#and then just. I’m. I’m buzzing with excitement and dread

[shatterthefragments]

Having So Many thoughts right now (ignoring the bad ones though bc holy shit I HABE SO MANY IDEAS ANS CREATIVE PROJECTS TO WORK ON) mmm

But uh. For real I need to stop fantasizing and maybe write down my plans and I need to actually for realsies start to put together more of my final project ESPECIALLY the textile piece that will be a Struggle

I’ll still check in sporadically and on my lunch breaks of course bc y’all make me happy but. I also need to spend more time away to do this. Which. I’m super excited about it. I’m basically curating and creating my own mini exhibition in multiple media formats!!

[finelinefae]

safety [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: harry is always there to help bambi, always.

word count: 5.4k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, fluff, age gap (9 years), harry meets the family, crybaby reader lowkey

a/n: apologies for this taking so long. I've moved into university and switched courses within three weeks so I've had to do a lot of adjusting! But I hope you're doing well, thank you so so so much for all the love on the first part of bambi and being so patient with this part <333

this is part 2 of bambi, read part 1 here

. . .

Y/N sighed as she stepped into the living room, her heart sinking at the sight of her mother passed out on the couch. It was Friday night, and her mom was still in her work uniform, one shoe barely hanging from her foot while the other lay haphazardly across the room. A wave of frustration and sadness hit her hard. She had begged her mom to take the day off to watch the boys so she could go on her date with Harry tonight—the date she’d been looking forward to all week.

This was supposed to be their third date, just before she started working with him at Pleasing this weekend. Their last date had been simple—strolling hand in hand by the river, talking about everything and nothing. But tonight was different. Harry had told her to dress up; he had something important to ask her and was taking her somewhere special. Y/N had been buzzing with excitement ever since.

Glancing at her phone, she felt the sting of tears. Halfway through her makeup, she now realized it didn’t matter—she’d have to cancel. With her mother out cold and no babysitter available at such short notice, the responsibility fell on her. And it was ruining everything.

She opened Harry’s contact on her phone, staring at the little pink heart next to his name. Her thumb hovered over the call button as doubt crept in. What if he never wanted to see her again after this? Cancelling last minute was embarrassing, and she dreaded how angry or disappointed Harry might be.

Her thumb pressed down, the ringing growing louder with each second. Anxiety gnawed at her as she picked at the skin around her nails.

Suddenly, the call connected, and Harry’s voice, smooth and soothing like a lullaby, poured through the speaker. “Bambi? Was jus’ about to pick y’ up. You missin’ me already?”

Her lip trembled, and a tear slid down her cheek as she sniffled. “Harry…” Her voice cracked.

“Hey, what’s wrong, love?” Concern filled his voice instantly, and the warmth of it made her chest tighten.

“I-I can’t go on our date tonight,�� she confessed, her voice shaky.

“What d’you mean? Don’t be silly, is something wrong?” His slight panic was clear, making her feel even worse.

“No, it’s not like that. It’s just… my mom came home late, and she’s, um, not able to watch the boys, so I have to stay and babysit. I’m really sorry, Harry. I wanted to go tonight, I swear. I understand if you’re mad or—if you never want to see me again—”

“Woah, woah, Bambi, baby, stop panickin’. I don’t hate you, not at all. It’s closer to the opposite, so calm down, yeah? ‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice still thick with emotion. “Y’promise?”

“Five pinkie swears, baby,” he chuckled softly, making her giggle through the tears. “It’s alright. These things happen. But are you okay? Need me to grab you anything? Have y’eaten today?”

His kindness made her heart swell. “N-No, but we’ve got stuff in the freezer I can heat up. Maybe we can reschedule?”

“Bambi, I’m already on my way to your house.”

Her breath hitched. “What? But, Harry, I can’t—”

“You think I’d let a little change of plans stop me from seein’ you? Been needin’ to see m’Bambi all day. How ‘bout this: you help your mum, and I’ll come by and make dinner for all of you. Sound good?”

Her heart skipped a beat. Was he real? Was he really this thoughtful, this willing to come over despite everything?

“Harry, you don’t have to—”

“I want to. Now, go get in some comfy pjs, and I’ll stop by the store to grab snacks. Maybe we can watch a movie later. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice lighter now. “That sounds perfect.”

“Alright, I’ll be over in thirty minutes. Take a deep breath for me, Bambi.”

Immediate relief washed over her at the idea of having an extra pair of hands to help her with something that she’d normally be left alone to and better yet it was Harry who was coming to help her. So, she did exactly that - breathe. 

. . . 

Y/N was pushing clothes into the washing machine when she heard the doorbell ring. Her heart skipped a beat or possibly maybe two when she heard it. She forced the door shut on the machine and walked to the front door. She frowned the closer she got when she could already hear Harry’s voice but that was soon followed by the voice of her younger brother. 

“I know jujitsu, you know,” Archie announced, his small five-foot frame blocking the doorway.

“You take classes?” Harry asked, bemused.

“No, I learned it on Roblox,” Archie replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ve heard of that one before. You’ll have to show me sometime,” Harry said with a grin.

Archie snorted. “You could just be saying that to get into our house and rob us.”

Y/N’s face heated with embarrassment as she approached the door, ushering Archie out of the way. Harry’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw her. “Y/N, this pizza delivery guy is trying to break into our house,” Archie said. Y/N looked to see Harry holding two pizza boxes and a plastic bag.

“Archie,” Y/N gasped, “this is not a pizza delivery man. This is Harry.”

Harry smiled, clearly trying not to laugh, and offered Archie a small wave. It did nothing to ease the suspicious look on Archie’s face. “Who’s Harry?”

Y/N froze, unsure of how to answer. Harry was both her boss and the man she was dating, but she couldn’t exactly explain that to her little brother. “He’s... my special friend.”

Archie looked between them for a moment, then shrugged and wandered off. Y/N’s shoulders sagged with relief as she turned to face Harry, who was still grinning at her. He looked incredibly handsome in his matching brown suit, his curly hair tousled in that familiar way. Her heart sank a little, knowing he had dressed up for their date.

“H-Harry, I’m really sorry—” she began, but before she could finish, Harry set the pizza boxes down and pulled her into a tight embrace. She breathed in the fruity scent of his cologne as he gently rubbed circles on her back.

“Bambi,” he murmured with a soft sigh, “I missed you.”

She smiled against his chest. “You just saw me the other day, and we FaceTimed last night.”

Harry pulled back slightly, cupping her cheeks with his large hands. “Kiss?”

Her cheeks flushed, as they always did when he asked for a kiss. She stood on her toes, meeting his lips, savouring the softness of his touch and the faint taste of peppermint from his lip balm. 

“Have you eaten yet?” he murmured against her lips. “I brought pizza.”

“You didn’t have to,” Y/N sighed softly. “I was just going to throw something in the oven.”

“Hey, Bambi.” She looked up, meeting his gaze already fixed on her. “I wanted to. I’m here to help, okay? Now, why don’t we eat this before it gets cold? You grab some plates, and I’ll set the table.”

“O-Oh, okay.” She nodded, a bit flustered. “Just so you know, my brothers can be… intense.”

Harry smiled, his expression easygoing. “It’s okay, I’ve got a niece. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Y/N led him into the living room where her little brothers were scattered. Archie sat in the corner, hunched over the computer, likely playing the game he had mentioned to Harry earlier.

“Who are you?” a small voice piped up. Harry glanced down to see a boy around six or seven, looking at him curiously.

“That’s Y/N’s special friend,” Archie chimed in without even turning around from his game.

“Weren’t you the guy making out with my sister the other night?” The eldest of the three boys, who looked about fourteen, spoke up from where he was watching TV. Despite his age, there was a maturity in his tone that caught Harry off guard.

Harry chuckled, feeling Y/N stiffen beside him. He gave the teenager a polite smile. “Well, I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“Sammy go and get the plates from the kitchen, Harry bought us pizza.” Sammy huffed, pausing the tv and doing exactly as his sister said. 

“Jack, can you grab an extra chair?” Y/N asked the youngest boy, her voice gentle but firm. Harry watched as the boys immediately followed their eldest sister’s instructions without question. A small pang tugged at his chest—part of him felt for her, having to shoulder the responsibility of looking after three growing boys. He didn’t know every detail of her family life, but seeing the way they interacted was enough to tell him they’d had to adapt quickly.

They all gathered around the table, two extra-large pizzas laid out in front of them. Harry chuckled at the sight of the boys eyeing the food like it was a rare treasure.

“Calm down,” he murmured with a grin, leaning close to Y/N. “Y’ so stiff, Bambi.”

Y/N blushed, fidgeting slightly. “Sorry, I just get so—”

“So?” Harry interrupted, smirking as he tried to coax her into a fluster. “So what, baby?”

“So nervous,” Y/N huffed, her cheeks burning as she realized he was toying with her.

A throat cleared from across the table, and Y/N suddenly felt three pairs of eyes locked onto them. Jack and Archie looked disgusted by the couple’s banter, while the eldest boy, Sammy, was glaring at Harry with an intensity that made Harry suppress a laugh.

“How old are you?” Sammy asked bluntly, his gaze sharp and protective.

Y/N choked on her drink. “Sammy! You can’t just ask people that—it’s rude!”

Harry chuckled, raising a hand to calm her. “No, it’s alright,” he said, amused. “I’m thirty.”

“Whoa, you’re old!” Archie blurted out, eyes wide with surprise.

“Archie!” Y/N gasped, mortified, while Jack burst out laughing.

“I guess it is kind of old,” Harry shrugged playfully, glancing at Y/N with a wink.

“Are you rich?” Sammy pressed, undeterred.

Y/N’s face flushed even more, praying the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

“I do well,” Harry replied, keeping his tone light. “I own a fashion company.”

“That means he’s rich,” Archie chimed in, eyes lighting up. “Do you have a sports car?”

Harry leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, “I own three.”

Archie gasped, his face a picture of awe. “No wonder you can afford two extra-large pizzas!”

“If you think that’s cool, wait till you hear what else I brought,” Harry teased.

“Candy?” Archie’s eyes grew even wider, filled with excitement.

“Better.”

“Ice cream?”

Harry nodded. “Ice cream, candy, whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles... you name it.”

Archie looked as though he might pass out from pure joy. Sweets after dinner weren’t a common occurrence in their house unless it was a special occasion.

Harry’s smile softened as his eyes flicked to Sammy, who was still watching him with guarded suspicion. “What do you want from my sister?” Sammy finally asked, his tone sharp.

Y/N cringed, wishing she could disappear like Jack, who was contentedly munching on pizza, completely oblivious to the tension. Her cheeks were already burning before she’d even taken a bite.

Harry’s hand found its way to her knee under the table, a silent reassurance that he knew exactly how she was feeling without her having to say a word.

“It’s still early,” Harry said honestly, his gaze meeting Sammy’s without faltering. “But I really, really like your sister.”

Sammy seemed to relax at that, but not without a final warning. “You’re not allowed to like her as much as we do.”

Y/N’s heart squeezed at the words. Despite the challenges, the boys were her world, her best friends.

Harry smiled warmly, his voice sincere. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

. . .

"Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!" Archie came barreling into the kitchen, his face smeared with chocolate and whipped cream from the ice cream sundaes they’d made earlier. Y/N was bent over the washing machine, pulling out clothes to hang on the makeshift line by the window.

"Harry says he's gonna take us to the indoor waterpark in the city for my birthday! Isn't that awesome? And he beat Sammy's score on the new game he bought us!"

Y/N glanced up, smiling softly at Archie's excitement. The boys had been glued to the computer for hours after Harry surprised them with a game they’d been begging for. The sound of their wild laughter had echoed through the house all afternoon.

Footsteps approached the kitchen, and she looked up to see Harry standing in the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Harry, I was just telling Y/N about the waterpark you’re taking us to," Archie said eagerly.

Harry’s eyes flicked to Y/N. "Ah, yes," he said, smiling at her. "I heard there’s a certain someone’s birthday coming up soon."

Archie's birthday was still a month away, and Y/N had only planned a simple celebration—movies, takeout, and cake. As Archie bolted from the kitchen, beaming about the waterpark, Y/N’s smile faded slightly.

Harry noticed the shift immediately. "What’s wrong?" he asked, stepping closer and reaching for her hand. "Did I mess something up?"

"N-no," Y/N replied quickly, shaking her head. "You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just... Archie's birthday isn’t for another month."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "So?"

Y/N hesitated, her words stumbling over themselves. "I just don’t want to make promises, you know, in case… I mean, what if…" She trailed off, struggling to find a way to express the growing anxiety in her chest. She adored Harry, more than she could articulate, but a part of her couldn’t help worrying about the future—the uncertainties that came with letting someone new into their lives.

"Bambi," Harry’s voice was soft as he cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "Where’d you go?"

She blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

His lips quirked into a gentle smile. "Y’ do this thing where you space out, like your mind drifts off somewhere else ‘cause you're thinkin’ too much."

"I do that?" she asked, surprised.

"Mhm," he murmured, his thumb tracing the little furrow in her brow, the touch sending warmth through her. "I like you an awful lot, Bambi. I plan on stickin' around for a long time."

"You do?" Her voice was small, almost disbelieving.

"Yes, I do. And I really like your brothers—they’re a credit to you."

Y/N opened her mouth to deflect, as usual. "Oh, you mean my mom—"

"No," Harry interrupted gently, shaking his head. "I mean you."

Her lips parted in surprise, her eyes misting over. She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear those words. Without thinking, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his, a kiss filled with the gratitude she couldn't quite express in words.

She was about to pull away, but Harry held her close, his hands gripping her hips as he deepened the kiss. His soft, warm lips made her head spin, and for a brief moment, the world around them disappeared.

That is, until Sammy’s voice rang out from the hallway. "I’m coming in, so you better not be swapping saliva in there!"

Harry broke the kiss with a chuckle, glancing over his shoulder. "Alright, alright, we’re behaving," he teased, winking at Y/N before moving to the sink. "Let me help you," he offered, turning on the faucet to start washing the dishes from dinner.

Y/N watched him for a moment, her heart swelling with warmth. The words he’d spoken earlier echoed in her mind—words that had already begun to feel familiar, but only when they came from him.

. . .

Y/N woke up the following morning, not from the alarm she’d set for 6 a.m., but from the rapid thumping of her heart. Anxiety rippled through her, making her stomach twist with nerves. Today was her first day working at Pleasing, her first day officially under Harry’s employment. She was excited, of course, but that didn’t stop the butterflies in her belly from multiplying.

She stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, taking slow breaths to calm herself. Her phone buzzed softly on the nightstand, and she reached over, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the message.

Harry: Morning, Bambi 🌞 There’s a car on its way to pick you up. No need to stress, yeah? I’ll be waiting for you at the office. You’re gonna be amazing x

A small smile crept onto her face despite the nerves. Harry’s words were like a warm hug on a cold morning, making her feel just a little bit braver. She couldn’t help but appreciate how he seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear, right when she needed to hear it.

She quickly typed a reply, her fingers still shaky.

Y/N: Thank you. I’m a little nervous but I’ll do my best. See you soon 💕

Y/N got out of bed and went through her morning routine, trying to focus on each task to stop her mind from spiraling into all the things that could go wrong today. She picked out an outfit she hoped said “professional but approachable,” taking extra care to smooth out any creases in her clothes. When she was finally dressed, she checked the time—6:45 a.m.—the car Harry sent should be arriving any minute.

She stepped outside, the cool morning air doing little to ease her racing thoughts. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. The street was quiet at this hour, and she couldn’t help but feel like the only person awake in the world.

Just then, a sleek black car pulled up in front of her, the driver rolling down the window with a friendly nod. "Y/N?" he asked, and she nodded in response.

“That’s me,” she said, her voice a little shaky. She climbed into the backseat, clutching her bag on her lap as the driver started the journey to the office. She stared out the window, watching the familiar streets blur by, and tried to give herself a little pep talk.

You can do this. You’re ready. Harry believes in you, so believe in yourself, too.

Her phone buzzed in her hand again, another message from Harry.

Harry: Also going on a coffee run, do you want anything? x

Bambi: Isn’t that my job today? x

Harry: It’s my job to take care of you everyday

Y/N didn’t realize how wide her smile had grown until she caught her reflection in the glassy screen of her phone. A soft blush crept onto her cheeks as she tried to compose herself, glancing out the window to distract from the giddy feeling bubbling inside her. She watched as the quiet suburbs melted into the bustle of the big city, her heart thudding against her ribcage. 

Slowly, the car pulled up outside Pleasing. The building was elegant, with an arched doorway and a clean awning that had the brand's name in bold letters. Through the large glass doors, Y/N could see a glimpse of the bright, stylish interior. Her heart pounded as the car came to a stop, her mouth opening with a desperate plea to leave, to turn back and retreat home where she could hide away—but then she saw Harry, and her words fell away for an entirely different reason.

She’d seen Harry in a suit before, but seeing him in full CEO mode was something else. He wore a flawless black-and-white suit, cufflinks gleaming at his wrists. His eyes were stern, his entire demeanor unshakeable—until he looked her way, and his whole form softened.

“You’re here,” His voice was warm and inviting. She wanted to leap into him and hide herself within him but she wanted to be professional.

She stood in front of him, not wanting to get any closer to her new boss, “Good morning, Mr Styles.”

The corner of Harry’s lips quirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Good morning,” he replied, savoring her formality. He took a step closer, his gaze gentle yet focused. “Ready for today?”

“Y-yes,” She said but it wasn’t all that convincing.

Harry grabbed her hand, “You’ll be just fine Bambi.” He murmured the nickname just for her to hear. 

The warmth of his hand around hers steadied her, but it also set her pulse racing. His fingers intertwined with hers, and he kept their joined hands subtly hidden between them as they walked through the grand entrance and into the lobby. Y/N’s nerves started to quiet, replaced by a growing excitement.

As they stepped into the elevator, Harry’s thumb brushed gently over her knuckles. She looked up at him but his eyes were looking ahead. Her eyes fixated on his sharp jawline and smooth, freshly-shaven face; he looked even more polished, clean-cut and distinctly professional since she’d last seen him.

When they reached his office floor, Harry led her down a sleek corridor and into an airy, open workspace with views of the city skyline. The scent of fresh coffee lingered in the air, and a few team members looked up with welcoming smiles.

Just ahead, a woman in her mid-thirties with shoulder-length auburn hair and an easy smile approached them. Her professional but warm demeanor put Y/N at ease almost instantly. Harry released Y/N’s hand as he greeted her.

“Lindsey, this is Y/N,” he said, glancing between them. “She’s starting with us today. I thought you might help her settle in and get familiar with everything.”

Lindsey extended her hand warmly. “Oh is this-”

Harry’s gaze lingered on her with a slight, unreadable intensity, prompting Lindsey to pause mid-sentence. Then, noticing Y/N, she broke into a bright smile.

“Y/N! It’s so nice to meet you.” She laughed lightly, her eyes flicking to Harry with a teasing glint. “I have to admit, I’m a little curious why anyone would sign up to be his assistant—he can be a real pain most days.” She shot him a playful look. “But don’t worry, just don’t enter his office at midday - he can get real hangry.” 

Y/N giggled and Harry’s eyes brightened at the sound, ““Y/N,” he said, his voice warm, “you’re in very good hands.” He turned to Lindsey. “Make sure she gets a proper introduction to everything, but don’t overwhelm her.”

Lindsey chuckled. “I’ll keep it light for today, boss. We’d be here all day getting into your list of demands everyday.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and with a final look at Y/N, said, “I’ll see you later, then.” His words were simple, but the small smile he gave her was anything but. As he walked away, Y/N felt the anticipation return, wanting him to come back and be the one to show her around. She wasn’t the best with meeting new people. She was shy and nervous and fumbled over her words too often but Harry had great faith in her so she would try her best to do good. 

“Alright, let’s get started,” Lindsey said, gesturing to an open desk area near Harry’s office. “First things first—coffee? I’ll show you the best spot, and then we’ll make our way through the to-do list Harry sent this morning.” 

. . .

Y/N liked Lindsey a lot. 

She was funny and gentle. Whenever Y/N made a mistake—like earlier when she accidentally printed everything in pink instead of black and white—Lindsey would correct her kindly, reminding her that mistakes happen. Y/N wasn’t used to this kind of patience; her old boss would snap or hiss at even the smallest error. Here, it felt nice to breathe a little easier.

Lindsey spoke warmly about her two little boys, whom she cared for while her husband was away with the military. She had once been a stay-at-home mom, but over time, the isolation began to weigh on her; she craved more than just the role of mother and wanted to be out in the world, around people. When she applied to Pleasing, she’d explained her situation to Harry during her interview, and he had offered her flexible hours so she could still make it home to her boys each evening.

Whenever Lindsey mentioned the things Harry had done for her and her family, her voice would grow thick with emotion, and she spoke of him with genuine admiration. Y/N found herself thinking of her own circumstances and the way Harry had taken her under his wing, feeling a warmth for him settle in her chest.

“Okay, Harry’s in a meeting, so we need to bring in tea and coffee,” Lindsey said, heading over to a small rolling cart neatly stocked with cups, a teapot, and coffee supplies.

She guided Y/N through the arrangement, showing her how Harry liked his tea prepared. “He’s particular about the temperature—hot but not scalding,” Lindsey explained with a wink. “Don’t worry you’ll get the hang of things.”

Y/N carefully poured the tea, her hands steadying with each instruction Lindsey offered. They finished preparing the drinks, and Y/N took a deep breath, steadying herself as she reached for the cart handle.

“You’ll be fine,” Lindsey reassured her, offering a supportive smile. “Just go in, keep it simple, and make sure everyone has their drinks. You’ll be a natural at this in no time.”

“I’m going in alone?” Y/N’s eyes widened.

“It’s good practice,” Lindsey grins, “Good luck!”

Y/N squared her shoulders and pushed the cart toward the meeting room. The murmurs grew louder as she approached, but her nerves eased slightly upon catching Harry’s eye. His expression softened for a moment before returning to its professional coolness, a small signal just for her.

As she entered, she was met with the sight of a large glass table surrounded by men in sharp suits, all eyes shifting toward her. Taking a breath, she rolled the cart around and placed the cups in front of Harry and the others. Just as she reached for the teapot, a slight tremor ran through her hand, and she felt a sudden rush of panic.

In an instant, she lost her grip. The teapot tipped, sending hot tea spilling across the table and splattering onto a crisp white shirt belonging to one of the men. The room fell silent, and every gaze shifted from her to the angry figure, whose face flushed crimson.

““Watch where you’re going!” he barked, rising from his seat. “Do you even know how to serve properly?”

Y/N’s heart raced, the color draining from her face. Just as she opened her mouth to apologize, a surge of anger rippled through the room.

“Do you think it’s okay to talk to a woman like that?” Harry murmured, his voice laced with malice.

“She stained my shirt! She’s lucky I’m not making her pay for it,” the man continued, and Y/N could see the discomfort on the faces of the other attendees, their expressions telling her they knew he’d crossed a line.

Harry’s eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them. He reached into his blazer pocket, pulling out a checkbook and a fountain pen. With swift strokes, he began to scribble before turning to Y/N. “Y/N, would you mind delivering this to Mr. Smith?”

Y/N nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she accepted the check, its weight feeling both significant and heavy.

Mr. Smith snatched the check from her hands, glancing down at it with a scowl. Written across the page was Harry’s signature alongside a mere fifty dollars. “Your final check—enough to cover the shirt, I assume? I think I saw the same one in the TK Maxx sale rack.”

“Final?” Mr. Smith asked, incredulous.

“Correct,” Harry replied nonchalantly.

Mr. Smith’s face burned bright red. He huffed, rising from his seat and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The room fell silent. “Meeting adjourned,” Harry announced, and everyone flooded out, eager to escape the awkward tension.

Y/N stood in the corner, barely able to look up. Embarrassment washed over her; she wondered if she could do any job right. Her eyes watered as she bit down on her lip to keep from crying.

Suddenly, two polished shoes came into view, and big hands cupped her cheeks, gently forcing her to meet his gaze. “Are you okay?” Harry asked, concern etched on his face.

She wanted to say yes, to express pride in her efforts and how well she had handled the day, but instead, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his shirt. “I feel like I can’t do anything right,” she admitted, her voice muffled.

Harry sighed, his arms encircling her as he rubbed the back of her head soothingly. “You did nothing wrong.”

“You can’t fire people because of me, Harry.”

“Don’t worry about him. We’ve wanted to get rid of him for ages—just a sexist prick. Turns out you’re a pretty good assistant for giving me an excuse to fire someone on the spot,” he chuckled lightly.

Y/N looked up at him, her heart fluttering as his hand held her cheek, his thumb brushing beneath her eye. “These eyes,” he whispered.

A smile broke through her sadness. “I’m sorry for ruining your meeting.”

“Don’t care, Bambi.” He was so much taller than her, nearly a foot difference, so he had to lean down to brush his nose against hers, their lips ghosting against each other. “You actually made it better.”

“I did?” she whispered, her mind suddenly forgetting the man who had yelled at her.

“Mhm,” he hummed, and then, gently, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was soft and lingering, sending a warm flutter through Y/N that chased away the remnants of her earlier embarrassment. She melted into the moment, her worries fading as Harry’s lips brushed against hers. 

“Okay, what the hell happened?” Lindsey barged into the room, causing Y/N to leap away from Harry, her cheeks flushing.

“Wow, Lindsey,” Harry said, rubbing a hand over his mouth, both of them flustered as Lindsey glanced between them. “Try knocking next time, yeah?”

“Since when have I ever needed to knock?” Lindsey shot back, her eyebrows knitting together as she assessed Y/N, whose face was now bright pink.

“Since now,” Harry replied. Clearing his throat, he added, “If you’ll excuse me…” He brushed past her, leaving the tension lingering in the air.

A laugh escaped Y/N’s lips, even as embarrassment tinged her cheeks; it was the first time she’d witnessed him so flustered. Lindsey arched an eyebrow, a teasing smile creeping onto her face. “So, are you two like…?”

“No,” Y/N replied, the denial tumbling out a bit too quickly.

Lindsey shot her a knowing look but chose not to press further. “Might want to let him know about that lipstick stain on his upper lip,” she added, rolling the cart out of the room and leaving Y/N feeling distinctly warm and flustered.

. . .

Harry kissed Y/N with the lights off on her front porch after dropping her home. Y/N melted against him, her fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepened. She felt a rush of warmth spread through her, the sweet taste of his breath mixing with the fresh night air. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, their bodies fitting perfectly together. “Bambi,” He slurred against her lips.”

“Hm?” She hummed, unable to stop herself when she pulled him closer. 

“I was thinking,” He murmured, pulling away but his hands still firmly gripping her waist, “Maybe this weekend y’ could come to my place and stay the night.”

“The night?” She’d never had a sleepover before let alone one at a boys house. 

“Yeah… Would you be okay with that?” 

“Y-Yeah, I think so.”

“Y’ think so?” Harry grinned, “Are y’ sure?”

She smiled, “I’d like that.”

“Well, alright then,” he murmured, leaning down to place one last, soft kiss on her lips. “Goodnight, Bambi.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” Y/N barely suppressed a smile as she watched him walk to his car, a flutter in her chest as he turned back for a final wave.

Before she turned to step into her house, her phone buzzed and a text came through from Harry.

Harry: I think we have to get better at this whole sneaking around thing

Y/N: Tell yourself that, you kissed me first!

Harry: Can’t help it Bambi 

Harry: I’m obsessed with you

. . .

taglist ~~

@ravenclawmarvel @noididnotsignupforthis @comicalivy  @boomitsallie1 @hazzarules @squirreljoe @c3lline0 @harry2121 @lizsogolden @its-his-dimples @tchalametishot @youngpastafanmug @awritingtree @reidsblessing @idontcareforausernamesblog @madstyles3204 @cherrys4suckers @lomlolivia @tenaciousperfectionunknown

[pucksandpower]

The Princess and the Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Princess of Denmark!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scowl and take a long swig of your water.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isabella hums thoughtfully. “Very mysterious ...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“Princess! Wait up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

“Eager today, are we Princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeg elsker dig,” he repeats reverently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We shall.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rigshospitalet, please. Quickly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Two Years Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Five Years Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER FOUR: holy waters

masterlist

“Give it up for Miss Ayesha Erotica, everyone!” Yn announced with infectious enthusiasm over the radio waves.

Miwa, sporting vibrant teal hair and an equally vibrant grin, followed up with theatrical flair, “God, I love emo boy!”

Yn shot her a smirk. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s a sentiment we can all get behind, right?”

Miwa didn’t miss a beat, her excitement bubbling over as she declared, “No Yn, I really, really love emo boys!”, being sure to enunciate the s at the end.

Yn’s face contorts as a picture of Megumi flashes through her mind.“That makes one of us,” Yn quipped, “but I see your point.”

“Seriously, though,” Miwa said, barely containing her glee, “today is shaping up to be amazing!”

Yn arched an eyebrow skeptically. “Oh? Do tell.”

Miwa’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she revealed, “Because Tridant has graced us with 10 free tickets to their show this Saturday, and we’re giving them away!”

Yn’s face twisted into a mix of dread and disbelief, her jaw nearly hitting the studio floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered into the mic, trying to cover her panic with a forced grin. “Trident? You know I’d rather listen to nails on a chalkboard.”

Miwa’s eyes widened in playful astonishment. “Huh, since when did you become such a critic?”

Yn leaned over and mouthed, “Just roll with it.”

Miwa nodded, her grin widening. “I know, but that’s exactly why this is going to be hilarious. We’re going to make someone’s day—and maybe even get you to enjoy yourself.”

Yn groaned dramatically. “Alright, but if I have to endure this concert, you owe me a full day of Solange on the station.”

Miwa clapped her hands together, her laughter echoing. “Deal! Alright, listeners, if you want a shot at these coveted tickets, call in now and tell us why you’re the ultimate Tridant fan. And don’t forget to shout out how much you adore these emo boys!”

As the phone lines lit up with eager callers, YN slumped back in her chair, torn between dread and reluctant amusement. Despite her best efforts to look disgruntled, she couldn’t help but be drawn in by Miwa’s infectious enthusiasm. And she knew Twitter would have a field day with this one—especially with a certain raven-haired boy likely to make an appearance in the trending topics.

“Megumi, get off your phone! We need to practice otherwise Gojo will be up our asses!” Yuta barked, his voice cutting through the cluttered practice room like a drill sergeant.

The space was strewn with old gear, tangled cables, and random junk, making it look like a tornado had hit a music store. Yuta, already in dad mode, stormed out, his footsteps echoing off the mismatched walls as he went in search of something crucial.

“Yeah, but Toge’s on his phone too,” Megumi shot back, his fingers still scrolling through his screen, barely lifting his gaze.

“Yeah, but nobody gives a fuck about him,” Yuji interjected from the corner of the room, where he was perched on a drum stool, grinning like he’d just won a prize.

“Suck my dick ,” Toge retorted, his white hair bouncing as he turned, looking genuinely miffed.

Megumi rolled his eyes with exaggerated drama, reluctantly shoving his phone into his back pocket. He could feel the buzzing vibrations through his jeans and couldn’t help but smirk, taking a twisted pleasure in the fact that he was managing to irk you.

“Ugh, Megumi, why are you grinning like that? A jumpscare warning would’ve been nice,” Toge commented, half-annoyed, half-amused, from his spot by the amp.

“Go fuck yourself,” Megumi snapped back, his smugness evaporating into a gruff irritation.

Did he really find joy in annoying you? Megumi mused, a hint of doubt creeping in.

“Hey, Megumi, you seem unusually cheerful today,” Yuta announced as he reentered, clutching whatever he’d gone to fetch with an air of importance.

“See? Even Yuta’s noticed,” Toge snarked, his eyes glittering with mischief.

“So what’s up, big guy?” Yuji asked, his grin widening as he strolled over, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“Did you finally get your dick sucked or something?” Toge blurted out, his tone blunt and unapologetic.

“Why would that make me happy?” Megumi shot back, genuinely confused.

“Because everyone can tell when you’re sex-deprived,” Toge replied matter-of-factly, adding with a laugh, “Plus the horny slash hate subtweets you’ve been posting do nothing for your case.”

“I’m not sex-deprived,” Megumi insisted, his face turning a shade of crimson.

“MY BOY!” Yuji cheered, rushing in for a celebratory dap.

“Not like that,” Megumi murmured, his cheeks burning as the room erupted in laughter, the awkwardness of the situation making it clear that maybe he should have kept his phone in his pocket.

“Alright, let’s get down to business. We need to nail this new song for our upcoming gig,” Yuta finally says as the laughter dies down, holding a stack of sheet music with an air of importance.

“Finally!” Yuji cheered, bouncing on his drum stool.

“Yeah, yeah,” Toge muttered, putting his phone away and grabbing the microphone. “Let’s see what this new song’s all about.”

Yuta handed out the lyric sheets and nodded at the band. “This one’s a bit different—more upbeat. I want to hear energy and precision. Let’s start with the intro and build from there.”

extras!

• the band in sjap is called triDANT not triDENT bc the group collectively came up with the name together but toge was the one entrusted (first mistake) who had to write it down for copyright purposes etc paper work ete anyways this man CANNOT spell so that's why it's with an A instead of an E lol

• yes the group definitely clowned him for it but they couldn't change it so it stuck and they ran with it

• toge did go to the gym but he snuck in when yuji went and they definitely blasted him on their social media page and stuck his face on the wall of shame😭

• the tickets sold out COMPLETLY and yn lowkey wanted one for herself…

• definitely did not smile to herself when panda told them he scored her tickets thanks to toge..

• dramatic ass

• megumi has convinced himself he only texts yn to piss herself and nothing more than that

• i aspire to be at his level of delusion

• yn, panda and nobara all went to whole foods and asked if they had any close to expire tomato’s at the back (they did)

• they went home with 2 crates full of the most saggiest wettest tomato’s in existence

• hope u guys enjoyed the week overdue chap :3

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @catobsessedlady @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @aozui @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @renbittt @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @oroborosttheiii @ichcocat @iiwaijime @drugzforyou @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @yomamablazeit @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @qtnfer @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @iheartlindz @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @7kn0wn @starantulas @1l-ynn @bonitoflakez @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

[untolduttering]

Desires

Summary: Law does routine check ups on all the crew members, and decides to take advantage of the situation when it’s your turn.

Tags: nsfw, medical setting, inaccurate medical practice, I would say dubcon just to be safe, medical malpractice, vaginal fingering, piv, unprotected sex, female reader

Word Count: 3k

In order to keep a healthy and functioning ship, Law had each crew member do a monthly check up with him. Simple and short, it was merely to give anyone the chance to bring up possible ailments or small issues that may have gone under the radar. You hadn’t known about this routine when you first joined as Law wanted you to get comfortable with your new life on the Polar Tang. Now that months had passed and you were melding in smoothly, it was time for your first one. As you approached the infirmary, your nerves were getting the best of you, and now wished you had asked Ikkaku what you were in for.

Unsure what to do once at the door, you knocked, and heard Law call, “Come in,” right after.

“Captain,” you said as you gently closed the door.

“Y/n-ya. I’ll need you to strip down and put on the gown on the bed, if you’d please,” he gestured to it with his hand. “I’ll step outside while you do so.”

You froze, caught completely off guard. You didn’t know what to expect, so nothing should have really thrown you, but this was completely blindsiding.

“Strip down? Like take off… everything?” You asked.

“Yes,” he said as he got up. “Just the gown.”

You swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”

He nodded back as he passed you and left the room.

In the time you’d been on the Polar Tang, you had developed some sort of feelings for your captain. The idea of having to be nude in front of him left your skin buzzing, both in excitement and dread. But you wouldn’t be naked, you’d have a gown on. You picked up the said gown and rubbed the material between your forefinger and thumb. The material was thick like normal clothes, and so technically, you wouldn’t be naked in front of him at all.

On the other side of the door, Law was questioning his morals. No, this was not standard procedure. There wasn’t any point in making his crew change clothes, not when it was a ten minute check up. Ever since you joined, you had been this annoying itch in his skin. You sat deep beneath, somewhere he couldn’t reach, something he didn’t know what to do about. He imagined all the ways he could have you, either between your legs or in that special place in his chest. And so he gave himself this one thing, this one abuse of power, and that was it. He’d give some reason why the next time he didn’t make you change, that the first time is different, more thorough possibly. He just wanted to have the knowledge this one time that you stood before him with nothing beneath that gown. Just this once.

After changing into the gown, you folded your jumpsuit and underwear, setting them on the corner of the bed with both bra and panties buried deep inside the suit. You took off your boots and socks as well, and set those at the foot of the bed. Sitting propped on the edge with ankles crossed and hands pressed into your lap, you called out, “Okay. I’m ready.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to keep your gaze on his face, instead opting for his chest and the stethoscope around it. You missed his heavy lidded gaze, and wrote off the momentary jump his chest made when he inhaled sharply.

He was regretting this indulgence heavily now. Staring at your exposed legs, he was caught by the part of the gown that was hitched up, showing more thigh than he had anticipated. He felt ridiculous about how little he was getting riled up over. And still he needed more.

“Any concerns before we begin?” he asked.

You wracked your brain, but nothing ached, there wasn’t any lingering pain from past issues. Just the usual bumps and bruises that came with maintaining a pirate’s life. “No.”

“Alright. I’ll be starting with your heart and lungs. I’m just looking for any abnormalities, like an irregular heartbeat or a struggle with breathing. I’ll need you to lean forward so I can access your back.” He washed his hands as he spoke and put on a pair of gloves.

You did as he asked, staring hard at the floor as you waited. You watched his feet approach and stop to your right. The cold from the stethoscope made you jump, and almost like it was instinctual, Law lightly grabbed your knee, as if to steady you. Your heart began to pound wildly, and the heat began to grow in your cheeks. He’d know it was his touch that made you nervous, and then he’d ask you why, and you’d have to tell him that just his mere presence made you light-headed, and so of course your heart was going to explode from his hand. And then he was never going to come anywhere near you again. Your damned heart was going to ruin it all.

But he didn’t ask about your heartbeat. He only asked for a few deep breaths before he stepped back, taking the plugs out of his ears and resting the whole thing back on his neck. “Sounds good,” was all he said. He didn’t admit that your nerves pleased him, that it might mean you felt something towards him. But he tried to smother it. He was not something that anyone could possibly desire.

“Alright, now for your eyes. Similarly, I’m looking for any abnormalities, something like cloudiness or an irregularity in the iris or pupil.” He pulled a slim cylinder from his array of tools, and asked you to open your eyes wide and to stare at his right ear. He turned it on, and a bright light blinded you. You didn’t move, doing your best to do as he asked and be a star patient. You always felt the need to find some sort of approval from him, as he wasn’t the type to give it out liberally, and that made it even more worthwhile. He switched to the other eye, asking you to look to his left ear. He stepped back, murmuring, “Good, good.”

“Now I’ll be looking into your ears. I’m just looking for any irritation, anything foreign, blockage, or possible damage both to the ear canal or the eardrum.” He grabbed one of the many tools displayed across the counter. Softly, he grabbed your chin and tilted your head so that he could look. This sudden and continuous intimacy was overwhelming; he had never touched you before. It simply must be how it went with everyone else on the crew. With the way he usually spoke to you, it was clear he held no secret fondness just for you. This was just work. When he switched sides, his leg pressed against yours, and he kept it there. You didn’t know exactly what about this was bringing him so close, but you hoped it would never end.

“I have to check your throat now. If you could open your mouth and stick your tongue out, please.” Once again, you did as told. You expected him to reach out again for one of his tools, for him to just simply look in, but instead his forefinger and middle finger were pushed in and pressed down on your tongue. You let out a small and surprised yelp. You squeezed your thighs together, tight, against the shot of pleasure you felt, and grabbed onto Law’s coat.

Law knew damn well this was not the right way to do it. He had those wooden sticks, neatly tucked away in a glass jar. But he needed to feel the warmth of your mouth, the slick of your spit wetting his fingers. His left hand immediately gripped your thigh as soon as that sound left your mouth. Law wasn’t really seeing, he couldn’t focus on anything but how you felt beneath his hands. He slowly dragged his fingers down your tongue, savoring the sight before fully removing them. He didn’t move away though, nor remove his other hand. He was incapable of it. Belatedly, he registers the hands gripping his coat. His eyes meet yours.

You immediately let go and leaned back, misreading his look as one of questioning and annoyance. Heat burned your cheeks as you held your mouth open, waiting for his next instruction.

He cleared his throat and managed to pull himself away. “You can close your mouth. Everything looks fine.”

Law turned away, and stood back in front of the counter. He looked to be contemplating something, staring at the items splayed before him without touching them. He rested his hands on the counter, a finger on his right hand tapping and tapping away. Nerves started to claw at your stomach.

“I’d like to do a vaginal exam,” he said suddenly. Your stomach swooped and your head felt light immediately.

“You can say no, it’s not necessary, it’s merely on offer, a precaution.” Law was cursing himself. He was being unbelievably stupid, he knew it, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. He stayed facing the wall, rigid and unmoving. It was a gamble and one that he immediately regretted. If you said no, it would marr the way you looked at him for the rest of both of your lives. It was too far of a jump from a regular exam, you’d see right through it and know him for the pervert he was. He was being gross and was crossing too many lines, all for the slim chance you might accept. And if you did, then what? What the fuck was he doing right now?

A different war was going on in your own head. It was an intimate and vulnerable suggestion, one that would bring him closer than ever before. Could you let him do something like that? What even would he do? Would he simply look, or would he stick his fingers in like he had just now? The thought sent another pleasant shiver through you, and the heat at your core was building once again. Fears and nerves and need made you so unsettled, and the need for him to touch you became unbearable all of a sudden. It was a professional formality, nothing more, and you were taking more from it than he was, turning it into something it wasn’t, but you didn’t care. He didn’t have to know you were enjoying it, that it was something you were going to use to get off to later, and multiple times more after that. It made you feel dirty but you didn’t care.

“Yes,” you said. “I’m okay with that.”

Law finally looked at you, the surprise clear on his face. For a second, you feared that you missed something, some queue that meant you were supposed to say no. But then his face cleared, he nodded, and placed himself in front of you.

“I’ll need you to lift your legs up. I can position them for you, if you’d prefer.” Law was barely keeping himself together. He couldn’t believe you agreed, and didn’t want to make the wrong move and ask for him to stop. His entire self was currently a sea of desire and self hatred.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d prefer that.” Your voice was soft, anxious over spoiling the moment as well as what came next.

Law nodded, and pushed your gown all the way up your thighs. He was desperately trying to keep his hands still, to keep his composure and professionalism. But the more skin he exposed, the farther he took it, the more he started to lose it. He then gently grabbed both of your knees, and proceeded to lift them and push them to your chest.

All the air rushed out of Law’s lungs as you were now fully exposed to him. You could hear it as it happened, and as you watched his face for further reaction, you saw his tongue dart out to quickly wet his lips. It was not exactly what you had expected, but it was an ideal one nonetheless.

As he let go of your legs, pressed your toes into the mattress to keep yourself in the position he placed you in. Law’s movements seemed slower, and his eyes never left your pussy.

“I’m…” he trailed off, his emotions finally breaking through the barrier he’d placed. “I’m going to put my fingers in now, okay?”

You nodded, noticing that he did not give the medical reasoning behind it. It didn’t matter to you, as long as he touched you.

He slipped one finger in, emitting a small sigh from you. It went in easily, the wetness having already coated your hole. He curled the digit, just barely moving it in and out, feeling around your walls. Law placed his other hand just beneath your thigh, leaning in closer, terribly focused. He felt your walls tighten at his touch and proximity, and began to feel smug.

“Feels nice in here,” he said. It came out breathy, and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Feeling bold, he added another finger, and reached deeper. You rocked your hips forward and let out a whine.

At this, Law finally meets your gaze. He looked to your mouth and leaned in close. His eyes flit back to yours, to your mouth, and then your eyes again, asking. His eyebrows furrowed. Pleading. You barely nod before his lips are smashed against yours. Law is a starved man, and he devours you greedily. He pulls his fingers out and rips off his gloves, desperate for that skin to skin contact. You buried your hands into his hair and moaned into his mouth. It was messy and heated, kissing until it became a sloppy make out. You parted your lips to let his tongue in, and Law did not hesitate to explore your mouth. His hands had moved to grip your thighs, keeping them in position and kneading them as he did so. They moved lower and lower, teasing. He inserted his fingers into you again, and started properly pumping them in and out. You pulled away to breathe and moan, and Law took the opportunity to latch onto your neck.

It was divine to finally have those skilled doctors fingers inside you, working you open. He scissored them as he went, his palm hitting your clit again and again, and it was better than all those daydreams. His mouth was hot where he sucked on your skin, and each playful scrape of his teeth made you groan.

Law kept a fast pace, his fingers hitting that spongy sweet spot again and again, but it wasn’t enough, you wanted more.

“Law,” you breathed. “I want you.”

He lifted his head and pressed his mouth to your once again, muttering, “You want me? Say what you want.”

You whined again before saying, “I want your dick. I need you to fuck me.”

He hummed and said, “You do?”

He could be so frustrating, such a tease. Huffing, you said, “Law, please.”

He finally obliged, taking his fingers out and licking them clean before working his belt undone and unzipping his pants. He pushed them and his underwear down just enough to pull his cock out. Law dragged his tip through your folds, coating himself in your fluids and relishing the way his actions made you squirm. Right before you were about to complain, he pushed himself inside, taking it slow to let you adjust. It wasn’t all that thick, so the burn of being stretched was pleasurable, but it was long, and he was deep by the time he bottomed out.

“You feel good, pretty girl?” Law asked.

“Yeah.” You took a deep breath. “Yeah, I feel good.”

Law pulled himself out, till just the tip was still barely inside, before slamming himself all the way back in. You cried out, your back arching, and Law kept fucking into you, setting a brutal pace. Every accidental brush of your hand against him, every longing look he gave you when you weren’t paying attention, and every ache that Law felt when he was near you was put into each thrust. He wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you close, until your chests where flush against each other. To have you so close to him was making him wild, and to have you mewling and crying out into his ear made him go positively insane. That added with the way your walls squeezed around him made him want to never let you out of his sight ever again.

Your own thoughts were completely filled with Law. It was impossible to think of anything else. The way he held you so close and slammed into so wantonly, your skin making lewd slapping sounds and the wet squelching of your cunt being fucked, that it was him filling you up so nicely, it all was so overwhelmingly good that it made tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Incoherent sounds spilled from your mouth, and as the heat started to build in your lower stomach, you whined out Law’s name again and again.

He reached down between you and started rubbing your clit with his thumb. You moaned out at the new sensation and gripped Law’s shoulders harder, nails starting to dig in.

“There you go, baby. There you go,” Law murmured, sounding strained. “Just let go for me.”

Your brain had gone blank at this point, focused on nothing but the man before you and the heat building in your core. Your words were slurred as you chanted out a “please, please, please.” The feeling built until it suddenly snapped and you came with a cry.

“There it is, just like that, so good for me.” Law’s words came out all strung together, talking you through your orgasm just as much as he was talking to himself as his own came closer. He kept rubbing your clit as he fucked you through your high, pushing you close to overstimulation. At a final pulse from your pussy, Law came inside you. He removed his hand and pulled you close again, his hips stuttering as he finished.

Law rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting and trying to collect yourselves. Once you caught your breath, you broke the silence.

“Did I pass?” you asked.

Law groaned and rolled his eyes as you giggled. He pressed a kiss to your mouth before saying, “Yeah, you did.”

[infamous-light]

The Cuddle Conundrum

Agatha Harkness x Gender Neutral Reader

AO3: The Cuddle Conundrum

Summary: You were excited to show Agatha a new spell you had learned but when you mispronounced a word, you inadvertently cast a spell that left you both stuck together.

Agatha seizes the opportunity to mercilessly tease you about your magical mishap.

Word Count: 1.2K

You stood in the middle of Agatha’s cozy living room, excitement buzzing in your veins like a live wire.

You had been practicing a new spell all week – poring over ancient texts and experimenting with every incantation you could decipher – and now you were finally ready to show it off to her.

“Just promise me it’s not another attempt at making my tea taste like lavender,” Agatha quipped, amusement glinting in her eyes as she crossed her legs, the fabric of her coat shifting with the motion. “I still can’t get rid of that awful flavor you concocted out of my mouth.”

You could feel your cheeks warm slightly at her words. The image of Agatha grimacing after her first sip was etched into your memory, a mortifying reminder of your less-than-stellar tea-brewing skills.

“No, this is different,” you insisted, brushing aside her sarcasm with a wave of your hand. “It’s a spell that forms a barrier of warmth around you. Imagine it like a cozy shield that wraps around you whenever you start to feel cold.”

Agatha arched a single eyebrow, a playful gleam flickering in her eyes as she took in your serious expression.

“Really? A cozy shield?” She echoed, leaning back against the plush cushions of the couch, her posture relaxed. With a theatrical sigh, she added, “How quaint. I suppose next you’ll tell me it comes with little hearts and sparkles, too.”

You responded with a deadpan stare, refusing to indulge in her teasing. “Ha-ha. Winter’s coming soon, and I get cold easily.”

Her lips curled into a smirk as she tilted her head, a cascade of long, brown hair falling over her shoulder. “Is that so?” She enunciated each word slowly. “Well then, show me what you’ve got. I’m curious to see if it’s as delightful as you claim, or if it will leave me wishing for another cup of that dreadful tea.”

Determined to prove to Agatha that you’re capable of achieving this spell, you squared your shoulders and met her gaze with unwavering confidence. Carefully, you arranged the ingredients on the coffee table – some assortment of herbs, a delicate sprinkle of salt, and a few shimmering crystals.

Agatha watched with a raised brow, her expression somewhere between amusement and intrigue as she nestled deeper into the cushions. She observed your every move, her eyes tracing your hands as they glided over the items.

Once you’d finished combining the ingredients, you straightened back up, letting your shoulders drop as you took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the moment.

With a steady voice, you began the incantation, the ancient words flowing from your lips like a melody. You closed your eyes, drawing in the ambient energy around you, feeling it swirl like a gentle breeze. You could feel it buzzing at your fingertips, eager to manifest the magic you were trying to conjure, and a thrill shot through you as you envisioned impressing Agatha with your newfound skills.

Her attention remained fixed on you, her curiosity piqued, but then her expression shifted from interest to alarm as she heard one of the incantations sound off.

“Wait–” Agatha interjected; her voice laced with urgency. “Are you sure about that last part? I don’t think–”

Before she could finish her warning, a blinding flash of light enveloped you both, drowning out her voice and leaving you momentarily disoriented. In an instant, the world spun in a whirl of colors, and an odd tugging sensation seized you, as if an invisible force was drawing your body toward Agatha's. When the light finally faded and the world around you sharpened into focus, you looked down in horror to find that you were completely stuck to Agatha’s side. Your arms were hopelessly entangled, the skin of your forearm brushing against hers while your legs were awkwardly intertwined. It was as though the spell had fused you together in a bizarre embrace.

“Well, this is charming,” Agatha drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She attempted to adjust her position, but the effort proved futile, only causing both of you to wobble precariously. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, pet.”

You couldn’t help but feel the flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks, hot and betraying. “I may have mispronounced a word or two.”

“A word or two?” Agatha retorted, rolling her eyes with an exaggerated flair. “I think you’ve accidentally created the world’s most inconvenient cuddle spell.”

As she spoke, you tried to maintain your composure, desperately fighting the flush creeping up your cheeks from the way your bodies were inexplicably linked. However, Agatha’s keen gaze flickered over your flushed cheeks, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You could feel the weight of her scrutiny, but you tried to ignore it.

Then, a spark of mischief ignited in her eyes, a glimmer that sent a nervous thrill coursing through you. Without warning, Agatha leaned back against you, the warmth of her body pressing into yours. The contact was electric, sending a shiver down your spine as you instinctively shifted beneath her, hyper-aware of the closeness that set your heart racing like a wild drum. Agatha seemed to revel in your discomfort, her laughter spilling forth like a melodic tease, light and airy. It was intoxicating and disarming all at once.

“You know, pet,” Agatha purred, each word drawn out in that dangerously smooth tone. “It’s adorable watching you squirm like this. You look positively flushed.”

You opened your mouth, stammering in response, “I-I’m not – I mean, it’s just… you–” But the words tumbled out in a disjointed rush, your voice wavering as the heat of embarrassment crept further down your neck.

The next action caught you off guard as Agatha wrapped her legs around yours, her grin widening as she caught the frazzled panic in your eyes.

“Aw, you poor thing,” she cooed, her voice dripping with playful mockery. “I didn’t mean to make you so flustered.”

As she nestled closer, a soft squeak escaped your lips, a sound of surprise that only fueled her delight.

“I don’t think you realize how much of a personal cushion you’ve become,” she mused, allowing her head to rest heavily against your shoulder. Her dark, loose hair fell around you in a silky curtain, the strands cool against your flushed cheeks. “You really should consider the implications of your little spell before casting it again.” She continued, her voice low and sultry.

The heat in your cheeks deepened. “I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this. I was just trying to–”

“To what?” She interrupted, her smirk widening as if she were savoring the moment like a fine wine. “Impress me? Because I assure you, you have succeeded, my dear. A cuddle spell that binds us together? How utterly romantic.”

The playful lilt in her words only made your heart race faster, a wild rhythm you couldn’t control. It was astounding, really, how easily this witch could get under your skin.

“Maybe next time, I’ll just… stick to the basics.” You winced internally at the awkwardness of your tone.

“Or perhaps,” Agatha murmured, lifting her head to meet your gaze, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “You should embrace it. I find it quite cozy. Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a soft, enticing whisper. “I could get used to this.”

Maybe this accidental cuddle spell wasn’t so bad after all.

[msfantasy-comics]

The Teen Three - Social Rescue

Platonic!Jon Kent x WonderGirl!Reader x Platonic!Damian Wagne

Summary: Jon’s high school years were rough. Subject to nasty teasing, Damian and Y/n have devised plans to make Jon a little more popular.

A/n: this story is lame! Sorry! Maybe I should focus on some other bat boys for a while.

It only took a ‘promposal’ gone wrong to plummet Jon’s social credit.

At one point of time, Jon was the quite kid no one paid attention to. His presence masked by his rambunctious cohort. Now Jon is front and centre of his High Schools attention.

Jon is now known as the kid who was humiliatingly rejected by the prettiest and most popular girl in school.

“Pfft, you’ve got to be kidding… is this a joke?” Beverly’s cruel tone filling the air with heavy dread, her humourless laugh as she side eyes her friends who seem to also be snickering at Jon’s expense. The bouquet of flowers now limp in Jon’s outstretched hands. He wants to sprint away and hide under a rock, but he’s too humiliated to move a muscle. His cheeks burning red in embarrassment. God why did he ask out Beverly, so publicly? Everyone walking into the main entrance is now witnessing his promposal rejection. Beverly lips curl into a thin line, she sees his eyes becoming quickly glossy as he stares at the floor. “Um… so like… I’m not going to prom with you… honestly I don’t even know why you’d even ask. Like… we barely know each-other.” She looks towards her friends awkwardly, as if silently discussing how weird it is that Jon asked her to prom. Not knowing what else to say, Beverly just shuffles off with her group.

The circle of students that had slowly formed around, began to disperse at Beverlys departure, some feeling sorry, and some being amused at his expense.

————

Its prom night and it’s been long since Jon flopped onto his bed where he continued to limply exist.

His mind continues reeling at the humiliating rejection. His heart clenched painfully seeing his ‘promposal fail’ posted online. Many comments left under the video talking about what a looser he is for even asking the hottest girl in school out.

It’s been days since the incident and the teasing and passive remarks are not letting up.

Jon was feeling pathetic and embarrassed, there was no way on earth he would dare step foot into his high school gym.

But just like always, the door to Jon’s bedroom slams open.

“Get up looser, we’re going to prom.” Y/n’s voice rings out. Jon rolls away from the wall only to see his best friends Y/n and Damian standing in the doorway. Y/n stands statuesque in her WonderGirl uniform, whilst Damian leans against the frame with a laundered Armani suit slung over his shoulders.

“Are you mentally challenged? We are here to make him feel better, not to insult him. He already feels bad enough.” Damian reprimands Y/n, which she only shrugs off, snatching the suit from Damian’s hands and throws it on top of Jon.

“Either you can get yourself dress and get into Damian’s car or… Damian and I will dress you.” Jon only grunts rolling onto his back.

“Why? I don’t have a date. Everyone will just stare and gossip. I’m already embarrassed enough.” Y/n slowly sinks onto Jon’s bed and pokes him in the ribs.

“I will go to prom with you as WonderGirl. When everyone sees that your brought a super hero as your date, no one will even remember about your promposal fail!” She announces, buzzing in excitement which only makes Jon stare at her blankly.

“We are not meant to abuse our alter egos like this.” Jon drawls with only makes Damian roll his eyes. “I’m not going and that’s final. I’d rather just hang with you two.”

“Aw Jonny, love you too!” Y/n says, pulling Jon into a bone crushing hug that only a kryptonian could survive. “Okay so since you refuse, Damian and I will take matters into our own hands.”

Damian and Y/n share a look before nodding. “Wait - wait- not again! I’ll dress myself! I’ll dress myself!” Jon pleads, rearing from his bed and ripping open the suit protector.

————

Jon’s prom entrance was just filled with oh’s and ah’s.

Not only did Jon walk the carpet with a fresh Armani suit, he had the illustrious WonderGirl hanging off his arm. The teen beauty that was on every teens wall. She was every boys dream girl, and every girl wanted to be her. In the public’s eye, she was Americas sweetheart. The girl next door that had a dazzling smile and eyes that were enchanting.

WonderGirl behaved like the perfect date. Always smiling and giggling with Jon. But the hoard of students and teachers were all too keen for photos and autographs. Jon had to break away from the crowd to catch a breath.

“Hey Kent! How’d you score WonderGirl?! You have to tell me your secret man!” A boy that Jon had never spoken to before, claps Jon’s back as if they were familiar pals. Jon locks eyes onto Beverly, whom angrily has her arms crossed over her chest, she decidedly took strides forward

“Jon, can I speak to you for a moment?” Beverly asks pointedly. Beverly begins to stare down the random boy standing next to Jon, silently demanding he leaves the two alone. The boy only awkwardly steps back, leaving the two.

“I didn’t mean for my rejection to come across so cold. I saw the video online and I felt so bad about what others were saying. Just so you know, I’m not sorry I rejected you, because every woman has the right to say no without feeling bad, I’m just sorry you were publicly embarrassed and that people were mean about it.” Jon’s face scrutinised at Beverly’s apology. She’s sorry, but not really? “I didn’t want to go to prom with you because I don’t even know anything about you. I thought you were just asking me out for clout and it just made me angry to be used like that.”

“Okay… I wasn’t asking you out for ‘clout’, I had the biggest crush on you, so I decided to ask you out.” Jon vents, to which Beverly only continues to stare down at him.

“Yeah well…. Why do you like me?”

“What?” Jon sputters.

“What is it about me that you like?”

“Um, well you’re nice…”

“No I’m not, I’m blunt, there’s nothing nice about it. What else do you like about me that isn’t surface level?” He really couldn’t think of a single thing. He liked Beverly because she had a sweet smile, was always laughing, and just having a good time, never being concerned with how others felt.

“Um…” It was in this moment, Jon understood. Beverly wasn’t a cruel girl by any means, she was angry that someone was admitting their feelings, which Beverly believe was disingenuous. She’s right, Jon didn’t know her at all, he just liked the idea of her.

“You can’t think of a single thing can you? It’s because you don’t even know me. So why would I go to prom with you? You see what I’m saying?” Jon only nods solemnly, he was too caught up in his own devastation, he had already decided Beverly was a cruel and mean girl, but the reality was that Beverly was just getting asked on a date by a stranger. “Good I’m glad we got that clear…. So can you introduce me to WonderGirl? I’m literally obsessed with her- please?”

Jon only sighs and nods in agreement which causes Beverly to excitedly clap and jump on the spot.

It’s so unfair.

How does Y/n always win? She wasn’t even part of the drama to begin with.

————

[urfavfrenchgrl]

The Stalker

Draco Malfoy x F!Reader

ᥫ᭡ words: 5k

ᥫ᭡ warnings: 18+ | SMUT | MDNI | p in v

ᥫ᭡ summary: Draco offers his help after discovering you're the victim of a stalker Notes: been dreaming of this last night and had to write it lmao, enjoy ;)

You were on a week-long class trip for History of Magic, hoping that some distance from the castle would mean a break from the stalker who had been bombarding you with messages. But you couldn’t escape him—each message was more relentless than the last, and despite your efforts to ignore it, his words crept into your thoughts. Tonight, at dinner, the tables were packed with students buzzing with excitement. There was nowhere else to sit, so you set your tray down beside Draco Malfoy, trying to ignore the lively conversation between him and his friends. Draco Malfoy had captured your attention since fifth year, though he was never the type to be easily approached, always surrounded by his friends Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott. You had long given up on trying to connect with him, resigned to admiring him from afar and content yourself with short interactions, mostly concerning classes.

The noise in the hall buzzed around you, students from every house chatting excitedly, the usual house boundaries slipping away in the lively atmosphere. You sat quietly, listening to the flow of conversation from his side of the table, particularly between Mattheo and Theodore, who were engaged in what could only be described as a ridiculous debate.

“Listen, all I’m saying,” Mattheo was explaining to Theo, a confident smirk on his face, “is that if dragons had wingspans just a little wider, they’d be unstoppable in Quidditch.”

Theodore snorted, rolling his eyes. “Quidditch? If dragons wanted to play Quidditch, mate, they’d turn the whole pitch into a bonfire before the whistle even blew.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, watching them with a look of mild amusement as he leaned back in his seat. “Please, we all know dragons wouldn’t even care about Quidditch—they’d just chase the Seekers and call it a day,” he added, crossing his arms.

Unable to help yourself, you chimed in, “I think you three have really cracked it. I doubt any dragon wants to spend its time chasing a flying walnut.”

Your impulsive words slipping out before you could stop yourself and you already hated yourself for it. The three boys fell silent for a second before Mattheo grinned, not ready for a smartass comment from you.

Draco looked at you, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, a glint of interest sparking in his eyes.

“Is that right?” he drawled, his voice laced with intrigue. His gaze lingered, as though he were sizing you up, and you felt your face warm under his scrutiny. You opened your mouth to respond, but just then, your pocket buzzed with a new message.

You glanced down, and your stomach twisted when you looked at the screen. It was him. Another message, complimenting how you looked today. Your blood ran cold. He was here, somewhere in the crowd, watching you. 

The excitement and noise of the room faded as dread settled over you. Fingers trembling, you opened the message app, staring at the dozens of unanswered messages, each one more invasive than the last. Before you could stop him, Draco had leaned in, peering over your shoulder at the screen.

“What the hell…” he muttered, his eyes scanning the rows of messages. His expression darkened as he took in each line, his smirk replaced with a scowl. “Looks like you have an admirer.”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, suddenly feeling vulnerable, exposed under his sharp scrutiny. “Just… someone who won’t take a hint,” you replied quietly, hating how small your voice sounded.

Draco’s eyes flicked back to your phone, his jaw clenching. “And he’s here, isn’t he?” His tone was sharp, almost dangerous. He turned, scanning the crowd, and you could feel the tension rolling off him.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “He must be,” you whispered, voice barely audible. ”It’s nothing, he will stop at some point.”

Draco’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second, his jaw still tense. “I have an idea,” he murmured, his voice low and careful, as though he wasn’t used to offering help. And maybe he wasn’t.

Draco Malfoy was known for being distant, aloof, even spoiled, and he usually only involved himself in matters that benefited him. Everyone knew that about him. Yet here he was, offering a solution to a problem that wasn’t his.

Before you could process the surprise, he added, “Meet me in my room after dinner. We’ll sort this out.”

You managed a nod, stunned into silence. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if ensuring you understood, before he turned back to his meal, his face once more impassive. When you finally glanced around, you realized that Theo and Mattheo hadn’t heard a word of your exchange; they were already embroiled in another absurd debate, this time on the merits of using Hippogriffs in place of broomsticks.

The rest of the dinner passed in a haze, your mind reeling from Draco’s unexpected concern and the strange, silent understanding that had passed between you. You found yourself glancing around the room, half-expecting to catch the stalker’s eyes on you, but the crowded hall only seemed to amplify your anxiety. Whoever he was, he was here, and that knowledge sat like a weight on your chest, making it impossible to relax.

After dinner, you slipped quietly from your room, heart hammering as you made your way to Draco’s quarters. The long corridors seemed endless, each step filled with hesitation. It seemed so absurd that Draco would even care enough to intervene, let alone invite you to his room to discuss it. You barely knew him. You weren’t friends or enemies, just two people who had barely spoken before tonight. And yet, here you were.

Finally, you reached his door, hesitating before lifting your hand to knock. It swung open before your knuckles could connect, revealing Draco standing there, his expression unreadable.

“Come in,” he said quietly, stepping back to allow you through the doorway. You slipped past him, your nerves taut as you took in the unexpectedly tidy room. It was the same as yours but was simple yet elegant, every item in place, as if chaos had no place in Draco Malfoy’s world.

He closed the door softly and turned to face you, studying you in that unnerving way of his, as though he could read the tension in your posture.

You swallowed hard and broke the silence. “So… what’s your idea?”

A faint smirk touched his lips as he gestured for you to sit on the edge of his bed, then he settled into the chair across from you, leaning back with an air of confidence. “It’s simple, really. I’ll make sure he understands that you’re… off-limits.”

Your brows furrowed, uncertain what he meant. “How do you plan to do that?”

Draco’s smirk widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ll make it look like you’re already taken. He wouldn’t dare go near you if he thought you were with me.”

Your eyes widened, heat rising to your cheeks. “You mean… pretend that we’re—”

“Precisely,” he cut in, his tone casual. “If he sees us together, he’ll know better than to keep bothering you.”

It was a bold, reckless plan, and yet, as you looked at him, the idea didn’t seem as absurd as it should have.

You shook your head, disbelief evident in your voice. "Nobody will believe this."

Draco raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You think so?" he replied, voice laced with quiet confidence. He leaned forward, his gaze intense, as if daring you to challenge him. "Trust me, Y/N. When I decide to make something believable, people fall in line."

You hesitated, feeling a mix of doubt and curiosity. "Even if they don’t believe it… this is still crazy. And what exactly do you gain from all this, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, unfazed. "Crazy works. I'm bored and need a good distraction and it’ll keep that creep off your back. Unless, of course, you have a better idea?" His eyes held a glint of challenge, as though he already knew the answer.

Biting your lip, you felt the weight of his gaze. "Fine," you muttered. "But you’d better be convincing."

Draco’s smirk widened, and he leaned back, clearly enjoying the moment. "Oh, I will be. Just try to keep up."

The next morning, you joined the group with your friends, ready for the day’s excursion. You hadn’t said a word to them about the arrangement you’d made with Draco. Explaining it would’ve raised too many questions, and you needed to focus on the task at hand—making your stalker believe you were truly off-limits. As reckless as it seemed, it just might work. Many people, even from other houses, avoided the trio of Slytherin boys like the plague.

As you gathered around with the group, listening to the professors give instructions, you tried to look relaxed. Your mind, however, was anything but. You were busy rehearsing what this new arrangement would look like, how you’d need to play it off naturally—anything to convince the stalker that you weren’t to be messed with anymore.

Lost in thought, you barely registered the footsteps coming up beside you until you felt an arm drape over your shoulders, freezing you in place. Heart pounding, you looked up to see Draco, casually standing at your side, his usual smirk gracing his lips. His arm around you felt firm, natural, as though he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Good morning,” he drawled, his voice low but loud enough for those nearby to hear. The casual intimacy in his tone made your heart skip a beat. He tilted his head toward you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made it clear he was committed to the role.

“Morning,” you replied, forcing yourself to stay calm, although every nerve in your body was buzzing with tension. 

He glanced around, as if daring anyone to look, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. Theo and Mattheo were a few steps away, talking to each other but clearly aware of the act Draco was putting on. He leaned in, his lips close to your ear as he murmured, “Just play along, yeah?”

You gave a small nod, barely noticeable, trying to steady your breathing. Your friends were now glancing over, wide-eyed, and you could feel their surprise even without looking directly at them. Draco straightened up, keeping his arm firmly around you as the group started to move forward.

As you walked, he continued to chat casually, his presence beside you both intimidating and strangely comforting. You could feel the eyes of other students on you, and though it was uncomfortable, you knew it was exactly what you needed.

One of your friends finally gathered the courage to ask, her voice laced with curiosity. “Um… since when are you and Malfoy… close?”

Draco chuckled, giving her a look that could only be described as smug. “What, can’t a guy enjoy his morning with good company?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as your friend stammered, glancing between the two of you.

You swallowed, trying to maintain your composure. “It’s… a recent development,” you managed, casting Draco a sideways look. He seemed to relish your friends’ reactions, his hand moving to rest more firmly on your shoulder.

As the tour continued, he kept you close, his presence undeniable. Every once in a while, he’d glance around, subtly scanning the crowd, as though daring anyone—especially your stalker—to challenge this new reality. 

Finally, during a break, he leaned in again, his voice low and almost amused. “Looks like they’re starting to believe it. And judging by the looks we’re getting, I’d say our friend might be getting the hint, too.”

You met his gaze, both relieved and slightly unnerved. “Let’s hope so,” you whispered.

The trip was nearing its end, and Draco had played his role flawlessly. A gentle kiss on the top of your head here, a protective hand at your waist there—just enough to keep up appearances but never enough to feel truly real. At least for you. You hadn’t received a single message from your stalker since the start of the arrangement, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a sense of calm, even safety. 

Tonight was the last night, and the teachers, worn out from days of guiding tours, allowed the students to gather and celebrate. They turned a blind eye to the alcohol discreetly brought by a few of the older students, letting the atmosphere stay light and carefree. The laughter was contagious, and for once, students from different houses were mingling effortlessly, the usual rivalries put aside for the night.

You found yourself sitting beside Draco, strangely comfortable despite the role you continued to play. You shared a drink, and the conversation between you became more relaxed, more genuine. Draco’s usual reserved demeanor had softened, and under the influence of the alcohol, he seemed more open, even smiling and teasing in a way you’d never seen.

At one point, he shot you a sidelong glance, his lips curling into a faint, amused smile. "I have to say, you’re a much better actress than I expected."

You shrugged with a laugh. “And you hide your true colors well. Who would’ve thought the great Draco Malfoy could be so… attentive?”

He raised his glass, a glint of mischief lighting up his eyes. “We all have our secrets,” he murmured before taking a sip, his gaze holding yours a bit too long. Under the influence of the alcohol, the words carried a different weight, and the air between you grew heavier, charged.

Feeling bold, a daring edge sharpening your words, you grinned. “You know, for a fake relationship, you’ve been surprisingly convincing, Malfoy. Almost feels real sometimes.”

He arched an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Is that so?” he murmured, his voice dropping slightly, as if the words were meant only for you. He leaned a bit closer, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest of moments before flicking back up to meet your eyes. “You want this to feel more real, Y/N?” His voice was low, challenging, the smirk slipping into something darker, more intense.

Without another word, he set down his glass and reached for you, guiding you onto his lap with a smooth, assured motion. His hands settled at your waist, fingers pressing firmly, as if he wanted to make sure you stayed close. His gaze held yours, his eyes searching, as though daring you to pull away.

But you didn’t move. The air between you was charged, and with your heart pounding, you leaned in, ready for whatever was about to happen.

“Does this feel real enough for you now?” he murmured, his voice rough and low, his hand slipping over your thigh, maintaining the firm, steady contact that sent heat rushing through you. You could feel desire building within you, but you couldn’t tell if he felt the same.

“Not yet…” you whispered, biting your lip, the alcohol making you feel bolder than ever. You wanted more, though you weren’t sure what exactly—just that you knew he could give it to you.

A smirk tugged at his lips as his hand pressed more firmly against your thigh. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned closer, his face brushing the curve of your neck, lips grazing your skin. Slowly, he pressed a gentle kiss to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, a shiver rippling down your spine.

“And now?” he murmured before sucking lightly, drawing a soft sigh from your lips, the warmth of his touch making it impossible to think of anything but him.

You could feel him growing hard beneath you, pressing into you, a sure sign that he wanted you. Maybe it was the alcohol, but the heat of his touch and the growing bulge under you left little doubt about what was on his mind.

“Not yet…” you replied again, your voice barely above a whisper. You were playing with fire, but his lips moving against your neck, his hand slowly sliding higher up your thigh, sent a thrill through you that was hard to resist.

Draco’s smirk widened as he held you closer, his fingers tracing light circles on your thigh, inching closer and closer. His breath was warm against your neck, and he tilted his head, his lips barely brushing your ear as he whispered, “Careful, or you might get exactly what you’re asking for, Y/N.”

You swallowed, your own breathing becoming uneven, his words sending a shiver through you that only intensified the desire building between you. But you kept your composure, tilting your head to meet his gaze, your eyes challenging.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want,” you whispered, surprising even yourself with the boldness in your voice.

That was all it took. Draco’s gaze darkened, his smirk fading as his hand slid further up, his touch firm, claiming. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that started slow, testing, but quickly deepened, his hand at the back of your neck pulling you closer, as if he didn’t want to leave any space between you. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his mouth moving against yours with an urgency that made your heart race.

His hands, once tentative, were now confident, exploring your body with a hunger that left you breathless. One hand stayed on your thigh, pulling you even tighter against him, while the other tangled in your hair, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

He pulled back for just a second, his breathing uneven, a fierce intensity in his eyes.

Without a word, Draco lifted you effortlessly, carrying you down the corridor toward his room. His hold was firm, steady, and each step seemed to increase the tension pulsing between you. He pushed open the door, slipping inside and pressing you against the wall, his body pinning yours, a barrier between you and everything else. The only thing that mattered now was the undeniable heat radiating from him, the intensity in his gaze as he looked at you, almost as if he were savoring this moment he’d waited for.

His hands tightened slightly on your hips, his fingers splayed as he held you in place, his face inches from yours. His breaths were heavy, his gaze dark and intense as it drifted down to your lips, and then back up to meet your eyes.

“You’re really not afraid, are you?” he murmured, his voice low, filled with a mix of desire and restraint. His tone was almost a warning, as if he were giving you one last chance to turn back.

But you weren’t afraid. Not in the least. The desire in his eyes only fueled your own, and without hesitation, you brought your hands up, tangling them in his hair as you pulled him closer, leaving no room for doubt.

Draco’s smirk faded, replaced by something deeper, something raw. His lips captured yours, firm, urgent, and you could feel the need behind every movement, every touch. His hands roamed down, pressing you even closer as his mouth moved against yours with a fierce intensity that left you breathless. 

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand sliding up to cradle your face as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, though his voice made it clear that stopping was the last thing he wanted.

You held his gaze, a small smile on your lips as you whispered, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Draco’s lips continued their path down your neck, leaving you breathless with each lingering kiss. His hand slid beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing your skin with an electric touch that made your body arch toward him instinctively. His hand moved with a deliberate slowness until it found your breast, cupping it firmly.

His thumb brushed over your sensitive skin, sending a spark of warmth through you as he began to massage, his grip alternating between gentle and possessive.

He squeezed, his fingers exploring, as if he were savoring every reaction, every subtle movement of your body. His mouth returned to yours, capturing your sighs and gasps, deepening the kiss as his hand continued its deliberate, teasing rhythm. His other hand remained on your waist, keeping you steady against him, each touch intensifying the pull between you.

Every movement felt purposeful, and with each squeeze and brush of his fingers, the heat between you built, leaving you breathless, your mind clouded by nothing but the feeling of him pressed against you, as if he were determined to learn every inch of you.

“Does this feel real enough now?” he murmured, his voice rough, a hint of dark challenge beneath his words.

You met his gaze, defiance glinting in your eyes, unwilling to give in so easily. “No,” you replied, your voice soft but daring, laced with a hunger that matched his own.

A low growl escaped his lips as he tightened his grip on your waist, his hand slipping under your skirt, fingers tracing a path along your thigh. Slowly, he reached the edge of your underwear, hooking his fingers beneath the fabric. With a swift, deliberate tug, he drew it down, letting it slide down your legs until it pooled at your ankles.

He leaned in, his mouth claiming the delicate skin of your neck, leaving warm, lingering kisses interspersed with gentle bites. He took his time, squeezing your breast with a blend of tenderness and possession, his thumb circling over your sensitive skin, drawing a gasp from your lips. His free hand slipped between your legs, fingers exploring your warmth with a deliberate slowness, tracing every inch of your skin with reverent attention.

A soft moan escaped you, and he leaned into your ear, his breath hot as he murmured, “Seems real enough to me, sweetheart. Look at how ready you are for me…” His voice was low, teasing, each word a seductive promise. "Such a beautiful mess."

Your breath hitched, heart racing, and all you could manage was a soft, pleading whisper. “Draco, please…”

But he merely chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin, his fingers continuing their languid exploration, building the tension between you with every touch, every lingering caress. The night felt endless, and all that mattered was the intensity of his gaze, his hands, the feeling of him claiming you in a way that left no doubt in your mind—this was as real as it could possibly be.

Draco’s lips trailed down the line of your jaw, his mouth ghosting over your skin with maddening patience. His fingers moved with practiced skill, sliding inside and exploring the warmth between your legs in slow, measured strokes, each touch designed to draw out a reaction, to bring you to the edge while keeping you wanting more. 

“Still doesn’t feel real enough?” he whispered, his voice a low murmur, his breath hot against your ear. His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. “Tell me, love… what do I need to do to convince you?”

The words hung between you, filled with a daring challenge, but all you could manage was a soft gasp as his fingers pressed deeper, his touch firm and unrelenting. Your hands gripped his shoulders, steadying yourself as he claimed you in every way, each movement of his hand calculated, purposeful.

“Draco…” you breathed, his name slipping from your lips, almost a plea. You could feel your body responding to him, the heat building, your pulse quickening with each touch, each soft kiss he trailed down the curve of your neck.

“Not yet,” he whispered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as his fingers slowed, keeping you right on the edge. “You wanted more… so I’m giving you more.”

He pressed his lips to yours again, deepening the kiss, his hand never faltering as he continued to tease, to draw out the tension until every nerve in your body was attuned to him. Each touch, each kiss, was a testament to his control, his desire to make you feel everything, to leave no doubt in your mind that this was real, that he was as consumed by this as you were.

Draco’s mouth pressed against yours, deepening the kiss, his hands moving with purpose as they explored the curves of your body. His fingers found the hem of your skirt, brushing over your thigh, before reaching down to undo his belt with a swift, practiced motion. The quiet click and rustle of fabric as he unfastened his trousers sent a thrill through you, anticipation building with every second.

With a firm hand on your waist, he pulled you closer, pressing you back against the wall as his gaze locked with yours, intense and dark with desire. He leaned in, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing kisses as his hand guided your leg to wrap around his waist. His fingers gripped your thigh to raise it, pressing into your skin as he aligned himself, his other hand steadying you.

“You wanted this to feel real?” he murmured, his voice low and rough. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you met his gaze, nodding, unable to find the words.

With a slow, steady motion, he pressed into you, filling the space between you with a heat that left you breathless. His movements were controlled at first, each thrust deep and deliberate, giving you time to adjust to his size, to feel the closeness, the intensity of every inch. Your head fell back against the wall, a soft gasp escaping as he began to move, his rhythm building, more urgent with each passing moment.

His hand moved up, wrapping up around your neck, and his mouth captured yours in a series of kisses that alternated between tender and fierce, each one conveying a blend of desire and possession.

Draco’s grip on your thigh tightened as he pressed deeper, his movements growing bolder, each thrust sending waves of sensation through you. He pulled back slightly, his grey eyes meeting yours, his breath heavy as he whispered, “Look at me, Y/N.” His voice was a mix of command and vulnerability, as if he wanted you to see every emotion he was hiding beneath his usual guarded facade.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, and the intensity there made your pulse quicken. His hand slipped up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek.

“You feel this?” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. “It’s real, every damn inch of it.”

Your lips parted, the words catching in your throat as he leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was both gentle and fierce, a contrast to the urgency in his movements. The heat between you intensified, his rhythm steady but unyielding as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

His hands traveled down, gripping your waist firmly as he moved, pulling you against him with a need that left no doubt in your mind. The tension, the build-up between you two over the past week, all of it seemed to culminate here, now, with every touch, every breath you shared.

Your head fell back, and he pressed a line of kisses along your jaw, his voice a rough whisper in your ear, “Fuck Y/N, look at the mess you’re making.. Moaning so loud for me.”

A shiver ran through you, his words only adding fuel to the fire already consuming you. His hands moved again, his touch both firm and careful, as if he was savoring every moment. You could feel the restraint he held, the control he was fighting to maintain, as though he wanted to draw out every second, make it last.

“Draco…I-” you breathed, voice laced with both urgency and longing. 

He met your gaze, his expression softening just a fraction. “Say my name again,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. 

“Draco, I’m so close..” you whispered back, your voice trembling as his hand moved to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that left you dizzy, fully enveloped in the moment.

As the intensity between you reached its peak, Draco’s movements grew more urgent, each thrust more demanding, as if he was determined to close any remaining distance between you. His forehead pressed against yours, his gaze locked with yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered, punctuating his words with every thrust inside you, “You’re driving me fucking insane, Y/N. Fucking. Insane.”

Draco’s lips found yours again, and this time, his kiss was possessive, almost reverent, as if he was savoring every second, every reaction he drew from you.

The rhythm between you intensified, each thrust drawing you closer to the edge, the tension building and building until it was impossible to hold back. His name slipped from your lips, soft at first, but growing louder as the wave of pleasure washed over you, consuming you completely. “Fuck Y/N, I’m gonna-” Your breath caught as his gaze held yours, his eyes dark and filled with a tenderness that took you by surprise. You felt yourself let go completely, your body responding to his, surrendering fully to the moment, and he followed, his own resolve breaking as he buried his face against your neck, shooting his hot seed deep into you.

As you came down, Draco’s hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked at you, his eyes softened in a way you’d never seen before. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his breath steadying.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence thick with the weight of what had just happened. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice a low murmur. “Still doesn’t feel real enough?”

You shook your head with a smile, leaning into his touch. “More than real.” 

[isak-dot-gov]

Hi could you do a Emily Engstler x reader one where Emily freaks out because she can’t find her wedding ring after a game?

Lost and Found

Pairing: Emily Engstler x Reader

Word count: 1139

My Masterlist :)

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The locker room buzzes with post-game excitement, the echo of laughter and congratulations bouncing off the walls as Emily sits in front of her locker, her fingers trembling. She should be on top of the world—her team just won a nail-biter, and she played one of the best games of her career. But none of that matters right now. 

Her hands frantically search through her duffel bag, pushing aside her jersey and gear. Sweat still clings to her skin, but her mind isn't on the game anymore. It's on the small, irreplaceable object that's nowhere to be found.

Her wedding ring.

“Come on… no, no, no,” she mutters to herself, pulling out the contents of her bag for what feels like the hundredth time. Emily looks under the bench, around the locker, checking every possible place it could have fallen. Her heart races, panic rising with each passing second. She feels sick.

"Everything okay, Em?" one of her teammates calls over as they head for the showers.

Emily forces a nod, plastering on a weak smile. "Yeah, yeah. All good," she lies, her voice tight. 

But it’s not. It’s the opposite of good. She can’t find her wedding ring, the ring you had placed on her finger in one of the happiest moments of her life. And now it’s gone. How could she lose it? She knows she was wearing it before the game—she always does, tucking it safely into her pocket before warm-ups. She had checked like always. So where did it go?

The locker room empties, leaving Emily alone with her thoughts. She slumps onto the bench, her elbows resting on her knees, head in her hands. You’re waiting for her outside, excited to see her after the game. And she’s going to have to face you without the ring.

How can she explain it to you? What if you’re hurt? What if you think she doesn’t care enough? A pit forms in her stomach as the fear tightens around her chest. The ring isn’t just jewellery—it’s a promise. A tangible symbol of your love and commitment. Losing it feels like more than just a careless mistake; it feels like a betrayal of everything it stands for.

Emily tries to swallow the lump in her throat as she gets up and slings her duffel over her shoulder. She needs to leave. Maybe if she retraces her steps tomorrow morning, she’ll find it somewhere on the court or in the gym. But right now, she can’t delay any longer. You’re waiting for her, and no matter how much she dreads the conversation, she has to face you.

As she pushes open the door to the hallway, she sees you standing there, beaming. You’re holding her favourite post-game drink in one hand and your smile, full of pride and love, makes her heart clench with guilt. 

“Hey, babe! You were incredible out there!” you greet her, throwing your arms around her in a warm hug. “Seriously, you killed it!”

Emily hugs you back, but you can feel how tense her body is, like she’s distracted by something else. Her usual post-game glow, the one she always gets from the adrenaline and excitement, is missing. When she pulls away, her expression is off—she’s not herself.

You tilt your head, watching her carefully. “Everything okay?”

Emily opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. She’s struggling, her gaze dropping down to her hands. And that’s when you see it—her bare finger. 

“Emily… where’s your ring?” you ask, your voice soft and concerned.

She winces, as if the question stings her more than you could know. She looks away, unable to meet your eyes. “I—I don’t know. I can’t find it,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I must’ve lost it during the game or something, and I’ve been looking everywhere… I’m so sorry.”

Your heart clenches when you see how broken up she is. She’s never been good at hiding her emotions, especially not from you. Her shoulders are slumped, and she’s gripping the strap of her bag like it’s a lifeline, her knuckles white.

“Baby, it’s okay,” you say gently, reaching out to take her hand. “It’s just a ring.”

“But it’s not just a ring,” Emily says quickly, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s our ring. The one you gave me. It’s supposed to mean something, and I—fuck, how could I lose it? I shouldn't have taken it off. I was so scared to tell you, and now—” She cuts herself off, frustration mingling with fear in her eyes. 

“Hey, look at me,” you say softly, cupping her face in your hands. Emily hesitates but finally meets your gaze, her eyes wide and anxious. “I love you. That’s what the ring means, right? That love is still here, with or without it. Losing the ring doesn’t change anything between us.”

Emily blinks at you, her lips parting slightly, like she’s trying to take in your words. “But I was so afraid you’d be mad. It’s like… it’s like losing part of you, and I—” 

“I’m not mad,” you say, rubbing your thumbs along her cheeks in soothing circles. “I’d never be mad about something like this. Rings can be replaced. What matters is us. We’re still here. You’re still my wife, with or without a ring.”

Tears prick at the corners of Emily’s eyes, her body slowly relaxing under your touch. “You don’t deserve this,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “You deserve someone who isn’t so careless.”

You shake your head and pull her into a tight hug, her face buried in your shoulder. “Don’t say that, Em. You’re not careless. You’re one of the most thoughtful people I’ve ever known. And we’ll find the ring. Or we’ll get a new one. None of that matters as much as you do.”

Emily’s grip around you tightens, and you can feel the tension leaving her as she exhales deeply, her breath warm against your skin. “You really are too good to me,” she murmurs, her voice muffled.

You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m just as lucky to have you. Now come on, let’s go home. We can come back tomorrow and look for the ring. I’m sure it’s somewhere.”

Emily pulls back, a small, grateful smile on her face. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Good thing you’ll never have to find out,” you tease lightly, taking her hand in yours as you lead her toward the exit.

As the two of you walk out of the arena, hand in hand, Emily feels lighter than she has since the moment she noticed the ring was gone. She still hopes she’ll find it, but for now, she knows she hasn’t lost the most important thing—your love.

...........................................................

[milunalupin]

— you don't fool me

sirius black x reader ★ 1.4k words

You had been dreading today’s lesson ever since Professor Slughorn announced that the class would be brewing Amortentia. The girls in your year buzzed with excitement, speculating about what—or who—their crushes might smell like in the cauldron. Sirius Black, your potions partner and the object of your affection for the past two years, arrived late as usual. A true prodigy, he dove straight into chopping ingredients without even glancing at the chapter, which both thrilled and unnerved you. For once, you were grateful that he didn’t bother reading the title; it might have revealed your feelings far too soon.

“Your perfume is stronger today,” Sirius mumbled as he leaned closer to the potion, stirring it until it was ready. He quickly turned to you, his eyes wide. “You smell good, though.”

Sirius, ever the potions savant, clearly hadn’t been paying attention in class. He didn’t even know what potion he was brewing.

“I’m not wearing any perfume today, Sirius.”

He froze, the spoon he was using hanging in mid-air as he processed your words. When he glanced over at you, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He awkwardly returned to stirring, his gaze fixed on the potion as he avoided looking directly at you.

Just then, Professor Slughorn strolled over to inspect your work. “Impeccable Amortentia, Mr. Black, Ms. L/N. Ten points to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff!” he praised before moving on.

Sirius’s cheeks reddened further, a mix of pride and embarrassment flooding him. As he continued stirring, a look of horror crossed his face when he realized why the potion smelled so good to him. He refused to even breathe in your direction, his eyes fixed on the shimmery pink potion.

"What do you smell in yours, Pads? Mine smells like my radiant Lily flower, if it wasn't obvious." James Potter ran over to your table, sending you a polite smile and turning towards his best friend. You busied yourself with cleaning up your station and packing your things.

"Yeah, well, I smell Quidditch leather and broomstick polish," he lied through his teeth, determined to hide the truth from you. He kept his tone casual, busying himself with packing up his own belongings.

"Quidditch, of course." James laughed, nudging his friend. Sirius couldn't help but notice the frown on your face, and his heart sank a little. He hated the fact that he was lying, but he couldn't bring himself to confess the truth. He tried to shrug it off, attempting to keep up the casual banter.

"You know me Prongs, anything to do with the game." He chuckled, glancing over at you for just a moment before quickly averting his gaze.

"What about you, Y/N?"" James turned to you. You looked like a deer in the headlights.

“Um…” you hesitated, your mind racing as you scanned the room for a quick, plausible answer. Your gaze fell on Gilderoy Lockhart, who was charmingly oblivious, flipping his hair as he posed for admirers. “Charms class, velvet, and hair gel.”

James let out a snort of laughter, clearly amused by your unexpected answer. Meanwhile, Sirius's eyes widened slightly, his heart sinking further at your response. He hadn’t expected you to mention Lockhart, of all people.

"Charms class, velvet, and hair gel?" James repeated, struggling to contain his laughter. He exchanged a glance with Sirius, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Yes, what's wrong with that?" you questioned him, hands tensing around your book bag, glancing towards the ever so popular Gilderoy Lockhart.

James shook his head, clearly finding your answer amusing. He chuckled, unable to keep a grin off his face. Meanwhile, Sirius remained uncharacteristically quiet, his hands clenched at his sides.

"Well, it's just a bit funny," James began, still smirking, "the smell of Lockhart's hair gel being something you're into."

“Come on, he’s rather charming, isn’t he?” you replied, forcing a laugh even as your heart raced. James nudged Sirius with a playful smirk, relishing the moment. "Can you believe it? She's got a crush on Lockhart, Pads."

Sirius, however, remained uncharacteristically silent. There was a mixture of emotions flashing through his eyes, a mixture of jealousy and hurt. He forced a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Lockhart’s a complete prat,” he scoffed, trying to mask the vulnerability that lay beneath his bravado. The mention of your supposed crush was like a blow to his usually confident demeanor.

“Yeah? And you’re a prat too,” you shot back, a spark of defiance in your voice. “And somehow tons of girls like you. Is it really so hard to believe I’d be into Gilderoy?”

James chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter, but Sirius's expression darkened. He was used to girls liking him, but there was something about this conversation that stung more than usual. His heart twisted as he listened to you talk about Lockhart.

"I mean, Lockhart's a self-obsessed idiot," he retorted, his voice edged with a hint of jealousy. "But I guess if that's what you're into..."

"I guess it is.." you scoffed softly, putting the last of your school supplies into your bag. "Cheers, Potter."

You swiftly turned and walked out of the classroom, leaving James oblivious and Sirius making some serious realizations in his head.

James was left slightly bewildered by how the conversation had ended, but he shrugged it off, not knowing the impact his words had had. Meanwhile, Sirius stood frozen in place, watching you storm out of the classroom. He clenched his hands into fists, frustration and confusion swirling in his mind. He muttered a muttered goodbye to James before hurrying after you.

Sirius quickly caught up to you once you'd turned the corner, his long strides closing the distance between the two of you. He reached out and grabbed your arm, gently spinning you around to face him.

"Wait." He blurted out, sounding a mix between frustrated and panicked.

Your eyes widened as you were spun around, gaze landing on Sirius.

His hand lingered on your arm, anchoring him amidst the chaos of emotions swirling inside him. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady himself. The cocky confidence he usually exuded was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by uncertainty and vulnerability.

“Why did you lie?” he asked, the hurt evident in his tone.

“What do you mean?” Your heart raced, searching his stormy eyes for clarity.

Sirius clenched his jaw, his grip on your arm tightening unconsciously. The hurt in his gaze was palpable as he struggled to find the right words. “About the potion, Y/N. The Amortentia. You lied about what you smelled.”

“Well, you lied first!” you shot back, pulling your arm away.

His eyes widened in surprise as you snatched your arm back, and he took a step back, raking a hand through his messy hair in frustration. “I—” he stammered, caught off guard. “That’s different…”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again, frustration knitting his brow. A thousand arguments swirled in his head, yet he found himself speechless.

“You blatantly lied about not smelling me in your potion! I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me, so I lied too.” Your gaze fell, guilt creeping in.

Sirius’s eyes widened, surprise and guilt washing over him. He hadn’t anticipated your honesty, and it shook him to the core. He took a step closer, his hand twitching, longing to reach out but hesitating. “You thought I didn’t want anything to do with you?”

“I know I don’t smell like Quidditch leather, Sirius. You clearly smelled my perfume in the potion. I thought it was your way of rejecting me.”

His expression softened, guilt flooding his features. Closing the distance, he spoke low and sincere. “No, I—” he paused, the weight of truth pressing heavily on his heart. “I didn’t lie because I didn’t want you. It’s the opposite, really.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Honestly, if you wanted to confess, you could’ve just told me. No potions or Lockhart drama needed.”

“Next time, I’ll stick to the basics,” he said, trying to hold back his grin. “Maybe just a bouquet of flowers instead of an Amortentia mess.”

“Or some honesty would do just fine,” you replied, grinning back at him.

“No more lies, darling. But please, promise you won’t mention Lockhart again; my heart can only take so much!”

You both burst into laughter, the tension dissolving into something light and hopeful, a new chapter unfolding between you.

[shitsndgiggs]

Can you make a fic where kenan was out with his friends while reader is home and then she gets a message from "kenan" that he doesn't like her anymore and breaks up with her. But it wasn't kenan who said it, it was a friend of his whom had a crush on the reader. Kenan gets home and sees that the reader isn't there and her stuff are gone. So he checks his phone and sees the message.

BROKEN MESSAGES - KENAN YILDIZ

A message sent from “Kenan”

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

I stared at my phone, heart pounding in my chest as I read the message over and over again. My hands trembled as I tried to process the words.

"I don’t want to be with you anymore. You’re suffocating me, and I can’t stand it. Don’t bother texting back. I’m done with you."

Kenan had sent that to me. Kenan, the guy who just this morning kissed me goodbye before leaving to hang out with his friends.

The guy who told me he loved me and asked me what I wanted for dinner tonight.

It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me. How could everything go so wrong in a few hours?

I tried calling him, my hands shaking, my chest tightening with each ring that went unanswered. Straight to voicemail. Again. Panic and confusion washed over me, choking the air out of my lungs.

What did I do wrong? Why would he end things like this, through a text?

My vision blurred with tears as I slammed my phone down and stumbled to the closet. I couldn't stay here, surrounded by all the memories, everything that reminded me of Kenan. The laughter, the love—had it all been a lie?

I grabbed a bag and started throwing clothes into it, not even caring what I packed. I just needed to leave.

My mind was racing, replaying every conversation, every moment from the past few weeks, trying to figure out when everything went so wrong. Was I really suffocating him? Was I too much?

Tears streamed down my face as I grabbed my keys and headed for the door. I didn’t even know where I was going, but I couldn’t be in this apartment any longer. The place we shared, the home that suddenly felt so foreign.

As I stepped outside and started my car, I felt numb. The streets passed by in a blur as I drove aimlessly, my thoughts spiraling into the darkest places.

How could someone who said they loved you just... end it like that?

Kenan’s POV - (trying something new)

I walked into our apartment, a soft hum of excitement still buzzing from the night out with the guys.

It had been a good night, but all I could think about was coming home to her, seeing her smile. I was tired, but there was no place I wanted to be more than with her.

But the second I stepped through the door, something felt wrong.

"Y/N?" I called out, my voice echoing through the unusually quiet space. No response. The lights were off, and her shoes weren’t by the door. I frowned, looking around. The apartment was eerily still.

I pulled out my phone, my stomach flipping with a sudden sense of dread. Something wasn’t right. I unlocked my screen, and my heart stopped.

There, staring back at me, was a text I didn’t send. My blood ran cold as I read it, the words sinking in like a punch to the gut.

"I don’t want to be with you anymore. You’re suffocating me, and I can’t stand it. Don’t bother texting back. I’m done with you."

No. No, no, no. I didn’t send this. I didn’t say that.

Frantic, I scrolled through my messages, my fingers shaking. When had this been sent? How had this... who could’ve done this?

One of the guys. It had to be. Someone had grabbed my phone when I wasn’t looking. My mind raced as I pieced it together. But why?

I dialed her number, my heart pounding against my ribs. Straight to voicemail. Again and again.

“Fuck!” I shouted, grabbing my jacket and running out the door. Where was she? What if she thought I actually meant that? What if she believed I didn’t want her anymore?

I sped through the streets, my mind clouded with panic and guilt. I should’ve checked my phone. I should’ve known something was off. She’d never leave like this without telling me where she was going.

The thought of her being out there, thinking I didn’t love her, thinking I wanted her gone—it tore me apart.

When I finally pulled up to the park we sometimes went to when she needed to clear her head, I spotted her car.

Relief washed over me, but it was quickly replaced by fear. I ran over, spotting her sitting on a bench, her knees pulled to her chest, tears streaking down her face.

“Y/N!” I called, rushing toward her. She didn’t even look up.

I dropped to my knees in front of her, reaching out to touch her, to let her know I was here, but she flinched away. The sight broke my heart in two.

“It wasn’t me,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “I swear, I didn’t send that. I don’t want to break up. I don’t think you're suffocating me. I love you, Y/N.”

She finally looked at me, her eyes swollen from crying. “Then who did, Kenan? Because it came from your phone. And you didn’t answer my calls. You didn’t come home.”

“I know,” I whispered, guilt clawing at my chest. “I know, and I’m so sorry. One of the guys... they must’ve grabbed my phone when I wasn’t paying attention. I don’t know why, but I promise you—I would never, ever say those things to you.”

She wiped her tears, her lip trembling. “How am I supposed to believe that? Why would your friend do something like that? Why would they think this is funny?”

“I... I don’t know,” I admitted, running a hand through my hair. But then it clicked—something about the way one of my friends, Eric, had been acting lately. He’d been spending a little too much time hanging around her, asking about her, finding excuses to talk about her when she wasn’t around.

Could he have sent the message? Could he... like her?

I swallowed hard, deciding not to voice that suspicion right now. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was fixing this. “I’ll find out who did it. I’ll make sure they know how fucked up this was. But please, baby... don’t leave. I can’t lose you. You mean everything to me.”

She stared at me for a long moment, her expression softening just a bit. “You really didn’t send that?”

“I swear,” I said, my voice breaking. “Please, believe me. I love you more than anything. I would never hurt you like that.”

She sniffled, looking down at her hands. “I didn’t know what to think... I thought... I thought you were done with me.”

I shook my head fiercely. “Never. I’ll never be done with you. You’re my everything.”

She met my eyes again, and this time, there was a glimmer of hope in hers. Slowly, she reached out, taking my hand. I squeezed it, relief flooding through me.

“Come home?” I asked softly, my voice trembling with emotion.

She nodded, wiping her face. “Yeah... let’s go home.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The two weeks since you gave notice fly by. You’re almost buzzing with excitement. Once the day is through, you’re free. Well, free to finish packing and spend your last night in your apartment before your new chapter. 

The change couldn’t come at a better time. It’s best you get out of the city after your brush with danger. Back on the straight and narrow. For once, things are going according to plan. 

You’re barely focused on work. You have everything wrapped up and ready for the next poor soul. Brenner’s not bothered. He just sits at his desk, watching those videos that reflect in his framed certification. You try your best not to look. 

All you can think of is packing up at the rest of the day and never looking back. This new job is everything you ever wanted. And the interview was great. They seemed great and the culture was more than a slimy boss and elderly secretary knitting by the door. 

As if on cue, Geraldine squawks a greeting as the door open. You flinch and look over as she preens, “why hello, sir. Back again?” 

You don’t get too many walk-ins. You turn and your eyes bulge as Rogers lets the door close behind him. He wears a dark blue suit with a matching tie. His hair looks even longer than before, his beard thicker. It’s been barely a month but it feels like longer. 

You turn to your desk and click around your screen. Remember what he said. As far as you’re concerned, he’s a stranger. 

So why is he walking towards your desk. Brenner clears his throat and stands, his mouse bouncing off his keyboard as he scrambles. You swallow dryly and keep your head down. 

“Mr. Rogers, sir, what can we do for you this time?” 

“Got another job.” Rogers intones. 

“Sure, uh, we’re a bit short-handed but--” 

“Her,” Rogers stops beside your desk and taps the corner. “Come on.” 

You flinch and look up at him in dread. You frown. You’re confused. He told you to forget and you did your best to do just that. 

“Right, er,” you sniff and twine your fingers together to keep from fidgeting. “Happily, er, sir, but the thing is, it’s my last day. Tomorrow--” 

“I’m not asking. Come on.” 

“Oh, uh,” you hesitate. He sounds angry. You know what happens when he’s mad. The thought makes you light-headed. “Well, I’m moving out-of-town so--” 

“Get up,” he demands as he shifts towards you, reaching over your shoulder to grip the back of your chair. “Important work to do.” 

“Go on,” Brenner says, “help out Mr. Rogers.” 

Rogers’ icy blue eyes flick up to the other man and narrow. A warning. I don’t need your help. He pushes away from you and the chair rocks dangerously. Back to square one. Back to an angry dog bristling for a fight. 

“Sure, sure,” you show your palms then slowly pivot. 

You gather up your briefcase and check that all the drawers are empty. You wonder if maybe you’re taking so long but you really don’t want to come back here after whatever trouble this man has in store. You get up with your bag in hand. 

Rogers turns without a word and strides across the office. You follow. You catch up to him outside as he holds the door for you. As you try to keep pace with him, you muster all your courage. 

“I hope this is a short job, I have aa moving truck--” 

“I’m not negotiating.” 

“Alright,” you accept with a squeak. 

It’s all too familiar. There’s no explanation. Just blunt orders and tense silences. He opens the passenger door of his black car and you get in. He goes around the driver’s side and turns the engine. 

“Whatever job you took, won’t pay as much as this one so let’s stop with that,” he says. 

You blink. This can’t be happening. You had it all figured out. You’re done with criminals and Mr. Brenner and all of this. You frown. You feel his gaze in the mirror. He sighs. 

“We gotta go outta town. I need someone who can do numbers.” 

“Outta town?” You murmur. 

“Sounds like you’re already packed and ready to go, so we’ll drop by to grab some stuff and head off. No time to waste--” 

“What? I... but...” you stammer. 

You snap your mouth shut as you sense his roiling irritation. Oh, oh no. You know what this is. Too good to be true which means it’s all falling down around you. ‘Out of town?’ You know what that means. 

Your head bobbles as your breath burns in your chest. You grab at the door handle and whine, “please, don’t. Please, let me out. I didn’t tell anyone, I didn’t--” 

“Hey, stop that,” he grabs your shoulder and pulls you back against the seat, steering with his other hand. “You’re going to get hurt--” 

“You’re going to hurt me?” You squeal and your eyes roll back into a fog. 

You feel the lurch of the car before you plunge fully into the darkness. It’s like blinking. You wake up against the seat. He’s still driving. You don’t recognise your surroundings. 

“No!” You erupt back into consciousness. “No! Why are you doing this? I promised! I didn’t talk to anyone, sir! I didn’t. I’m leaving town and--” 

“Calm down,” he grits over the wheel. 

“No! No! If you’re going to kill me, then I’m not going down easy,” you insist, “I’m going to--” 

The world turns gray again and you hit the door with a thunk. You sink again into your vacant mind. A shift in motion wakes you again. There’s music playing. 

“Am I dead yet?” You ask groggily. 

He scoffs, “what’s gotten into you? I told ya, we got a job.” 

“We? Job?” You sputter. “You know, I know what ‘out of town’ is. I watched The Godfather. Boring but they were streaming it...” 

“Huh? Godfather? No, no, look, I don’t kill people I can use,” he says plainly. 

“Oh... that’s not reassuring,” you utter. 

He lets out another long breath. Yours starts to pick up again. You brace the door. 

“Damnit, don’t you pass out again,” he demands. “I know you kept your promise. That’s why I chose you. This is an important job. Diplomatic. I can’t risk someone who might flip and I know you’re not going to do any of that. Because I know you don’t want to do any of this.” 

You consider his words. You clutch your head, “fair.” 

“Are you good? I got some water,” he points to the bottle in the plastic holder by the console. 

“I... I won’t...” you inhale deeply. “I just—you said we were done.” 

“Shit happens,” he shrugs. 

“And I’m just along for the ride,” you mumble. 

He snorts and shakes his head, “guess so.” 

[ironarrow87]

Won’t You Smile Just For Me?

Summary: You're having a bad few days. Your friend offers you a ticket to see the infamous radio host live. Can he help lighten your mood?

Warnings: Mentions of blood, implied death

Notes: Currently obsessed with Daisies by Black Gryph0n. Decided to make a a story out of it and shove dear lovely reader into it!

As always, please do not copy or post my work elsewhere.

You actually had no desire to be here. You’d rather be home, in bed, shutting out the world. It was your miserable attitude for the last few days that brought you here, in this audience, for a live show you had little interest in. Your friend had offered you their ticket, pushed it on you even.

“You’ll have a great time!”

“I don’t even know who that is!”

“You’ve never heard of him? Are you kidding? His radio show is so popular right now!”

“I dunno…I’d rather stay home. Didn’t you want to go?”

“You’ve been home for days! I’m worried about you. Please go. You’ll have a great time, I swear. Promise me you’ll go?”

“…okay. I promise.”

So, here you sat, alone in a crowd full of people. Your legs bounced with anxiety as everyone murmured in hushed excitement around you. Hunching your shoulders in an effort to get as small as possible, you hid your face in a cup of tea the staff had served moments before.

As you took a sip of the much needed warmth, you hear the crowd around you buzz with excitement as a man with brown hair and eyes, tanned skin, and a charming grin stretched across his face walks onto the stage. You lower your mug as you listen to him address the audience.

"Well, well, well, my dearest audience! A very good afternoon to all of you lovely souls! I must say, it is a delight, a true pleasure, to have such a fabulous crowd gathered here today—oh, the excitement! I can hardly contain myself!"

He bows and then spreads his arms wide when he stands back up. “Now, now, settle down! Allow me to introduce myself to those who do not know me. Although not knowing who I am by now is quite the feat, haha!”

You swear his eyes zero in on you, and your face burns with embarrassment. You try to hide your face behind your teacup again.

“My name is Alastor, and the majority of you know me from my radio broadcast.” He gives a little bow again, eyes flitting across the room before landing on you again. As if he knew you didn’t know of him. Not really. He broadens his grin to the crowd, twirling the microphone staff in his hands with the familiarity of someone who has done this hundreds of times.

“Now then, on with the show!

-

It was easy to see why people adored this man. Adorned in a tight fitted red satin vest and dark slacks, he easily captured the audience with songs and stories told in a velvety smooth voice. The charisma that radiated off of him had the audience hanging off his every word and tune.

Though you didn’t want to come in the first place, you found yourself dreading the end of this live in-person show. The very idea brought tears to your eyes as you thought of the empty lonely apartment that awaited you when it was over. To your horror, some tears raced down your cheeks, and you rush to rub them away from your cheeks in the middle of this public setting.

"This show, my friends, was about more than just entertainment! It's about the unforgettable moments that we created. The laughter, the drama, the wonder! The heart-pounding thrills that leave you questioning everything you thought you knew about good old-fashioned fun!"

Alastor’s energy was infectious, and you could feel the people around you just about squirming in their seats as the show drew to a close. “"Ahhh, my wonderful audience, how quickly the time slips away, doesn’t it? You know what they say, time flies when you’re having fun, haha!” He pauses briefly to allow the audience to laugh along with him. “The afternoon was filled with such delightful moments, such charming chaos, and yet—all good things must come to an end, I’m afraid. I do hope you’ll carry the memory with you—like a sweet little song you can’t quite shake, hm?" The crowd matches his suggestive grin as Alastor set the stage for his final piece for the afternoon.

You swallow thickly as his piercing eyes landed on you yet again. He gives you a little wink before starting in on his verse. “Hey pal, hey friend, hey buddy, why so sad, so downright unhappy?” Your heart stills in your chest at the words. He couldn’t be talking about you directly, could he? You follow his movements as he steps off the stage and into the crowd. The radio host moves closer to you, bending at the waist to sing inches from your face. “That's not my cup of tea.” Alastor’s grin widens as you flush. Straightening up, Alastor continues moving through the crowd.

“You know that this could be your last day here on Earth, so buddy please.” He turns, charming smile gracing his features. His eyes land on you once again, and he winks. “Won't you smile just for me?”

-

You really aren’t sure why you stayed long after everyone had filtered out. You tell yourself that its because the performance has you energized, that Alastor changed your outlook on the future, but honestly, its because you’re afraid to go home. Back to the sadness that seeps into your bones and makes you want to hide away all day.

You sigh, gathering your things and finally ready to trudge home when a voice stops you.

“My, my, still here after my show has long finished? I must have left quite the impression.”

Your startled gaze meets Alastor’s. You meant to be polite to this infamous radio host, but instead you blurt out, “What are you doing here?” Thankfully, Alastor laughs receptively to your question.

“I suppose that’s a fair question. I left something behind, and I didn’t want to worry my staff about collecting it so late after work hours. It was my own mistake, after all, silly me.”

You nod dumbly, unsure how to detangle yourself from this interaction. You clearly spend too long figuring this out because Alastor is already asking you another question.

“Is something troubling you, my dear?” The words are so unexpected, so jarring in this moment, that you felt tears spring to your eyes. You desperately scramble to hide your vulnerability.

“Ah...yeah. Why do you ask?”

Alastor tuts lightly, adjusting his bowtie briefly. “Come now, I’m very good at reading people, my dear. I can tell something is bothering you.”

His insistence in focusing on your distress causes a few tears to fall. You curse yourself for being so weak, for falling apart so quickly at a stranger’s concern as you hurriedly scrub the tears away.

To your surprise, his arms wrap around you and pull you close into his chest, as if he was sheltering you from the world from any danger. His warm embrace smelled of bergamot, leather, amber…and something you just couldn’t quite place. Something…earthy? Or maybe metallic? You’re pulled out of your thoughts as Alastor resumes speaking.

“My dear, my dear, no, you don't have to cry. That ain't a pretty legacy to leave behind.” You give him a watery smile as you recognize the lyrics from his earlier song.

“S-sorry,” you breathe out, stepping away from his hold. He waves you off.

“Nonsense, my dear, we all get out of sorts from time to time.” You nod in agreement, quick to end this social hell you’ve put yourself into. This man, so charming and kind, was trying to cheer you up, but here you were mute and near tears. Ridiculous.

Alastor lifts your chin suddenly, warm brown eyes behind wire bespectacles looking into yours. “You may not have to tell me about what’s running through your mind, dear, but perhaps I could offer you some sort of reprieve for a few moments? Let me show you the entertainment, the pleasures the world has to offer, hm?”

He offers his arm to you, and you hesitate just for a moment. The grin on his face is so kind, so eager to please, that you take the offer. “Excellent! Now, one more thing before we head off into our adventure together.”

“What’s that?”

He looks down at you, his height easily making you feel small before him. “Won’t you smile just for me?”

You give a tiny laugh. And you smile.

-

You just about forget all the things that have been worrying, stressing, and tugging you down into the depths of despair for the last few days. At least — for a little while. It was no wonder Alastor’s show was so popular. He had a way with showing you the magic in everything.

He walks you through parks and gardens, pointing out the beauty and weaving stories for you as you went. You barely pay attention to where you’re heading, and to be honest, you’re not sure you care right now. He made you feel safe, alive even. Like all the sadness had melted from your body.

"You know I just gotta say, that you might not have a lot of time to waste," he teased, pinching your cheek suddenly. "So lose that long face."

You bat at his hand, laughing, only to find a bright red rose in your face that Alastor had plucked straight from a bush. "Stop and smell the roses while you've got the time." He grins as you inhaled the lovely floral scent he offered you. "Pretty soon you'll be pushing up daisies where the sun don't shine."

You blink, startled by his words, but eventually laugh as you take it to be more teasing from the radio host. Or at the very least, some wisdom he's trying to impart on you about life.

Alastor laughs with you as he guides you onto a forest path.

-

You have no idea how long you have been walking. It feels like forever, and somehow, like no time at all. Alastor did a great job entertaining you through your entire journey, hands animatedly moving as he recounted stories of his life through the entertainment industry. You hang onto his every word, desperate for a distraction from your own life. Besides, how lucky were you to be spending time with such a celebrity? You'd have to thank your friend for the ticket they forced on you.

Deeper and deeper into the woods, you start to really enjoy the woodsy smells, the sounds of little animals and birds flitting about, and the rustle and crunch of leaves as you you both made your way through. You had long run out of the typical paths, exploring uncharted territory together.

"Oh ho! What's this?" You follow Alastor's gaze to a little wooden shack just ahead. You shift uneasily beside him, the sun setting causing shadows to cast an eerie air around the small hut.

"Ah...I dunno if we should head over there. What if some lunatic lives there?"

Alastor laughs loudly beside you, making you jump a little. "My dear! Where's your sense of adventure? Let's just take a little peek!" He looks to you, eyes searching, hopeful, but ultimately leaving the decision up to you. You felt your fear slip away at his expression, nodding your assent. He grins at you. "Fabulous, dear!"

He leads you up to the door, and you felt a sense of unease as the door easily swung inward with a gentle push from Alastor's hand. Still, trying to be brave and prove yourself worthy of the radio host's time, you follow suit with a big grin on your face.

It died just as quickly as it came about.

On the walls of the little hut were rows and rows of fixed smiles upon placards. Little name tags adorned the jawbones and teeth. Vox. Valentino. Husker. Anthony. So many names that made your head spin.

"W-what..." You choke on your words, bile rising in your throat. What the hell did you both stumble upon? "Alastor...let's get out of here!" The panic was evident in your voice as you turn to look at your new friend.

Your new friend who had his back to you, hands moving as he cleaned something.

Your new friend who turned, brandishing a newly cleaned axe, tossing a red stained towel to the ground.

Your new friend whose glasses glinted with the last of the light from the setting sun.

"Alastor?" you ask, voice strained, small, and full of fear.

He grins.

"Run."

-

Your lungs burn as your race your way through the trees, blinking back panicked tears. Only now you recognized all the warning signs you blissfully ignored in favor of temporary relief. The narrowing of his gaze during his performance. Tracking you through each set. Marking his target, who was obviously attending his show alone. Conveniently coming back when you were by yourself. The sharpness of his grin when you agreed to come along with him. The smell of blood on him. Or was it metal blades? Maybe the forest earth? Maybe it was all of them.

You had been so foolish.

You pant behind a tree as you try to force oxygen into your lungs, listening for your hunter. That's what he was after all, wasn't he? And you?

His prey.

You hear branches snap in the distance. Then some whistling. Humming even.

"None of us are here to stay, so treat every day like it's a holiday. Until the day you slip away." To your horror, you realize he's singing more of his song. He's taunting you. Telling you how he's had this planned since the beginning.

You start running again.

-

"Tsk, my dear, my dear, no, you don't have to cry."

You stare up at Alastor, frozen in fear, knees stinging from where you hit the ground. Your back was pressed up against a rock wall. Trapped.

"P-please. Don't hurt me." You swear you see his canines lengthen in his toothy grin as he advances toward you. He continues as if you weren't begging for your life before him.

"That ain't a pretty legacy to leave behind."

Your heart is beating erratically. It may give out before he even has a chance to hurt you. If you were so lucky.

But you both knew you weren't.

It was as if time slowed as you watched Alastor, the infamous celebrity, the radio host, the adored entertainer, raise the axe above his head. And for a brief moment, his eyes and hair seem to gleam red.

"Stop and smell the roses while you've got the time."

It was over quickly. A sharp pain. And then blackness. A mercy.

Alastor laughs, ignoring the sound of dogs in the distance as thrill thrums through his veins. He savored the blood pooling on the forest floor. Your smile was going to make an excellent new addition to his collection.

"Pretty soon you'll be pushing up daisies where the sun don't shine."

[turn3tifosi]

VI. the winner takes it all

lewis hamilton x ferrari engineer!reader

lewis and you are no strangers, but the hurt that followed knowing him, makes his announcement for 2025 nothing but dreadful for you

series masterlist | main masterlist

You remember how it all started. The excitement, the passion, the shared dreams, and the relentless ambition. You and Lewis had it all. Or so it seemed. As a top engineer at Ferrari, you lived and breathed motorsport, but it was your relationship with Lewis that made the moments off the track truly special.

It was Monaco 2016, the night before the big race. The sky was clear, and the stars shimmered over the Mediterranean. You met Lewis at a gala, the kind of event where the air buzzed with champagne bubbles and the murmur of high society. Lewis, with his charming smile and magnetic presence, was the center of attention, but when he looked at you, it was as if the world stopped. You talked about cars, strategies, and everything in between. There was an instant connection.

Over time, your relationship blossomed. The thrill of sneaking away for secret dates, the late-night conversations about life beyond racing, and the quiet moments where you could just be yourselves. Those were the times you cherished the most.

One night, as you both lay on the balcony of his apartment overlooking the city, Lewis rested his head on your lap, a rare moment of vulnerability from the world champion. “You know, sometimes I really wish I could run away from all the fame and people, and live a quiet life with you,” he whispered, his eyes closed in contentment.

You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the weight of his words. “No Lewis, you love this. You love the fame and the cameras, it’s me who wishes you could run away from it all. I’m the selfish one.”

But love is never simple, especially when it’s tangled with the relentless pressure of professional success. Lewis's career skyrocketed, and with every victory, every championship, the distance between you grew. You were proud of him, of course, but the endless races, the media frenzy, and the never-ending demands on his time left little room for you.

It all came to a head after his fourth world championship win. The victory party was grand, a glittering affair that went on till dawn. But amid the celebration, you felt like a ghost, invisible and alone. You tried to talk to him, but he was swept away by adoring fans, sponsors, and the endless parade of well-wishers. When he finally found a moment, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and for a moment, you believed he meant it. But apologies couldn't bridge the growing chasm between you.

You tried to hold on, but the nights grew colder, and the days lonelier. Eventually, the strain became too much. One evening, after a particularly brutal argument, you packed your bags and walked out of his life, leaving behind the man you loved and the dreams you had built together.

Fast forward to 2024. Your career at Ferrari flourished, and you buried yourself in work to forget the heartache. But fate, or maybe Lewis has a cruel sense of humor. The announcement came out of the blue: Lewis Hamilton was joining Ferrari for the 2025 season.

The paddock buzzed with the news, but for you, it was a gut punch. The thought of working with him again, seeing him every day, was almost unbearable. But you were a professional, and you wouldn't let personal history affect your work.

The first meeting was awkward, to say the least. You avoided eye contact, focusing on the technical briefing, the strategies for the upcoming season. But you could feel his eyes on you, a silent plea for acknowledgment.

Days turned into weeks, and the tension simmered. It all came to a head one evening after a particularly long day at the track. You were in the garage, going over some data, when Lewis walked in.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low and strained.

You didn’t look up. “There’s nothing to talk about, Lewis. Let’s just do our jobs.”

He stepped closer, his presence impossible to ignore. “I’m sorry. For everything. I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but-”

You finally met his gaze, the familiar pain and longing in his eyes. “You might have won the races and championships, but you don't get my heart back.”

He flinched as if struck. “I know I can’t change the past, but I want to make things right. I miss you.”

The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, but the wounds were too deep. “It’s too late, Lewis. We had our chance.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but you turned away, focusing back on your work. The silence was heavy, laden with unspoken words and lingering regrets.

Working together was a constant reminder of what was and what could have been. Yet, slowly, a new dynamic formed. Professional respect replaced personal tension, and while the past remained a painful shadow, you both found a way to coexist.

Lewis never stopped trying to mend the rift. Little gestures, a coffee waiting at your desk, a supportive word during a tough day. But you held firm, guarding your heart against further hurt.

As the season progressed, Ferrari thrived. The collaboration between the engineers and drivers was seamless, and the team’s performance improved dramatically. There were moments, brief and fleeting, where you saw a glimpse of the man you had once loved, not the racing superstar, but the man who had shared his dreams and fears with you.

And in those moments, you wondered if, maybe someday, you could find it in your heart to forgive. But for now, you were content to focus on the present, the thrill of the race, and the drive to win.

Because in the world of motorsport, as in life, the winner takes it all. And you were determined to be a winner, with or without him.

[formerlympp]

Unhappy Hour

Lily was starting to detest happy hours.

Inaptly named things they were, she’d privately started calling them misery hours. She’d have to make it her New Year’s resolution to grow a backbone and start declining the invitations. That, or stop drinking, which might be easier than saying no to kindly Muriel, her generally reserved coworker who turned into a sailor after a couple of G&Ts. After all, her inability to say no to Muriel was precisely what landed her in her current predicament.

“Why don’t you just beg off?” Mary, her roommate, called from the corner of their cramped kitchen. Lily had long thought that her backbone had been imparted to Mary, who had no qualms about shutting people down over the slightest menial transgression.

“Can’t,” Lily called back, the best she could manage without toothpaste slipping down her chin.

“Can’t or won’t? No, don’t bother answering that.” A threatening pause came next, quickly followed by the crinkling sound of paper that Lily knew meant Mary was stuffing a sweet into her mouth. “Oo’ zit, gin?”

“Muriel’s sister-in-law’s cousin’s best friend’s son. Jeff something-or-other.”

“’O no-un.”

“He’s someone surely.”

“No one to you,” Mary clarified in a slightly less muffled voice. “He’s probably no keener to meet than you are.”

“Well thanks for the vote of confidence, Mare.”

Mary appeared in the doorway just as Lily slipped her toothbrush back in its holder. The pair of friends caught each other’s eye in the mirror as Lily started unpinning the rollers from her hair.

“C’mon, since when does anyone look forward to a blind date? Speaking of, you’ve put in a fair bit of effort for this Muriel’s… sister’s… er… whoever’s son. More effort than I’d expect for someone apparently dreading her evening.”

Lily merely shrugged as a reply, uninterested in justifying her pre-date ritual. It was a good ritual, and besides, she deserved to feel like the best version of herself whenever she wanted to.

“Shit,” she exhaled, after catching a look at her watch, “I’m going to be late.”

**

Shockingly, Lily arrived at The Shack, a hip, low-lit bar—“frequented by the young people,” Muriel had told her—ten minutes earlier than the agreed-upon time. She couldn’t stop herself from studying her reflection in the dark glass windows; she brushed her fingers through the mess of curls her hair had become in transit. Breathing deeply and squaring her shoulders, she pushed her way into the bar.

Clusters of people stood every few feet, making the pathway between the tables and chairs into a labyrinth. She wove her way through, an odd determination in her step that clashed with her internal desire to walk right back out the front door. She was supposed to meet Jeff at the bar for drinks and starters and hopefully riveting conversation (Lily wasn’t holding her breath). The semi-circle bartop stretched along a large expanse of the room, barely inhabited at this time of a Friday evening, and Lily couldn’t help herself from admiring the rather nice-looking man tending the bar at the far end.

Eventually, she rounded the bar in search of Jeff, who had been described to her as: tall and handsome. (She didn’t mind a cliché now and again.) Scholarly, and a sharp dresser, if not a bit disheveled. (Whatever that meant.) Dark hair and framed glasses. (She did not mind a nice set of specs to be sure.)

Then she spotted him, sitting across from a stretch of beer taps, shoulders bowed slightly as he studied his phone. As Lily drew closer she watched him press his glasses back up his nose. Even from the admittedly shrinking distance, she could tell he would give the bartender a run for his money. For a moment, a brief, unrelenting irrational moment, excitement flooded her system; it burned in her veins, sent bubbles straight to the logical part of her brain, then—

“Hi, you must be J—” A set of hazel eyes locked with hers and her jaw dipped lower, all the buzz of excitement leaving her. “You’re not…” Jeff.

Oh no.

Oh—but, wait had it been Jeff? Maybe she had heard the wrong name—

“Oh Christ, you are the Lily that Auntie Mabel… I had no idea, Evans, I assure you.”

Of that she was fairly certain he was telling the truth. He was many things, but a liar was not among them. Besides, only an evil force in the universe could explain why out of the billions of people on this planet, Lily had been set up on a blind date with her ex-boyfriend, James Potter.

[starrgazed22]

THE OFFICE'S HALLOWEEN

Jim Halpert x gn!Reader, but Pam and Dwight are also in this. :) Word count: around 600 Summary: Reader needs to quickly think of a Halloween costume to not get K.O.'d by Dwight's ego. Author's note: I became obsessed with X-men again after seeing Deadpool & Wolverine and I've got this idea! Enjoy!

As you step into the office, a sinking feeling hits you like a ton of bricks. The atmosphere is different today, buzzing with an excitement you can't quite place—until you look around. Every single person is in a costume. Pam at the reception, with her whiskers carefully drawn on and a headband with perky cat ears, looks up at you and offers a soft smile. Across the room, Kevin stands proudly in a superhero costume that’s almost comically tight, and, unsurprisingly, Angela is also in a cat costume… and Phyllis too.

You freeze for a moment, dread creeping up your spine. Halloween. How could you forget?

You walk to the reception, greeting Pam. Then, like a scene from a horror movie, you catch sight of Dwight. He’s sitting there, shrouded in a long black hooded robe, his eyes piercing you.

“You’re late…” Dwight announces, his voice dripping with ominous intent, clearly trying to stay in character.

“Yeah… there was crazy traffic down there,” you respond, scrambling for an excuse.

He inhales deeply, then lets out a dramatic sigh, clearly enjoying his role a little too much. “What are you supposed to be?” His tone suggests he’s already anticipating your failure.

Your mind races. You can’t let him know you forgot it was Halloween. That would be handing him a victory in whatever unspoken battle the two of you are constantly fighting... sometimes three of you, when Jim joins.

You need to think of something fast. Something that’ll completely throw him off.

You got it.

Dwight opens his mouth to speak again, ready to announce your defeat. “I could’ve—” he starts.

You cut him off, smoothly drawing your index and middle finger up against your temple and squinting your eyes in concentration. “—thought so…” you finish his sentence, trying to mimic the deep, contemplative voice of someone who’s just accessed the hidden corners of their mind.

Dwight’s expression falters for a second, his usual expression of suspicion giving way to genuine shock.

“I am Professor X, Charles Xavier,”you declare, trying to sound as confident as possible.

He snorts, immediately slipping back into his usual skepticism. “No you’re not. He’s bald.”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, just imagine him young!”

“He was always bald, because of his mutation, dumbass,” Dwight snaps back, and you can tell he’s savoring this moment.

You lean in closer to Pam and whisper, “What a nerd.”

Pam stifles a laugh, as she watches you stroll to your desk, which, unfortunately, is directly across from Dwight’s.

“And you are?” you ask, gesturing to his dark, ominous ensemble.

“I am a Sith Lord,” he declares, his voice dripping with melodrama as he pulls back his hood slightly, revealing his intense, steely gaze.

You tilt your head and smirk. “Oh really? I thought you were having an identity crisis. No offense.”

Dwight opens his mouth, ready to retaliate, but he’s suddenly distracted by the sight of Jim walking in through the door. Jim is wearing his usual attire, except for three black circles taped to his shirt.

Dwight is done. “And you are supposed to be?”

Jim glances down at his shirt, then back up at Dwight with a grin. “Three punch holes, Dwight. Normally I’m just Jim. Today, I’m three-punch-hole Jim.”

Dwight stares at him, annoyed that no one seems to take Halloween seriously here. “You’re both so boring. Seriously, you’re made for each other,” he mutters, shaking his head as if the sheer absurdity of it all is too much for him to process.

Jim gives you a look, clearly remarking the last sentence Dwight said. You can’t help but blush slightly. Suddenly Dwight storms off in disgust, robe billowing behind him like a dark, disgruntled shadow, making you, Jim and Pam laugh uncontrollably.

In this bizarre office, it’s the small victories that matter, and you and Jim know you’ve just won this round without even trying.

Another author’s note: I know Professor X as James McAvoy had hair in the films, but they only know the X-Men with Stewart + I read somewhere that in the comics he didn’t have hair at all so Dwight may be right. :D