#some of these i already know are out of my skill set to color but ill try

[scalpelsister]

I have. so many remnant gifs to make. 🧍

[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.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Family breakfast

Hii guyss, here's a new one-shot about Toto. If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist :)

A quiet morning turns into delightful chaos when you discover your husband and son’s surprise gone awry. This leads to a heartwarming family moment filled with laughter and love.

The first thing you notice as you wake is the stillness. Normally, the house would already be alive with the sounds of your son, Jack, running down the hallway, his little feet pounding against the floor. The absence of that familiar noise pulls you from your dreams. And then it hits you: Toto isn’t beside you either. He always stays a little longer in the mornings, kissing your forehead softly before slipping out of bed. But today, nothing.

You sit up, pushing the blankets aside as you glance at the empty spot beside you, feeling a small pang of curiosity. Throwing on a cozy sweater, you pad down the hallway toward the faint smell of… something. It’s not exactly appetizing, but it is familiar. There’s flour in the air, a hint of chocolate, and unmistakably… burnt something.

Rounding the corner, you arrive at the kitchen doorway and pause, stifling a laugh at the scene in front of you. The kitchen is in absolute disarray: flour streaks cover the countertops, bits of batter have splattered on the walls, and your husband and son are standing there, Jack on his stool next to Toto, both looking down at what appears to be a very charred attempt at pancakes.

They’re completely unaware of you watching them, too focused on the burnt batch in front of them.

“Maybe if we put enough syrup on them, she won’t notice,” you hear Jack say in a serious tone, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as he looks up at Toto. Toto raises a brow, giving him a playful smile. “You think that’ll work?”

“Well, it works when you make toast,” Jack whispers back, eyes glinting with the wisdom of his young mind.

You clear your throat, unable to hold back a chuckle any longer, and they both spin around, caught red-handed. Jack’s face lights up in that special way, a smile spreading wide across his cheeks as he shouts, “Mama! We were trying to surprise you!”

Toto laughs, raising his flour-covered hands in surrender. “Our plan may not have gone exactly as we hoped,” he admits, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Turns out we’re not quite as skilled as you when it comes to pancakes.”

You take a few steps forward, pretending to survey the kitchen with a critical eye, your gaze landing on the plate of charcoal-colored pancakes. “Well,” you say, folding your arms in mock seriousness, “it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Jack laughs, his pride undented as he stands tall on his stool. “I helped with the mixing, Mama! But the flipping is hard.”

Toto nods, pretending to look solemn. “It really is harder than it looks. I think we’re going to need some expert intervention here.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, feigning skepticism. “Do you think you two can handle working as my assistants?”

Jack nods so vigorously his little curls bounce. “Yes, yes! I’ll mix it all again!”

You smile, grabbing an apron for yourself and tying it around your waist before stepping forward, guiding them both in their roles. Jack is in charge of mixing the batter again, but this time, you make sure to guide him a little more closely. His giggles are infectious as he watches the lumps disappear, proudly showing you his work. Toto tries to take charge of flipping once more, insisting he’s got it this time, only for a pancake to land halfway on the counter, sending Jack into fits of laughter.

Eventually, after much laughter and a few (successful) pancake flips, you plate the perfect stack, golden and warm. You bring it to the table, setting out butter and syrup while Jack bounces over to his spot, already piling syrup on his stack.

You all sit down together, and Jack digs in immediately, a trail of syrup dribbling down his chin as he takes his first big bite. Toto gives your hand a gentle squeeze under the table, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as he leans close, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I think next time, we’ll let you be the head chef from the start.”

“Or maybe,” you tease, glancing at the two of them, “we keep it a team effort. But maybe a slightly less… chaotic team effort?”

Jack, overhearing, looks up with a big grin. “Family team!” he declares proudly, raising his fork in a sticky salute. You and Toto laugh, clinking your forks with his in agreement.

The three of you linger over breakfast, taking your time with each bite, sharing stories and laughter as the sun streams softly through the kitchen windows. There’s something magical about this moment, the simplicity of syrup-sticky hands and flour-dusted counters. Sitting here with Jack’s joyful giggles and Toto’s quiet warmth beside you, you can’t help but feel a deep, overflowing gratitude for mornings like this—messy, beautiful, and shared with the two people who mean everything to you.

[moonstruckme]

i’m obsessed with everything you write! you write our boys so well 🖤🖤 could I request poly!marauders maybe with some casual dominance and just taking care of the reader? like picking out her clothes, making sure she eats, just being protective but also so soft with her

Thanks lovely! Here you go :)

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“Morning, angel,” James chirps as you step into the kitchen. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good, thanks.” You take the coffee he hands you, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “You?”

“Phenomenally. How do you want your eggs?”

“I’m alright without, thanks though.” You sit down next to Remus at the table, taking a sip of your coffee. It’s just the way you like it, with heaps of cream and sugar. 

“Can’t skip breakfast, dove,” Remus says, hardly looking up from the newspaper as he speaks to you. 

“I don’t feel like eggs,” you reply, watching him warily over the top of your mug, trying to gauge if he might let it go. “And I’m not really hungry anyway.” 

Amber eyes flick up to yours as Remus turns the page. “You’re not going to work on an empty stomach. You need to eat something.” 

“I’ll make you something else,” James offers sweetly. “Whaddya want, my love?”

You smile at him, batting your eyelashes. “Could I have some toast please, Jamie?”

He flips his spatula expertly, winking at you. “Might be above my skill level, but I’ll do my best for you, angel.”

You laugh, and Remus rolls his eyes at the both of you. Sirius trods in still wearing his pajama bottoms, a smirk coming to his lips as he reads the room instantly. 

“In trouble already?” he drops a kiss on the top of your head, reaching over to squeeze Remus’ shoulder in greeting. “What’ve you done now, hm?”

Your eyes dart nervously to Remus, waiting to see if he’ll rat you out. Though Remus is the sternest of your boyfriends, Sirius delights in being in charge, and you know he’ll rub it in the most. You imagine it’s the older brother in him. 

“It’s resolved,” Remus says simply, and you think you detect the faintest twitch of his lips when you grin at him in relief. 

“Siri, have you seen the leaves outside?” you ask hastily, going for the distraction before he can attempt to pry further. “It’s like they finally turned just overnight.” 

He takes the bait, leaning back in his seat to peer out the window. You’d been ecstatic when you’d cracked the curtains in your bedroom this morning to see your street had taken on a whole new color palate, everything red and orange and golden. “It does finally look like autumn, doesn’t it?” He gives you a critical once-over. “That isn’t going to do for the chill out there, sweetheart.”

You look down at your skirt and blouse. You quite like this outfit. “You think? It’s not supposed to be that cold yet, is it?”

Sirius raises a brow just as Remus finishes with the paper, folding it and looking up to see what the two of you are on about. “It’s September, love,” he reasons. “If it got cold enough last night to turn the leaves, it’s cold enough to at least wear a jumper.” 

“I’m thinking fleece tights and a sweatshirt,” Sirius says contemplatively, more to Remus than to you. “Don’t run off after breakfast, dollface, and I’ll go pick them out for you.” 

You start to protest, but then Sirius’ mouth drops open, and you turn to see James teetering toward you, balancing four plates across his arms. 

“Fucking hell, Prongs,” he breathes, but James manages to distribute all four dishes safely, setting your toast in front of you last with a flourish. 

“Good idea,” he says, picking up the previous conversation as though nothing has happened. “Can’t have our girl shivering out there in the cold.” 

You roll your eyes but munch happily on your toast, ignoring how Remus eyes you watchfully as you eat. 

Since you finish first, you offer to wash up while Sirius goes and selects the additions to your outfit as he sees fit, changing into them afterwards. You have to admit, the day does look promisingly crisp outside your bedroom window, and the tights and sweatshirt he has you layer with what you already have on are soft and comfy. 

“Let me get those for you,” James offers as you pull on your shoes, and you place your foot on his knee obediently, letting him tie them both with a firm pat on the side of your shoe once he’s done. “There y’go, angel. Double-knotted and everything.” 

You press a rewarding kiss to his cheek, and Sirius comes in from canoodling with Remus to oversee his handiwork. He hums, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in your tights and adjusting the sweatshirt on your shoulders unnecessarily while you and James exchange glances, each fighting to keep a straight face. “Might need a scarf too,” he muses, and James bursts into laughter.

“Siri, come on,” you protest, unable to contain a few giggles of your own. 

James grabs Sirius around the waist, throwing him onto the bed beside you. “Work on your own outfit, Pads.” 

“You’re all going to be late if you don’t get going,” Remus says, smiling at the scene as he comes in. James detaches himself from Sirius, his expression morphing into that well-practiced facade of angelic innocence. 

“I was just on my way out,” he says, giving Remus a goodbye kiss. “See you all later.” He pats you on the head as he passes, and then he’s out the door. 

Remus moves to the bed, leaning over Sirius, who props himself up on his elbows to meet him halfway. “Get dressed,” Remus says as he breaks the kiss, tucking a piece of silky black hair behind Sirius’ ear. “You can’t afford to be late again, love.” 

You stand as he moves to you next, wrapping a long-fingered hand around the side of your hip, and you let your eyes flutter closed as he kisses you sweetly. “Be good,” he says softly, placing an additional kiss at your temple. “I’ll see you tonight, dovey.” 

“See you tonight,” you echo, and then it’s just Sirius and you, his eyes playful as they meet yours. 

“Be good,” he coos mockingly. “Think you can do that all day long?”

You grin, picking up your bag from the end of the bed. “Hey, at least I’m dressed.” 

“Oi!” Sirius says as you leave the room. “Where’s my kiss?”

“Sorry,” you reply gaily, “can’t be late. You can’t afford to either, remember?” 

“Oh, feeling bold, are we?” he calls after you. “We’ll see how bold you are later tonight.”

[mushroomates]

legolas headcanons:

is, by all accounts, the worlds most awkward elf

most of the fellowship doesn’t even realize how weird he is

thranduil did not socialize his boy well. legolas is not aloof he just has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing.

will walk very slowly with exaggerated movements around hobbits because he thinks they won’t see him otherwise.

the hobbits thinks this is elf custom. frodo theorizes this is because elves want to rest their eyes and ears when they’re at home, so other elves like to announce themselves so no one gets spooked.

this is aided by the fact that legolas loudly announces his presence whenever he enters the room, just incase you missed it.

this conclusion is false. legolas will approach other elves by charging at them, full speed. alternatively, shooting an arrow in their vicinity for a vibe check.

he also likes shooting at people to wake them up and/or scare them

legolas likes that it’s a gentle reminder to his companions that he could kill them at any time and they should be honored that he doesn’t.

aragorn has options about this. legolas tells him that he should be grateful that such a skilled elf is on his side and cares for him. aragorn maintains that if legolas really cared, the elf would stop waking him up with ‘good morning’ shots. he also would like to note that legolas’s loud singing is only slightly better than an arrow flying at you first thing in the morning:.

legolas tries to make friends by staring at them from afar and when they look at him he looks away. like a cat. he will also blink at u as if to say “look! i like you! i’m closing my eyes!!!” again, like a cat.

will bring you small gifts to curry favor, also like a cat. interesting rocks and pretty feathers, samples of dirt, fallen leaves in different shapes and colors, and whatever flowers are near by and catch his eye. gets very upset if you don’t marvel at them for the appropriate amount of time.

will eat bites off of your plate. this is a form of endearment. he’s showing he trusts you and likes you. he’s also showing his inability to cook and hopes you’ll take pity on him by sharing your food.

sometimes will intentionally walk loudly around the camp if he’s bored, angry, or lonely so he can wake aragorn up and they can be awake together :)

likes to sing, loudly, at inappropriate times

no one in the fellowship has seen him piss. some of the hobbits are under the impression that elves don’t pee. aragorn and gandalf do not correct them.

up at the asscrack of dawn. this is annoying, because he’s chipper, looks amazing, and is a tad judgmental that you aren’t as well.

captain obvious as well as worlds most unhelpful elf ever. will point out your mistake, claim to know how to fix it and half the time not offer the solution or his assistance.

cannot do laundry. he doesn’t even get dirty enough to consider it, and with how little people in middle earth wash their clothes anyway, none of his clothes have been cleaned for easily centuries.

is very confused by dogs. doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do with them. they’re always so happy and want (physical???) attention and,, it’s not a one and done thing either. you’re supposed to keep petting them? after you already pet them.

they’re like wolves, but smaller and maybe stupider. they also stink. boromir has explained to him many times that dogs are man’s best friend and are beautiful creatures. this worries legolas, because that means either dogs are more evolved than they let on,, or men are significantly further behind than elves than he first thought..

can not play the harp. is upset by this fact.

never really bothered to learn how to harp, either.

he believes he should be able to play the harp regardless because the harp is just a big bow with many strings. this is, in fact, false.

will eat anything. mushrooms and questionable berries mean nothing to him.

this upsets aragorn as he believes legolas is setting a bad example for the hobbits, dispite hobbits having the most durable digestive systems. (note: elves can eat almost anything, but hobbits have the stomach of a labrador retriever. they are always hungry, can can eat anything, even what they’re not supposed to)

DID set a bad example for boromir, who mistakingly ate some of the berries legolas offered him and had the shits for weeks.

is like 90% sure who frodo is. it’s definitely one of the hobbits. it’s probably not the one with the pony.

is faceblind. he can’t recognize other people’s faces for the life of him. if you asked him to pick out aragorn in a sea of humans, he’d panic dispite knowing the man for 50+ years.

this also goes for all races, including dwarves. gimli thought he might just be racist and covering his ass, but then watched him stall for like 30 minutes making small talk with some lorien elves and try (and fail) to pick celeborn out of the crowd.

does know what galadriel and thranduil look like. has a hard time pointing out elrond.

will forget your name almost immediately after you tell him. guys like 3k old and has met a lot of people give him a break

to be fair he does know who you are and what you sound/look like. defining features like voice and hair help a lot. it’s just if you were to give him a book of cropped faces and ask him to name, just one,,, he’d panic and throw it at you.

feels robbed of the golden ages,, resents the fact that the world he knows is drastically different that the world he could have been. wishes there were more elves his age and just more elves in general.

that being said he wouldn’t change this for anything as the world he’s in gave him the friends he’s made and the adventure of a life time :)

he doesn’t wash his hands. like ever or at all.

[gothicflowers]

Domestic Price headcanons!! ON MY HANDS AND KNEES!!!

Domestic!Price x F!reader

WARNING MDNI (+18 ONLY)

Warnings : tooth rotting fluff, some sexual references.

Word Count: ? So many

Sorry this took me forever to write, the past month has been insane. But things are finally getting better and I’m feeling creative.

Domestic!Price isn’t someone that many are familiar with. Especially those he works with. When price joined the military he was a teen who was in the punk scene and he couldn’t hold a job for more than a month. The man was running from the cops and passed out at random houses half the week. By six pm there was liquor on his breath. His dear mom had enough one day and kicked him out. When he stumbled through the front door she had a suitcase full of his good clothes packed and handed him a small amount of cash. He told her he didn’t care and he didn’t need her. After two months of couch surfing and working odd end jobs for cash he seen something about enlisting in the military. Free housing, consistent pay and a uniform. John knew he could pick up girls easily with a uniform on, easier than his charming personality already could.

Six months later he’s in basic training regretting his decision to join. He came into basic training more out of shape than he thought. He hates reading and is having to study and sit through classes when he’s not being drilled. But by week five somehow he’s leading the class. Perfect scores on test, marksmanship skills are undeniably good, and maybe that mandatory haircut doesn’t look too bad.

He graduated top of his academy class with flying colors. Five years later price has slowed worked his way up the chain. He’s still a cocky bastard but nobody can deny his knowledge of strategies and tactics. He’s a hard ass to new guys but ensures they are well trained, after all John is a firm believer that you’re only as good as your weakest guy.

After two years of being in he realized his mom was right. So on one of his days off he showed up to his moms with flowers and sweets and apologized and thanked her for giving him the push he needed. Even if he didn’t realize it at the time.

John Price has finally got his life together. But he’s still a playboy who doesn’t see the point in setting down with a nice lady. He has time right?

Before he knows it LT John Price in his early thirties. Nobody to come home to every night actually sucks. Too much beer gives him a headache and he’s not much for parties anymore. He’s picked up a few hobbies like leather-working and fishing, but there is still a void in his life. Price is… alone.

John didn’t fear commitment, but young John didn’t see how keeping a woman by his side would benefit him then. John wishes he could go back in time and smack himself for all the times he turned down sweet kind women who wanted to settle down. He broke so many hearts, all because he thought he had time.

That’s when he starts daydreaming. Thoughts of walking through the front door and being greeted by his lover and maybe even a dog or two. Summers nights stargazing rather than slouched on the couch with a beer in hand. Having purpose, a life outside of his job. So he put the effort into making a dating profile and goes on a few dates. A few horrible dates. So he deleted the profile and slowly gave up.

Then one day you cashed into his life, well... technically he did.

Literally.

John wasn’t paying attention while backing his car out at the supermarket and backed right into your car. Your bumper was deeply scratched and your taillight cracked. You both pulled back into your parking spaces to look at the damage. Before you knew it the idiot driver that backed into you was next to you profusely apologizing. The man had tired eyes and looked defeated at his careless actions. You couldn’t deny that the idiot was incredibly handsome.

“I’m so sorry, I should have looked in my mirror and I didn’t and I-“ John rambled.

“Don’t worry, this car has more scratches than I care to count” you replied giggling.

John was clearly struggling to talk as he was distracted by your beautiful face “I completely busted that taillight. Ma’am I’m so sorry. I can get my insurance and we can get this sorted”

“Well it’s a rather old car, so I have a better proposition” you smiled watching the mountain of a man remove his beanie to rub his hair.

“What would that be” he asked.

You smirked “Well there is a cafe on the corner. You look like you could use a coffee and so could I. We go have a nice cup, sit down like old friends and chat. Look online for a taillight replacement instead of getting insurance involved”.

You pleasantly surprised John and he agreed to your idea. Firstly because he hates dealing with paperwork and secondly because this beautiful creature wanted to actually talk to him. Somehow you two just clicked.After two hours of nonstop chatting and learning about each other John received a call from work demanding him to come in on his day off. Unfortunately closing your time together.

“Well I quite enjoyed this. And if you’re comfortable with it I can install that taillight when it comes in. I would hate for you to do it yourself. And maybe after I can take you out to dinner” John said, getting a little shy with his last sentence. He was praying he didn’t misinterpret and scare you off.

“What a gentleman. I would love that” you eagerly answered. You wrote down your number for him on a napkin.

(000)-000-0000

Y/N xoxo

A broken taillight is the beginning of Domestic!Price

About a week later John arrived on your doorstep with a bouquet of flowers, a tool bag and a new taillight. He was a tad bit nervous hoping to make a good impression.

Domestic!Price is the definition of chivalry.

He opens all doors for you and is quick to lend you his coat if you show the slightest signs of a chill.

Before you know it John brings you fresh flowers every week. Your grandmother always told you the stronger the intentions the longer the flowers will last. And the flowers John brings you live for what seems like an eternity.

As much as John wants to move fast he forces himself to slow his pace. He feels the need to prove he’s the gentleman you deserve. Especially after learning about your shitty dating experiences.

Even when he brought you home from your first date he only left with a kiss. Granted it was a long passionate kiss, but just a kiss. He’d desperately wanted to tear your clothes off in that moment, but didn’t want to give off the impression that he expected it. He said goodnight and left. You were kinda shocked that you two didn’t fuck, you took an everything shower and had lingerie under your outfit. But it was actually refreshing to find a man that was satisfied with just a kiss. He wasn’t putting on an act the whole night to get lucky, he was genuinely interested in you.

His good morning texts always arrive to your phone around 5:45AM. John did warn you beforehand that he frequently is away from his phone during meetings and trainings so you never worry about him ignoring or long awaited responses.

John will wake up before you regardless of the day. He’s usually found making coffee/tea and breakfast somewhere around 08:30. He usually brings it all up to bed on a tray. Heaven forbid he lets you lift a finger this early. Every morning you both snuggle with your coffee and listen to the birds chirping outside the window.

Domestic!Price is not very good at cooking, breakfast and desserts are the only things you let him make. Mostly because he’s surprisingly good at making them. You always tell him if he leaves the military he should be a pastry chef. Price likes comfort food, hardy meals that almost make him fall asleep afterwards. He’s in denial about gaining 15 pounds since he met you. But he feels that the extra pounds are just the extra love you gave him to carry around. He had to go down a notch on his belt because he’s got a little love handle to him now. You feed him well.

Football is his thing. Price is very passionate about it but thankfully he’s calm about it, he knows you don’t do well with yelling in the house. Usually takes you to a couple games a season. You two have matching jerseys, yes he had them custom made.

He hates messy. When he first joined the military he had two roommates that never picked up after themselves, neither did he. Until one day he found a molded plate in between the couch cushions, he started to become a clean freak after that. He moved out a few months later when his roommate’s wouldn’t clean up their mess.

Nowadays Domestic!Price loves a clean home. He made a chore list for both of you. He always helps you with your chores despite you telling him to relax. He loves candles and the smell of fresh sheets. Price wasn’t very organized before he met you, thankfully you managed to get the home organized and he can find everything now.

IKEA who? Never head of her. Domestic!price likes wood working. The kitchen table, cabinets, china hutch and so much more was all hand made by price. But the most elaborate thing he’s ever made? The bed frame. It has some… flair as he called it when it was finally put together. The frame has secret pockets for rope to be tied to. Specifically so he can tie you down. And let’s not forget that makeup vanity he made you, that mirror is a lockable cabinet containing a whirlwind of things. Vibes, clamps, ropes, differently shaped dildos, paddles, you name it it’s in there. Why is there two smoke alarms in your bedroom? Well… one of the is just a cover for that ceiling hook so he can suspend you.

Domestic price doesn’t mind vanilla sex. Lots of times you two disregard the kinky objects and are just wrapped in a passionate embrace. John’s not one for staying quiet, both of you could be heard from the front door when you’re together. He will be soundproofing the room if you two decide on kids.

Speaking of kids this man has the biggest breeding kink known to man. It’s not seeing his cum dripping out of your hole that fuels the fire in his belly. It’s the sheer thought of you both sitting around the dinner table with your kids asking each other about their day. Dance recitals and little league games. Watching you being a loving parent and having everything you need. That’s what he desires out of life.

Domestic!Price craves domestic life. Where there’s no threat, no bogeyman in the closet, no sound of gunfire, there’s just you two and the home you created.

John always drives, you’re a passenger princess. If it’s a nice day he takes you out for a drive in his classic car he restored himself. Windows down while 2000’s dad rock plays. Speaking of music he likes to collect vinyls. His collection grew heavily when he started buying records that you like. He plays Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors album weekly.

Domestic!Price likes slow dancing with the lights dimmed late at night. He’s a fan of 70’s music and it’s his usual go to for dancing. His father heavily influenced his music taste.

Price doesn’t care for the term boyfriend. After about a month of you two dating he promoted himself to husband. John said boyfriend “sounds childish at our age” when you asked sweetly what that was about when he introduced himself to your coworkers. He said he wouldn’t do it again if it made you uncomfortable to which you promptly said you liked it and much preferred the idea of being his wife rather than his girlfriend. That night he started looking at rings.

He went through your jewelry taking note if you wore gold or silver more. What types of jewelry styles interested you. The man was on a mission for the perfect ring. And what doesn’t it matter if you two have only been together two months? His grandparents met and married after three months and they were the definition of true love.

And yes he did propose at only four months. It was better than you could have imagined. He planned a whole weekend getaway and you never suspected it. He had rented a private boat for you two and brought champagne and charcuterie. He proposed a toast to you two and got down on one knee. You were both crying tears of joy when you said yes.

Unlike most men who buy their significant other jewelry he doesn’t buy you stones. Pearls, he buys you pearls. Expensive ones too. There’s just something about them on your neck that drives him wild. He hasn’t made the connection but it feeds into his housewife kink. There is something about him coming home from a long day and seeing you in a dress wearing those peals and an apron. A hot meal and the table is already set. You take his coat off and asking him about his day. Perfection.

Domestic!Price doesn’t share much about work. You know what he does and the stresses. He listened to your advice and does some therapy to help deal with his stress levels and the things he’s gone through. He slowly starts thinking about transferring to a job that won’t put him in the field.

He invited the boys over for dinner and his men were quite shocked. John didn’t give them much notice or anything really other than “don’t be late”.

Gaz who showed up in a tracksuit was under the impression this was a boys night with pizza and beer was shocked to arrive at a beautiful home with a perfect garden of roses. Ghost knew of your existence quite well as price loves to talk about your cooking and how much he misses you when they deploy. Soap… well… he said some things in Gaelic that you didn’t understand but surely they were those of surprise. Soap felt like a dumbass for wearing jeans and a cutoff tee.

John met them at the door and welcomed them in. The boys were rather impressed by the decor and how cozy it looked. The men half expected the home to be bare as they never took price as one for decor. But the biggest shock to Soap and Gaz was you, a woman slightly younger than Price who was in cooking in the kitchen is a pretty dress, heels and pearls. Even though Ghost was aware of your existence he was floored at how Price could pull such a beautiful woman.

Price proudly introduced you with his are around you lower back. After pleasantries they all offered to help you finish cooking, to which you laughed and said no. Even price shook his head because he knows you have your process of cooking and don’t like extra hands because it overwhelms you. And when you brought them a tray of neatly made drinks you have sworn Soap about died. No wonder Price always comes to work in a good mood, he’s got a pretty bird like you at home.

After seeing what his captains life is like outside of work it gave him some hope, maybe it’s possible to have a stable relationship with this job. Soap made a joke about “sharing”. That was the first time Price ever thought of beating Soap into the ground. Price is too proud of the life he daydreamed about to let another man or woman come into the picture. Just the thought of losing you or your lips kissing anyone but his will send him into a spiral. You’re his world. His to love, fuck, and protect.

Domestic!Price likes to slow down when he’s not at work. Life at a slower pace is more enjoyable. He can take in the sweet moments and the sunshine. He slowly starts bringing Simon and the boys around more and they too realize this.

Domestic!price doesn’t fully understand social media. He isn’t on any, most because of his job. Plus he doesn’t like how fake people are on it. He lets you post pictures of you two together but his face is always uniquely hidden, for your own protection of course. The first picture you posted of you two was actually from your wedding. You both walked together hand in hand as he was kissing your temple. After that you received several calls and texts from old friends and distant relatives asking when did you get married? Who is he? Where did you two meet?

Speaking of yours and prices wedding domestic Price was very involved in the planning. He found the most beautiful venue and really liked picking florals. I mean this man went over budget because he wanted the most elegant and elaborate flower arrangements. If you have any cultural customs John was very adamant that your customs would be met to your specifications.

Unfortunately John’s family is a handful and wanted to plan the wedding, his mother thought it was her big day. John sat her down and had a long conversation about boundaries and respect towards his soon to be wife. She actually apologized as she didn’t realize how much she was overstepping. Your mother was shocked that John was very involved with the planning, but it made her adore him even more.

You both have relatively large families but decided to keep the guests list under sixty people. Only close family and friends. This ruffled some feathers but it made for a perfect day. John is very good at controlling his emotions but when he seen you walk down the aisle his eyes welled with tears.

Domestic!Price can’t wear his ring to work. He wanted to tattoo a ring or your name somewhere on him but still feared it could be used as easy leverage. So he has a large chest tattoo that incorporates your favorite flowers and bird. In fact he starts slowing getting tattoos about you. It’s his way of keeping you with him when he’s gone.

[lostintransist]

This Bunny Bites | Part 9

Check out part 1 here.

CW: None that I can think of.

Meeting up with Cara always helped you feel your spine decompress. You met her at the first club you took a job at. She had been a dancer already, and you with your mismatched and too-small boobs had been relegated to serving drinks. She had caught you watching the girls several times and even trying the pole before shifts started.

For some reason, Cara had decided to take you under her wing. She set you up with a friend of hers who taught pole classes. The number of times you walked home with a bow-legged gait was unreal. Soon enough the inner skin on your thighs didn’t scream any time it touched the pole. Once you had enough skill you were approved to run small sets between the regular dancers. Though you were under no circumstance allowed to remove your bra. Your right side sat vastly smaller than your left. Custom bras were the only way to deal with the discrepancy. The money you earned from the between-set dances and the lap dances paid for your implants.

Cara, again being a saint, became more than a mentor. She became your best friend. If you think too hard or too long about where you would be without her the tears start to flow. If soul mates existed yours lived in a body named Cara.

Chin resting in your hand you stare at her across the table. Her dark eyes and perfectly done-up hair accentuate how beautiful she is.

The snapping of fingers in front of your nose brings you back to the present.

“Did they put straight gasoline in that mimosa? You were staring,” Cara eyes you.

“No,” sitting back in your chair you adjust your legs and cross your arms. “I was thinking about how if soul mates exist you have to be mine.”

Watery shock fills Cara’s eyes.

“You can’t do that to me. People already don’t believe me when I tell them you aren’t my girlfriend.” Cara flapped a hand at her eyes, blinking and staring at the ceiling to fight off tears. “But thank you. I think you would be my soul mate as well.”

Plucking your previously mentioned mimosa from the table you smile into it as you take a sip. The mimosas at this cute little cafe, several small tables filled the space. Fresh flowers on every table and the soft, bright colors on the walls were only some of the reasons this was your favorite morning spot.

With a slight shake of her head and a light dab at her eyes, Cara focused back on you. Her shrewd eyes came out.

“Alright, spill. You said something bad had happened but it needed to be discussed in person,” Cara threaded her fingers together leaning on her elbows on the table.

You can’t stop the worried expression that passes over your face as you take another sip of the drink in your hand.

“So uh,” you set it down, ruffling your hair with your hand.

“Oh fuck, you’re touching your hair something bad bad happened.”

If you could stab her with your eyes you wouldn’t hesitate.

“Bitch you are not supposed to use your powers for evil! Let me tell you what happened before you jump to conclusions!” You huff out a breath, conscious now of the desire to touch your hair. “But yes, fine a few things have happened but you are not allowed to ask any questions until I am done.”

Pointing to her for good measure you waited until she rolled her eyes and put her hands up in defeat.

“Caroline canned me for the incident I told you about where Todd let a fight start and escalate until I had to get involved.”

Cara cut in, “The one where you nearly got clocked in the nose right?”

“You couldn’t escape a paper bag with the way you listen, now hush and let me finish.” You glared until she apologized and pulled her purse to the table.

As Cara dug out her compact or lip gloss you continued.

“So I am out a job when I am so fucking close to making it out,” you clock the nasty look an old woman of god sends you but ignore it. “But wouldn’t you know it one of the guys that came in with my brother came in that same night to offer me a job. So,” you rush to keep talking before she can open her mouth as you can clearly see she wants to, “I had dinner with them, accepted the job, and ended up telling Johnny the reason I dance is dear old dad putting me on the internet. I managed to do it without yelling even.”

Looking fit to burst your best friend is chomping at the bit to say her piece.

“Hold that thought, our food is coming.” Looking up with a smile to the young man delivering your food, “Thank you so much for your help, Wyatt.”

He nods and sets both plates down on the table, taking a step back.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” He glances from you to Cara.

“Can I get some salsa please?” You ask with a warm smile.

“Of course, that should be just a minute,” Wyatt nods and walks away.

“Bitch what the fuck is your life! First off, not yelling at your brother? He deserved it. Second how much are you getting for the job?”

Bless her for not asking what the job is, the NDA you signed would have you hanging by your ankles if you broke it.

“No, I didn’t yell at him. It was in front of all of his teammates. Johnny works as special forces of all things.” You keep talking even as you queue up your first bite of omelet. “I delivered the news like a calm badass and left the house they are renting. Did I cry the entire walk to my car? Yes, but that is not the point. Job is paying 30K.”

Cara lifted both brows at her food.

“Damn, that’s double what you needed to get out right?”

Humming confirmation around the food in your mouth you nodded.

Swallowing, you hold a finger to your lips.

“Yeah, I won’t even have to quit since Caroline let me go.”

“What a bitch,” Cara shook her head. “I can’t believe she let you go over an air horn. An air horn that saved her property damage and saved the girls from getting hurt I might point out!” She pointed her fork at you aggressively.

‘Willing to go to bat’ was something you wanted to put on a T-shirt for Cara.

“I did do that, but she wasn’t pleased I hid them in the ceiling and I bet Todd has been gunning for my head for a long time. He didn’t like that I never kowtowed to his demands.”

“Well, you have a hard time listening to authority,” Cara acknowledged offhandedly.

“If I wanted a mental evaluation I would schedule an appointment with my therapist,” you gape at her. Bitch knew you better than anyone and weaponized it.

Cara, the bitch, laughs at your outrage.

The obnoxious sound of your phone going off cuts off your well-timed and deserved middle-finger salute. Pulling it out the caller ID noted three money bags.

“Ah, the new boss. One second.”

Swiping to accept the call you lifted the phone to your ear.

“What’s up?”

“Free today?”

“Depends on the reason,” you counter.

“Have an opening at a fancy dress shop at 2 PM today if you can make it. You’re going to need the right kind of clothes to fit in,” Price offers by way of explanation.

“Send lover boy with a card and car, he can pick us up at my place.” You catch Cara’s eye and point to the uneaten food.

She waves a hand, no she doesn’t want to take it. You nod in acknowledgment, waving for Wyatt who had stepped around a corner. Cara will handle getting the bill.

“Us?” Comes his careful question.

“My bestie will be coming, you think I am going to trust lover boy’s opinion on such an important matter as this?”

“You signed an NDA.”

Cutting him off you say your piece.

“I can shop with my best friend without breaking an NDA. This isn’t my first rodeo with them. Now what time should we be ready for pick up?”

Cara called you steamroller for a reason. You dig out your card from your wallet, it is your turn to buy. Passing it over you focus back on your call.

“He will be there at 1300.”

“Ooo big number, translate it for me.”

The confused look from Cara meant she caught your tone switch to demanding but sweet.

“Gaz will be at your home at 1 PM.”

“Thanks, Captain,” you sprinkle in a touch of sweetness to your tone.

He grunts and hangs up.

“That sounds interesting,” Cara eyes you, mischief in her gaze.

“Not nearly as interesting as it’s about to be. Come on, we are heading to my house. I am curious to see your take on our driver.” Grabbing your purse you hauled it up to your shoulder.

Wyatt returned rather quickly with your card, after signing the receipt you lead the way to the parking lot with Cara in tow.

“You’ve piqued my interest, anything I should know going in?” Cara watches you as she asks.

“Nope, I want your cold read on him.”

“Can do. I will see you at your house then.”

Waving to your best friend you climb in your car and head home to get ready for an interesting afternoon.

@leahnicole1219

Bunny Masterlist | Masterlist

[daisynik7]

hello it's me again not sure if it's alright to request one more (literally just ignore this if not) and its also not y2k but i'd like to request work song by hozier for nanami especially "no grave can hold my body down, i'd crawl home to her" angst with a happy ending during/post shibuya (no dying please) and reader is also a healer like shoko

thank you so much and congrats again 🫶🏼

Work Song

No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

cw: mentions of d*ath, bl*od, burn injuries, canon-divergent, set in the canon-universe during the Shibuya Incident Arc, MAJOR spoilers up to Shibuya Arc, angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, happy ending

Summary: You’re a healer working with Shoko inside the medical tent at Shibuya Station while Nanami, your boyfriend, is in the line of fire for the battle ahead. After an especially life-threatening attack, Nanami, on the brink, runs into an old friend, who helps guide him back home. 

Author’s Note: @75songs thank you so much for sending in another request for the y2k karaoke party, always appreciate your love and support! I ADORE this song and have honestly always thought it was perfect for Nanami. I am an anime only and am not caught up with season 2 yet, so I didn’t want to read too much into what exactly happens during this arc, so some of the details may be inaccurate, just a heads up. This one got me in my feelings. I will forever hold a grudge against Gege for what they did to Nanami. Anyways, likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading! Divider by @/saradika.

October 31st. Maybe in another timeline, another reality, you and Nanami would be celebrating Halloween tonight, passing colorful candies and decadent chocolates to kids going door-to-door across the neighborhood. You’d force him to dress up in a silly costume, one that matches yours, despite his reluctance at first. Deep down, you know he likes this; domestic bliss, especially with you. The idea that the two of you could live a peaceful life together, away from the dangerous world of curses and Jujutsu sorcery. You discuss it constantly, dream about it, strive for it. A few more years, he says, and he’ll retire. There’s still more work to be done, people to be saved. 

You’re inside the medical tent beside Shoko, helping her set up the cots, anticipating injured sorcerers to arrive soon with the battle underway. Masamichi Yaga, Jujutsu High’s principal, stands guard outside, determined to keep the medical team, especially Shoko, safe from any posing threats. There’s no way to know what’s happening until people start arriving, in need of medical attention. You’re a healer too, but not nearly as skilled as Shoko, your mentor. Still, she encourages you to join them tonight, needing all the help they can get. 

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, setting up the last bed. Observant as ever, she notices your quiet demeanor.

You nod, giving her a weak, unconvincing smile. “Yeah.”

“Nanami is going to be fine,” she assures you, sensing the root of your anxiety. “When this is all done, the two of you should take a vacation together.”

Relaxing a bit, you reply, “We already have our trip to Malaysia planned in a few months.”

She smiles kindly. “There you go. Something to look forward to.”

Her words ease some of the tension, but there’s dread settling in the pit of your stomach, and it won’t go away until you see Nanami again in one piece. 

The waiting game finally ends as soon as the first wounded sorcerer shows up in the tent, initiating nonstop chaos. You assist Shoko diligently, making sure everything is prepared for her to perform her Reverse Cursed Technique for those who need it, and patching up those who don’t, with less severe injuries. You’re constantly on the lookout to see a familiar face, trying to get an update on what’s happening out there. None comes, until you see Kiyotaka Ijichi limping towards the entrance, blood spread across his shirt. You and Shoko rush towards him, carrying him over your shoulders, leading him to an empty cot, gently laying him down. 

Shoko, showing panic on her face for the first time all night, inspects him carefully. “Ijichi, can you hear me?” She’s always had a soft spot for him, often telling you how endearing she finds him, always a nervous wreck in front of her. Seeing him like this is surely jarring, even for her, who’s as tough as nails. 

He nods weakly, mumbling something incoherent, blood sputtering from his mouth. You remove the shattered glasses from his eyes, wiping his lips with gauze. Shoko starts to work on him, directing you to check on the other patients. Before you can follow orders, you feel his weak grip on your wrist. You turn to face him, focused on his lips as he quietly utters, “Nanami.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of your boyfriend’s name, leaning in closer to hear the rest of what he has to say, taking his time through labored breaths. “He…saved…me…” 

You do your best to keep your composure, nodding at him silently, blinking away the tears welling in your eyes. Unsure how to respond, you leave them, going to the other side of the tent to check on the remaining sorcerers. 

With everyone else in stable condition, you take a minute outside the tent to sob into your hands, praying that Nanami is still alive. Unaware of your surroundings, you’re startled when Yaga approaches, his large figure sitting beside you. “You alright?”

You wipe away your sniffles on your sleeve. “Just…nervous.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, sighing. “Yeah, I get it. But Nanami is one of our strongest sorcerers. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Again, more words of comfort, but not enough to ease the nervous flutter in your belly. Yaga recognizes this and adds, “Nanami would fight through the fires of hell instead of letting himself die. Not because he wants to live for himself. But because he wants to live for you.”

You face him now, processing his statement. He chuckles, lifting his sunglasses to meet your gaze. “That man has never been so smitten in his life. He’d crawl out his grave just to be with you, I guarantee it.”

~~~

The last thing Nanami remembers is desperately wishing he was in Malaysia with you instead of at Shibuya Station right now. He wakes up, sitting in one of the seats on the platform. It’s eerily quiet with no one in sight. The distinct sounds of trains on the rails or the hustle and bustle of people moving along is strangely absent, and it occurs to Nanami that this may be a dream. 

He's sure of it when he feels a nudge to his side, turning to face Yu Haibara sitting next to him. There’s a warm smile on his boyish face, dressed in his Jujutsu High uniform, exactly as he was many years ago when Nanami last saw him, alive and well. The same bright, earnest eyes he remembers vividly of his best friend. He swallows hard, an uneasy feeling surrounding him. Is he seeing a ghost? Or is this the afterlife?

Haibara laughs, and Nanami is snapped out of his reverie and taken immediately back to 2006, when he first met his friend during orientation. He can’t help but grin, happy to see him still so lively. “Well, aren’t you going to greet your old friend, Nanami?”

Nanami does, hugging him, astonished to feel him in his arms almost like a real person. Almost. “What are you doing here?”

“Just came to visit you, that’s all.”

Nanami lets him go, studying him carefully, looking for any signs of decay. When he spots none, he asks him, “Am I dead?”

Haibara shakes his head. “Not quite. But you’re pretty damn close.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. So you better hurry and get home quick.” Haibara points towards the railings, now illuminated at one end by a blinding flash of light. “Yuji’s waiting for you.”

“Itadori? How do you know – “

Haibara then says your name with a big smile. “Yeah, I know her too. They’re all waiting for you, Nanami. You don’t want to keep them waiting any longer, do you?”

It takes a while for Nanami to get up, and when he does, he’s off balance, legs wobbly, body unsteady. Haibara helps him, offering his shoulder, the two of them walking slowly towards the light. “I really like her, you know. Your girlfriend.”

“You do?” Nanami asks, hobbling beside him. 

“Yeah. She’s really nice, really pretty, and she eats a lot, especially with you,” he chuckles. “You know how much I like that.”

“Yeah I do.”

“And I’m a good judge of character, so I think she’s perfect for you. If that means anything,” he says, proudly.

“It does. It means a lot.” They’re near the edge of the platform now and Nanami will have to hop down to reach the end of the tunnel. 

“Are you going to marry her soon?” Haibara asks, pausing just before the edge. 

Nanami nods, grinning. “I’m planning to propose during our vacation in Malaysia.” 

“Good. Good.”

He’s tempted to stay longer, wanting a few more moments with his friend, but he knows that time is ticking. He hugs him again, squeezing him tight. “Take care, Haibara.”

“You too, Nanami. I’ll be looking out for you.”

His chest constricts, jumping off the platform, landing roughly on the railings, blinking away the tears in his eyes. It’s sweltering now, the light emitting an intense heat from within. He gives Haibara one last glance, cherishing the happy expression on his face as he waves goodbye to him before walking into the light.

Seconds later, Nanami wakes up with a gasp of breath, vision blurred, a droning pounding beating against his ear drums. It soon fades and only Yuji’s panicked voice yelling from behind him is heard. He’s being dragged by the armpits, away from the battle. Smoke radiates from his entire form, and he can barely move. In fact, he can barely feel anything at all. 

They reach the medical tent, Itadori yelling for help the whole way. Yaga is the first to reach them, his usual calm demeanor wavering at the sight of Nanami, body half-burned from the explosion. They carrying him delicately inside, resting him on the only empty cot left. He wants to close his eyes; he’s so exhausted, and sleep is the only thing to bring him peace right now. That, or you. 

As if his prayers were heard, you appear at his side, truly a vision, even while you sob for him, holding his mangled hand in yours, begging for him to stay with you. He can die happy now, seeing your face, knowing that you’re here, alive, heart beating, surviving. Can he do the same? Can he survive this? All he knows is that he’s trying with every fiber he has left in his being. He won’t leave you, not like this. Not without experiencing life on the outside with you. 

It’s in this moment that he vows to endure. Even if he has to crawl out of his grave to do it, he’s determined to be with you again. 

~~~ 

November 1st. Maybe in another timeline, another reality, Nanami is gone. Not in this one, though. Instead, you sit beside him, healed and in one piece thanks to Shoko, fingers laced with his, careful not to squeeze too tightly. Yuji and Ino are at his other side, talking animatedly about how amazing Nanami was the entire fight, and all he can do is lay there, smiling. Happy to be alive. Happy to be with you. 

[fungifanart]

Checkmate?

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Grim, Yuu!reader, male reader

Cw: Chess *horror movie scream*

Word count: 1.9k

Notes: Look! It's my piece for the @princes-uprising zine! It's been an absolute blast working with everyone, so I hope y'all enjoy our work!

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

Life is one big chessboard.

This is the mindset that Leona has abided by ever since he was young.

It's the easiest way to make sense of the world around him.

People are forever bound to positions given to them upon birth with no hope of changing, such as how a pawn has no hope of becoming a king.

Everyone has a finite amount of actions they can take, which are clearly defined, leaving whether or not they succeed as a matter of skill.

Which also means that luck, too, is calculable and thus, predictable.

Or at least, it should be.

That is, until the school's spelldrive tournament happened and everything fell apart like a harsh wave crashing into a sand castle.

And because of such a stupid plan, too. To this day, Leona is mortified that he got blindsided by such a ridiculous plan, thought up by a magicless herbivore, no less.

Well, there's no way he'll let himself get played like that again.

Much like he did with Azul, Leona decides to observe how the herbivore strategizes.

His plan for knocking the Octavinelle housewarden down a peg gave Leona some good initial insights, such as how he places a LOT of faith in the people who have the shallowest reasons to help actually pulling through. He should consider himself lucky that Leona had a deeper reason to help than what he gave.

But that's not enough for him. Being lucky is not a strategy and clearly not the only factor at play letting a magicless nobody pull the wool over the eyes of TWO separate housewardens. It baffles him to think that both him and that octopunk actually got suckered in by those schemes.

Ok, now Leona's getting angry.

Simple observation isn't enough this time. There's only one way to get to the bottom of this irritating little conundrum.

Portable chessboard in hand, Leona begins the trek to the place the herbivore almost lost with that gamble of his, otherwise known as Ramshackle dorm.

After knocking on the door, Leona hears a ruckus on the other side and the sounds of both the Prefect and his feline companion yelling before the sound of footsteps approaches the entrance.

The door then opens, revealing the Prefect in his infuriatingly enigmatic glory.

"Oh, Leona! Hi! It's great to see you!" He greets the lion warmly, "What brings you here?"

'Figuring out what makes you tick.' Leona thinks to himself, but what he actually says is, "I was bored and thought you'd be able to amuse me with a game of chess."

The simplest of lies, one that any other person at this school would see through and reject instantly, but the Prefect smiles nonetheless.

"Well, I don't know if I can really provide the mental stimulation you're looking for, but if that's how you want to spend your afternoon, then why not, I guess." He responds while stepping to the side to allow Leona in.

Leona pulls up a chair to the table in front of the lounge couch and starts setting up the board as the Prefect rushes to the kitchen for refreshments.

After coming back with water and snacks, the Prefect takes his place on the couch in front of the white pieces leaving Leona with the black.

"Myeh! So how does this 'Chess' thing work, anyway?" Grim asks while hopping up beside the Prefect and shoving chips in his face.

*crunch*

"Well, both players take turns moving one of their colored pieces at a time across the board in an attempt to capture their opponent's king piece. And each piece has its own way of moving to account for," The Prefect answers while picking up one of his pawns and moving it forward one space, "For example, your pawn can usually only move one space up, down or to the side at a time."

"Mm." Leona adds, having already shifted into his focus mode and moving one of his pawns two spaces forward.

*crunch*

"Hey, wait! You just said the pawns can only move one space!" Grim complains between bites in that irritatingly shrill voice of his.

"Pawns can move forward two spaces when it's the first time you're movin' 'em. Next question." Leona explains bluntly while trying to refocus on the board.

"Yeah, what Leona said." The Prefect agrees before picking up his bishop and using it to capture Leona's first pawn, "Next is the bishop that can move as far as it wants, but only diagonally."

Tch, why did he move his pawn there?

*crunch*

The next few turns involve the moving of pawns, but, just when Leona had them lined up to leave the other man's bishop open to his queen, he quickly moves his bishop back to its original spot.

Is that so?

*crunch*

Moving another pawn forward to capture one of his opponent's, Leona then finds said pawn captured by the Prefect’s knight, "Next, we have the knight, which can only move in an L shape in any direction, but is the only piece that can jump over other pieces in its path."

"Whoa, that's cool!" Grim comments before shoving a whole pawful of chips into his mouth, making a loud crunch that makes Leona's ear twitch in annoyance.

"Herbivore, can ya get the furball outta here?" He says, slightly rubbing his temple while sending his rook out to capture the Prefect's rightmost pawn.

"Don't be mean, Leona. Grim's not hurting anyone." The Prefect responds before using his other knight to capture Leona's first rook.

With a slight smirk, Leona uses his other bishop to capture the knight that was left exposed.

*crunch*

The Prefect's eyebrow twitches and Leona notices the kind, calm gaze he'd held since his arrival lose its warmth, becoming more calculating.

Looks like the kid gloves just came off.

*crunch*

The Prefect moves his pawn.

*crunch*

Leona moves his other rook directly downwards.

*crunch*

The Prefect captures said rook with his other bishop.

*crunch*

Leona moves his queen into place--

*crunch*

The Prefect moves his pawn.

*crunch*

Leona uses his queen to capture the other bi--

*crunch*

The Prefect moves his--

*crunch*

Leona captures--

*crunch*

The Prefect moves--

*crunch*

Leona--

*CRUNCH*

Leona pounds his fist onto the table in great frustration at the unceasing sounds of that DISGRACE of a feline chomping away at his chips with no regard for the people trying to focus, "Will ya just can it, ya little runt?!"

"It wouldn’t kill you to be nice for once, you know! The game's almost over, so it doesn't matter much anyway." The Prefect protests, making Leona's eyes widen.

"What...?" He responds before quickly looking back at the board.

Wait.

What?!

Well into his side of the board stands a single white pawn, clear as day, which the Prefect moves into Leona's first rank, setting it up for promotion.

"Well, well. I think I'll be promoting my pawn to a queen." The Prefect says, his face a twisted mirror of the smirk the lion himself had worn not too long ago, "And I do believe that's more or less checkmate!"

Scanning the board again, Leona realizes what the other man means.

He'd never moved his original queen, which left her poised to shut down any attempts to retreat on Leona's part and even if he did escape at first, there's no outrunning two queens with so few pieces left on the board.

He's well and truly trapped.

Begrudgingly accepting his defeat, Leona sighs, "Fine. I surrender."

"Yay!" The Prefect pumps his fist in the air, looking very pleased with himself before reaching into the bowl of chips the little runt had been devouring, finding it empty, "Grim! You know it's rude to eat all of the food meant for everyone! Go to the kitchen and get some more for me and Leona."

The direbeast complies with a disgruntled look on his face as Leona goes over the match in his head to figure out what went wrong.

How did he let himself get cornered like that?

"It’s called 'Misdirection', dearest." The Prefect says smugly, no doubt after reading Leona's expression, "When you keep someone's attention on one thing while you're busy doing something else under their nose?"

"Ok, but when did ya 'misdirect' me, as you so eloquently put it?" Leona fires back, rapidly losing patience.

"Well, technically *I* didn't do anything beyond trusting in those powerful beastman ears of yours." He answers in a way that makes everything click in the lion's brain.

"You had the furball eat those chips so loud that it would distract me from the game?" Leona asks in slight disbelief.

"Yes and no. I really wasn't confident that I'd win on a completely level playing field, so when Grim jumped in, I thought I'd play along and see where it would go." He answers matter-of-factly.

Leona can't believe what he's hearing, "So you're tellin' me that you based your strategy around the whims of a CAT?"

"Isn't that a mark of a good leader, though?" The Prefect tilts his head, "Being able to improvise and pull through when things aren't going as planned, I mean.”

"Ya say that like it's some failsafe 'Get out of jail free' card." Leona says, slightly irritated, "Ya came up with some halfway decent plans in the past, but no amount'a 'improvising' would've saved ya if they went south."

"Wh– says the guy who fell for one of those 'halfway decent plans!'" The Prefect counters, hitting the scar in the lion's pride dead-on, "Look down on my strategies all you want, it doesn't change the fact that they worked!"

"Only because ya skated by on dumb luck!" Leona stands up from his chair, thoroughly offended, "At least I have the sense to not leave the crux of the plan up to chance and 'improvise' if it doesn't work!"

"Well, at least it's better than shutting down and giving up once something goes wrong like you did just now! Like you did at the Spelldrive tournament!!!" The Prefect stands up as well, unyielding to the lion's gaze.

"ARE YA CALLIN' ME A QUITTER, YA MAGICLESS NOBODY?!" Leona practically roars, shoving his forehead against the other man's, uncaring of personal space, but the Prefect stands his ground all the same.

"BETTER A MAGICLESS NOBODY THAN A COWARD PRINCE!!!" The Prefect yells while pushing back and maintaining eye contact.

"WHAT'D YA JUST SAY?!"

"YOU HEARD ME!!!"

"Hey, Henchman! Turns out that was the last of those chips, so I made popcorn instead--" Grim says as he walks in on what may well have turned into a fistfight, "U-uh, what're you guys doing...?"

The Prefect quickly breaks away and sits back down, taking a deep breath to calm himself, "Nothing, Grim. Just a little discussion between friends. Right, Leona?"

"...mm." Is his sole response before sitting back down with a huff as well.

“Are ya sure?? You guys looked like ya were ready to throttle each other!” Grim says while cautiously walking forward and placing the bowl of popcorn on the table.

“Don’t worry, Grim.” The Prefect reassures his companion with a headscratch, “We were talking about what strategies we might use for the next match, isn’t that right?”

‘The next match, huh?’ Leona thinks to himself, initially not interested, but eventually deciding to “see where it goes.”

This was his thought after the first match.

And the second.

And the third.

And the four-- oh, screw it. He's having fun.

He can't really explain why, but playing with the Prefect has caused a fog he didn't know was there to lift from his mind.

It's made Leona realize something he should've known from the start.

A pawn has no hope of becoming a king, but with time, effort and some luck, he supposes, it can still become a queen, which is more than enough to win the day.

"Checkmate.”

[yuri-is-online]

Hello a TDB fan here

I have been playing the game for a week and Rui is soo fine. If it's fine with you can you write something about MC and him kissing through sheer cloth. I had seen this scene in one of the chapters of freaking romance (webtoon) and that's all I can think about after knowing Rui's curse.

notes: they/them used for MC, extremely angsty and pining, heavily inspired by his Ephemeral Bouquet card (because you can't give a man who can't touch a skill called Envisioned Future and not expect me to play with it) More Tokyo Debunker content can be found on my masterlist here (x)

I altered the request slightly? As I was thinking about the specifics of Rui's curse and his bride card a bit too much and the concept of him longing to get married sort of took over, apologies (シ_ _)シ

There are small porous holes in tulle. It's meant to make the fabric breathable. See through. Ideal for a bridal veil, which is not what you are wearing but the thought has wormed it's way into his brain now. Rui can't unsee it.

The low light shines in the sages ring, a blonde hair falls out of place and your hand moves towards your own temple. You smile; he remembers what it feels like to touch someone. He thinks there was a weight to it, a shift. Was there warmth? There wasn't a taste, or has it been so long that he's forgotten?

"You may now seal this union with a kiss." His bare skin moves through the tulle, eyes closed as his smile grows with eagerness to feel- nothing. There was a person in his arms, but his eyes open to shimmering dust. All that is left of you in his grasp is sand, but the damned veil remains. He knows what he did to deserve this, but still-

"Rui?" The glass Rui's holding slips from his fingers as he laughs, sheepishly he tells himself. Just a little of his boyish whimsy and not aching relief at seeing you still alive. "Are you sure you don't need any help?" You don't move too close, just to the opposite side of the bar. Your costume has gloves too, white would be such a nice color on you but Romi put you in grey. The same color as his hair.

"Whoops, sorry 'bout that (name)!" He snatches up the broom before you can go for it and sweeps up the shards of glass. "I didn't scare you or anything did I?"

"No I'm ok." You draw yourself up a little taller. The veil makes it a bit hard to see him, but you think there's something just a bit off with Rui. More so than usual. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can do to help? Professor Moby-"

"Nope~ I've got this on lock promise!" He sure does, the task is practically already complete but it's not really what you were asking about. "Sides you can't just let that guy push off all his work onto you! You're still a student just like everyone else there's got to be something you want to do at the fair." Rui's back to smiles and laughter. If you hadn't been paying attention you never would have noticed there was a slight dip in his mood.

Hook. "Maybe." You noticed though. Line. "I haven't gotten much of a chance to look around it just yet."

Sinker. "Well that just won't do!" Rui always seems so... happy at the thought of spending time with you. It makes your heart ache. "Just give me a second to lock up the bar and I'll take you around! We can make it a date!"

~~~~

"Wow what a unique choice for prizes!" Rui says cheerfully as you politely examine the masks this Hotarubi student has displayed at her booth. He had been talking himself up just a second ago about how he could win you a nice stuffed animal but finding a booth with only a few people around it had proved difficult. "Did you make these yourself?"

"Thank you." The girl bows respectfully and gestures towards the targets behind her with a set of darts. "Care to test your skill?" Rui winks at you.

"Can we have two sets?" Might as well have some fun and help the poor girl's numbers out.

"Of course." She sets the darts down on the counter and settles back into her chair.

"Aww don't you have faith in me?" Rui smoulders just the bit, but you think he's having fun. "I'll have you know I'm pretty good at this."

"You'd better be Mr. Bar Tender." You wink and his facade breaks just the bit. "But I'm not that bad myself."

Rui barely hears the rest of what you say, something about a bet. Something about how if you win then he has to do anything you say. He probably shouldn't agree so quickly, but he wants to be normal. Wants to pretend that this is a normal date, that you would have noticed him if he had flirted with you. That he still would have had enough confidence not to wiff every shot. Not that he feels shame for losing to you, the sting comes from not being able to-

"Do you see a mask you like?" Your smug voice is so cute, he wishes the prizes were too.

"Ahaha not really?" Now that he's staring them down, it feels like he's being mocked. Doesnt he wear enough of these already? "You're the winner here! Shouldn't you pick out which one you think suits me best?"

"Then I wouldn't pick any of them." You snort, but pick one anyway. You twirl it around in your hands and hold it up against your face. "How about this one? Sort of looks like me don't you think?" He doesn't. The mask has none of your features, it is lifeless and hollow. You lift the mask up to his face and gently tap his lips. He closes his eyes to play into it because that's what this is right? A joke?

So why is there a face behind the mask?

Nakedness would be less intimate than this, there would be room for him to lie and bluster if he didn't have his clothes. You taste like clay, he can feel the push and pull of your lips against the barrier. Rui gasps against it, opens his mouth and presses himself closer. His hands grip the lapels of his jacket, you are so so warm and alive. Your gasp for air is muffled and Rui pauses out of instinct against the mask.

"Please." He doesn't know what he's asking for. He doesn't want you to stay, this was such a risky move he's almost angry at you for it. He wishes, he wants for something he cannot have. You feel Rui smile, his kiss is gentle against the mask and finally you think you get him to say something just closing in on being real. "I hope you live forever."

The polite cough of the girl running the stand interrupts whatever you had wanted to say in response.

[mauesartetc]

If y'all are hungry for a character design challenge, might I recommend the "ideas grid" section in "Fundamentals of Character Design"? (Seriously, read this book. It's GOOD.)

The book encourages the reader to choose some themes from the categories provided, but that seems a bit easy for my taste. I figure I'll just gravitate toward the design elements I'm already fond of, and where's the fun in that? Where's the challenge in doing something I've done a hundred times before?

Thus, I'm adding a component of randomization. I'll number the items in each list from 1 to 20 and use a random number generator to pick one from each (using the first selected number for the first category, the second number for the second category, and so on). Then I'll design a character based on the results, and so can you!

Category 1: Anatomy

Tall

Tiny

Muscular

Short

Angular

Soft

Broad

Adolescent

Square

Strong

Slim

Elderly

Athletic

Curvy

Infant

Petite

Elongated

Average

Round

Middle-aged

Category 2: Style

Colorful

Plain

Practical

Severe

Fashionable (the book had "stylish" here but I felt a stylish style would be too vague lol)

Minimalist

Eccentric

Vintage

Neat

Sporty

Mismatched

Alternative

Cozy

Outdated

Smart

Messy

Boring

Comfortable

Expensive

Simple

Category 3: Emotion

Cheerful

Afraid

Eager

Sad

Shy

Annoyed

Curious

Worried

Overjoyed

Awkward

Relaxed

Disgusted

Tired

Surprised

Wistful

Bored

Pitying (the book had "kind" here, but that's more a personality trait than it is an emotion. So I went with an emotion that would lead someone to acts of kindness.)

Awed

Excited

Furious

Category 4: Color

Warm

Dark

Vibrant

Pale

Cool

Autumnal

Contrasting

Nocturnal

Neutral

Deep

Faded

Tropical

Clashing

Pastel

Analogous

Bright

Natural

Monochrome

Neon

Light

Category 5: Role

Hero

Explorer

Learner

Entertainer

Guardian

Worker

Villain

Helper

Troublemaker

Fighter

Parent

Royalty

Henchman

Thinker

Wanderer

Rebel

Companion

Teacher

Trickster

Civilian

Category 6: Item

Book

Hat

Phone

Scarf

Weapon

Necklace

Cloak

Spectacles

Briefcase

Artifact

Torch

Coat

Spade

Rucksack

Cane

Key

Map

Belt

Glove

Earring

Category 7: Setting

Magical

Modern

Aquatic

Castle

Garden

Vehicle

Urban

Historical (might pull out the random date generator for this one)

Library

Spooky

Futuristic

Beach

School

Forest

Zoo

Shop

Dystopian

Street

Office

Mountain

Obviously these are just starting points and you don't have to include something from every category, though doing so in a natural, cohesive way would be an impressive flex of your design skills. Let me know which words y'all got, and if you design a character based on them, drop a link!

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 6 (smexy times ahead)

To Kara’s surprise, steak dinner happens at Lena’s apartment. From how little Lena has shared so far, she’d expected to wait weeks or months to see where Lena lives. It’s not until she arrives that Kara realizes exactly why Lena is so willing to let Kara into her inner sanctum. 

It’s completely void of personality.

Well, Kara allows, it could be that a lack of personality could be a personality in itself. And there are photos, but they all feature Lena and her crew. All smiling– all recent. Nothing to suggest Lena had a life before National City. She spies a punching bag in one corner, but the rest of the furniture is worn and basic, suggesting the place had come pre-furnished by a landlord who didn’t particularly care about aesthetics. It’s spartan and plain– forthright in a way that actually fits Lena. Still…

Kara wishes the space could have given her a better look at Lena’s inner life. 

The kitchen, at least, is functional enough. Enough that Lena is able to season and sear her steaks to perfection, with some fresh asparagus sauteeing on a side burner. And she does it all with a smile, chatting with Kara as well as she had on the way home. A capable multitasker, Kara notes, though it’s less than surprising. 

Lena seems incapable of being incapable at anything. 

The meal is served up on non-descript plates– at least they’re ceramic and not paper, and Lena does lower the overhead lights to set the mood. Kara moans when the first bite of steak hits her tongue. Moist and savory and perfectly seasoned, it puts anything she herself could have made to shame. The asparagus is also perfectly softened without being mushy, retaining enough of its texture to allow for a bit of a crunch at the center. 

“Are you sure the Army didn’t put you on the chow line? This is delicious!” Kara groans. 

Lena smirks, taking a sip of her wine. “You think ‘chow’ tastes like this?” An arch eyebrow dispels that notion. “Nah. Not so much.”

“Well, wherever it comes from, color me amazed and impressed.”

Kara takes another large–too large– bite, and has to spend several quiet moments chewing her way through it. When she swallows– still too large– she tilts her head. 

“Is there anything you’re not good at?”

Lena’s eyes warm with mirth, but takes a moment to consider.

“Jumping rope.” Lena shrugs. “I hate it. Can’t stand it.”

“But you can do it?”

Lena waves away the answer. 

“Then it doesn’t count!” 

Lena laughs. “Alright, alright… um. Okay. I can’t draw to save my life.”

It’s a surprisingly candid answer. “Really?”

Lena nods. “Any required art classes were passed on charm alone.”

Kara grins. Lena eyes her suspiciously. 

“What?” 

For a moment, they play a game of silent chicken as Kara waits for Lena to say the words, and Lean waits for Kara to confess what she already suspects. Finally, Lena caves.

“You’re an artist, aren’t you.”

Kara laughs, tickled by the suspicion at odds with the twinkle in Lena’s eye. “Maybe…” she draws out, unable to help the taunt. She relents when Lena’s eyebrow climbs dangerously close to her hairline. “Okay, fine. Yeah. I am. Kind of. At least, I was.”

“You were?” 

“Not much opportunity to flex my brush skills on a cop’s schedule,” she deflects, unwilling to dull the mood with the somber reality. If Lena suspects the deeper reason, she gives no indication. 

Instead, she tilts her head. “Well, I’d like to see some of your work, sometime.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lena confirms. “If you’re willing to share, of course. No pressure.” She takes another sip of her wine. “I just know that anything you do would be amazing.”

Lena’s voice is low and throaty, and Kara senses the shift to a mood far more intimate than playful banter. “In that case, you would be right,” Kara confirms, leaning forward across the table. “Play your cards right, and I’ll prove it to you. Again.”

“Uh uh,” Lena returns, leaning to meet Kara midway across the table. She pecks a tantalizing kiss to Kara’s lips. “Tonight is my turn to go first.”

“Oooh,” Kara purrs. “I don’t mind the sound of that.”

She plays a light drumroll on Lena’s ass as she clears the dishes, which only receive a quick rinse before being forgotten in the sink. Lena’s attention turns to Kara, who feels the weight of her focus like a planar shift. The rest of the world ceases to exist, narrowing to the two of them alone.

They haven’t even reached the threshold of Lena’s bedroom before warm lips caress the skin of her neck. Her flesh prickles with goosebumps, a frisson of desire coursing through her. She wants this, and the flutter of nerves in her belly only heightens her anticipation. She’s never wanted anything– or anyone– as much as she wants this, wants Lena. She doesn’t know what Lena has in store for her, and doesn’t quite know how her body will react to her ministrations. If her current arousal is anything to go by, Kara suspects she might not survive what’s to come. And she’s perfectly fine with that.

Lena guides her with gentle hands to sit on the edge of the bed. For a moment, Kara thinks she’ll sit on her lap, like the last time on her couch. But instead, Lena lays her back, leaning over her with a muscled arm holding her up.

“Tell me what you want,” Lena murmurs between slow languid kisses. Kara whimpers into her mouth, making Lena’s lips curl in a smile against hers. “That’s not an answer, love.”

For a moment, Kara struggles to think, but Lena doesn’t relent in her ministrations. It takes long minutes of nearly losing herself in the sensations before she manages to conjure her wish.

“Let’s go slow.” she murmurs.

Lena pauses immediately, but Kara keeps her from pulling away by cupping her cheek. Lena gazes into her eyes, studying her to understand the meaning behind her words. Then, slowly, a low fire sparks deep in her gaze.

“How slow, exactly,” she asks, low and silky.

Kara lifts her chin to kiss her. “As slow as possible.”

Nodding her understanding, Lena runs a velvet touch up under Kara’s shirt; slow enough to count each and every rib. “And where would you like to start?”

Breath hitching when Lena hits a sensitive spot just under Kara’s breast, Kara tries to blink her way to at least partial coherency. 

“Do you have a vibrator?” she gasps.

Lena nods, nuzzling Kara’s ear. “Excellent idea, darling.”

Finally, Kara releases herself to the experience. Lena takes her time with her, going deliciously slow as she raises Kara’s shirt by inches, kissing every exposed bit skin on her way. Not just kissing. Licking, nibbling, suckling. She lingers on Kara’s breasts, brushing her thumbs over pebbled nipples as she diverts back to Kara’s lips. 

Slowly but surely, Kara’s skin heats with pleasure. But when her breath starts to quicken, Lena draws herself away. Without Lena’s body heat against her, chill air washes over her, making her groan. She squeezes her eyes shut in frustration.

“Now, now,” Lena tsks. “I want you to watch.”

Kara’s eyes fly open, and she props herself up on her elbows to watch as Lena unbuttons the fly of her jeans. Her fingers dip beneath her waistband, and Kara’s breath goes ragged in her chest. But just as smoothly as they slide under, they slip back out, and Lena shimmies out of her pants. 

She kicks them aside as soon as she steps out of them, and Kara is left to ogle smooth, tones legs. Lena may not match Kara for height, but her legs are long and packed with muscle. Kara’s mouth goes dry.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Kara mutters. 

Lena saunters closer, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Well, hopefully he won’t be the one fucking tonight.” 

She tilts Kara’s chin up. Kara lets her mouth gape, just enough for Lena to see the invitation and take it. Her tongue slides over Kara’s, then curls languorously up and along the roof of Kara’s mouth. She sucks against Kara’s upper lip as she withdraws, and Kara lists after her when she sits back on Kara’s knees. 

“Do you want to see more?” Lena croons.

Kara swallows thickly. “All of it,” she croaks. “I want to see all of you.”

Lena smiles, pleased with her response. She grips the hem of her shirt with her fingertips, and slowly begins to pull it up, up, up over her abdomen, her breasts, and finally her head. Dark hair flows through the neck opening, swishing around Lena’s bare shoulders. When Lena’s fingers move to her bra, all higher function vacates Kara’s brain. The little strip tease that follows sends bolts of arousal down through Kara’s core, pooling between her legs. Soon, only Lena’s underwear remains.

When Lena twists to deposit her bra on the pile with the rest of her abandoned clothing, Kara catches sight of a dark smudge on Lena’s ribs, but it flashes out of sight and out of mind when Lena turns her attention back to her. 

Thankfully, Lena makes quicker work of Kara’s own pants. Soon Kara is completely and enthusiastically nude, and Kara notes that Lena makes no mention of how wet she is. Kara’s glad for it– she suspects it will be her default state whenever Lena’s eyes take on this sort of glint. 

She jumps when the first rumble of the vibrator tickles the inside of her thigh. She inhales through her teeth, and is answered by a palm pressing flatly against her labia and clit. 

“Easy,” Lena coaxes. Her lips still smirk though. “Don’t want you getting worked up too soon, do we?”

The even pressure on her groin eases some of the edge that had been building within her, and she manages to take a breath that relieves any more. Even so, she knows that once Lena gets to work with the vibrator, she would be hard pressed to draw this out as long as she hoped she could.

Lena isn’t one to disappoint. She plays Kara like a fiddle, taking her tantalizingly close to edge after edge, before drawing her back down again and again. Her technique is expert– the vibrator seems to trace patterns everywhere but her clit. Her labia, her bikini line, even the bottom edge of her belly. Sometimes, when Kara lingers too long on one edge, a warm tongue soothes her clit, dulling the hungry ache.

“Hanging in there?” Lena checks in once Kara stops squirming. 

“Barely,” Kara gasps, panting. 

“You are so hot,” Lena purrs. “You’re doing so good.”

That alone almost almost pitches Kara over the precipice. She curls her fingers into the sheets, gritting her teeth. “Soon,” she warns.

“Just say the word, baby. I’ll get you there.”

Lena starts again, taking her time tracing more patterns around her ultimate destination. Slowly, inevitably, the pressure building to unprecedented heights. Kara’s never been attended to like this, never been read so plainly, so intuitively. It’s as though Lena has already memorized her body, chasing every sensitive part of her with expert precision until even the ebb aches as deliciously as the flow. 

When Lena brings the vibrator closer to her clit than she has so far, Kara cracks. 

“Now!” she gasps.

The vibrator has hardly touched her clit when Kara hurtles over. She can’t help the cry that escapes her, loud and long and desperate. She’s never made a sound like this before. She doesn’t realize Lena hasn’t moved the vibrator before she’s tipping into a second orgasm, then a third. The last lingers for long, long seconds and only then do the vibrations cease.

The whine that Kara issues is inhuman to her own ears, but Lena only chuckles as she climbs up to check on her.

“Still conscious?” 

Kara grunts plaintively, as her fingers slowly release the sheets. 

“That was– whoah!”

Lena’s exclamation is swallowed by Kara’s mouth on hers, lunging for a kiss before full conscious thought has even returned. Lena melts into it, letting the kiss deepen and last until Kara is the one to break it. 

“Amazing,” she finishes Lena’s sentence for her. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

Lena’s cheeks flush under the praise. “And you,” she returns, “are a glutton for punishment. You lasted longer than I thought you would. Much longer.” She licks Kara’s upper lip so sensually, it almost makes Kara ask for another round. Almost. “Good girl.”

Kara sighs. “I don’t know if I can return the favor,” she confesses. It kills her to say it, but she barely feel her toes. Lena laughs. “I’m sorry…”

“Please,” Lena dismisses, still laughing. “That’s possibly the greatest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

Kara blinks. “Ever?”

“Ever,” Lena confirms. She smiles, her eyes warm and full of comfort as she gazes down at Kara. “How about an early night then?”

A sigh escapes Kara. “That sounds…”

“Amazing?” Lena teases.

“Yeah,” Kara confirms contentedly. “Amazing.”

[acourtofthought]

What they say about Jamie:

What they say about Lucien who was based off Jamie.

From this:

He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish—but well-mannered and elegant.

To this:

Like Rhys, he usually opted for words to win his battles, but I’d seen him and Tamlin in the practice ring. He knew how to handle a weapon. How to kill, if need be.

Lucien, just like Jamie, easily transitions between both worlds. Gentlemen to warrior.

"Whisperer of fish, fowl, horse, and lass"

Lucien:

He waded into the stream, boots off and pants rolled to his knees, and caught one with his bare hands. He’d tied his hair up, a few strands of it falling into his face as he swooped down again and threw a second trout onto the sandy bank where I’d been trying to find a substitute for fishing twine. We remained silent as the fish eventually stopped flapping, their sides catching and gleaming with all the colors so bright above us. Lucien picked them up by their tails, as if he’d done it a thousand times. He might very well have, right here in this stream. “I’ll clean them while you start the fire.”

“Autumn Court males have fire in their blood—and they fuck like it, too.”

"Paying attention to every little thing about Claire, making him possibly the first feminist of Scotland"

Lucien with Elain:

He knew without demanding clarification that she was aware of what he was to her.

She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

Her eyes were the brown of a fawn’s coat. And he could have sworn something sparked in them as she met his gaze.

“Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.”

“No—I didn’t have time. I felt her, but …” A blush stained his cheek.

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

“I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.

Lucien with his female friends:

“Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

“No,” Lucien said quietly as I reached for a foothold in the next boulder. “That was all you.”

“I have an old friend at the Dawn Court. She’s skilled at tinkering—blending magic and machinery. Tamlin got her to craft it for me at great risk.”

“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”

Just like Jamie, Lucien is a feminist and constantly paying attention to all the details of his mate.

"Sexy, gorgeous, and perfect"

Lucien:

The brutally scarred face beneath was still handsome—his features sharp and elegant.

Perhaps you’ll get a handsome Fae lord as your mate, too.”

I studied the broad, tan hand wrapped around my elbow.

Our dispersing party watched as he braced my waist in his broad hands and easily hefted me off the horse.

I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face against his warm, bare chest.

Lucien loosed a heavy sigh and slid an arm around my waist, the other threading through my hair to cradle my head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.” He held me, stroking soothing lines down my back, and I calmed my weeping, those seawater tears drying up like wet sand in the sun. I lifted my head from his sculpted chest at last, my fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders as I peered into his concerned face.

She slid a hand over the broad panes of his chest, his stomach.

“You should kill Beron and his sons and set up the handsome one as High Lord of Autumn,self-imposed exile or no.

Lucien’s scarred, handsome face appeared,

He had to give Lucien credit: the male was somehow able to move between his three roles—an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin—and still dress immaculately.

Lucien, just like Jamie, is the King of Men.

@lucienweekofficial

[plathfiles]

lead singer!remus never being one to be public with his emotions but writing the sappiest love song for reader and the fans just go wild!!! everyone just assumes it was james or sirius that wrote it (let's be honest james probably wrote 10000 ballads for lily) until one show remus is just all 'this is one i wrote for my girl' 🥺🥺🥺

GAH 😩 YES OMG OMG !!!

thank you for this love <3

hope you enjoy !!

The Marauders set up their instruments and sound hours ago, practicing as much as they could before their performance. The band had started receiving gigs in pubs and at parties. Already having a few original songs under their belt, they were receiving more attention from local venues.

You had been introduced to the band from a dear friend. Marlene McKinnon was friends with the band and the guitarist’s girlfriend — Lily Evans. Everyone was going to be there tonight. The pub already filling up with university students and local residents from the community. You were in a booth at the front of the venue, squashed between Marlene and Lily.

“I wonder how many love ballads there will be tonight?” Marlene asked, turning to Lily and giving her a smirk.

Lily playfully rolled her eyes. “James doesn’t write that many,” she protested. Although she had to admit, the boy had written a few love ballads similar to those of the 1980s.

You took a sip of your drink and looked at you friends. “I wonder if Remus has written anything?” She asked.

Remus was a very private writer. He would write with Sirius or the rest of the band. You wouldn’t be opposed to having a song about you. But Remus didn’t seem like the type either. Especially with James��� obnoxious guitar skills and clearly Lily inspired lyrics.

As the room got more crowed and the 9 o’clock showtime reared it’s head, the band stepped out onto stage.

Remus was the first to come out. He was wearing an argyle sweatshirt and corduroy pants. It was his signature look and you thought it was very attractive. His guitar was around his chest. It’s bright cherry red color glistening in the light. Sirius was the second to pop out from behind the curtain, drum sticks in hand. James stepped out, almost tripping on a cord. He was usually very clumsy. His glasses were crooked, per usual and his vintage yellow electric guitar was strapped onto him. Peter was the last to get on stage, his glittering blue bass in his arms.

The band did a couple last minute checks, before Remus grabbed the microphone and looked into the crowd.

“Hello everyone. I’m Remus Lupin if you didn’t already know,” he smiled and the crowd cheered. “To my left is James Potter on electric guitar, to my right is Peter Pettigrew on bass. And lastly, on the platform behind me is Sirius Black on drums,” he introduced. With each name the crowd went wild!

Remus looked down at you and gave you a smirk and wink. You felt your cheeks redden and butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“We have a newly written song for you tonight!” Remus said. “This is a love song!”

The crowd cheered before he could finish the introduction.

“Awe here we go again Lils, another one about you,” Marlene joked. You laughed under your breath as Lily took a drink of her beer.

But Remus continued and said something that surprised you.

“I wrote this one,” he blushed, then looking at you. “This is one I wrote for my girl.”

The band began to play the opening notes of the rock n roll song. As he was singing, he was only looking at you. Lily and Marlene cheered along with the crowd. You were stunned to silence, a permanent blush coding you cheeks.

For three minutes Remus and the rest of the band performed a song of Remus’ creation. All about the beauty and wonder that was you.

The rest of the performance went beautifully. With some of their usual set and a couple Bowie covers, they seemed to be over before you knew it.

After the performance you, Lily and Marlene went to meet the band out back to help them pack up their stuff. Once Remus spotted you, he dropped the cigarette he was smoking. He walked to you and pulled you close to him.

“Did ya like the song, love?” he asked you.

You nodded, “I did. I was surprised you wrote a love song about me?”

Remus pulled you in closer. “I meant every word I wrote. And I’d write you a million love songs, now that I have you in my arms,” he replied.

Overhearing the two of you, Sirius groaned, putting some parts of his drum set into the van. “Ugh great! You’re going to make him as bad as James,” he said, looking towards you.

Remus and you laughed, then the brown haired boy pulled you into a sweet kiss. “I’m glad you liked the song. I can’t wait to write you another.” He held you close to him, kissing your forehead.

𝑎／𝑛 ： I hope you enjoyed this. Please do not forget to reblog and like! If you’d like to request anything please send me a message through my inbox. Also my dms are open anytime if anyone just wants to chat <3

[inkabelledesigns]

Belladonna Nightshade - Halloween Dark Fairy

Base Doll: G3 Twyla from Monster High Clothing Pattern: Dollightful's Asymmetrical Dress (read to the end, I have notes about this)

Happy Halloween everyone! Since becoming a doll customizer, my Halloween dolls are usually related to my favorite indie horror game, Bendy and the Ink Machine. However, seeing as I've completed two Bendy dolls already this year, I felt it was time to give myself a break and try something a bit different. My friends over in DollyAnna's Discord server wanted to do a collaboration, so we decided to all make some Dark Fairies for Halloween!

Belladonna Nightshade is a mischievous fae that loves to play tricks and tempt mortals. That said, she's easily bribed with a sweet treat or two, and will usually let you be if you have a little candy or pastry to give her. I haven't decided what I want to do with her yet in terms of a story, but there is a part of me that would love to have her in my Equinox story.

When you consider the fact that most of my other Halloween dolls are black and yellow, it's no surprise she ended up super colorful. XD Would you believe this is my first doll with rainbow hair? Yeah neither did I, but she is! Part of my style is having really colorful and vibrant dolls, it surprises a lot of people that I've never done a rainbow before, but honestly? I'm glad to have finally tackled one! I'm also glad to have worked with another G3. Twyla is very near and dear to my heart, and I was so psyched to work with her mold! You can't see it in any of these photos, but I used glow in the dark varnish on her eyes and neon markings, so that her eyes still glow like the original. I will say, this doll has a lot more acrylic paint than my others, just by the nature of I don't have any pencils in neon colors. It was nice to get the practice in, I feel more confident than I did before in my brush skills. It was also nice to have a doll with dark scleras for a change! I haven't done that since I made Dreamer, it's surprisingly fun to draw on!

I was inspired by a LOT of different things with this one, and I went back and forth on my concepts a lot. Black light skeleton make-up, butterflies, fairies with non-traditional wings, candy, jesters, these were all sources of inspiration, and I think most obviously of all, Dollightful herself. This wasn't intentional, but I ended up using a doll of one of her favorite characters, with a lot of saturated colors which we know she loves, and even her dress pattern! I've been wanting to make this garment for ages, and finally I had a reason to try it!

So those of you who know how this pattern works are probably asking "Kat, how did you make this fit a G3? This dress is supposed to fit a G1 Monster High doll!" Believe it or not, Requiem Arts has a method for easily adjusting G1 patterns to fit G3 bodies. It's as simple as scaling a pattern up to 104% and printing it that way. It's meant for her garments, but I don't see any reason why it wouldn't work for other doll patterns. So I tried it with Katherine's dress, and I'm happy to say it worked out just fine! I think I probably should have adjusted a bit more on the skirt though. This outfit is essentially two pieces, and the skirt with all the ruffles is a little tight around the booty, it could have used a little more sizing up. So if you own this pattern and want to try this yourself, do keep that in mind!

Do let me know what you think! I had so much fun working on Belladonna, she's so vibrant and fun, I wanna try more fairies like her someday. I also need to try using props more. I got these pumpkins and hay bales on sale, and it was fun using them to craft a little temporary set for photos.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A Single Grain

Part 1 (ft. Riddle and Silver) I Part 2 (ft. Trey and Kalim) I Part 3 (ft. Jade and Lilia) I Part 4 (ft. Deuce and Jamil) I Part 5 (ft. Malleus and Ruggie) | Part 6 (ft. Cater and Rook) | Part 7 (ft. Sebek and Floyd) | Part 8 (ft. Ace and Idia) | Part 9 (ft. Leona and Epel) | Part 10 (ft. Jack and Vil) | Bonus (ft. Grim)

In which Gordon Ramsay-kun is isekai’d into Twisted Wonderland. Part Food Wars, part Hell’s Kitchen, all Master Chef—Night Raven College isn’t ready to take on this Michelin Star celebrity!!

An octopus concerned with sales and a robot that only recently gained a heart… They’re Gordon Ramsay’s final hurdles to instill a respect for food and cooking in the NRC boys!

Finally, FINALLY I'm done with this shitpost of a series 🤡

Imagine this...

“Gordon-san~”

The master chef shuddered to look up from his station, knowing exactly what was awaiting him. That sickeningly coy, dulcet purr could only belong to a certain sleazy student--but as the instructor, Gordon had an obligation to answer his call. Groaning, a fuck me on the tip of his tongue, he met Azul head-on.

The boy had sidled up, a red-colored clump of risotto in his hands and his lips arranged into an all-too-familiar grin. He had taken care to tuck as much of his silvery hair under a chef's cap, and there was not so much as a stain upon his jacket.

Pristine, just as he wished to be perceived as.

“Is this amount of filling appropriate for the croquettes?” Azul presented his rice ball, indicating the mound of cheese and herbs in the center.

“Yes, it’s fine.”

The blunt response thrown out, Gordon returned to his mise en place—chopping the vegetables for a fried rice. It was clean, precise work. Chop, chop, chop, then the medley of colors tossed into their own bowls. Orange carrots, green broccoli, yellow corn, pink shrimp.

“Gordon-san.”

A twinge of annoyance.

He set down his knife. “What is it now?”

“What do you think of the shape?” Azul had completely formed the sphere, which fit in his palm. The insides were covered up by more rice. “Too large, and it won’t fry thoroughly in the oil. Too little, and it will surely burn.”

Gordon eyed it with a grunt. “It works. Throw it in some breadcrumbs and get to cooking.”

“Certainly, sir!”

Azul retreated.

Gordon sighed.

Peace, he knew, was short lived. A minute or so later, his too-eager pupil began once more.

“Gordon-san, I’d like your opinion on the color,” Azul called. He spooned his rice croquettes from a frying pan. They were a crisp, golden crimson-brown, still sizzling with heat.

"It looks exactly like the photo from the recipe book.”

"Thank you! I’m honored to receive your praise." Azul beamed smugly as he deposited the balls onto a plate. "Now then! What do you make of selling these as an appetizer? I do believe 1500 madol for three is a fair price for the cost of ingredients and labor."

Gordon threw his arms up. "This is the fifth time today, Ashengrotto. Are you going to keep asking me for feedback on your lounge’s menu plans like this?!"

Azul drew back with a gasp, feigning offense. “I’m making small talk! Is it so wrong to try and get to know one’s teacher—who just so happens to be a well-traveled, skilled chef with incredible business acumen?”

The stare Gordon retaliated with could have burned holes into mountains. Azul held his gaze and lightly scoffed.

“From one restauranteur to another… Why, I’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity!! You cannot fault a student for wishing to make the most of your wisdom.”

“… Get back to work. This class is for making food, not for cooking up business strategies.” He squinted at Azul’s croquettes. “And this time, try making your own filling.”

“What? My own…?” The octopus pushed his glasses up.

“You’ve already demonstrated you can reproduce the original dish without a problem. This is your chance to get creative with whatever’s in the pantry.” Gordon cocked a brow. “You can do it, can’t you?”

“Of course I can. What do you take me for, an amateur?”

Gordon's senses were as sharp as the blade of his knife.

He didn’t miss the slight stutter in Azul’s voice, a chink in his armor. It was a small glimpse of that unconfident part of himself that the octopus so often shunted away.

He may have grown up in a restaurant, but maybe he hasn’t had much experience cooking himself? Might explain why he clings so closely to what’s written down.

“Ashengrotto—”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Azul declared a little louder than he would have liked. “I will be certain to present you with a uniquely delicious filling of my own creation—no, three!”

He fell in line beside a small student in visors, the cut of his clothes blockier and studier than his own. It was of an unnatural origin--manmade, meant to imitate a chef--but the ensemble fit him perfectly.

The young boy flipped a hamburger patty juicy with grease into the air--and it fell in a narrow arc, landing atop a mound of rice. A sunny side egg followed, its golden center wobbling upon impact. With a sprinkle of finely sliced scallions, the dish was done.

He smiled, showing sharp teeth. "Recipe complete. Now proceeding to the judging stage!"

"Already?!" Gordon cried, jaw dropping. "The rice alone should have taken 30 minutes. Everything else is about 15 minutes. Bit fast to be finished now."

"You don't need to worry! My Cooking Gear is outfitted with various tools to help expedite the process."

"You and Idia-san have truly outdone yourselves with this new gear," Azul gushed. "It's quite efficient."

He passed a subtle glance at Ortho's towering hat. Azul had witnessed it pop open earlier, revealing a hidden rice cooking chamber. While the main starch had steamed, Ortho had worked on his other preparations.

"Hehe. Thank you, Azul Ashengrotto-san! I'm sure Nii-san will be pleased to hear about these promising preliminary results."

"Well... You technically didn't use magic for this, so I'll let it go."

"Yay~ That's one step closer to clearing this mission!! All that's left is the tasting."

Gordon, bewildered, watched as the platter of loco moco floated itself over to him. It was a technological marvel of Ortho's own design.

"Please dig it! I have recreated the recipe to 99.9% accuracy, right down to the original chef's technique, so I am confident that it tastes good."

Gordon blinked as he carefully accepted the plate from the air. Prodding a fork into the yolk, it burst and ran down the hamburger and rice in thick, fatty rivulets.

He hesitated in bringing a bite to his mouth.

"Hm? Is something the matter?" Ortho paused. "Oh, if it isn't to your liking, let me know and I can adjust the seasoning to suit your personal preferences. The Cooking Gear may be for everyday kitchen use, but it is also capable of analyzing flavor profiles and generating optimal variants if prompted with a base recipe."

"It's not that. I just don't think I've ever had a class go this smoothly.” Rice drenched in luxurious yolk fell onto Gordon’s tongue. “Usually there's some problem. Students that lack discipline or focus, need extra instruction, have no respect for the recipes or kitchen safety..."

"Wah, it sounds like you've been through some tough times, Gordon Ramsay-san... It seems there is much more to being a chef than just producing dishes."

“You’re right about that, my darling. There’s still a lot for you to learn—things that fancy Cooking Gear can’t teach you, like how to deal with insufferable donkeys and idiot sandwiches.”

“… I’m afraid I don’t compute.”

"Oh, you poor, unfortunate soul," Azul cut in, warbling in agreement. "Why, I've experienced the very same! You wouldn't believe how combative Floyd can be when he's not in the mood for cooking and we have a line of hungry customers lining up.

"Running an eatery is but a team effort, wouldn't you say? As teacher and students,m sharing the same kitchen, we should place more trust in one another."

Not this again.

“There’s truth to what you’re saying, but I get the feeling you’re leading into another business idea,” Gordon grumbled. “And this isn’t the time for that.”

“We can include Ortho-san in our conversation if you’re concerned. It would be wonderful to have the perspective of an underclassman.”

“You want the free child labor,” Gordon guessed.

“Volunteer work,” Azul countered. “It would look good on a resume.”

“If it’s running a simulation of projected sales or something of the like, I’ve got you!”

“No, no, DON’T ‘get’ him!!”

“Aww, but it sounded interesting.”

"Listen here." Gordon set down his fork and set his sights upon his students. "What you have is a good basis, a solid grasp of the fundamentals and how to read a recipe. We can build off of that, but it doesn't have to mean setting up a restaurant or making combinations a computer came up with. Food can be many other things.

"Food is what grounds us, giving us nutrition and energy so that we may survive. Food is an art form, feeding our souls and imaginations. Food is to socialize, shared among friends and family to make memories. Food is a skill, technical and taught. Food is connection and culture, rich with love and history."

And he, tasked with it. Preparing, serving.

That knowledge, Gordon realized, was like rice. A single grain of rice can become an entire field, flushed gold with opportunity. It was grown, harvested, given back to the earth... and the cycle began anew, feeding and nourishing countless.

He nodded resolutely. "Let's cultivate not only your cooking abilities, but also your appreciation for food as a whole."

"... My, my. Spoken like a true Master Chef!" A slow smirk found its way onto Azul's face. "I could ask for no better instructor."

"Azul Ashengrotto-san is right!" Ortho chimed in. "We're so lucky to have a teacher like you to guiding us."

Gordon found his own mouth quirking as he wiped it.

These boys, his rising stars, grains of rice with potential yet to be realized.

"Alright, that's enough of paying lip service. Ashengrotto, your new filling. Shroud, let's see you do the same with your own take on loco moco."

"Yes, Chef!"