PERCENT. Most diabetics actually skip the pre-diabetic phase.
There are currently no treatments for pre-diabetes besides intentional weight loss. (Hmm, that's convenient, right?) There has yet to be evidence that losing weight prevents progression from pre-diabetes to T2DM beyond a year. Interestingly, drug companies are trying to persuade the medical world to start treating patients earlier and earlier. They are using the term âpre-diabetesâ to sell their drugs (including Wegovy, a weight-loss drug). Surgeons are using it to sell weight loss surgery. Everyoneâs a winner, right? Not patients. Especially fat patients.
Check out these articles:
Prediabetes: The epidemic that never was, and shouldnât be
The war on âprediabetes' could be a boon for pharmaâbut is it good medicine?
Also - I love what Dr. Asher Larmie @fatdoctorUK has to say about T2DM and insulin resistance, so here's one of their threads I pulled from Twitter:
1ïžâŁ You can't prevent insulin resistance. It's coded in your DNA. It may be impacted by your environment. Studies have shown it has nothing to do with your BMI.
2ïžâŁ The term "pre-diabetes" is a PR stunt. The correct term is impaired glucose tolerance (or impaired fasting glucose) which is sometimes referred to as intermittent hyperglycemia. It does not predict T2DM. It is best ignored and tested for every 3-5yrs.
3ïžâŁ there is no evidence that losing weight prevents diabetes. That's because you can't reverse insulin resistance. You can possibly postpone it by 2yrs? Furthermore there is evidence that those who are fat at the time of diagnosis fair much better than those who are thin.
4ïžâŁ Weight loss does not reverse diabetes in the VAST majority of people. Those that do reverse it are usually thinner with recent onset T2DM and a low A1c. Only a tiny minority can sustain that over 2yrs. Weight loss does not improve A1c levels beyond 2 yrs either.
5ïžâŁ Weight loss in T2DM does not improve macrovascular or microvascular health outcomes beyond 2 years. In fact, weight loss in diabetics is associated with increased mortality and morbidity (although it is not clear why). Weight cycling is known to impacts A1c levels.
6ïžâŁ Weight GAIN does NOT increase the risk of cardiovascular OR all causes mortality in diabetics. In fact, one might even go so far as to say that it's better to be fat and diabetic than to be thin and diabetic.
Dr. Larmie cites 18 peer reviewed journal articles (most from the last decade) that are included in their webinar on the subject, linked below.
#diabetes#t2dm#type 2 diabetes#prediabetes#weight science#weight stigma#fat liberation#fat acceptance#inbox
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so i just read like⊠ALL your gojo stuff.
now imagine⊠gojo not being able to hold back and wanting to breed you after you both try those aphrodisiac chocolates⊠ahemâŠ
i am absolutely terrified of getting pregnant yet have the words most insufferable breeding kink, we exist
Contains: fem reader, aphrodisiacs, masturbation, no prep, spanking, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, SOOO much dirty talk, praise, so much cum.., whiped!gojo, established relationship
MDNI
°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż*:°ââ.àłàż
Gojo was talking soooo much shit when you sent him a link to some aphrodisiac chocolates you saw online. He would not stop dismissing that they didnât actually work; saying none of that shit that advertised any kind of enhancement in sexual arousal ever did.
So of course you had to order the chocolates and really test it for yourselves, making a challenge out of it.
If the chocolates truly had an effect, gojo would do whatever you wanted, and if they didnât? vice versa. Gojo was game, of course; because he didnât think anything would happen.
âBleh- they taste like shit too,â Satoru grimaced, chasing the horrible flavor with a strawberry soda.
âThatâs probably because thereâs something in them satoruâŠlike the aphrodisiacâŠïżŒ,â you shook you head, swallowing the bitter chocolate.
âOrrrr; crazy thought; itâs just some cheap chocolate marketed as aphrodisiacs to make a ton of money off of people like us.â he drawled, throwing his hands up in the air and waving them around when he spoke.
âI really thought you out of all people would find this kind of thing fun satoru.â you said, trying to push his buttons a bit.
âWeâll of course, chocolate and sex? Iâm all over that,â he said making you laugh, âbut me and suguru tried something like this for fun back in our student days, it was some kind of pill though,â his face twisted in discomfort as he spoke, âjust ended up making us super sick tho, yaga got pissed, hehâ he laughed, remembering the memory.
âKnowing you two it was probably some cheap boner pill you got in a sketchy bag at the convenience store.. so that might explain it.â you snorted,
He rubbed his big hand over the back of his neck, âyeah, there was like 5 other pills in the bag with it now that I think about it..â he said quietly, making you hunch over in a laugh.
The two of you went about your evening like normal, watching some comedy movie that was on and cuddling together on the sofa. When it ended you went off to change into something more comfortable as you started off to finished the laundry.
You havenât felt anything extremely out of the ordinary yet; remembering that the package said it might take long for women to feel the affects; but gojo on the other hand was feeling mildly uncomfortable.
His face and neck were feeling warm, throughout the entire movie his big hand was placed on your upper thigh, like always. What was unusual though, was how his skin tingled when he placed it on yours, palms sweating more than usual; he just chalked it up to all the junk he had been eating throughout the day, probably upsetting his body.
When you moved back into the kitchen and started on the dishes the two of you had created in the sink, Gojo couldnât help but hyper focus on the fat off your ass peeking out of your night shorts.
The way you moved your hips as some r&b music played quietly from the tv. He watched your muscles and tendons move together when you twisted your body around, watching your ankles cross; one behind the other; getting comfortable from where you stood.
Satoru was feeling hot all over now, a large hand coming down to grope himself over his pants when you bent over to put the dishes into the washer, poking out your clothed mound towards him, the fabric of your shorts squeezing your curves just right.
His jaw dropped slightly, breathing heavier as he got off on watching you do such a mundane task like the dishes.
You inserted the pod into the dishwasher, completely oblivious to satoruâs shenanigans as you stood up straight. You noticed when washing your hands that you were starting to feel a warmth washing over your body, and a sort of warm coil tightening in your tummy.
The lightbulb went off in your head when you realized it was probably the work of the chocolates. You quickly shut off the water, towel is hand as you whipped your head behind you to tell gojo what was happening to you; and to inform him that you were going to win this challenge.
Your motions were stopped short as you bumped straight into gojos chest, âOh! Didnât realize you were-â Your words getting cut off when gojo grabbed the bottom of your face, bringing your lips to his, and kissing you hungrily.
Gojo used his other had to slide his arm around your body, pressing you hard into him, letting you feel his erection against your tummy.
He pushed his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your words that tried to excape, âSa-mm- Satoru-â you got out between kisses. Gojo shoved his knee between your legs, putting delicious pressure on your cunt as he kissed you like it was his last day on earth.
You had to grip his hair and pull his face off of you to speak, this didnât really phase him as he targeted your neck instead, biting and sucking on the skin there, âFuck- s-satoru slow down-â you moaned when he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot.
âCant, need you-â he spoke in between his rushed love bites on your neck, moving his big hands to hold your hips as he made you rock your cunt back and forth along this thigh.
Your head was spinning a mild a minute, still trying to wrap your head around the current situation. You expected this to happen; being on the side of âpro aphrodisiacs and all; you just didnât expect it to happen so soon, and for it to have such a strong effect on someone like Satoru.
âS-shit- those chocolates have you m-more worked up than me,â you tried to laugh, voice cut short by a moan when his knee nudged your clit at a particularly mouthwatering angle.
âNeed to be inside you,â he ignored you, groaning against your pulse point, hot breath tickling your neck when he spoke.
Gojo was breathing so heavily, his cock feeling like it was about to rip a hole in his pants at how hard he was. âTake em off, now-â he whimpered, referring to your bottoms as he started pulling them down your legs, panties following suit.
You helped him, gripping his hair and keeping his lips pressed against your neck while you kicked off your shorts off from around your ankles . His hands dropped down to remove his own sweats, too impatient to fully take them off as he pulled them down just enough for his cock to spring out, jerking himself off with one hand rapidly between you; hand holding your hip with his other.
âLet me put it in, please, need to be inside you now-â he groaned, finally pulling back from your neck; and he looked absolutely wrecked.
This whole situation was giving you whiplash, but you felt bad for him. Satoruâs hands were shaking, face flushed completely crimson, and he was sweating and panting like he just ran a marathon.
He continued stroking his cock, eyes flirting between your pussy and your pretty lips while he waited for them to move, voicing your consent.
His cock was dripping so much pre it looked like he already came. Hard cock still dripping steadily onto his hand and fingers, making his strokes emit loud âplpâ sounds into the air.
âYes, please, give it to me toru,â you spoke, making him let out a moan of satisfaction. You wrapped your arms around his neck when he lifted you suddenly, burring your hands in his hair and face in his neck as he slid his dick into you with zero prep, all at once.
You were greatful the aphrodisiac was in affect, making you so much wetter than normal, and in turn, making the stretch a whole less painful then it wouldâve been without it.
You whined at how his massive clock split you in half effortlessly, âSorry baby- mâ sorry-â he apologized with a groan against your bruised neck; whatever consciousness ïżŒhe still had left being aware that that mightâve hurt you.
âShit itâs o-okay toru, just give it to me- fuck-â You tipped your head back, jaw dropping and releasing a loud whine, giving him more access to mark up your neck while he fucked into you like a mad man; legs dangling over his arms as he held you in his strong grasp, hoisting you up and down on his cock like you weighed nothing to him.
âHoly fuckkkâ he whined, vibrations going through your skin, âNeed to fill you up, need to fuck you full of my cum s-shit-â Gojo was working himself up with his words, already on the brink of his orgasm only a couple thrusts in.
He was truly using you like a cocksleve as he fucked into you at an inhumane pace, heavy balls slapping against your ass, strings of your combined wetness connecting to your ass each time he thrusted inside.
He sucked harder against your skin as he felt his first high rapidly approach him. His eyes repeatedly rolling back in his skull at the rhythmic pulsing of your pussy around him.
âShitshitshit- gonna c-cum, need you to take it all fâmeâ his deep voice reverberated through you, all you could do is cry and moan our strings of his name and âyesyesyesâ while he fucked his first load of the night into you.
âT-take it f-fucking take it yessssâ Gojo felt like he was on cloud nine, he had never felt anything like this before. Of course he loved cumming inside you when you had sex but this was different. Every neuron in his brain was telling him to fuck load after load into you; to get you pregnant.
Gojo didnât actually want kids right now, and you were on the pill so the possibility of him actually knocking you up was low- but not if his aphrodisiac brain had anything to say about it; he would make sure to fucking try.
Ignoring the overstimulation he felt as he humped his cum into you with heavy thrusts, quickly picking up his speed again when he finished spurting the warm ropes of cum into you, making you squeal at his quick recovery.
âPussy feels so fucking good, so fucking wet sh-ittttâ he groaned, dick twitching and abs clenching as he fucked himself through the aftershocks of his orgasm, sending him straight twords another one.
âT-toru o-oh my god-â you wimpered, body flopping around limply at the intense pleasure. His cock was drilling straight into your sweet spot and making you dizzy. You tried not to pass out as he manhandled your body, gripping you roughly and marking up your skin everywhere his insatiable lips could reach.
âGonna knock you up baby- g-gunna give you my babies- get you fucking pregnant, yeah? you want that?â you cut off his filthy mouth by using the grip you had on his head to press his mouth against yours.
âYesyesyes, give me your babies toru- gonna make you a daddy-â he groaned into your mouth at your mutual need for him to fill you up.
Gojo felt drunk hearing the nickname bounce around inside his head. Gojo never thought he had a daddy kink, but in this scenario? The nickname had him feeling like he was about to come again already.
By this point, the aphrodisiac was affecting you just as much as it was him, everywhere his body touched yours felt like your skin was on fire. You tried not to lose your sanity as he was pushing your towards your first orgasm without so much as even grazing your clit.
He set you down on the ground and in one swift movement spun you around so you were facing the counter. Satoru used his massive had to grab hold of his cock, slipping it back into your drenched walls.
You both groaned in unison at the sensation. Gojo gave you both a couple seconds to relish in the feeling, pressing his balls hard against your ass before he picked up his same ruthless pace as before.
âGood fucking girl- gonna look so fucking pretty with ur belly all round with my baby shiiitâ he groaned when he felt your cunt clench around him at the idea.
He brought his massive palm down feeling your cunt squeeze him, leaving a heavy spank against your ass and gripping the fat between his fingers.
âPussy tryna fuckinâ milk me down hereâ he laughed, biting his lip when he watched your hand come down to rub your clit in quick circles, âYeaahhh fucking touch your pussy for me baby, make urself cum all over my dick while i fill you up.â he instructed, clenching his jaw.
âShit- g-give it to me daddy- cum inside me-â you mindlessly babbled, there you go again with that fucking nickname that had his balls tightening.
You feet the coil wind itself up quicker than normal at your enhanced sexual arousal from the chocolate and the now added stimulation of touching your neglected clit.
ïżœïżœïżœCome with me baby, gotta feel you cum around me- pleaseâ he begged, leaving another loud slap against your ass before pulling you back on his dick roughly by your hips.
âS -shit itâs coming itâs coming iâm- fuckfuck- ngghhhâ your warned, voice cutting out as you started to come around his girth while he fucked you through it.
âyeeeeeess baby- fuuuuck- milk my fucking cock fuck-â he watched intently as your little hole clenched around him, his first load spurting out around his cock with the pressure of your orgasm, making the white ring around the base of his dick get even messier.
âIâm coming again baby- take it for me- need you to take it all, gotta make sure it t-takesâ he whined, getting you pregnant still on the forfront of his brain.
Your legs wouldâve collapsed on the floor if he wasnât holding up a majority of your weight by your hips. Your nails slid against the marble as his cock rammed against your cervix, making you dizzy, broken moans getting forced out of your mouth at the feeling of getting repeatedly impaled on his cock.
You tried to gain a little bit of brainpower back to help gojo through his orgasm just like he did for you, ây-e-sss toruâ cum inside me please- iâll take it all- be a good girl for you-â your voice squeaked out, words getting louder at the end with how rough his thrusts were,
He leaned over your back, pressing his sweaty chest onto you while he wrapped you in a tight bear hug, not ceasing his ruthless hips, âNeed you t-to kiss me baby- go-nna be instenseâ he whimpered against your shoulder, waiting for you to turn your head twords him to give him access to your mouth.
When you did he wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours. The two of you swallowed each others moans as his pitch got higher and higher; his tight grip was sure to leave dark bruises on your body as he held onto you for dear life at his impending orgasm.
When the coil finally snapped, he shook violently against you, hips stilling against your ass, pressing his hips as deep as he could into you while hot ropes of cum filled you up even more than his last load, making more cum spill out around him at how full you already were.
His breath was hitching into your mouth, lips doing their best to kiss you back as his jaw kept falling open as the waves of his high washed over him.
He whined and dropped his head against your shoulder when he started to come down. Gojo panted heavily against your skin, twitching in the aftershocks of his high.
âD-donât move pleaseâ he requested, fucking his softening cock into you a couple more times to make sure his cum was as deep inside you as it could go.
âFuck toru- feel so full right now..â you wined into the marble, wincing in overstimulation at his final few weak thrusts.
After a couple seconds he finally pulled out his cock, gulping hard as he watched his cum start to dribble out of you; making you whine at the slightly uncomfortable feeling.
He used a couple fingers to spread your pussy lips; admiring his work for a second before he used to fingers to scoop his cum back up, stuffing his thick digits back inside of you, âGotta get that plug of yours to keep it all in,â he said, biting his lip at how soft you felt around his fingers.
âOr you could let me cockwarm you,â you giggled, turning your head back to look at him while he looked enthralled with your cunt.
âGod I love you, smartest fucking girl I know.â he praised.
You fell into a fit of giggles when he scooped you up in his arms, peppering kisses onto your face while he headed twords your shared bedroom.
You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist while he walked, keeping them snug even when he dropped the two of you on the mattress together. Gojoâs large frame laying on top of you as he reached his hand down between you to slide his semi-hard cock back into your oversensitive walls, making you hiss at the feeling, âSorry baby- almost in,â he promised, kissing your cheeks while he fully bottomed out.
He rolled his eyes at how warm and soft you felt around his dick, sucking soft hickeys into the crook of your neck while you pet his damp hair.
âIâll clean you up in a second my love, promise, you just feel too good right now.â he let out a short laugh against you.
ââS okay toru, makes me feel good too.â you tipped your head forward and pressed kisses onto the top of his scalp.
âWe gotta be careful with those chocolates,â he laughed, âMight acctually knock you up one day if we keep eatin those,â
âThat doesnât sound half bad,â you confessed, squeezing your legs harder around his hips.
âDangerous words to say right now pretty girl,â he warned, smirking into your skin,
âOh right, guess you won the bet,â he remembered, âWhacha want ur big strong boyfriend to do for you?â he asked teasingly,
âCum inside me again, right now,â you requested after a beat, emphasizing your need by squeezing your pussy walls around him, making him inhale a sharp breath between his teeth.
âFuck⊠you serious?â he smirked, lifting his head to look at you.
âDonât keep me waiting, give me my prize toru,â you pouted your bottom lip at him, making his brain short circuit as he felt his cock twitch back to life.
You ended up taking a plan B the next morning⊠just in caseâŠ
#gorsh my breeding k1nk showed w this one#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x geto#jjk gojo#gojo saturo#gojou satoru x reader#gojou x reader#jujutsu gojo#gojo x you#gojo fluff#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru fic#jjk satoru#satosugu#jujutsu kaisen satoru#satoru smut#gojou satoru smut#satoru x suguru#jujutsu satoru#gojou satoru x you#satorugojo
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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
âAnd if youâll just follow me, Your Majesty and Your Royal Highnesses, Iâll take you to meet Kevin now,â 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.
âOh goody,â 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. âWeâre very excited to meet Kevin and support Denmarkâs driver.â
The PR rep beams and starts leading you further into the Haas garage, rattling on about Haasâ 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, youâve long perfected the art of feigning interest, but this weekend has tested even your limits.
âAnd I know meeting the future queen will just make Kevinâs day!â The rep continues enthusiastically. âHe was so honored when King Frederik reached out about you all coming this weekend to support him.â
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 motherâs 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, sheâs already mastered your familyâs signature skill â conveying boredom through a pleasant facial expression.
âI have some fresh sets of Haas merch we would love for you to wear when you meet Kevin,â the rep says, holding out stacks of Haas emblazoned caps and shirts insistently. âIt would mean so much to the team for you to showcase your support.â
You force a smile, already shaking your head. âOh, Iâm afraid we canât wear anything with advertisements or sponsors per royal protocol.â
The PR repâs face falls slightly before she plasters the smile back on. âOf course, Your Royal Highness, I understand. Shall we?â
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. âYour Majesty, Your Royal Highnesses, itâs an honor to meet you.â
You offer your hand, which he takes, bowing again as he brushes his lips over your knuckles. âThe honor is ours, Mr. Magnussen. Denmark is proud to have you representing us in Formula 1.â
Kevin smiles bashfully as you drop his hand. âPlease, call me Kevin.â
You return his smile politely. âVery well, Kevin it is.â
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 youâre 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. Thereâs 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 thatâs a team you can get behind. Cool retro appeal and a driver line-up youâve heard is full of young talent â whatâs 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 youâre okay, but you stand frozen as the hustle of the paddock fades into background noise.
In this moment, itâs just you and this beautiful stranger. A stranger who hasnât 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 strangerâs mesmerizing brown eyes. You vaguely register your bodyguards stepping forward on either side of you.
âYour Royal Highness, are you alright?â Henrik, your lead bodyguard, asks urgently.
You blink, the spell broken as Henrikâs hand lands on your shoulder, gently tugging you back.
The strangerâs eyes widen further as understanding seems to dawn. His eyes flick over the royal crest on Henrikâs 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.
âOscar! What are you doing, mate? Weâve got the strategy briefing in five!â
You watch as the man â Oscar, apparently â glances reluctantly over his shoulder to where a thin harried man bearing a McLaren team pass stands tapping his foot impatiently.
Oscarâs hands slip from your waist as he takes a small step back. âSorry, Iââ
But whatever he was going to say gets lost as the man strides forward, clapping a firm hand on Oscarâs shoulder.
âCâmon, letâs go. No time for chatting up fans when weâve got quali coming up.â
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 Henrikâs voice breaks through your daze once more.
âYour Highness, are you injured at all? Shall I call for a medic?â
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.
âNo, no, Iâm fine,â you assure him quickly. âJust a bit clumsy this morning it seems.â
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. âVery well. But please be more careful, Your Highness. Next time we may not be so lucky.â
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. Youâre sure theyâll have the truth out of you before long.
âNice of you to join us, Y/N,â your younger brother Christian remarks wryly as you reach them. âHave a nice stroll?â
You resist the urge to stick your tongue out at him. Barely.
âLovely, thank you,â you reply breezily instead, moving to stand between your mother and Isabella.
You determinedly avoid meeting any of your siblingsâ gazes, focusing on the timing sheets instead. But you can feel their curious stares boring into you.
âYou look a bit flushed, darling. Are you feeling quite alright?â Your mother murmurs, pressing a hand to your forehead in concern.
âJust peachy!â You chirp in response, internally cringing at the unnatural brightness in your tone.
From your other side, Isabella leans in, voice sly. âYou do seem rather ⊠distracted. Anything you want to share with the class?â
You glance at her sharply, taking in her knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes in warning, but Isabella just smiles innocently.
âOh leave your sister be,â your mother chides. âIâm sure Y/N is just overwhelmed by the excitement of experiencing her first Grand Prix.â
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.
Youâre immensely thankful when the Haas PR rep appears again, ushering you towards the back to âgive the team space to prepare for qualifying,â and drawing your familyâs 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.
âSoooo,â she drawls, bumping your shoulder with hers. âWhoâs got you all flustered then?â
You nearly choke on your water, whipping your head to face her. âWhat? No one! I donât know what youâre talking about.â
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. âI may have accidentally careened into a McLaren crew member during my walk.â
Isabellaâs grin turns positively feline. âOh, do tell ...â
âThereâs nothing to tell!â you insist, face flaming once more. âWe collided and his reflexes were quick enough to catch me before I fell. Thatâs all.â
âMmhmm, Iâm sure that blush is just because youâre so very embarrassed by your clumsiness and nothing else.â
You scowl and take a long swig of your water.
Isabella chuckles. âSo was this mystery McLaren man at least handsome?â
You nearly choke again. âIsabella!â You admonish under your breath.
She holds up both hands innocently, still grinning. âWhat? Itâs a perfectly reasonable question. No judgment here, promise.â
You narrow your eyes, considering her carefully. Before you can think better of it, you mutter reluctantly, âHe ⊠wasnât entirely unfortunate looking.â
âAha!â Isabella crows triumphantly. âI knew it!â
You shush her frantically, glancing around to make sure her outburst didnât draw any unwanted attention.
âDo you know his name at least?â Isabella asks, slightly more quietly this time.
You hesitate before admitting, "... Oscar, I think. His colleague called him that.â
Isabella hums thoughtfully. âVery mysterious ...â
You roll your eyes, shoving her shoulder. âOh stop it. Can we please just drop this?â
âOf course, of course,â Isabella relents, though the impish twinkle remains in her eye.
Youâre prevented from further interrogation by the start of qualifying. You rejoin your family, studiously keeping your gaze away from your siblingsâ knowing looks.
You determinedly put the morningâs events from your mind, focusing on Kevinâs qualifying efforts. Though you canât help the occasional wish that the handsome stranger from McLaren â Oscar â 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.
âExcellent job out there, Kevin! You and the team should be very proud.â
Kevin smiles wryly back at you. âYouâre too kind, Your Highness. But I think we all know 17th is nothing to celebrate for a team with our aspirations.â
You nod sympathetically. âOf course, thereâs always room for improvement. But you showed admirable pace given the circumstances.â
Kevin inclines his head gratefully at your measured response. âYou have a bright future ahead as queen with such judicious words.â
You thank him sincerely for the compliment before your family takes their leave, the dayâs obligations finally complete.
As you all pile into the waiting cars, Isabella leans over and whispers, âDo you think Kevin wouldâve qualified higher if Haas wasnât so slow?â
You have to smother your snort of laughter into your hand.
âWithout question,â you whisper back. âI think a snail could qualify ahead of Haas at this point.â
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 familyâs teasing, you canât seem to remove a certain McLaren crew member from your thoughts.
Oscar. Even his name sends a flutter through your stomach.
You know itâs foolish to get caught up over a brief collision with a stranger. And yet ⊠those eyes. You canât 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.
âMor, I was hoping you might allow me to go out for the evening. To experience the Melbourne nightlife before we depart.â
Your motherâs eyebrows raise in surprise. âGo out? Alone?â
You rush to reassure her. âOh no, Iâll 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.â
You see a flash of understanding on your motherâs face and press your advantage. âIn fact, didnât you and Far meet during a pub crawl?â
Pink stains your motherâs cheeks but her lips quirk up. âI suppose we did. But those were different times ...â
âPlease Mor?â You plead. âWhen will I have a chance like this again?â
Your mother regards you shrewdly for a long moment before sighing. âOh very well. But Henrik and Simone must accompany you at all times. And I want you back by midnight at the latest.â
You beam, leaning over to smack a kiss on her cheek. âThank you, thank you! I promise Iâll stay safe.â
As you exit the car, your younger brother Christian pipes up from behind you. âHey, can I come too?â
âAbsolutely not,â 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 doesnât comment as he pulls away from the hotel, heading for the club district.
When you arrive, the bouncerâs eyes widen at the royal crests adorning your bodyguardsâ suits. But a few quick words from Henrik and youâre 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 youâre just Y/N, anonymous clubgoer. No titles, no expectations, no watching eyes judging your every move.
Well, except for your bodyguards of course. But theyâre discreet enough to give you space.
Youâre so lost in the heady freedom of anonymity that you donât 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.
âY-Your Highness!â He stammers, nearly dropping the drinks he just received. âI mean, Princess, uh Crown Princess? Sorry, Iâm not actually sureââ
You whirl around to see Oscar standing there, looking devastatingly handsome in a button-down and jeans.
âOscar!â You gasp, a smile breaking across your face unbidden. âWhat are you doing here?â
Pink stains Oscarâs tanned cheeks. âAh, well my mates from the team wanted to go out and blow off some steam before the race tomorrow.â He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. âBut what brings Denmarkâs future queen out to the clubs?â
You shrug lightly, grin turning impish. âCanât a girl just want to dance and have some fun?â
Oscarâs eyes gleam with understanding. âSuppose she can. Well then, may I get you a drink ⊠er ...â
He trails off, clearly unsure how to address you in this unusual context.
You take pity on him and lean in conspiratorially. âTonight, Iâm just Y/N. No need for fancy titles.â
Relief flashes across Oscarâs face and he smiles. âY/N it is.â
Soon youâve 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.
Youâre amazed by how at ease you feel in his presence, the crownâs ever-present weight lifted from your shoulders. With Oscar, youâre 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. âOh yes, what is it exactly that you do there? Are you an engineer or mechanic of some sort?â
Oscarâs eyes shutter briefly and he clears his throat. âAh, something like that. Mostly just tinkering to try and make the car faster.â
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. Oscarâs face mirrors your own regret as he insists on walking you to meet your bodyguards.
Outside the club, you turn to him reluctantly. âI wish this didnât have to end. Thank you for a wonderful evening.â
Oscar shuffles his feet, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. âWould ⊠would you want to meet up again tomorrow? Maybe outside the McLaren garage before the race?â
Your face lights up. âIâd love that.â Overcome by boldness, you lean in and brush a feather-light kiss to his cheek.
Oscarâs hand drifts up to his cheek, eyes dazed. âBrilliant. Iâll see you tomorrow then.â
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 Oscarâs 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. Thereâs 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. âIâm afraid the petrol fumes in the garage were giving me a dreadful headache yesterday. I think Iâll take a walk around the paddock this morning for some fresh air before the race.â
Your motherâs brows furrow in concern. âOh dear, that wonât do at all! Yes, a nice walk sounds wise.â
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.
âGood morning!â 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.
âSo ⊠youâre a driver. Funny, I donât recall you mentioning that last night.â
Pink stains Oscarâs cheeks and he rubs the back of his neck. âAh, right. I may have omitted certain details about my role here.â His eyes turn pleading. âI hope you can forgive me? I just liked talking to someone who didnât already know everything about me for once.â
You regard him thoughtfully before allowing a teasing grin to emerge. âWell, I suppose I can understand the appeal of a fresh slate. And itâs not as if I was fully forthcoming either.â
Oscarâs shoulders sag in relief. âToo right. Quite the pair we make, Princess.â His eyes dance playfully.
You open your mouth to respond but are interrupted by a shout from the garage. âOscar! Debrief in two minutes, letâs go!â
Oscar smiles apologetically. âDuty calls. But letâs continue this later?â
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 Kevinâs 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 Oscarâs 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 Oscarâs podium.
âNice recovery there at the end, Kevin. Surely the team can build on this result in the next race.â
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. âNot a great showing, I dare say. Perhaps you are considering transferring allegiance to a certain papaya team instead?â
You press your lips together to contain your smile. Trust Isabella to have guessed your conflicted loyalties.
âIndeed,â you murmur back. âOne must be open to supporting all teams in the spirit of global unity.â
Isabellaâs eyes dance with mirth, but she simply links her arm through yours, giving a sage nod. âSpoken like a true diplomat.â
As the celebrations kick off for Oscarâs first home race podium, you sneak glances over your shoulder, hoping for another glimpse of him through the chaos.
Someday soon, perhaps youâll 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.
Youâve just resigned yourself to missing him when hurried footsteps sound behind you.
âPrincess! Wait up!â
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.
âIâm so glad I caught you before I had to leave,â you smile brightly. âI had to come say a proper congratulations for your podium first!â
Oscar ducks his head bashfully even as his eyes shine. âAnd, well, I hoped maybe you were cheering me on out there today?â
Heat floods your cheeks as you let out an embarrassed laugh. âYou know I canât answer that. But I will say you drove brilliantly and Iâm so pleased for your result.â
Oscarâs grin widens, clearly reading between the lines of your diplomatic answer.
âWell Iâm glad I could end your weekend on a high note after the woeful introduction to Formula 1 from Haas.â
You groan good-naturedly. âUgh yes, I think Kevin was grateful when I finally made myself scarce from that garage of doom.â
Oscar chuckles before his expression turns wistful. âI suppose this means youâll be heading back to Denmark now though?â
You shake your head, curls spilling over your shoulders. âOh no, weâre spending a few more weeks visiting my motherâs family in Tasmania first.â
At Oscarâs look of surprise, you elaborate, âMy mother is originally Australian. Her family is from Tasmania.â
Understanding dawns on Oscarâs face. âWell how about that! Danish royalty certainly seems to have a taste for us Aussies.â He winks playfully.
Heat blooms in your cheeks but you rally to return his banter. âI suppose we do. Though from what I hear, McLaren seemed rather keen on Danes once upon a time as well.â
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. âToo right, youâve got me there.â His laughter fades to a soft smile. âBut I canât say I blame my predecessors in the slightest.â
The tender look in his eyes makes your breath catch. Before you lose your nerve, you hurriedly dig out your phone.
âI should give you my number. So we can keep in touch.â
Oscarâs 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 youâve 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. âWell, I suppose I should let you get on your way ...â
âRight, yes ...â You trail off, searching for the right words. Because as silly as it sounds, the thought of not seeing Oscarâs 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. Oscarâs 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 itâs just this â the two of you suspended in time.
Far too soon, Oscar pulls back reluctantly. His eyes search your face like heâs trying to memorize it.
âTravel safely, Princess. Iâll see you soon.â 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 donât look back, though you can feel Oscarâs 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.
âEager today, are we Princess?â
You roll your eyes even as your lips quirk up. âOh hush, you know you wait just as anxiously for my calls.â
Oscarâs answering chuckle makes your heart skip a beat. âGuilty. Iâll gladly admit your voice is the highlight of my day.â
Warmth floods your cheeks as you get comfortable against the pillows. âFlatterer. Now distract me from the drudgery of royal life with some F1 gossip. How go things in the glamorous world of racing?â
âOh where to even start!â Oscar launches eagerly into the latest paddock drama â teammate clashes, contract disputes, and salacious hookups. You listen eagerly, living vicariously through his tales.
âMeanwhile Lando has been his usual chaos gremlin self ...â Oscar continues, recounting his teammateâs latest antics.
You laugh until your sides ache, picturing the outrageous scenes. âHonestly, I donât know how McLaren copes with you two!â
âWe keep things lively, thatâs for sure,â Oscar agrees, audibly grinning. âAlthough weâd love an even livelier paddock with a certain Danish princess around again ...â
He leaves the statement hanging tentatively. You chew your lip, heart racing as you gather your courage.
âFunny you should mention that ⊠Iâve been thinking lately that it would be nice to attend a race again soon.â
Oscarâs sharp inhale crackles through the phone. âReally? Youâd come to another race?â His voice turns playful. âAny particular reason for the sudden interest?â
You laugh, hoping he canât hear the breathlessness in it. âOh you know, miss the atmosphere, the excitement ...â You pause before adding softly, âGetting to see a certain Aussie driver again.â
Oscar makes a pleased little noise that sends butterflies swirling wildly. âWell Iâm sure that driver would be absolutely thrilled to see your face in the paddock again.â
Warmth spreads through your chest, emboldening you further. âAs it happens, my godmother is the Queen of Belgium. So it should be easy enough to arrange an appearance at the Belgian Grand Prix.â
âThatâs perfect!â Oscar enthuses. âSpa is one of my favorite circuits too. Say youâll be there?â
His boyish eagerness melts your heart. âIâll speak to our communications secretary this week. Iâm sure they can make it happen.â
âBrilliant.â The tender hope in Oscarâs 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.
âI suppose I should let you go then ...â 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. âWait, you havenât told me what ridiculous outfit Lando is wearing today!â
Oscar huffs out a laugh. âTrust me, words donât do justice to the monstrosity. Iâll send pictures so you can experience it fully.â
âItâs a deal.â You know youâre 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.
âHey Y/N, Mor wants to know if ⊠is that Oscar youâre talking to?â He raises his eyebrows knowingly.
You frantically shoo him away but Christian swoops in and plucks the phone from your hand. âSorry mate, gotta steal my sister back. Royal duties call and all that. But great chatting, bye now!â
Before you can wrestle the phone away, Christian ends the call with a cheeky grin.
You smack his shoulder indignantly. âYou little brat! I was right in the middle of important diplomatic relations!â
Christian just cackles gleefully. âOh yeah, I could tell. Your dopey romantic sighing was a big clue.â He laughs harder at your outraged stammers.
âJust you wait until youâre madly pining over someone, Iâll get my revenge,â you threaten.
But inside, not even Christianâs 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. âOscar!â
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.
âYou came,â Oscar murmurs, voice awed like he canât quite believe youâre real.
You lean into him, his warmth chasing away the months spent missing him. âOf course. After all, I made a promise to a certain driver.â
Oscarâs answering smile outshines the sun. Reluctantly, he loosens his hold, keeping one hand entwined with yours.
âWell then, allow me to escort you inside properly.â 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.
âReady to meet the team, Princess?â 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.
âZak, Andrea â thereâs someone special I want you both to meet.â
The two men turn, eyebrows raising in polite expectation. Oscar gently tugs you forward.
âThis is Crown Princess Y/N of Denmark. Y/N, meet Zak Brown, our CEO, and Andrea Stella, team principal.â
Zakâs eyebrows climb higher but he recovers smoothly, extending a hand. âYour Royal Highness, welcome. Weâre honored to host you in our garage.â
You return his firm handshake. âThe honor is mine, thank you. Your team has been so welcoming.â
After greeting Andrea as well, Oscar steers you further inside just as a mop of fluffy brown hair zooms by.
âOscar, mate! There you are, Iâve been ...â The words die on his lips as he spots you, mouth falling open comically. His eyes dart between you and Oscar rapidly.
âLando, come meet the princess!â Oscar calls out cheekily.
Lando snaps his jaw shut, looking utterly bewildered but offering you a hasty bow. âYour Highness! I mean, lovely to meet you, really.â
Amusement flickers through you at his gobsmacked expression. Oscar shoots you a playful wink over Landoâs shoulder as he scrambles to regain composure.
âBut, wait.â Lando glances between you again in confusion. âYou mean all those times you cooed âgood morning, Princessâ over the phone ⊠you were talking to an actual princess!â
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.
âIâll make sure youâre taken care of during the race before I have to suit up,â 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. Youâre 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 fermĂ© but Oscarâs performance coach Kim grasps your arm urgently. âQuickly, heâll want you there for this!â
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 Oscarâs 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 Oscarâs 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 Oscarâs podium kiss yesterday, youâve 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. âThe call is ready whenever you are, Your Highness.â
Squaring your shoulders, you take a seat at the polished desk as the large monitor springs to life. Your familyâs 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.
âYour Royal Highness, might we have a word about this ⊠incident from the race?â The chief advisorâs tone drips disapproval.
Ice trickles down your spine but you keep your face neutral. âOf course.â
âI trust youâve seen the coverage?â At your hesitant nod, the advisor continues, âThen you understand what an embarrassment this is, how damaging to the dignity of the crown.â
You clench your jaw, anger rising. But he barrels on, âSuch scandalous behavior, and broadcast globally! You must see how this recklessness reflects poorly on Denmark.â
The rest of the advisors murmur emphatic agreement. Your cheeks burn in humiliation even as you desperately blink back furious tears.
âThe narrative has already spiraled out of control. Such associations cannot be tolerated from the future queen.â
The scorn in his tone ignites your temper. But before you can spit out a scathing retort, a commanding voice interrupts.
âEnough!â Your fatherâs 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. âMy dear, youâve done nothing wrong. What matters most is that youâre happy.â
Hope flickers tentatively inside you as the advisors gape. But your father silences them with another quelling look.
âI know a thing or two about duty versus matters of the heart.â His eyes soften, finding your mother. âIâll not see my daughter denied the same chance at love that brought me such joy.â
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 fatherâs 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.
âSoooo ⊠looks like someone had an eventful race!â
Heat floods your cheeks but you canât suppress a giddy smile. âIt just sort of happened in the heat of the moment.â
âThis Oscar must be something special,â your mother remarks kindly.
Your insides turn to mush at the memory of Oscarâs kiss. âHe really is. I canât explain it, but it feels ⊠right with him.â
Your normally stoic mother looks touched. âThen he has my blessing.â
On her other side, Christian smirks. âYeah, yeah, we get it, youâre in looooove.â He exaggerates a swoon, cackling when you stick your tongue out at him.
âHush dear, let your sister be happy,â your mother chides, swatting his shoulder before smiling indulgently. âReminds me of another young prince long ago, besotted with an Australian girl ...â
Your father laughs, eyes crinkling. âToo right, darling. Clearly our Y/N takes after me.â He winks at you. âWe Danes do seem to have a weakness for Aussies.â
You groan good-naturedly at the gentle teasing, buoyed by your familyâs 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 wonât 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.
âSo ...â he begins, nose scrunching up adorably, âThink your family will let you keep me around?â
You answer by pulling him down into a long, sweet kiss. When you finally separate, foreheads pressed together, Oscar sighs out, âIâll take that as a yes.â
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. Youâve made your choice, the only one your heart would allow. And with Oscarâs arms encircling you now, you know youâre right where you belong.
***
âCome on, itâll be great! Whenâs the next chance youâll get to come down under?â
Oscarâs pleading face fills your laptop screen, bottom lip poking out beseechingly. You try to stand firm, but your resolve is crumbling.
âI donât know ⊠wonât I be imposing on your family time?â
Oscar waves a hand breezily. âNah, Mum and Dad have been hassling me nonstop to bring you for a visit. Trust me, theyâll smother you with Aussie hospitality.â
You chew your lip thoughtfully. A trip together does sound tempting. And youâre endlessly curious to see where Oscar grew up.
Sensing your wavering, Oscar presses his advantage. âThereâs so much I want to show you! The beach I learned to surf at, my favorite cafes and shops ...â
His voice turns coaxing. âAnd just think, falling asleep under the southern stars ...â
Your heart flutters traitorously. Oscar knows your weakness for astronomy. With a defeated huff, you nod.
âOh alright, youâve convinced me. Iâll see if I can clear my schedule for next month.â
Oscar whoops, pumping a victorious fist. âYes! Youâre gonna love it, I promise.â
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 youâre 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 youâve 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 â Oscarâs smile mirrored on his motherâs face and his kind eyes reflected in his fatherâs crinkled gaze. They hurry over, clasping your hands warmly.
âYour Royal Highness, weâre so honored to finally meet you!â His mother gushes. âOscarâs told us so much, I feel as if we know you already.â
You smile, charmed by her easy manner. âThe honor is mine, Mrs. Piastri. Please, call me Y/N.â
She pats your hand merrily. âOf course, dear! And you must call me Nicole. Now come, letâs get you home and settled.â
The ride to Oscarâs childhood home passes quickly, filled with lively conversation. His parentsâ sweet banter reminds you so much of your own.
When you arrive, Nicole loops her arm through yours, bustling you inside. âWeâve freshened up Oscarâs old room for you, I do hope itâs comfortable.â
You take in the posters of racing legends and cricketers adorning the walls, the cluttered bookshelves full of well-loved texts. âItâs perfect, thank you.â
âExcellent!â Nicole claps her hands. âNow, you two get settled. Dinner will be ready shortly.â
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. Chrisâ eyes twinkle knowingly as he refills your wine.
âWeâre just delighted to finally meet the girl whoâs made our Oscar so happy.â
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 arenât 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 Oscarâs 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. âThis was a terrible idea, you looking so cute in my clothes.â
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 Oscarâs arms, you have everything you need.
Oscar hums contentedly, dropping a kiss to your hair as your eyes drift closed.
âSweet dreams, my princess,â he whispers. You float off cradled in his warmth, perfectly at peace.
The rest of the trip passes in blissful domesticity â lazy beach days, intimate dinners, long talks under the stars. Meeting Oscarâs 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.
âI donât want this to end,â you whisper into the quiet night.
Oscar presses a lingering kiss below your ear. âItâs only the start for us.â
And basking in his touch, the infinite potential of the future unfolding before you, you know heâs 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.
Itâs his first time visiting the palace and meeting your family officially as your boyfriend. You know theyâll 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 youâve missed. When he sets you down, hands come up to frame your face tenderly, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.
âThereâs my beautiful girl. Iâve missed you so much, Princess.â
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.
âWell now I see why you were so eager for Oscarâs visit. Should I come back later?â
You stick your tongue out at him even as a blush stains your cheeks. Taking Oscarâs hand, you lead him towards the family wing.
âCome on, everyoneâs excited to finally meet you properly.â
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 Oscarâs hand firmly. âOscar, welcome. Weâre delighted to have you here.â
Oscar returns the handshake graciously. âThe honor is mine, Your Majesty. Thank you for the invitation.â
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.
âSooo tell us,â Isabella begins, propping her chin on her hands. âWhat exactly are your intentions with our dear sister?â
Oscar just grins, unfazed. âWhy, to make her happy every single day, of course.â
You melt at his simple sincerity, grasping his hand under the table.
âGood answer!â Christian crows. âBut know if you ever hurt her, youâll have the entire Danish army to answer to.â
Despite his teasing tone, you know Christian means every word. Oscar inclines his head solemnly.
âYou have my word such a day will never come. Her happiness means everything to me.â
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 Oscarâs 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.
âWhew, your family is something else! I think that interrogation was more intense than any press conference.â
You laugh and swat his shoulder before lifting on your toes to kiss him sweetly. âYou were wonderful. Iâm so happy youâre here.â
Oscarïżœïżœïżœs eyes soften. âMe too, Princess. Being here with you feels like home.â
Heedless of any lingering eyes, you kiss him again under the twinkling chandelier.
A loud retching sound interrupts you. âUgh, get a room you two!â Christian complains, dodging your swat.
Oscar just tugs you closer with a chuckle. âDonât worry mate, I plan to.â
He silences Christianâs protests with another searing kiss. And surrounded by Oscarâs warmth, you canât bring yourself to care who sees.
***
Moonlight filters through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft glow. You lay curled against Oscarâs chest, fingers tracing idle patterns over his heart.
The steady rhythm soothes you, but your own heart feels anything but calm. Thereâs something you need to discuss, but nerves stall your tongue.
Sensing your tension, Oscarâs hand comes up to sift gently through your hair. âPenny for your thoughts, love?â
You lean into his touch, gathering courage. âI was just thinking about the future. Our future.â You twist to meet his gaze. âI know itâs still early days for us, but if this continues to get more serious ...â
You trail off uncertainly, but Oscarâs eyes are warm with encouragement. Bolstered, you continue.
âThere are certain expectations that come with being attached to the heir to the throne. Traditions and duties to learn.â
You watch Oscarâs face closely, but he simply nods thoughtfully. âOf course, that makes sense. Iâm happy to learn whatever I need to.â
Relief trickles through you. You prop yourself up on one elbow, smiling softly down at him.
âFor 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.â
You take a bracing breath. âI donât expect you to make such changes overnight. But someday, if this continues on the path we hope ...â
You trail off meaningfully. Oscarâs hand comes up to cradle your face. âHey, if being with you means learning Danish, or attending stuffy banquets, or anything else, Iâm in this 100%.â
His eyes bore into yours. âIâll do whatever it takes to build a life together.â
Emotion clogs your throat. You have to swallow thickly before responding. âWell, maybe we start small then. How about I teach you a few phrases?â
Oscar grins, pulling you back down against him. âJa, det lyder perfekt.â
You jerk back in surprise, swatting his chest. âYou brat, have you been practicing without telling me?â
Oscarâs eyes dance with laughter. âMaybe just a few key phrases. Wanted to surprise you.â
His smile turns tender. âIâd love nothing more than for you to teach me, sweetheart.â
Happiness bubbles up inside you. You snuggle closer, thinking. âAlright, letâs start simple. Like hej simply means hello.â
Oscar repeats the phrase dutifully, brow furrowing in concentration. You cover his hand with yours.
âJeg elsker dig,â you murmur, gazing into his eyes.
âJeg elsker dig,â Oscar echoes. âWhat does it mean?â
Sudden shyness has you ducking your head. âIt means I love you.â
Oscarâs sharp inhale lifts your head. He grasps both of your hands, staring deeply into your eyes.
âJeg elsker dig,â he repeats reverently.
Emotion clogs your throat. You lean in, whispering against his lips, âJeg elsker dig, Oscar.â
The kiss starts soft and unhurried, a confirmation of feelings conveyed best without words. Oscarâs 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. âWhat else can you teach me?â
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 âjeg elsker digâ 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 â a lavish gala in honor of the new childrenâs hospital bearing your motherâs name.
A knock precedes Oscar peeking his head in, hands clapped over his eyes. âSafe to look?â
You smooth your skirt with a shaky exhale. âYes, come in.â
Oscar drops his hands, mouth falling open. âWow. You look absolutely stunning tonight, my love.â
He takes your hands, eyes roving appreciatively over you. âGoing to have to beat all the envious blokes away with a stick.â
You laugh, swatting his shoulder lightly. âOh hush. You look rather dashing yourself, Mr. Piastri.â
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.
âShall we?â He offers his arm gallantly. You lay your hand atop it, spine straightening.
âWe shall.â
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 hospitalâs key figures, his hand at the small of your back anchors you.
But as the speeches drag on, Oscar leans in subtly. âIs it terrible Iâm already bored senseless? Iâd rather actually meet these kids weâre meant to be helping.â
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 Oscarâs 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.
âQuick, while we wonât be missed. Letâs actually go see the children.â
Excitement flashes across Oscarâs face. âBrilliant thinking. Lead the way, Princess.â
Adrenaline courses through you as you sneak out to the waiting car, bodyguards eyeing you curiously.
âRigshospitalet, please. Quickly.â
At the childrenâs hospital, you sweep inside, Oscar at your heels. The receptionist gapes as you approach.
âSo sorry to drop by unannounced. We were hoping there might be a chance for us to visit with some of the patients?â
The receptionistâs mouth opens and closes before she stutters, âO-of course, Your Highness, right away!â 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.
âMama, itâs the princess! And her boyfriend!â
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. âWe were hoping we might visit you, if thatâs alright?â
The girl â Else â 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 Elseâs delight.
As you chat and play with Else, joy lights up her face. For a short time, sheâs 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.
âThank you! This was like a fairytale.â Over her head, her mother mouths a tearful thank you of her own.
You hug Else gently before kneeling down. âIt was our honor. You stay strong, little one.â
Her returning whisper warms your heart. âDonât worry, I will!â
Similar scenes play out in room after room. Your cheeks ache from smiling but itâs a welcome ache. The childrenâs 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, Oscarâs eyes mirror the same emotion.
Far too soon, your bodyguards notify you itâs 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 â this is what truly matters. Not accolades or commendations, but joy brought to hurting hearts.
You know youâll 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. Oscarâs arms circle you from behind, chin tucking onto your shoulder.
âI think tonight was the most important royal function Iâve ever attended,â 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 â the only currency that counts canât 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, youâre 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 â one that will upend Oscarâs world irreversibly.
Your father steps forward first to formally confirm the engagement and expound on Oscarâs 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. âThank you, Your Majesty. Y/N and I are over the moon at the chance to spend our lives together.â
He gazes at you softly before continuing. âIâm truly the luckiest man in the world to have won the heart of Denmarkâs lovely princess.â
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.
âWhile Iâm elated at this new chapter ahead, it also brings difficult changes. Iâm announcing my retirement from Formula 1 following this seasonâs conclusion.â
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Oscarâs grip tightens as he pushes forward.
âAs 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.â
His voice falters briefly and your heart clenches. Racing is Oscarâs passion â having to walk away is unimaginably hard.
Oscar visibly gathers himself. âBut as difficult as this is, marrying Y/N is worth any sacrifice. She is my true dream now.â
He turns to you then, eyes glistening. âThe honor of being your husband eclipses any trophy or medal. You are my greatest victory.â
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.
âTil Danmark og det danske folk. Jeg lover at tjene jer med ĂŠre, respekt og kĂŠrlighed.â
The Danish press reacts first, visibly surprised and impressed at Oscarâs speech in their native tongue.
You blink back a fresh wave of tears at his poignant promise â to serve Denmark with honor, respect, and love.
Overcome with emotion, you step forward to the microphones as well.
âOscarâs love for me and Denmark is clear to all who meet him. I am truly blessed to have found such a selfless, caring partner.â
Your voice wavers with feeling. âThough it grieves me to see his racing career ended prematurely, I could not be more proud of the man he is.â
You reach for Oscarâs hand, gazing at him through tear-filled eyes. âHe gives up much out of love for me. I only hope I can bring him a fraction of the joy in return.â
Oscarâs fingers tighten around yours, eyes shining with affection. Cameras flash furiously at your raw display of love and emotion.
But you remain lost in Oscarâs 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. âI meant every word,â he whispers fiercely. âYou are my whole world now.â
You draw back just far enough to meet his eyes, hoping he can see the depths of your love reflected there.
âI know, min kĂŠreste. Weâll face this new future together.â
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 fatherâs excitement, chattering cheerfully about anything and everything.
You reach over to still Oscarâs jostling knee, smiling indulgently. âEasy there, weâve barely arrived and youâre already wound up.â
Oscar shoots you a boyish grin. âCan you blame me? Itâs been so long since I was last in the paddock. Feels like a lifetime ago.â
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.
âHe lives! The prodigal prince returns!â 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.
âGood to see you too, mate. Itâs been way too long.â
You round the car to find Oscarâs former team already swarming him, clapping his back and jostling each other good-naturedly to greet their long-lost driver.
Oscarâs 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. âAnd who do we have here? Donât tell me this little beauty is your daughter?â
Oscar beams, waving you both over. âShe is indeed! Lando, meet my little girl.â
Lando pretends to stagger back in shock. âNo way, our little Oscar is all grown up and domesticated now!â
Oscar shoves him playfully before sweeping Maise into his arms. âWhat can I say, my fast living days are behind me now.â He kisses Maiseâs wavy hair, eyes finding yours. âIâve got all I need right here.â
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. âItâs so good to have you back, even just for a day. You and your family should stay, watch the race from the garage!â
For a fleeting moment, naked longing flashes across Oscarâs face at the thought of experiencing race day excitement again up close.
But reality settles back in quickly, his expression turning regretful. âThatâs a lovely offer, truly. But Iâm afraid weâll have to make our way to the royal box.â
He bounces Maise gently, tone wry. âSome of us have a job to do handing out trophies later.â Maise giggles and tugs at his ear happily, blissfully unaware of the wistfulness simmering beneath her fatherâs smile.
You slip your arm through Oscarâs, offering a comforting squeeze. His answering smile doesnât 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.
âCanât believe itâs been five years already,â he murmurs. âFeels like another lifetime.â
You smile up at him sadly. âI know, my love. But look at everything youâve accomplished for Denmark in that time. This race wouldnât even be happening without you.â
Oscar huffs a small laugh. âToo right. Who needs driving when Iâve got you two anyway?â
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 Oscarâs 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 heâs meant to be.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#oscar piastri#op81#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri fic#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#oscar piastri x female reader#oscar piastri x y/n#mclaren#oscar piastri one shot#oscar piastri drabble
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Gosh I love all of your posts! đ I was wondering what your thoughts would be on Alastor trying to court his darling? We all know heâs a gentleman at heart and is very proper. So how would he go about trying to win them over?
âą He wouldn't tell anyone except for a very very small select few that he thinks he wants to be more with you. Maybe only Rosie honestly. The Great Radio Demon would never normally ask for help but this is uncharted territory for him
âą Rosie would be so excited, acting like a gossiping wine aunt and doing her best to direct Alastor
"You know how you treat Vox? Don't do that."
"You know how you treat Lucifer? Don't do that."
"You know how you treatâ"
"Rosie. I get it."
âą He does his best to save you a seat beside him whenever he's lounging in the lobby. And even though he wouldn't let you into his bedroom, he would definitely let you know that if you ever need anything at all, you can come find him at any time
âą Would know your favourite breakfast, lunch and dinner and regularly have it made for you. You technically don't have to eat anything to survive but he likes the way your eyes light up when you see what's waiting for you downstairs anyway
âą Usually he hates when people get near him before he can do it to themâhe likes the control he has invading other peoples' space and not when it happens to him
âą But he actually enjoys the feeling of your hands and how gentle you are. Has 0 qualms about you being touchy with him because unlike when others get too close, he feels no malice from you. You make him feel comfortably safe
âą Alastor would 100% be overprotective of you even if he's not directly hovering over your shoulder. Always keeping an eye on you when you go out and discreetly stepping in when others are too handsy with you
âą He would play old tunes for you on the piano, staying up with you well into the night just to watch you sit on the back of it and listen with a smile
âą You're not from the same era so he tries to learn about all the technology from your time, even though he despises it
âą Eventually others get the hint that Alastor might see you as more than just a friend and try to set the two of you up in their meddlesome ways
"Here they come!" Angel sticks out his leg to trip you and you conveniently fall right into Alastor's arms. He would raise a brow but not question the help.
"I'm sorry!"
"Quite alright, darling."
âą On that note, knows that you get a little flustered when he uses pet names so he makes sure to call you his dearest/darling often
âą Has you fix his bowtie in the morning. Like, he purposefully leaves it a little undone so that when he sees you, you immediately have a reason to be near him
âą When walking with him, he'll always link arms with you and treats you like royalty
âą I can't imagine him actually asking you out or anything, he just started acknowledging you as a companion and you went along with it
~
taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 (send an ask to be added!)
#alastor#alastor x reader#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin x reader#alastor fanfic#alastor fluff#alastor headcanons#alastor x you#alastor fanfiction#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel headcanon#hazbin hotel fanfic#hazbin hotel fanfiction#hazbin fic#faye's thoughts â â
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⥠Master List Link
Everyone involved in this is aged up/18+.
â FEM READER â
Men who live for the opportunity to fuck you from behind.
Not because they donât want to watch your pretty features twist in pleasure, or because they donât want to see your eyes widen in surprise.
Not because they donât want to see the base of your skull digging into the pillow when their cocks hit it just right, or the way your tits bounce with their motions.
No, itâs because theyâve mastered fucking you in this position as if itâs a finely tuned skill. It is after all, the best way to get your head high up in the clouds. Guaranteed to make your pussy love them, to drool obscenely for them.
However, theyâd be remiss not to mention it soothes the deepest, most repressed and possessive urges they have to fuck you like a dog. They want your chest and your face shoved suffocatingly into the mattress. Of course your ass is in the air, god thereâs nothing like it.
Their cocks throb and twitch repeatedly while they study the way your spine curves. How your sweet fingers fist the sheets, back cramping from tensing so tightly. But even still, they hold out on cumming. Thereâs no way theyâre gonna end it this quickly, fuck no. They want to watch their cocks disappear into you for as long as they can drag it out.
They pay attention as you snake one hand under yourself to play with your clit, rubbing fast circles until your pussy starts to flutter. Hugging their cocks in an overwhelmingly slick and silky warmth as you help yourself cum.
Right after this is when they really start to fuck you, palms pressing into your lower back, threatening to break your spine. They put their strength to use, thrusting even harder.
These men will bully your g-spot until your throat feels raw from crying out their names. Going until youâre shoving your overheated face into the sheets, a palm braced on the wall in front of you so you donât get a fucking concussion.
They keep at it until you cry out you canât take it, till youâre both dripping with sweat. Even then, they still force another climax out of you, despite your pleas.
Their voices are low, intimidating, and enticing all at once when they speak next. Conveniently replacing your brain with cotton.
âCâmon, give me another pretty girl. Just do what I fucking say and Iâll give your sweet little pussy a treat, promise. You want that, donât you?â
Itâs with terrifying precision that they make this last orgasm count, just to see you squirt of course.
They wait until your entire being has gone taught for a few seconds. Letting you enjoy the full intensity of your orgasm before pulling out quickly and watching you squirt onto the sheets below as they paint your ass white.
These men can play your body like a fiddle every single time, especially hitting it from behind. They leave you a panting, sweaty heap on the bed always. They fucking live for it.
EREN, levi, BAKUGOU, kirishima, GOJO, zoro, hawks, SANEMI, KUROO, benimaru + any of your faves!
#eren jaeger x reader#eren jaeger smut#levi ackerman x reader#levi smut#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou smut#kirishima x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader#kirishima smut#kirishima eijirou x reader#zoro x reader#zoro smut#sanemi x reader#sanemi smut#kuroo tetsuro x reader#kuroo smut#benimaru x reader#benimaru smut#hawks x reader#hawks smut#dividers by saradika#dividers by cafekitsune
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â â
! geto headcanons
â
! late night convenience store beer run with suguru geto your fwb dare I say bf who's also a soft!boy and genius who helps you when you're drowning with math assignments
â
! he's not the type to shy away from holding hands even though nothing's official about your relationship
â
! he buys you cute tiny hair clips he thinks you'll like when he's out with his friends. smiling through the day because he catches a glimpse of you wearing the butterfly claw clip he bought apparently with not much thought
â
! you guys make eachother mixtapes and listen to them on long drives in the middle of the night
â
! you've got an attitude when you're annoyed at something or him? he'll match that right back until you're calm enough to listen to him. hate when he argues with straight facts and valid logic while you're an emotional mess.
"you never listen!"
"you sure about that?" he's leaning against the door frame waiting for you to give into him, patient, cool and calm
he's unbelievable. "why are you so calm!? say something else"
"maybe when you're done throwing a tantrum?" enveloping you in his big strong arms
â
! all this swagger but he's still too scared to ask you out because what if you reject him and break his heart. so you're the one asking him out while you're in the middle of the city street, the night still young
"let's go out?" you ask
"we are out" he looks at you dumbfounded
"no like, go out go out. like a date?" you test the waters
"oh, OHâ yeah uhmm yeah i mean of course I'm â" he's scratching his neck, avoiding your eyes, because if he looks at you he might combust and lose all his mojo
" i did want to ask before, but yu'kno uh yeah if you didn't want this and uh we should⊠like right now? we could if you want to" he's stuttering, flustered by the unexpected question
â
! watching him like this was so cute. someone who usually wore the casual confidence now a blushing mess all because of you
â
! geto is so lovely runner x like we used to instrumentals coded here's the link !
#jjk#jjk x reader#geto x reader#geto suguru#suguru x reader#geto headcanons#geto suguru headcanons#jujutsu kaisen x reader#geto smut#college au#frat boy geto#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#getou suguru x reader#friends w/ benfits au#fwb geto#geto fluff#sage.hcs
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Look! Look! It's the site that had the Mew trick in 2002, the one I saw and rolled my eyes really hard at and dismissed as obviously fake! It's so obviously fake and even has a disgruntled commenter saying it's bogus. Ridiculous arbitrary instructions about how you must not have battled these particular random trainers (so conveniently you can't test it without restarting your save file), overly complex confusing instructions, supposedly the menu will just pop up out of nowhere and then if you press B a wild Mew appears. Urgent allcaps insistence that it DEFINITELY WORKS and if it didn't work you must have DONE IT WRONG. So, so fake except for the bit where it was actually real, I cannot.
I am delighted that this has been found. The link seems to have been quietly added by Damian001 to the Bulbapedia page for the glitch this October 31st and I'd heard nothing about it. God damn.
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hi! i saw your post about snow omg, can i request a coriolanus x mentor!reader where sheâs similar to like clemensia but sheâs more close to corio and they have a secret relationship? thank you in advance if you do this rq! love ur tsitp writings sm đ„č
snow and roses: part I (coriolanus snow x fem!reader)
pairing: coriolanus snow x reader
warnings: none!
summary: you and coriolanus have been dating in secret for months, all it takes is one songbird for everything to come into the light.
a/n: first time writing for snow and I'm very excited about it! I've always loved the hunger games and this movie was insane in the best way so please enjoy! I will be making this a series and this is only part one so stay tuned for the rest!
word count: 2.2k
join my taglist here.
"You're going to get it Coryo, don't stress." You soothed the boy as you sat next to him. It was barely even six in the morning and the pair of you had woken up, well he had woken up and you with him as he blatantly needed your support, desperate for the Plinth Prize.
You didn't need the prize, already coming from a wealthy Capitol family and yet you felt the same hope that he would win as you would for yourself, stomach twisting into knots at the thought.
"There's good candidates Y/N, it feels as if the odds are already stacked against me." He sighed, leaning over as he sat so his elbows rested on his knees, head in his hands.
"The odds are in your favour Coryo, you're special. Different." With that he looked at you, a small smile gracing his pale lips. He leaned up kissing you gently, fully embracing the special moment before he got up from his place next to you.
"I'll see you at the Academy?" He asked, knowing you had to leave quickly back to your own house in order to change but also in order to avoid the suspicions of your own family who had no idea of your relationship with Snow.
"Of course." You replied, also standing up and pulling on last nights clothes as you left.
You studied the dark an empty halls of his house, ensuring Grandma'am was nowhere to be seen before you quickly walked to the door, exiting un-noticed until Tigris came around the corner, seemingly equally in a rush and holding a shirt you knew must be for Coriolanus.
"Oh, hello Y/N." She smirked as you both stopped, unsure how to approach the conversation. She was one of the only people who knew something was going on between the pair of you and still she wasn't quite sure what it was.
"Hi Tigris. You look lovely today." You said quietly, feeling like a scolded child even though you hadn't done anything wrong.
"Well if you're here I can only assume Coryo is awake, I'll see you again I assume?" She replied.
"Yes and yes." You answered awkwardly before hurrying away once again, letting out a sigh of relief as you heard her enter the house. You could only hope she wouldn't mention your interaction to Coriolanus.
You walked into the Academy at the same time as you did everyday, conveniently when Coriolanus would also show up.
"Coryo!" You yelled, spotting him across the room. He turned his head to you as though it was a surprise to see you, it wasn't.
"Y/N. What a pleasure." He smiled with his typical Snow charm, allowing you to link your arm with his.
"How are you feeling?" You asked him, thumb gently rubbing his bicep through his shirt. You rounded the corner past the food and yet you both avoided it for different reasons. You having already been fed by your family and their lavish lifestyle and he too nervous to even look at it.
"Never felt better." He replied with false confidence but no one else around you had to know that.
"Snow always lands on top." You teased as you entered the hall, spotting your friends if that's what you could call them stood in the centre of it all, as they usually did, talking about everyone around them no doubt.
"Y/N and Coriolanus, finally some real competition has arrived." Said Arachne, a glass in her hand and a smirk on her face as she always seemed to appear in public.
"Be humble now Arachne, you never know who will be chosen." You smiled, turning on your Capitol attitude in order to fit in. You were Capitol born and raised but your family taught you to be humble and kind. It was clear this wasn't common among parents here.
"Have you tried this lamb? It's scandalous." Said Felix, it made you chuckle how he used such a word to describe food.
"Only the vulgar eat with their fingers Felix, daddy not teach you table manners?" Snarled Festus, it was as though there was always a secret competition between the two of them, never quite made clear, never making sense.
"Maybe he would've if he wasn't so busy running the country. Hey they called us here for the Plinth prize right? 'Cause I heard Doctor Gaul's in the building." Felix changed the subject, knowing he had won. It was impossible to lose as the President's son you supposed.
You hadn't noticed but now Felix had mentioned it you took in the strange atmosphere, tense and mystery lingering in the air. "That is peculiar." You said, holding onto Coryo's bicep tighter subconsciously.
"Plinth. Look at his spawn. Who would've thought you could buy your way into the Academy." Felix once again snarled, he was always filled with such anger though it seemed todays anxiety only heightened this.
"Well you can't buy class. Did you see his mothers outfit? Sorry his Ma's." Festus joked, seemingly over his small tiff with Felix.
"Dress a turnip in a ball gown and it'll still beg to be mashed." Said Coriolanus, playing into their pompous ways. You knew he didn't agree, not really.
"Don't do that we all know you like him." Arachne spat with her spider like venom, raising her eyebrows at Coriolanus.
"I don't like him Arachne, I tolerate him. He's district." Said Coriolanus and he seemed pleased with his answer as you felt him relax under your touch. You however did like Sejanus and weren't afraid to show it.
"If I hear one more time how immoral these Hunger Games are I'll put him in the arena mys- Sejanus. You made it to the Reaping for once." Festus cut himself off, caught by Sejanus himself.
"And you made it to graduation Festus, we're both shocked." Sejanus replied and you couldn't help but snicker, hiding it as you realised no one else shared the same reaction. "Y/N, always a pleasure." He smiled at you politely. You couldn't help but note the way Coryo's jaw clenched, neck twitching as he looked at you to gaze your reaction.
"As are you Sejanus." You nodded. Arachne scoffed quickly mentioning the only thing she really cared about, the prize.
"Spill it, who won the prize." She asked.
"Well, no I'm not gonna ruin my father's big day. No one here actually likes him, but they do love his money." He once again hit back at the group around him, you felt sorry for the boy. Alone in a room full of people. "You know what that's like don't you Arachne?" He dug the hole deeper and you internally smirked, grateful someone was brave enough to stand up to a powerful woman like Arachne.
As the Captiol's anthem began to play you made your way to your seats, sat next to Coriolanus you placed a kiss on his cheek and whispered 'good luck' in his ear, though you didn't really think he needed it.
Doctor Gaul's chuckle resounded around the room in a menacing echo that always managed to make you shrink into your seat.
She commended you all for being star students before untroducing the creator of the games: Casca Highbottom.
He went on to tell you all that today was not the day the prize would be given out but instead there would be one more task to challenge you all and gage your true worth. Everyone seemed confused but not Sejanus.
"What's going on?" You whispered to Coriolanus. He sensed your anxiety placing a calming hand on your knee but gave you no other response which reassured you that you had not been left completely in the dark.
"The Plinth prize will no longer be determined by who was the best grades. But by who is the best mentor in the Hunger Games." With that there was outrage, to you it was dehumanizing for the tributes, 'mentored' by people their own age but for the others they only seemed to care whether they were given someone strong or weak. A 'runt' in Arachne's words.
The reaping commenced and you couldn't help but wish to be anywhere but here. You didn't want to do this, you didn't need the money yet you were forced to have another's life in your hands.
You got a small girl from 8 named Wovey, seeing her face on the big screen left you determined, determined to help her in anyway you could on the path to being a victor. Even if that meant Coryo may lose the prize.
Snow's tribute left the room in horror, her stage presence and brutality sent shivers down your spine, though you supposed that the outer Districts had it harder and that sort of survival must be built into her.
Standing up on shaky legs you grabbed Coriolanus up from his chair and outside of the room, you needed fresh air and you needed to talk to him about what you were about to face, arguably harder than any other test the Capitol could give you.
"Slow down Y/N, I can hardly keep up." He said, words laced with worry.
"I don't believe I can do this Coryo, did you see my tribute? She's hardly eligible for school never mind to be put into an arena where she's going to be killed. She's only a child." You paced while he leant against a pillar, beginning to eat some food he a had smuggled from the buffet table.
"I'm afraid you don't have a choice Y/N." He tried to help but only made it worse as you realised you were trapped in yet another one of the Capitol's games. He seemingly realised this. "Hey, hey. If there as anyone in that room who would get that tribute, I'm glad it was you. Arachne would've given up on her by now. With you she has a fighter. A chance at surviving." He said while grabbing your wrists to stop your pacing.
"It's not that simple Coryo-" You tried but he cut you off.
"It is Y/N." He said sternly and you understood what he meant. It was either play into their games or become apart of them, no other choice. "You're a born winner Y/N, give her some of it hm?" He stared down at you as he spoke and his blue eyes while at times piercing sucked you in, heart rate lowering almost immediatley.
"Okay." You said.
"Okay." He smiled, reaching a hand around your neck to bring you into a kiss. It started off slow and caring though quickly intensified as he turned you both around so now you leant against the pillar instead of him.
His hand tightened around your neck, not enough to actually cut off air but just enough to make you feel dizzy as he pushed his body further into yours, keeping you against the cold cement and trapped in his arms.
Your mouths clashed together intensely, tongues colliding in a rhythm you though you would only ever be able to find with him in this lifetime. He was your everything, your light in a blizzard.
"Ahem." Coughed Casca, drawing the two of you away from each other with baited breaths and rosy cheeks. "Just like your father, yes we were best friends. Once." He said, and with that it felt like you weren't even in the room.
"Tell me Mr Snow, what are your plans after these games?" Casca asked.
"I hope to go onto the university sir, naturally." Coriolanus answered, pulling his waistcoat straight where it had been wrinkled by your tight grip.
"And if you fail to win the Plinth Prize, what then?" Asked Casca, it suddenly became clear to you that he knew something, just what he knew you were unsure of.
"We'd pay the tuition of course." He scoffed, insulted at Casca's insinuation even if it was true.
"Look at you, in your makeshift shirt and too tight shoes. Trying desperately to fit in when I know the Snow's don't have a pot to piss in." Casca said. You felt your own heart drop and so you couldn't imagine how Coriolanus felt, the insult to his pride was one you knew he wouldn't take well and so you grabbed his hand subtly, hiding it behind your back as to not show any sign of weakness to Casca.
"Goodluck with that poor little Songbird." He said, and with that he left. Leaving you to do damage control.
"Ignore him Coryo, he's trying to get into your head." You reassured him, moving a Snow white hair from his face. His jaw looked similar to the way it did earlier when Sejanus had so much as acknowledged your presence.
"He's right Y/N. From the moment my father died I lost. The odds were never in my favour." He spat out, though his actions didn't match his words as he gently removed your hand from his hair before beginning his exit of the Academy. "Come on now Y/N, I've got a songbird to catch." He said sarcastically.
You sped after him hoping Casca's words hadn't knocked him too much, after all, Snow lands on top and he wouldn't be the one to change that.
TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am, @riordanness, @suvgs, @charmed-asylum
#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow#tom blyth#tom blyth x reader#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#the hunger games#coriolanus snow x fem!reader#young!coriolanus snow x reader
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Obsessed
Pairing: Pro-hero!Bakugo Katsuki x Reader
Summary: Bakugo is obsessed with your ex and itâs driving you up a wall (Inspired by Olivia Rodrigoâs song Obsessed)
Word Count: 4.2k
Warnings: Smut, 18+
A/N: a few weeks ago I saw a post that was about this same concept, and I couldnât find it to link it here unfortunately. I just thought it fit so well with him that I wanted to write my own take on it. Also this is just comedy, obviously his behavior in this would be problematic in real life so Iâm definitely not condoning his obsession.
Minors DNI
Bakugo Katsukiâs eyes danced from cover to cover of every one of the magazines stocked in the stand at the convenience store he regularly stopped at after work. Each one baring a hero with advertisements of their interview inside. He noticed that some of his friends had even made the cover, notably Shitty Hairâs and Racoon Eyeâs engagement announcement and a magazine that Dunce Face had recently modeled for.
But there was one specific cover he was glaring at.
His hands crackled.
Fuck it.
He hadnât hesitated any longer before grabbing the magazine and staring at it with scrutinizing eyes.
Fucking Hawks
That fucking asshole was on the cover of another magazineâ as if the other million with him on it wasnât good enough.
He rifled through the pages, landing on the one that the cover said his interview would be on. It wasnât one, or two, but four fucking pages long.
He read it furiously, eyes bouncing from each and every word.
âWhat would you say is the most rewarding part of your hero work?â
Who gives a crap.
âHow have you learned to balance fame with being a hero?â
Absolute shit question.
âEveryone knows you have a large female fanbase, so weâre all curious to know why you think that is?â
Because theyâre all fucking idiots with shit taste, thatâs why.
âAbout two years ago you were part of a pretty big scandal when you were seen leaving your agency hand in hand with a hooded woman. Now that some time has passed are you willing to admit that sheâs your girlfriend?â
No she was his fucking girlfriend, not that fucking asshole pretty boysâ
The magazine blew up in his hands.
âHey!â The store clerk yelled at the hero, âI donât care if youâre a hero, you have to pay for that! What kind of business do you think Iâm running!?â
âHAH!?â Bakugo puffed up his chest with a sneer as he stormed up to the counter, âMAYBE YOU SHOULDNâT KEEP SHIT MAGAZINES HERE IF YOU DONâT WANT THEM BLOWN UP! GET SOME BETTER SHIT! IâM OUTTA HERE!â He yelled furiously at the man before storming out of the store and slamming the door shut, shattering its glass.
The clerk ran up to the door in a rage, screaming something or other at the hero as he stormed down the sidewalk angrily.
Heâd probably need to find a new convenience store.
Bakugo continued to stomp his way down the sidewalk as he walked to your apartment. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled his phone out, pulling up google.
He found his fingers quickly tapping away at the screen.
Hawks
Picture after picture of that stupid hero came up and his finger swiped through each one as he sneered at his stupid face that even Bakugo couldnât deny was objectively attractiveâ not to mention he had this air of coolness around him, making every single goddamned thing he did seem effortless.
Bakugo was seething, passerbyâs staring at him in fear as they watched him silently rage on such a beautiful, clear day.
Before he knew it, he was standing in front of your door, shoving the spare key under the mat into the lock.
âHey, Kat!â You chirped, looking over at him from the kitchen, âHow was work?â
âFine,â he grumbled, walking over to you and taking a peak at the dinner you were cooking. Looked like chicken soup but knowing you and your cooking skills it was probably some amalgamation of whatever was in your fridge. âCouldnât fuckin wait an hour?âhe grumbledâ he wouldâve cooked for you if you werenât so damn impatient.
âYou were taking too long,â you whined, throwing some celery into the pot. âI got hungry.â
He grunted, reaching for your hips and turning you into him, slamming his lips into yours.
Hawks probably used to kiss you more gentlyâ he could just picture him seducing you into kissing him, making you chase for it.Â
Not Bakugo. No, if he wanted to kiss you then he was going to fucking kiss you.
You pulled away breathlessly, a hairs breadth away from him, âWhoaâ what was that for?â
He stared down at you with hooded eyes.
He was better than Hawks.
He could even prove it.
He turned the stove off and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder.
âHeyâ what are you doing!â You yelped, kicking your legs.Â
âBedroom,â he grunted.
âBut what about dinner?âÂ
âIâll fix whatever mess you started in there later. Iâm making sure you work up a real appetite.â
* * * *
Bakugoâs hips smacked against your ass sharply, balls hitting your clit with every thrust, each slap louder than your muffled moans in the pillow you clung to for dear life.
One hand gripped the headboard as his other gripped your hip in a bruising hold. He stared at you, hunched over your trembling body as tears clung to your lashes.
Hawks couldnât fuck you like thisâ no damn way.Â
But what if he couldâ he technically was the number two hero, while Bakugo was still stuck at number 15.
What if he fucked you better?
The thought had Bakugo fisting your hair and pulling you up, freeing your pleasured moans and cries.
âK-Katâ ah, fuckââ
Did you even mean to say his name? What if you really meant to say Hawksââ what if you meant Hawks every single time you ever said his name?
âTell me youâre mine,â he grunted.
ââM yoursâ all yours Katâ only yours,â you babbled uselessly. Heâd be lying if it wasnât one of his favorite things about you in bed, given any sort of prompt and you just ran with it.Â
âWho fucks you this good?â
âY-you! You do!â You fuck me so good Katâah- best cock Iâve ever hadââ
He growled, wrapping his arms around you and hoisting you up, now fucking up into you as he held you against him, head lolling on his shoulder.
He bit down on your neck hard, making you cry out as he started sucking on it, sure to leave a nasty hickey behind.
Maybe Hawks would see. He knew neither of you even talked anymore but what if heâs just on patrol, sees you, decides to say hi, and finds that dark bruise right on your neck, sucked raw.
The thought had him bouncing you faster against him, his muffled groans into your neck sounding with your high pitched cries of his name.
He wound his hand down to your clit and rubbed back and forth furiously.
âOh fuckââ you sobbed, body arching and trying to get away, but he tightened his arm around you and held you in place.
âCum pretty girl, cum around the best fucking cock youâve ever taken.â
You came with a shrill cry, grasping for any part of him you could hold onto.
He came soon after, inside.Â
He knew he shouldnât but something about cumming in you sated whatever beast was inside him.
You whined as you slumped into his arms, weak and shaky.
âYou promised Kat.â
âCouldnât help it.â
âThen youâre wearing condoms again.â You huffed as he lowered you down on your side of the bed.
He tsked, âGo on birth control.â
âIâm not fucking with my hormones.â
âDamn woman,â he growled, laying beside you, âIâll get you a plan B, just quit your whining.â
âYouâre wearing a condom next time.â
âYeah yeah, fine.â
âAnd go make dinner.â
He pulled you against him, your body curling against him with your head on his chest. âIn a second. Lemme catch my breath and help clean you up first.â
You huffed but nuzzled against him.Â
He liked having you curled up against him but he couldnât deny there was an ulterior motive to him âcatching his breathâ.
He just really loved the fact that you were laying with his cum dripping out of you right now.
Not Hawksâs cumâ Katsukiâs
The rest of the night went as it routinely did for the most part. He fixed the mess of the soup you were working on before eating you out and making you cum three times then fucking you for a second time⊠then a third time.
And when you thought he was finally done, you went to shower and get on with your shower routine only for him to walk in half way through your shower with his dick hard again.
He fucked you for a fourth time.
All with a condom.
âSeven times,â  you breathed as your head hit the pillow. âYou made me cum seven times tonight.â
Your limbs were sore, Bakugo had to carry you to bed. Your legs were basically useless now.Â
âWhatâs gotten into you tonightâ itâs only a Tuesday.â
Marathonâs like these werenât exactly out of the norm, but tonight felt so unprompted.Â
He grunted, turning on his side and pulling you against his chest, clinging to you like a Koala.
âIâm not allowed to want to fuck my girlfriend?â He murmured into your hair.
âNo⊠just felt out of no where thatâs all.â
âWhat? You didnât like it?â He growled defensively.
You rolled your eyes, slotting your legs with his. Everything was always so dramatic with him, âNo I liked it. Best cock Iâve ever had, remember?â You snickered.
His arms tightened around you⊠now he was thinking of the other cock youâve taken.
âBetter than the birds?â
âOh my god,â you hissed, annoyance dripping from every word, âReally Katsuki? This again?â
âWhat? Itâs a simple fucking question.â
âYes. Your cocks better than Keigoâs. Happy now?â
Silence filled the room. You thought maybe he dropped it and you closed your eyes.
âAre you just saying that to shut me up?â
âKat,â you snapped, eyes opening again. âDrop it. Iâve already told you everything about that relationship. Just move the fuck onâ I already have.â
He was silent once again.
âDo you still have his number in your phone?â
You cursed to yourself⊠this was going to be a longer night than you thought.
* * * *
Bakugo stared out the window as you snored lightly in your sleep, burying his nose in your freshly washed hair.
He couldnât sleep knowing he was laying in the same spot Hawks once had.
Did he used to hold you just like this too?
When you mentioned your ex in past conversations he had thought nothing of it. You were a civilian, your life was normal, he always figured this ex you mentioned was some boring ass nine to five guy that put the most generic shit in a dating profile like âFavorite Hobby: Travelingâ.
Of course Bakugo would be better than that guy.
Come to find out you were in a long term relationship with the number fucking two hero.
What the fuck was it about you that attracted high ranking heroes of all people.Â
Like yeah you were cool and fun and magnetic and didnât take shit from anyoneâ you were even able to go head to head with him in a screaming match which shouldnât have been as attractive as he found it. Not to mention how fucking hot you wereâŠ
Okay fine, Bakugo thought you were goddamned perfect any man would be a fucking idiot if they didnât find you any less than perfect like he did.
But still.
Number fucking two.
Hawks had always been cool and collected, saving people every day without lifting a finger. He dominated the skies and had a trail of girls drooling after him. The media loved himâ everyone loved him.
Bakugo on the other hand⊠not so much. How could you go from someone like Hawks to Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.
From number two to number 15.
One day he would become number one but he still wasnât quite there yet.
Ever since he found out he had found himself thinking of the hero more than he ever had before. Hawks dominated every second of his life.
Is he still friends with your friends? Is he good in bed? Do you ever think about him? Is he easy-going? Not controlling like Bakugo sometimes could be?
Oh god.
He had issues.
* * * *Â
âYâknow they were in love,â Bakugo practically gagged.
Kirishima side eyed his friend.
He was seriously over talking about Hawks every single time he patrolled with Bakugo.
âIsnât she in love with you now?â
âThatâs what she says,â he grumbled.
âYou donât believe her?â
âNo, I believe her. I just think sheâs confused.â
He was really starting to lose it, huh?
âDonât you think,â Kirishima started, choosing his next words carefully as he waved at a little kid they walked by, elbowing Bakugo to do the same. âItâs unhealthy to think about your girlfriendâs ex this much? Itâs been like two years since they broke up hasnât it?â
â19 months and three days.â
Oh boy.
âOkay⊠have you tried talking to her about your obsessionââ
âITâS NOT A FUCKING OBSESSION!â He suddenly exploded, hands crackling. âWHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP SAYING THAT!â
Kirishima didnât even flinch as he screamed, instead offering an apologetic smile to the civilians on the sidewalk. âMaybe because you started asking how he is in bed after you two had sex?â
âSHUT UP SHITTY HAIR, NO ONE ASKED YOU!â
âSo you havenât talked to her then?â
Bakugo growled in response.
âMaybe talk to him?â
Bakugo looked over at his friend, eyes wide as he watched Kirishima walk beside him with his arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the sky. âTalk to Hawks?â
The idea had never struck him before.
âYeah. Maybe you just need to meet him. Youâve probably just built up this grand image of him that the media keeps perpetuatingâ he might not be as perfect as you think, they always did say never to meet your heroes.â
Meet Hawks.
Meet Hawks.
Yeahâ he could do that.
Bakugo was suddenly blasting away from his friend.
âHey! Weâre still doing a job you know!?âÂ
âIâm working by myself today!â He called out behind him.
Bakugo was on a mission.
He was going to meet Hawks and give him a piece of his mind.
The hero was often spotted perching on rooftops, miles away from his agency as any villain with a brain would know better than to commit a crime right by a hero agencyâ Hawksâs agency especially.
So Bakugo found himself bounding from rooftop to rooftop, searching the skies for that damn birdâ he was also keeping an eye on the city, he was still a hero with a job after all.
But as the sun started to set, Bakugo grew restless, finally deciding to take a break and lay on one of the many rooftops he landed on.
No damn sign of him.
Of course heâd be hard to catch, his whole schtick was being fast.
Bakugoâs eyes narrowed at a cloud that reminded him of bird wings. He wondered if you two ever got up to weird sexual shit with those stupid wings.
His chest felt so damn tight every time he thought of him, like he could explode at any second.
He knew so much useless crap about him now that he read and watched practically every single interview of his.
He was a Capricorn.
His blood type was B.
He was 5â7â and 3/4.
His favorite food was chickenâ goddamn cannibal.
He wondered if that was why you were in the habit of cooking chicken for dinner most nights.
You were together for two and a half years, that was a long time to spend with someone. What mannerisms have you picked up from him that he always believed were yours?
He pulled out his phone and pulled up Hawksâs instagram, scrolling through perfect photo after perfect photo of him and reading his replies to fan comments.
Damn bird probably didnât even run his own account.
He tapped on his tags, scrolling down to one of the many photos that haunted him.
He remembered the news at the time, headlines reading âPro-Hero Hawks Has A Girlfriendâ and âSorry Ladies, This Hero is Takenâ.
At the time he couldnât give less of a shit, but now.
It was all he could fucking think about.
He stared at the photo of Hawks dragging a hooded woman by the hand out of his agency. He scrolled and stared at the second photo of him grinning down at the woman.
It was you all right.
There werenât any other pictures of the two of you out in public and it irked him. It was like an itch that couldnât be scratched as he wondered just how the two of you looked together in your relationship.
Did you have any pictures of the two of you in your phone?
That was when the sunlight was completely blocked, blanketing him in shadow.
He lowered his phone and his quirk nearly blew up the device.
Fucking Hawks.
His eyes followed the bird as he perched on a telephone pole near the rooftop.
âThere a reason youâre lounging on a roof, hero?â Hawks asked with an amused smirk.
Bakugo only staredâ was this real or had he actually lost his mind now?
He raised a brow at his silence, tilting his head, reminding Bakugo of an owl. âYou didnât get hit by a quirk or something did you?â
He suddenly had no idea what to sayâ he hadnât actually planned anything out to begin with. He figured his mouth would take over like usual and heâd go from there.
âWait, I know you,â he suddenly snapped his fingers, âYouâre that hero Dynamight.â
âTHATâS GREAT EXPLOSION MURDER GOD DYNAMIGHT TO YOU.â
Hawks blinked at the outburst before he barked out a laugh.
âWHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT BIRD BRAIN!?â He shouted, stomping his way over to the edge of the roof.
âNothing, nothing,â he laughed, waving his hand, âThatâs a great name.â
âARE YOU MAKING FUN OF ME!â He screamed again, throwing his hand up and blasting off an explosion straight at Hawks.
Hawksâs eyes widened as he quickly darted upwards, missing the attack. âYâknow Iâm pretty sure weâre supposed to be on the same side,â he called out, watching Bakugo as he seethed.
âSame side my ass,â he growled under his breath, âIs my girlfriendâs number still in your phone!?â
âYour girlfriend?â Hawks scoffed, âI donât know whoâs been lying to you but I can promise I donât have your girlfriendâs numberââ
â(Y/N) (L/N)!â
Hawksâs face fell, âYouâre dating (Y/N)?â
âYES I AM, YOU STUPID BIRD.â
âAlright fine,â he shrugged, âI guess I do have your girlfriendâs number.â
Bakugo screamed as he hurled blast after blast at Hawks, to which he swiftly dodged each and every one.
He stopped, panting as he searched the sky for him as the smoke cleared, only to find the man standing in front of him.
âIs there a reason youâre trying to kill me? (N/N) moan my name while you two fucked or something?â
A fierce rage boiled in him at the nickname, âDONâT CALL HER THAT!âÂ
He began shooting more and more explosions at him.
Hawks tsked.
What a botherâ were you really dating this guy?
He sent his feathers straight at Bakugo, each one catching onto any piece of fabric it could without slicing him and another set of feathers sliding off his gauntlets.
He had Bakugo pinned against the rooftop, palms against the concrete.
Hawks walked through the smoke, staring down at the struggling, screaming man with an unamused expression.
He kneeled down. âYouâre aware we broke up like two years ago.â He said flatly, this was so ridiculous, he could barely remember what happened the last time he talked to you.
â19 months and three days,â he spat.
âWhoa,â his eyes widened before a grin tugged on his lips, âYou have issues huh?â He only laughed as Bakugo continued to scream at him. âYou also know sheâs the one that broke up with me, right?â
âOf course she did! Because youâre a fucking dumbass who canât fuck!â
âCanât fuck? She tell you that? Because I remember her telling me something very different.â
Bakugo saw red, now thinking about you moaning about Hawksâs dick the same way you moaned about his.
He sighed, standing up and crossing his arms over his chest. âYâknow⊠itâs been quite a while since Iâve seen her. And I suppose I should cut your rampage short. Letâs go on a little trip.â
* * * *
You hummed, dancing around your kitchen while you cooked. Bakugo was late, but that was fine, he probably got held up with hero work.
You knew heâd probably yell at you for cooking dinner without him again but you were sticking to a chicken dish that you had perfected so he could complain all he wanted while eating his deliciously seasoned chicken.
There was a knock at your door.
âOne second!â You called out, quickly washing your hands. It was probably the landlord again.
You turned your music off, humming as you skipped over to the door and opened it.
Your smile immediately fell.
Keigo fucking Takami leaned against the wall across your door with your boyfriend, who was currently wrapped up in a bandage capture weapon from his ankles to his mouth, being floated by Keigoâs feathers.
âItâs come to my attention that youâve lost something,â He coolly stated with one of those grins you used to see on almost a daily basis.
Bakugo was screaming into the bandage around his mouth, not a single word coming out coherently.
Your head fell as you pinched the bridge of your nose, âFor the love of God please tell me Iâm being pranked.â You groaned.
âNot today sweetheart.â
More screaming ensued. âAlright,â you huffed, âCome in I guess.â You moved to the side, Bakugo being floated into the room first with Hawks following behind, and his two gauntlets floating in afterwards.
Hawks looked around the familiar space, âYou redecorated,â he stated calmly, before noticing your neck, âAnd that looks painful,â he pointed to the ridiculous hickey your boyfriend left on you the night before. He went over to the couch and placed Bakugo down, his feathers finally rejoining his wings.
He immediately rolled off, hitting the ground with a thud as he struggled.
Hawks quirked an eyebrow at him before looking back to you, âDynamight huh? Little hero magnet arenât ya?â
You shrugged, âSeems soâ this one keeps my hands a bit more full though.â
âJust wait till he finds out about the other hero you dated.â
Bakugo struggled more, smacking his head against the coffee table.
âHeâs fucking with you Kat!â You called out, walking over to him, now standing above your restrained boyfriend, âThere was no other heroâ do you have to rile him up even more?â You snapped at Keigo.
He only shrugged, âHe tried killing me so I think thatâs fair.â
You groaned, âIâm really sorry about that. Iâm gonna talk to him tonight.â
He hummed, âNothing I couldnât handle. You look good by the way, itâs nice seeing you doing well after all this time.â
âYeah, you too,â you grinned, âHero work going well? I see you on the news almost every day.â
âBetter than ever.â He smiled, âIâll let you attend to him though, I think he needs the attention.â
You rolled your eyes, âThanks.â You said leading him to the door, âAnd thank you for bringing him here, Iâm sorry again for any trouble he caused.â
âSâalright,â he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, âI do have one question though,â he turned, facing you in the doorway, âDid you really tell him I canât fuckâ?â
âGood night Keigo,â you slammed the door in his face.
You walked back over to your boyfriend, watching him roll back and forth between the couch and coffee table as he struggled with the capture weapon.
âOh Kat,â you sighed, âWhat am I gonna do with you?â
You sat on the couch, leaning down and yanking the bandage from his mouth.
He said nothing.
You raised a brow, âReally? You had a fuck ton to say when he was here,â you crossed your arms over your chest.
âYou were flirting,â he grumbled.
âYou tried to kill him? Really? You donât realize how fucking psychotic that is?â
â⊠He called you sweetheart.â
âOkay,â you snapped, âThis has got to stop Kat. Honestly it seems like youâre more into Keigo than me.â
âThatâs absolute fucking bullshit, and you know it. Iâm only obsessed with him because of you.â
âSo you admit youâre obsessed?â
âWhat!? No!âIâ shut up you fucking idiot!â He screamed, rolling on the floor again to try and break free.
âOkay, how are we gonna remedy this? What can I do to help you get over this? Therapy?â
He stopped, staring at the ceiling, â⊠Lemme send him a picture of my dick in your pussy.â
âAbsolutely out of the question.â You stated, utterly unamused.
âSucking me off?â
âNope.â
âEating you out?â
âTry again.â
âMirror pic of us in doggy?â
âKatâ⊠actually I can deal with thatâ but only if you agree to talk to a therapist. I love you Kat so Iâm really gonna need you to drop this obsession with my ex or Iâm gonna have a new one.â
âFine!â He barked. âDoggy and a therapist.â
You nodded, âDoggy and a therapistâ and did you pick up that plan B like you said you would?â
ââŠdamn it.â
* * * *Â
[New Message⊠Unknown number]
[1 Attachment]
Keigo Takami: âThanks. I almost forgot what she looked like in that positionâ
[New Message⊠(Y/N)]
(Y/N): Idk what you said but Iâm begging you to stop riling him up. Thereâs only so much screaming I can take in one nightÂ
Keigo Takami: Good luck sweetheart, Iâm sure youâre doing a lot more screaming than he is anyway ;)
(Y/N): Bastard
#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#mha#bnha#Bakugo katsuki#bakugo#katsuki#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugo x reader#katsuki x reader#my hero academia bakugo#hawks#hawks x reader#keigo takami x reader#keigo takami#mha takami keigo#pro hero#pro hero bakugou#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#bakugou x you#bakugo x you
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Hey bestie whats a narrow boat? I saw you tag that on something you reblogged and I'm pretty curious now!
- Terry Darlington, Narrow Dog to Carcassone
A narrowboat (all one word) is a craft restricted to the British Isles, which are connected all over by a nerve-map of human-made canals. To go up and down hills, the canals are spangled with locks (chambers in which boats can be raised or lowered by filling or emptying them with water.) As Terry says above, the width of the locks was somewhat randomly determined, and as a result, the British Isles have a narrow design of lock - and a narrowboat to fit through them. A classic design was seventy feet long and six feet wide. Starting in the 18th century, and competing directly with trains, canal âbargesâ were an active means of transport and shipping. They were initially pulled along the towpaths by horses, and you can still see some today!
Later, engines were developed.
Even after the trains won the arms race, it was a fairly viable freight service right up until WW2. Itâs slow travel, but uses few resources and requires little human power, with a fairly small crew (of women, in WW2) being capable of shifting two fully laden boats without consuming much fossil fuel.
In those times the barges were designed with small, cramped cabins in which the boaters and their families could live.
During its heyday the narrowboat community developed a style of folk art called âroses and castlesâ with clear links to fairground art as well as Romani caravan decor. They are historically decorated with different kinds of brass ornaments, and inside the cabins could also be distinctively painted and decorated.
Today, many narrowboats are distinctively decorated and colorful - even if not directly traditional with âroses and castlesâ theyâll still be bright and offbeat. A quirky name is necessary. All narrowboats, being boats, are female.
After a postwar decline, interest in the waterways was sparked by a leisure movement and collapsing canals were repaired. Today, the towpaths are a convenient walking/biking trail for people, as they connect up a lot of the mainland of the UK, hitting towns and cities. Although the restored canals are concrete-bottomed, theyâre attractive to wildlife. Narrowboats from the 1970s onward started being designed for pleasure and long-term living. People enjoy vacationing by hiring a boat and visiting towns for a cuter, comfier, slower version of a campervan life. And a liveaboard community sprang up - people who live full-time on boats. Up until the very restrictive and nasty laws recently passed in the UK to make it harder for travelling peoples (these were aimed nastily at vanlivers and the Romani, and successfully hit everyone) this was one of the few legal ways remaining to be a total nomad in the UK.
Liveaboards can moor up anywhere along the canal for 28 days, but have to keep moving every 28 days. (Although sorting out the toilet and loading up with fresh water means that a lot of people move more frequently than that.) you can also live full-time in a marina if they allow it, or purchase your own mooring. In London, where canal boats are one of the few remaining cheapish ways to live, boats with moorings fetch the same prices as houses. It can be very very hard for families to balance school, parking, work, and all the difficulties of living off-grid- but many make it work. It remains a diverse community and is even growing, due to housing pressures in the UK. Boats can be very comfortable, even when only six feet wide. When faced with spending thousands of pounds on rent OR mooring up on a nice canal, you can see why it seems a romantic proposition for young people, and UK television channels always have slice-of-life documentaries about young folks fixing up their very own quirky solar-powered narrowboat. I donât hate; I did it myself.
If youâre lucky, you might even meet some of the cool folks who run businesses from their narrowboats: canal-side walkers enjoy bookshops, vegan bakeries, ice-cream boats, restaurants, artists and crafters. There are Floating Markets and narrowboat festivals. Itâs generally recognised that boaters contribute quite a lot to the canal - yet there are many tensions between different kinds of boaters (liveaboards vs leisure boaters vs tourists) as well as tensions with local settled people, towpath users like cyclists, and fishermen. I could go on and on explaining this rich culture and dramas, but I wonât.
Phillip Pullmanâs Gyptians are a commonly cited example of liveaboards - although they were based on the narrowboat liveaboards that Pullman knew in Oxford, their boats are actually Dutch barges. Dutch barges make good homes but are too wide to access most of the midlands and northern canals, and are usually restricted to the south of the UK. So theyâre accurate for Bristol/London/Oxford, and barges are definitely comfier to film on. (Being six feet wide is definitely super awkward for a boat.) but in general Dutch barges are less common, more expensive and canât navigate the whole system.
However, apart from them, there are few examples of narrowboat depictions that escaped containment. So itâs quite interesting that there is an entire indigenous special class of boat, distinctive and highly specialised and very cute, with an associated culture and heritage and folk art type, known to all and widely celebrated, and ABSOLUTELY UNKNOWN outside of the UK - a nation largely known around the world for inflicting its culture on others. Theyâre a strange, sweet little secret - and nobody who has ever loved one can resist pointing them out for the rest of their lives, or talking about them when asked to. Thank you for asking me to.
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A DEMON'S NAME UPON YOUR LIPS
It is the curse of ADHD that, at least for me, I'm always running to the next project, and then the next, chasing the new shiny thing. And that has served me well in my creative endeavors, as much as it has stymied me. But I really do think that I caught something special in my first novel, A DEMON'S NAME UPON YOUR LIPS. And thanks to how my brain works, I rarely ever promote it! Which seems unfair for how much effort I put in, alongside my friends who patiently helped me edit it.
It's a sapphic romance between a (newly minted) Duke and the demon she summons. It's a fantasy which takes place in a secondary world loosely based on Victorian-era Europe, though without any of the queerphobic, or even sexist, hatred endemic to its real-world counterpart (or even to our modern day). It's fast paced, gay as fuck, and I poured my heart and soul into it.
I'd be honored if you picked it up; it's only $5.99. About the price of a Latte.
Grab it at the following places:
itch.io (PDF, ePub, and mobi all included!)
Kobo link (ePub version)
Apple Books, Smashwords, and a few others (ePub version)
Amazon (Kindle version)
Barnes and Noble (ePub)
Synopsis below the cut:
Lucia is a succubus, a demon with the power to shape the emotions and passions of mortals. Summoned often into the world of Melodia, she takes pride in upholding her demonic contracts to the best of her abilities. She likes to think she does her job well ⊠though a string of recent failures say otherwise.
Talia, the recently elevated Duke of Fallmire, summons Lucia for a simple reason: to pose as her wife and fulfill marital obligations to the satisfaction of Parliament. All to say, just a few weeks of walking around the estate and playing nice with the neighbors before a conveniently tragic death. Quick and easy.
But immediately, Lucia smells blood in the water. Behind closed doors, the Duke plots vengeance upon those who killed her fatherâand the demon wants in. Revenge, after all, is much more fun ⊠and more lucrative, to boot.
But can Lucia predict how hard sheâd fall for the Duke? (Not a chance). And can the Duke find it in her vengeful heart to love?
Spice Level: lightly described nudity, fade-to-black sex.
64,000 words.
#lesbian#wlw#queer#sapphic#wlw art#queer romance#wlw yearning#sapphic yearning#sapphic books#wlw books#indie author#indie books#indie publishing#self publishing#authors of tumblr#novel writing#wlw post#wlw fantasy#sapphic fantasy#writeblr
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