#trendy heart ring

[neoyoujewelry]

[the10jewelry01]

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[valer1esgallery]

Mammon head cannons

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I feel like mammon is totally prone to night terrors about loosing you and his brothers, normally waking up in a cold sweat. After literally having you head in his arms, he is horrified that it will happen again. While in bed, he will grip you tightly in his sleep, almost scared you will disappear again. Once awoken from one of these night terrors, he will stay in bed with you, head buried in your shoulder while his hand rests over your heart, or silently get out of bed and check on everyone. He hates seeing his family hurt.

Why do I feel like he has a split tounge. He got it medically done a couple hundred years ago and he thinks its a cool party trick. When asked if he would ever do it again, he says he would but in reality, he would probably never do it again. The healing process sucked, his tounge aching and in alot of pain while it healed, not being able to eat solid food for a while, having a constant headache, he wouldn't do it again.

Loves to have matching items with you <3 Weather it be a phone case, small rings, earrings, a necklace, loom band bracelets, outfits, nails, whatever. He loves matching with you though he never admits it was his idea. He HIGHLEY hinted at it until you said it first, which he agreed to almost immediately after abit of talking.

Is like a puppy whenever your up in the human world, sighing and laying around while he waits for you in his free time. He still goes to RAD, gamble, cause trouble, but whenever he has time to himself or doesn't have to focus on more things, your swarming his head. So happy once your back in devildom

So many rings, either got the idea from Asmodeus or it was trendy ages ago and it stuck with him forever. He has both silver and gold rings on almost all fingers, though he has once small home-made ring made from the handle of a spoon that you made him that he always keeps on his ring finger. Don't look into it too much human!

He loves seeing his pact mark on you, it gives him a small comfort. His mark is right on your left wrist, its easy to spot but also easy to hide. He enjoys just tracing it while you both are studying, doing it absent mindedly while he slightly zones out. If you mention it, he will blush deeply and move away, flustered while denying ever doing it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry this was short, my first post on this account! What would you guys like to see next?

[amazinglyashy]

Crow on the Ring

Read on AO3 Pairings: Sylus x Reader, Luke and Kieran & Reader Tags: Gender Neutral Pronouns, Domestic Fluff, Getting your Nails Done Wordcount: 1,116 Summary: Sylus wonders to himself- if there was any point in having henchmen anymore. If they were going to consistently be busy with his partner getting their nails done rather than helping him with... actual henchmen things...?

It was... difficult , to say the least. 

Coming to the realization that one could no longer go out on jobs, flanked by his own henchmen. You know, the ones he had meticulously hired, trained, and paid more than living wages for for their less than savory duties half of the time. Hell, even housing and clothing them since they seemed to need it, even despite how much you paid them.

Yet, here Sylus was. Standing alone on the train platform to go home. By himself. In the wind. Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. 

Nice.

It wasn't that it annoyed him particularly badly, no. He had done so many things in his life on his own, you wouldn't be able to count them even if you used all of the fingers of the hands of the men he had culled today, mowed down by the very pistol concealed on the inside of his coat, blocking out the chill of the season. Hell, he was even used to sending the twins home early if he didn't think he needed them for cleanup or anything- benefits of Sylus's evol was it usually didn't leave any traces of blood or carnage… that is, as long as he didn't want it to- So, that being said, he was painfully familiar with working alone.

But there was a stark difference between working alone because you were used to it, and working alone because your partner had been wanting to get their nails done for weeks at a trendy salon near the bad side of Linkon, and your own personal henchmen- you know, the ones you trained and paid for- had decided they would go with your partner to… protect them from the possible thugs lurking around nearby, spending their time daring the other to get their nails done too, without so much as a passing question to their boss about whether or not they were allowed to go.

They'd stopped asking a long time ago.

Somehow, Sylus found himself thinking that was a good thing, as he stepped past passengers and crossed the threshold of the train car. He wasn't entirely sure how he came to that conclusion, but as he stood leaning against one of the grab bars, his phone dinged with a text notification, and it showed him the path easily. He pulled it from his pocket, knowing fully well who it could be, the coat on his shoulder unnecessary to stave off the chill of the season anymore. His heart had been sparked enough to do the job on its own.

And somewhere along the line, it had become less about work- less about protocore auctions, deals gone good and deals gone sour, hitlists that spanned far longer than they should have given how much trust and faith Sylus would try and put into people- and that was because of you, only you- and oftentimes gorey scenes that Sylus had more than become accustomed to himself- and more about... You.

About the way you did things so differently from how he did, the fresh perspective perplexing at first, until he had finally fallen in with the routine. But even still, routine was a term used loosely. There was no routine to you. Maybe he could have a set schedule of when you went to cafes or hung out with your friends and coworkers, but that wasn't what he was referring to. No, his mind was drawn to the strange little things you did, to the way you were infectious to everyone you managed to cross without even realizing it- infectious to the ones that mattered. And only to the ones that would ever matter, whether you realized it or not yet- whether you had met them all or not, yet. 

Infectious in the way that he was looking at three matching nail sets in a photo you had sent in the group chat, the emojis of goofy faces popping up from Luke and then Kieran as they added their wordless two cent commentary to the image. The designs were all slightly different from each other, but a similar theme was apparent on each pair of hands. Red, black, and with a crow painted meticulously on each of your ring fingers. The caption underneath read You can see better in person shortly- we're waiting for you at the end of your line! and it made Sylus's heart warm even more than he would ever admit to anyone but you.

He moved to type.

And how do you know which line I'm taking, sweetie? Which platform are you on- the north, or the south?

The three of you had left far before Sylus had left for his job, and he distinctly remembered that not one of you had asked him where he was even going. Not a care in the world, but he guessed that would be your own undoing someday. Particularly, today- He'd been met with silence for a moment, the dot, dot, dot of texts in progress from all three of you went on painfully long, before you finally broke the silence with the shortest text to be sent after such a long period of time.

There's two of you, split up! You had texted back, not to Sylus, but to the twins, and somehow, Sylus found the act amusing enough that a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Obviously, the three of you were still next to each other, wherever you had ended up in your search for him. There was no need to send the text when you could speak it out loud. 

But that begged the question of where was the fun in that? Where was the hilarity? If you did things the way they should be done, if any of the three of you did, it would be so much different. It would be so much worse. It wouldn’t be the way that you always handled things- clumsy, chaotic, just a little bit out there with your decisions and actions. Because what of it being harder, or more work, or senseless? It was what made sense to you, and the way you viewed the world was a magic Sylus didn’t know existed prior to meeting you. He wanted to see the way you viewed the world through those beautiful eyes of yours, and he wanted you to show him. He wanted you to show him what it meant to care for the twins and their shenanigans, to cause trouble and find the humor in the smallest things- the little things in life. 

He wanted it all from you. 

Even the weird, chaotic bits.

Sylus truly wouldn't have it, any other way.

[finalgirllx]

heart-shaped sunglasses

here is some cheeky-as-ever lorenzo berkshire for the first week of @thatdammchickennugget and i's jinxed july challenge. sunglasses are my favorite accessory, especially my heart-shaped ones, so have a small ode to them. fluff | 700 words | f!reader implied

You sprawl onto a lounger near the shore, not quite ready to take the plunge but still eager to enjoy a sweltering summer day with your closest mates. Dressed in your favorite swimwear and proud of what it shows off, you feel at ease with the sun's rays hitting your skin, comforted by the warm season's sorely missed energy.

The infectious laughter of your friends abruptly overtakes your peacefulness as they banter about who brought the ‘piss-poor selection of liquor’ this time while running to the water.

"Showing off, love?" Enzo’s voice taunts you as his towering figure suddenly blocks your precious sun. He must have made a detour simply to antagonize you, you fear.

"What are you on about, Berkshire?" you retort, shooting a faux-judgmental look up at him. Though the sun's brightness causes you to squint, you catch Enzo's slightly-burnt face adorned with an unmistakably cocky expression that only he can pull off without getting smacked. His grin reveals deep cheek dimples and his brown eyes appear glazed with honey under the sunlight. You try to recenter on his words, not just his lips.

"Just… appreciating getting to see more of you, is all," Enzo responds with a tight-lipped smirk. He backs away, acting more sly than usual. Utterly confused, you let out a slight "hmph" and shake off his words. You focus your energy instead on the light seeping into you now that the tall and broad brunet walks away to rejoin the guys.

In an effort to appear effortlessly cool, you lower your prized accessory over your eyes: a pair of red heart-shaped sunglasses that you believe ups your 'it' factor by tenfold.

Now viewing the world through a pink hue, your gaze inadvertently falls onto Enzo yet again. He takes his first steps into the water and is promptly splashed into oblivion by Mattheo and Theo. You suppress a smirk as he wipes off the excess and promptly unleashes his own splash attacks in retaliation. This quickly descends into a water war between the lot of them. The colorful jabs they make as they douse one another makes you chuckle.

Keeping up a close friendship with the boys has been no easy challenge since they had all lucked out and gotten cuter by the year. Blissful moments like this constantly threaten the middling resistance you show to avoid catching any 'more-than-a-friend' feelings. Usually, fleeting thoughts of weakness can be dissuaded simply by watching them for a little too long. Like just now, seeing Mattheo take a splash to the face and whine like a puppy as he rubs his eyes with balled-up fists. Poor thing. At least you're reminded that they are more goofballs than boyfriend material. You don't want to mess things up, anyway. Of course not.

As more antics unfold, your attention annoyingly keeps getting swept up in Enzo. You chalk this up to him being the most visually interesting. Nothing wrong with finding your best friend pretty, you suppose. It is merely an appreciation for his dedication to Quidditch practice, which shows in his physique. Broad-shouldered, toned abdomen, arms that look like they could lift… a lot. Down to the moles forming constellations on his back, you get lost in your admiration. While the sole intention of the glasses isn't to cover up your ogling, you are certainly bolder with your gaze.

"Like what you see?" the devil himself's voice rings while pointing straight at you. You curse internally over being caught as Enzo exits the water to approach you again. In a weak attempt to stay as composed as possible in the face of Enzo's teasing, you raise your brows behind your trendy frames to test him.

"It's a lovely beach," you finally reply with pursed lips, flicking your gaze out to the water, which glistens with the sun.

"Yeah, right. I can see you ogling me," Enzo points out once he is near enough that droplets from his wet hair practically spray your legs. He wags a finger toward your sunglasses. "Those aren't as opaque as you hoped, love. No shame, I know I make for some delicious eye candy," he boasts as his ego soars past all reasonability. Any hope of a sassy remark gets caught in your throat. You failed to credit Enzo's perceptiveness, and now he relishes in how your attitude melts away, momentarily tongue-tied. Enzo extends a hand to you, his tone is still playful but softer this time. "Come on, can't handle the heat? Let's get you in the water, love; that'll cool you down."

[savkirschtein]

AOT character & their personal fashion styles

characters : Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirschtein, Connie Springer, Sasha Braus, Marco Bodt

warning: all of these are just purely based off of my personal insight and views of the characters and how i think they’d dress today

🪩🥡🪐🎸🎧

Eren Jaeger: 🎱🌪️🩻⛓️

based off of season 4 Eren

i picture Eren in todays world really rocking with a minimalist street style

he’s all for comfort and breathability in his clothing and his style reflects that

a closet full of loose fitting boxy t-shirts

LOVES the cold months so he can layer his hoodies and leather jackets

while also sporting the slutty tightly fitted black shirt grey sweat pant combo every now and then

maybe even just walking out his apartment with a wife pleaser and baggy jeans on as a fit alone

all paired with sneakers, small silver hoops, and a chain of some sort

Mikasa Ackerman: 🍒💿📷🃏

we all know for a fact that Mikasa can DRESS

she just has an eye for fashion and has a unique style of her own

one that isn’t over the top, in terms of being a spectacle, but just well put together and tailored to HER. a girl you 110% give a second glance

she is a girlie who LOVES wearing any skirt whether it be long, midi, mini or knee length she LOVES them

most of her pieces are pretty free flowing with lots of different silhouettes

absolutely loves a good leather boot, pair of mary janes, or platform loafers

she literally could wear a trash bag and make it look like it’s the next trend

and has a huge collection of baggus

Armin Arlert: 🎧📘🍵☁️

Armin will literally never be free of the soft light academia aesthetic

the cable knit sweaters, soft cardigans, and sweater vests will forever have a hold on him

but what college boy Armin loves more than anything is a good quarter zip or quarter button up

or a nice casual white and blue striped button up

almost all of his clothing is soft and warm materials

definitely withholds the cute boy in the library title

Jean Kirschtein: 🪐👁️‍🗨️⚡️🌉

will live and die on the hill that Jean is a Carthartt guy

his look is a casual-relaxed but clean one

he’s all for clothing that is durable and will last him forever

Jean’s style is honestly super basic but NOT boring

although Jean’s style isn’t one that is made to make it hard to look away from its one that really just compliments him well

loves a good hefty Dickies or Carthartt jacket, basic white t-shirt, or a loose button up over a tank top

while wearing a variety of rings, with small hoops and a chain

his clothes compliment his strongly built and lengthy body well, which is why although they are basic, it isn’t boring

Connie Springer: 🎧💽☄️🩻

Connie is a literal fashionista

he probably is tiktok famous for his fit check videos and adventures at the thrift stores

the street style aesthetic was MADE for Connie

knows how to put pieces that may not look ideal together into a cohesive fit

LOVES JORTS and swears he made them trendy again

and wearing jerseys of teams he has no clue of , but it’s for the fit so who cares

Sasha Braus: 🍰🪩🗽🧸

the DEFINITION of downtown girl or coming of age movie in a city aesthetic

Sasha lives for the nostalgia of 90s pieces and it shows in her clothing

comfort is also a huge factor that plays into Sasha’s outfits

color is another component that makes Sasha’s outfits HER outfits

LOVES a good brown leather jacket

Sasha honestly though has a hard time sticking to just ONE specific style and will wear whatever feels good for her

Marco Bodt: 🍙🪴♠️🍊

Marco is a soft boy at heart but he’s traded in the traditional sweaters vests for hardy collared jackets

he absolutely LOVES PLAID

and loves layering his button ups with his worn out thrifted jackets

has a more warm palette in terms of colors and leans more towards earthy tones

super casual in his shoes though sticking to good tried and true high top converse, sambas, or loafers if he's feeling fancy

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 1)

Don't you know you're the apple of his eye?

The dull hum of the museum’s air conditioning blended with the soft shuffle of footsteps, hardly alleviating the stifling heat that clung to  your skin. You trailed behind Cillian, gaze lingering on a serene landscape that seemed worlds away from the cramped gallery you occupied. However, instead of succumbing to the immense discomfort of being perceived, Cillian was in his element, angling his body to capture the perfect selfie, his phone held aloft.

“Stand over there,” he directed without looking your way, focused on capturing his reflection in the glass protecting a centuries-old portrait. “I need more light.”

Yielding an ungodly ring light, you shuffled into place, feeling the tight pull of your blouse as you dangled it over your head. Struggling to hold it in one hand, you fidgeted, tugging at the fabric, wishing you could blend into the walls and disappear. Your oversized glasses slid down the bridge of your nose as you glanced at Cillian, who paused to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead before flashing another practiced smile at his phone. Or rather, yours, because he thought pictures always looked better through your lens despite the inferior quality.

A couple cast a glare in your direction, clearly annoyed by the disruption. You watched Cillian wave dismissively at the glaring onlookers, his attention never straying from the image on his screen.

“Can’t have them ruining the shot,” he murmured.

As Cillian lined up another photo,  your thoughts churned. The museum had become a stage, and Cillian, its sole performer. Every sculpture, every painting—they were merely props for his endless stream of portraits. You wondered if he saw anything beyond the likes and comments each picture might garner.

“Isn’t it hot in here?” you ventured, seeking some acknowledgment of the discomfort you felt. “The light isn’t helping. Maybe we could enjoy the art without—”

“Comfort doesn’t get followers, Y/N,” he interjected, his tone light but firm. “You know how it is. Image is everything.”

“Right, of course,” you answered, your cheerful facade slipping into place as easily as your sleeves slipping down your arms. “Image is everything.”

In the silence that followed, punctuated only by the sound of Cillian’s camera shutter, the art around you—a tapestry of colors and emotions—seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the one-sided performance playing out before it.

His silhouette morphed with the statue beside him, his body language shifting from casual to statuesque in a heartbeat.

“Y/N,” he called over his shoulder. “Stand next to that one. I want  a photo. It looks like you.”

You hesitated, your eyes tracing the contours of the marble goddess before her: poised, serene, and eternally graceful. You glanced down at your own trendy and curated, yet slightly mismatched attire.

“Um, sure,” you replied, stepping forward with a forced smile. Your limbs felt awkward as you raised an arm, trying to emulate the statue's elegant gesture. The solid chill of the museum air wrapped around your exposed skin, making you acutely aware of how out of place you looked.

“Just like that,” Cillian encouraged from behind the camera, his voice smooth as silk. The device made a soft click sound as it captured the moment.

“Did it turn out okay?” You asked, hoping your performance had been convincing enough to meet his standards.

“Let me see,” Cillian murmured, tapping on the screen with slender fingers. A pause stretched between the pair, filled with the hum of distant conversation and the subtle clicks of camera shutters from other visitors. “Perfect,” he declared, the word dropping from his lips like a verdict. He switched off the camera, his eyes not meeting yours. “Just perfect.”

Your heart fluttered with a mixture of relief and unease. His approval was something you couldn’t help but crave, despite the cost. His hand brushed against yours as he handed back the device, leaving a trail of cold uncertainty in its wake.

“Thanks for helping,” he said with a smile. “Let me treat you to something.”

Exiting the viewing hall, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the muted whispers of other patrons as you and Cillian found your way to a secluded bench in the museum's on-site cafe. A sigh escaped  you, your shoulders slumping slightly as you settled onto the cool metal seat, Cillian taking the booth. Already, he held his phone. His thumbs flicked across the screen, dredging forth a gallery of images.

“Look,” Cillian said, holding the phone between them. On the screen was a photo of him standing confidently next to a marble statue, both strikingly handsome, distant and untouchable, cold in their own regard. “Which is prettier?”

You hesitated, your gaze flitting between his expectant eyes and the image of the two figures frozen in time. You zoomed in to inspect their expressions. The statue’s face was one of great speculation, perhaps even sorrow. Cillian, though undeniably attractive, seemed haughty, almost too aware of his beauty. You experienced a surge of jealousy when you realized his skin was as pale as marble and his eyes were as clear as the glass protecting it from view. Adorned by a light blush, his cheeks were not untouched by the heat. Still, not a single hair was out of place. Not a single blemish or dark spot on that noble farce. His skin was smoother than porcelain.

Meanwhile, spotting your bespeckled reflection on the screen nearly caused your heart to stop. Little flyaway strands plastered against your forehead and splay out across your flushed cheeks. Sighing, you turned your head away, pressing against your shoulder to push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. You felt a dull ache as your lips parted to answer, only for the words to tangle in your throat.

“Hard to choose, right?”

“Both are remarkable,” you managed to say, your words carefully neutral. You hoped your voice didn't betray the unease that coiled within, the sense of being tested. His smile widened, but there was a sharpness to it that didn't quite reach his eyes, and you wondered if your response had been enough to satisfy.

“Of course,” Cillian replied, the word drawn out like a soft purr. “But I’d prefer you say I’m living art.”

Your gaze lingered on the screen as Cillian flicked to another photograph, this one a close-up of his profile silhouetted against a canvas of Renaissance art. His nose stood out. Roman, straight, and perfect, casting a shadow that seemed sculpted by the same hands that had carved the figures they admired all afternoon.

“You are. You look like a statue,” you murmured, voice laced with an involuntary admiration that made your stomach clench. Why weren’t you as pretty as him? Was some cosmic force punishing you for a misdeed in a past life?

“Yeah?” Cillian reveled in your praise, leaning closer. “And what about my other features? Do you think they’re just as perfect?”

You glanced at the high curve of his cheekbones, the arch of well-groomed brows, and how his smile never appeared to belong to you.

“More so. It could’ve been modeled off of you, but you’re still incomparable.”

Abruptly popping out his seat, Cillian muttered an excuse and bolted to the counter. He swiped your desserts up and returned in three long strides. Carefully, he placed them onto the table. Humming cheerfully, you swiped a spoon off the table and guided its tapered head to the dessert.

“Wait,” he said, hand blocking the spoon’s path. “Take some pictures.”

Sighing, you yielded and accepted his phone. The parfait was already melting into a puddle of unappealing, inedible goo, but you slid it across the table. When you pulled back from the lukewarm glass, sugary residue clung to your fingers. The strawberry syrup was congealing, slowly sinking to the bottom to mingle with the yogurt, bleeding pink.

Staring at the mess, you licked your lips. You longed to steal a spoonful, but you couldn’t even consider eating until Cillian decided they had enough pictures. Already, you had snapped fifteen at every angle possible. Upon request, you even shimmied out of your seat to take more.

To think, you could’ve been at home, studying, doing anything else instead of practicing your still-life portrait skills. You shouldn’t have been so excited to be invited out by Cillian. Excitement only brought disappointment.

Popping upright, your knee nearly knocked against the underside of the table. At the last second, Cillian reached out, slotting his hand between to lessen the impact. His skin was warm and soft against yours. His palm enveloped the entirety of your knee. You winced and nervously laughed at the contact, swatting him away.

“Tell me what you think about them,” you said, passing the phone back into the hands of its owner.

Your beaded keychain snagged on a strand of hair that had fallen loose from your ponytail. Wincing, you halted to allow Cillian to detangle it. Once free, you moved to stand at his side, peering over his shoulder as he flicked through every photo. One by one, Cillian kept zooming in on his face, only to pinch his fingers back out to focus on a minuscule detail. Not a single pixel was free from scrutiny.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he sighed. His hands snuck out across the table, then his gangly arms followed. Elbows resting on the table, he cradled his face in his palms. His gaze rose, narrowed onto you, startlingly innocent.

Although it enhanced his features during photoshoots, you loathed his opaque expressions. Even after several years of knowing him, it was impossible to gauge his response, to anticipate his next word. Fortunately, most of his requests were only minimally irritating to fulfill.

“Can you take a few more pics on your phone? Maybe they’ll turn out different.” He requested, peering up from his device. Neck craned back to view you, his hair flopped over, billowing out into disarray.

A stray strand brushed against your nose, tickling. His roots were growing in, stark against his bleached strands. You pursed your lips, urging your attention elsewhere. Otherwise, he’d ask what you were looking at, and you’d have no choice but to answer. Since that apparently wasn’t a solitary task, you could expect to dedicate an additional hour to helping him pick a shade then dye his hair.

Self-conscious at the proximity, you stabbed your fingers through your hair, tugging the thick mop back. Prodding through knots, you felt the sweat of your scalp melting through your fingertips, boiling into your skin. Mournfully, you realized you would have to take another shower. And to think, you finished your favorite shampoo the morning prior. You’d ask him to buy more and call it a photography fee.

Feeling more coerced than inspired into the act, you sighed and snatched your bag off the back of the chair. Rummaging through the contents, you plucked your phone out. Cillian eyed the keychain with a small grin.

You inhaled for the sake of your patience. Lowering into another awkward position, you guided the camera around, searching for the perfect angle as he posed, arms thrown over the back of the plush seat.

He was rather opinionated about composition; he liked either having his face centered in images or leaning more to the right-hand side. Rule of thirds, symmetry, and whatnot. A simple photo became a portrait, something meant to rival baroque image. You clicked another picture when he scooped a glob of the parfait onto the spoon. Another, when he took a bite, then another when he pressed the spoon to his lips, and another when his eyes fluttered shut.

At some point during the ten-minute extension, a drop of the watery yogurt slipped past your trained eye, dribbling onto his chin. You set the phone down and moved to grab a tissue off of the table when he prompted you to continue. You complied. At last, Cillian decided to grant your wobbly arms mercy as he finally picked his final pose. To end it, he winked and blew a kiss. 

You grumbled, plotting back onto your seat. You winced when the cold metal touched your thighs. “Pay me.”

“An air kiss isn’t enough? Want a real one?”

“Pass. I’d rather gut myself.” You swiped your hair over your shoulder and grabbed a stack of napkins to fan yourself with. Hoping to experience a reprieve from the heat, you reached for your dessert and was sorely disappointed to discover that it had liquified. Only the precipitation clinging to the cup was cold. You grabbed the cup and sloshed its contents around, watching globs spill over the edge. You looked over at Cillian’s dessert and sighed upon discovering that it was in an even worse state. His big, warm hands had cradled it for too long.

Opening up Instagram, you slumped over, assassinated by a surge of jealousy. Posts about vacations in Granada, California, and Rome filled your recommended feed. These broke college students shouldn’t have been partying abroad, living it up. And why were they on vacation when there were still two weeks of spring semester left? Did they take their finals early? How? Could you still get in on the action? Oh well; it wasn’t as if you had money for plans anyway.

When you were done imposing misery upon yourself, you handed your phone to Cillian. He accepted it with the grace of a dog snagging meat.

“I appreciate it,” he said, attention glued to the screen. You saw the images flash across his eyes, his own face superimposed on his retinas as he zoomed in, pinching and frowning. After browsing and sending the photos, he placed your phone down on his lap. Ignoring your sudden anxiety, he rested his hands on the table and smiled. “I mean it. No one else does this for me. Thank you.”

You observed the rings on his knuckles. Glinting like teeth in subdued laughter, he tapped against the table. So pretty and shiny, gleaming with sunlight… And that face… If you became rich enough, you would consider asking him for fashion and skincare advice. He’d taken to giving you gifts at random, and all the products were from expensive brands you couldn’t pronounce.

The perks of having a trust fund, you supposed.

“You’re leaving the country soon, right?” You leaned back against the chair and splayed out your legs, recoiling when your foot made contact with his shim.

A trickle of sweat ran past your neck, seeping down to the plunge of your shirt. Contrarily, Cillian was dressed to attract the sun; he wore a dark dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows. The top few buttons were unfastened to reveal the black designer t-shirt trapped beneath. His jeans were black, with slices at the knees.

“I’ll only be gone for two weeks. Why do you ask? Are you going to miss me? Already feeling the crushing weight of my absence? Don’t worry. I’ll text you everyday. I’ll even bring you souvenirs.”

“No.” Firmly, you shook your head. “You’re the one who’s going to miss me.”

“Get WhatsApp so I can text you without getting charged. It’s about time you finally downloaded it.”

“So you can spam my messages with even more pictures of yourself? No thanks. You have a mirror, and my gallery is already filled by you.” You narrowed your eyes. “Even if I wanted to, how can I download anything if you have my phone?”

“You mean this thing?” Teasingly, Cillian brandished the device. When you reached for it, he leaned back, toting it out of reach. “I can figure out your password and get it for you.”

He typed random combinations of numbers until he successfully unlocked it.  You rose from your seat, more serious about retrieving it. To counter, Cillian hunched over, shielding the screen with his body.

“Relax,” he said, head disappearing beneath the table. Self-conscious again, you tugged your skirt down. “I’m sending myself the photos you took of me.”

Red with anger, you joined him, ducking beneath the table. With the slit of your phone screen showing through the opening in his posture, you glanced down, realizing he was going through your messages and replying with a selfie of himself.

“Cillian…” You grasped his shoulder. “Stop being a cunt. I’m not getting WhatsApp if you’re going to keep acting like this.”

Ignoring you, he abruptly stood. In y ourhaste to follow, your head slammed on the underside of the table. With a hand pressed against your scalp, you rose, only to encounter your frazzled expression staring back on the screen.

“Say cheese!”

Holding the phone over his head, Cillian snapped a selfie of you. As usual, he was smiling, sparkling, while your hair was frazzled and your face was sullen. Although you begged him not to, he promptly posted the picture to your Instagram, accompanied by some of the parfait and himself.

“Cillian,” you tried again. Shaking his shoulders, you groaned when he refused to budge. “Alright, then. I guess I’m just gonna get your phone.”

As if shocked by lightning, he jolted upright. He stared at her, eyes peering into your soul. “Go on. I don’t have anything to hide. But why don’t you want me to have yours? Do you have something to hide?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Good.” He shot you one of his infamous, heart-melting smiles. “Since I already looked at yours, we can look at mine together. It’d please you, right?”

There were moments when he sounded peculiar. Was it something in his tone, or was it his irregular phrasing? Regardless of the strange feeling’s origin, you felt a guilty caution and were inclined to dishonesty in his presence. You wouldn’t want to be a bad friend by misinterpreting his overly-zealous intentions.

Swiping his phone off the table, Cillian placed it into your palm. He relayed the password, but his hand remained enclosed around yours, so you punched in the code with your thumb. Chewing your cheek,  you scrolled, hesitantly tapping onto a conversation, utterly disinterested until you saw the strange memes passed between Cillian and his friend.

“Here,” you said, resigned as you handed the device back.

He smiled. “See? Nothing to hide.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Shrugging, Cillian retrieved your phone from his pocket again to scrutinize the photos in your camera roll, trained on his appearance as he glided between filters and toyed with the saturation.

You futilely observed him before redirecting your thoughts to something more productive, the upcoming final exams. Soon thought, you began to daydream about fast cars and countryside estates, forgetting how, with the new year’s onset, you watched self-help videos, browsed countless articles to curb your materialistic tendencies.

You took up new hobbies with your friends, painting and snacking on charcuterie and wine. You denied yourself the pleasures of theaters, of restaurants and shopping hauls. But when your paycheck arrived, you found yourself partitioning it into tuition costs, then different discretionary categories.

Your mother incessantly begged you to enjoy your youth. One day, you’d have a fulfilling hospital job, packed with plentiful hours. Even then, there was an expected exchange of currency; time for a pay stub. So, at some point, you lost the desire to save and smartly concluded, that whether for necessity or whim, people only made money to spend it. Money was entertainment. Money was activity. Money was the tears in your mother’s eyes when you paid for half of your snot-nosed brother’s school fees.

Money was whatever you needed it to be, and it was all you lived for. You had tried amending this mindset countless times, but no other inspiration stuck. It was fortunate that you were friends with someone who had too much of it. Cillian spoiled you on excursions, with gifts. So, if he had money, then money was him, and by proxy, you were getting that bag while being in his presence.

Once, during your final year of secondary school, you turned to Cillian for advice. You purchased a shirt from a designer brand and wore it to his birthday party, only to have his younger cousin spill juice on you, Rianning it. On the verge of a breakdown, you stormed to the kitchen. As you furiously scrubbed your shirt with a dishrag, you heard footsteps in pursuit. Teary-eyes, you turned to him and asked to hear his truth of the world.

He hadn’t been rich back then. He was only the boy in the council house next to yours, your life-long friend. He knew you better than you knew yourself. You were attuned to his every quirk.

“I’m so tired of buying, buying, buying, but never feeling like I have enough. How do you get through it? Feeling like you’re enough without having it?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He removed a small clasp mirror, the kind that comes free from stores with a hundred-dollar purchase, and unceremoniously presented it. “You’ve got to love yourself.”

“And how do I go about that when I haven’t the slightest clue?”

“It’s simple.” A light red tinted his cheeks. “You tell yourself ‘You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,’ and know that’s what you’re always meant to be. At the same time, you need to know you’re insignificant no matter what you do. Only relationships define you, and no one wants to be around someone pathetic. You’ll only be used like that, so you need to change to protect yourself.”

Almost reluctantly, he peered up from the glassy surface to look at you, but you felt as if he never truly looked away, as if he were still tracing the contours of his every feature through the glare of the spectacles perched on you nose.

“People say beauty is on the inside, but if you’re ugly on the inside, then you know it can be manufactured.”

Cillian still hadn’t stopped staring at himself as he walked past anything reflective, anything that resembled him. He’d still stare so deeply into your glasses, at his reflection in your eyes and you still wondered if he was searching for a mirror that would twist his form into something beautiful.

You were snapped out of the memory when he voiced a request.

“Your turn,” he said suddenly. “May I?”

“May you… May you do what?”

“You looked at me earlier. I want to do the same.”

“I  mean, you’re already looking at me…” You felt his stare and winced. “But it’s… alright? Yeah, go ahead.”

The air was thick as you waited, trying to anticipate his thoughts, unsure of what he had in mind. Cillian observed you with an intensity that felt almost palpable, his scrutiny a tangible force that rendered you immobile—a specimen under a microscope, a subject in a frame.

“Such pretty features,” he commented softly. His fingers slid along the curve of your cheek, coming to rest on the bridge of your nose. Before you could comprehend his intentions, he plucked your glasses off with a swift, almost surgical movement.

The world around you dissolved into a wash of colors, each brushstroke of reality smearing into an indistinguishable palette of hues. Sounds seemed to amplify in the absence of clear sight, the distant murmur of museum visitors swirling around like wind rustling through autumn leaves.

“You look better without these. You can’t see without them.” He dangled the glasses just out of focus, the lenses catching the light and casting ghostly reflections onto the blurred canvas. “But when I’m this close, can you only see me?” He leaned in, noses almost touching. “Sometimes, I like when you wear them, too.”

You blinked, trying to force clarity back into your vision, but it was futile. The room felt larger, more intimidating, as if the ceiling had stretched away and the walls were leaning in to listen. You were acutely aware of your heartbeat, a tumultuous rhythm against the backdrop of this disorienting scene.

“Cillian?” Your voice quivered slightly, betraying your unease.

“Shh,” he hushed, the sound slicing gently through the air. “Just look at me.”

You tried, oh how you tried, but his face was nothing more than a kaleidoscope of light and shadow, his features lost in a fog. He loomed over you, a specter made of shifting shades rather than flesh and bone. The faint scent of his cologne, usually so comforting, now seemed overpowering, filling your nostrils and clouding your thoughts.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, though whether he spoke of you or to himself, you couldn’t tell. The air was charged with a strange energy you couldn’t define. “Can you see me?”

“Only… only shapes. Outlines.”

“Like an abstract. Can you read me? Do you know what I mean?”

“No?” You said, uncertainty. “If you want to talk art, give me a day to talk to that one upperclassman who keeps begging to paint you.”

His presence was static, pointillism in slap-dash dots, yet there was a sharpness to it, like the glint of a knife hidden beneath silk. Suddenly, Cillian's hands cupped your face. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks in an unexpectedly tender gesture.

“You’re cute.” A soft laugh escaped his lips. The familiar sensation of being pinched and appraised was oddly comforting in its normalcy.

“Alright,” he said briskly, pulling away and breaking the momentary spell. Your gaze fluttered up, onto him. He stood, legs screeching against the ground as he jammed his chair under the table. “It’s about time to leave. We’ve got places to be.”

You blinked, trying to focus on his voice as it cut through the disorientation of your vision. “Can I have my glasses? And my phone?” you asked, reaching out in the direction of his voice, fingers grasping blindly at the air.

“Your glasses?” Cillian teased, dangling them just out of reach. “But you look so adorable without them.” His laugh held an edge, like the thin crack running down a perfectly glazed vase.

“As you know, I need to see,” you said, the words coming out more plaintive than intended. You felt for the spectacles once more, movements uncertain without sight to guide you.

With a sigh that suggested he was granting a favor, Cillian finally placed the glasses in your outstretched hand. The world snapped back into sharp relief as you slid them onto your nose, the cafe and its patrons coming into clear view once again.

“And this?” Cillian echoed, his tone playful. Retrieving the device from his pocket, he waved it around. “I’ll give it back, but you need to promise that we'll look at these together tomorrow. I want to coordinate our feeds.”

“Sure, yeah. We’ll align our online synergies tomorrow,” you echoed, using buzzwords and nodding although a part of you screamed in protest.

Standing, you snatched a few napkins and wiped down the photo shoot's debris. On the way out, you tossed the melted goo into the trash and bid him goodbye, slouching as you turned away and stepped onto the sidewalk, almost immediately surrounded by a torrent of pedestrians. You surged ahead, elbowing your way through the crowd.

“Hell is other people,” Cillian mindlessly commented. You instantly pinpointed his melodic voice amidst the throng. “Want me to give you a ride? Or walk you to the bus stop?”

Halting, you spun around, wrapping your hands around your mouth to shout. “No thanks. It’s not that far. You should also get home before it gets dark.”

“Alright. Be safe. Don’t get kidnapped.”

“Walking with you could endanger me. Someone would take you for ransom.”

“And you’d pay for it, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, I need to get my paycheck first.”

“Y/N,” he whined.

“You’re not Caesar, so why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugged and turned away, finally bidding you goodbye. His arms dropped to his side, madly swinging. You watched for a moment as he pranced, caught in his cool-guy act that he pursued it even as he stumbled over a curb. You chewed your lip to stifle a laugh, allowing yourself a final glance at his strange gait. You began at a leisurely pace, loosening up to let your arms swing like him. Maybe he was happy because he allowed himself to live so freely.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! Stereotypical! Emo x Stereotypical! Popular bitch! Reader

Okay, so this is a songfic... NSFW at it's most, a lime at it's least.

Not the songfic that has lyrics on them, but fics that are heavily inspired by songs. And this time, it's Emo Boy by Ayesha Erotica.

I'm not that knowledgable with Emos to be fair... I'm only doing it in a way where the fic reads like a stereotypical late 90's and early 20's teen flick! I think. I hope.

Also, the bitch here means someone who sleeps around quite a lot, and not the mean type. Just wanna put that out there.

So, I do apologize if I offended someone ಥ‿ಥ

Like any song fic, I recommend listening to Emo Boy while reading.

Yandere! Emo name: Ashton

TW: stereotypical Emo, stereotypical popular bitch

Ashton always had a fascination with the Emo lifestyle. He loved the music associated with it, especially the people indulging in the lifestyle. He loved how emotional and in tune they are with their emotions and is not afraid to show who they are.

When the got the opportunity to study senior high school in a small yet lively town, he knew he had to grab it.

And when he finally got out of the grasps of his conservative family, he felt free.

No more people calling him demon worshipper, finally (although, now that he thinks about it, aren't the goths the one being called demon worshippers?)

So with black skinny jeans, long, dark black hair that covered his eyes, rings, piercings, chains, sneakers, and a graphic tee shirt, he knew he was ready.

But what he didn't expect was being ostracized by being Emo.

But then, don't people like him always get bullied?

With a grumble while sitting on his chair, all alone, he gripped his pen while in the middle of writing a poem.

"Nobody understands me." Ashton muttered, his dark eyes a stormy grey.

This school he's in is filled with stereotypes, he just realized. Mean Jocks and Cheerleaders, two faced popular bitches, pushover nerds, slobbery otakus, social outcasts... He wonders if his life is a real life teen flick.

So rather than dive into the complicated social hierarchy, he just sits in his seat, reading and listening to MCR and P!ATD just like a true stereotype.

His life filled with such deep melancholy as he trudged in this hormone filled prison that he calls a school.

Hmm. He should write that in his journal.

But then he woke up in his bedroom, his hair having a cowlick he can't put down.

Okay... That's weird.

Then, when he tried to tease and straighten his hair, it won't budge, forcing him to let it stay wavy/curly and covet his eyes just like that.

Then, his favorite graphic tee was eaten by rats...

And his sneakers were accidentally bleached...

Then, as if the day was mocking him, it was really sunny and hot, smiling and cooking him in his dark ensemble.

"What the fuck..."

He suddenly felt a foreboding dread inside of him.

When he got in the school and sat down at his seat at the back, he heard whispers of a new person transferring to this school.

The talk of the town, y/n, was now being speculated which clique they will belong in.

And when they rolled in a pink rover, the school crowd knew they're going to be in the popular rich kids.

Immediately, you integrated into the clique like it was a natural thing to do.

With your quite the revealing clothes, your bimbo/himbo like personality, and your knack for bedding people if you wanted, you got into the social hierarchy just like that. Labeled as the slut, you paraded around the school with that title with your newfound friends.

Trendy, social, quite the airhead, yet charming in your own right, and such a seductive figure too. Nobody can resist your charms.

Not even Ashton.

He tried to fight back the attraction he had with you, and your fashionable pink fit, and fluttery eyelashes.

But he can't.

The hierarchy said no, and his brain also says no.

Yet his heart sings yes.

And he always follows his feelings and his heart.

It was small efforts at first. Poems, love letters filled with such romantic words.

All slipped in your locker, in a cute pink envelop and a sweet sampaguita smell on it.

You knew who it was from, and you loved it.

"Are you really interested in that Emo boy in the HUMSS department?" One of your friends asked, sipping on a disguised flask of alcohol.

You and your friends are in the rooftop, hanging out and skipping classes. Gossip flies out of your mouths and recent "relationships."

"Yeah I am. He's cute and funny... And him being soooo in touch with his emotions is soooo hot." You said, a typical valley accent on your tone.

You twirled your hair and bit your lip, a hot feeling in your body.

You really don't know why you're so attracted to him.

"I just really want to see and feel how good in bed he is." You nonchalantly added, fanning yourself a bit.

Your other friends grimaced a bit.

"... Really? But he's so..."

"Dark."

"Weird."

"And so complicated with his words."

"He's also always alone and listens to those sad emo bands."

You huffed and cocked your hips to the side.

"Hey! He's emotional and deep!" You rolled your eyes. "Besides, I just want to fuck him. I mean, I haven't been with an emo boy."

You thought back to how Ashton walks away from you in those tightest skinny jeans, his ass round and his legs toned.

You wondered really as to why you're so... Desperate to fuck him. Because most of the time, other people are the ones who want to fuck you.

Frustration welled up inside you as you groaned.

"Yeah I truly wonder why myself." You grumbled.

You grabbed the letter from your back pocket, reading Ashton's poem for you.

I burn for you. Your lips so tantalizing, So pillowy and so sacred. It's something I, so lowly am I, Cannot dream of locking with mine. I do not need to know if you're the devil, Tantalizing as you are, Or the deity you claim to be in my dreams, Bringing retribution to my dark and dreary life. Your body so tempting, I want to embrace and bury myself within you. I want to claim and mark you as my own, My bleeding heart corrupting your alluring self. But I know I can't. So I only look at you with starry eyes, As you shine the most beautiful in a pedestal that I molded in your visage.

You understood the poem a bit, and it irritated you.

"What do you mean you'll not pursue me?!" You yelled, gripping the letter. "I can't believe he'll confess like this and not... Go for me?!"

Your friends chuckled and read the poem and was surprised to see how whimsical this confession of lusty attraction is.

"Wow... Okay, I give you my blessing to bed him." One of your friends said and you rolled your eyes and snatching the poem away from him.

"I know. And I'm trying." You spat out. "I need a stress reliever. Let's go shopping."

What you didn't know is that Ashton is listening to your confession, and is fighting the urge to take you then and there.

He smirked and tried to calm his fast beating heart as he slowly unbuckled his pants, lust filling him as he continued to replay your confession of wanting to fuck him.

Maybe next poem will be an invitation to his house.

The sound of bed creaking filled the dark room, along with the pants and moans of two people indulging in the desire of flesh.

"Hmm fuck... Ashton..."

"Y/n you're so tight..."

You moaned as Ashton continued to thrust inside of you, his throat audibly clearing as sweat trickled down his throat.

Your eyes trailed down his body, loving the feeling of being under this man.

The hot and damp air encased the two of you, giving a secure and secret paradise, away from the prying eyes.

"Harder Ashton!" Your raspy voice demanded, gripping his arm as he pushed your thighs to the sides of your torso, bending your back as he went deeper, faster, and harder.

"God you make me feral..." Ashton groaned out, feeling your walls squeeze around him stubbornly, not wanting to let go as he pushed you into a mating press in an animalistic need to bury himself deep within you.

The bed creaked violently, accompanying the orchestra of your moans and groans as you both desperately reached your high, and when he spilled inside of you, you knew that you wanted more.

So you kissed him on the lips deeply, interlocking your tongue with his as you both worked into getting into it again.

Yet, as Ashton smirked and gripped your thigh once more, ready to go, a stray perfume bottle rolled under the bed from the movement, a label on the bottle printed "love potion" on it.

A sweet smell of sampaguita permeating as a drop fell on the floor, glowing.

So if you don't get it, Ashton sprays the love potion on the poems he gives you, making you irrationally desperate for him as he is for you xx.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Dearest Triangle - Luke Thompson

Word Count: 841

Summary: What is more pleasant than talking about a show that contains you and your lover?

The lights in the studio are dimmed, and a spotlight focuses on the three celebrities perched on trendy mid-century furniture arranged in a semi-circle. 

The interviewer, a lively woman with a professional smile, introduces the interviewees.

"Welcome everyone. Today, we have an incredibly special treat. Joining us are the stars of the well-known and very popular Netflix series ‘Bridgerton."

"Luke Newton, Luke Thompson, and our very own heroine, Y/n Y/l/n, who all have kindly agreed to sit down and talk about the upcoming season."

The audience explodes with applause. You give them a gracious smile and wave while the person beside you, Luke Thompson, who is also your boyfriend, gently squeezes your hand.

The interviewer starts off, "I've watched the new first and second seasons, and it's mind-blowing. But the new trailer where we see a little bit of a love triangle, really shows the stakes are much higher, and there's so much going on in this season!"

"Absolutely, yeah, couldn't agree more!" you reply, "Just the friendship between y/n and Colin on itself, really."

"But this season, fans can expect more intrigue and emotional roller coasters. More passion, the love triangle, especially,that, is a part of the story which we all poured our hearts into." You smiled proudly, looking over the mass of fans. "For you."

The first fan question is directed at Luke Newton, by a girl that tries to contain her nerves, looking at Luke. "What's it like playing Colin, who is caught in the middle of this love triangle?"

"Well, I think Colin is just confused at this point," Luke replies, shrugging, chuckling slightly. "He's always admired y/c/n from afar, but her interest in my brother Benedict, played by Luke Thompson, over there, complicates things."

 "I believe Colin would be quite invested in this very special emotion of not knowing who you truly desire." He finishes, smiling at the girl.

The audience cheers, and a mixture of Team Colin and Team Benedict declarations ring out, causing all of you to laugh.

The next question is for Luke Thompson, a young man in his 20's. "As the more mature and serious brother, where does Benedict's heart lie in Season 3?"

He looks at you for a moment before responding, after the fans finish their cheering. "Benedict is in a difficult position, honestly. He's attracted to y/c/n, but he also respects his younger brother's feelings." He spoke.

 "But things do get more complex as the season moves forward, but I believe you all will enjoy the ups and downs of this journey." Luke smiles, as the fans begin cheering once again.

"Now, y/n, fans love your character's strength and independence. So, what do you think draws her to both brothers?" asks the interviewer.

You nod thoughtfully, "She's drawn to different qualities in each of them. Colin is charming and spontaneous, stages that the dashing man she dreams of also has." You said, running a hand through your hair.

"Then there's Benedict, who is reliable, very mature, and has wisdom beyond his years, and artistic talent as well. It's difficult for her to reconcile these two completely different appeals - but that's what makes it so exciting!" You finished, handing the microphone over to your boyfriend.

A fan then asks, "What's it more like in real life playing this on-screen love triangle versus your real-life love relationship with Luke?"

You laugh and glance at Thompson who chuckles. "It's a question we get very often, if not in interviews then when a fan notices us on the street."

"But to be honest with you, it's all professional. Both Luke and I understand the difference between acting and real. What unfolds on screen is purely fiction, and it doesn’t impact our relationship in real life, i love him with my whole heart."

"Can the same be said about me? I feel so left out, y/n" Luke Newton teases, causing all of you to erupt in laughter.

But you answer. "Yes, of course I do! Our friendship together has always been stronger than any on-screen complexities!"

The interviewer nods, turning to the audience for the final question, "Is there a message you want to deliver to our expecting fans?"

You lean forward, "For all fans anxiously waiting for Bridgerton part I on May 16th, prepare yourself for a rollercoaster ride of emotions and passion."

"We've put in tonnes of love and effort into bringing these complex relationships to life. Not just us, but also Claudie Jessie, Nicola Coughlan, Jonathan Bailey, and everyone else."

"So, dearest viewers, enjoy the show, and let us know what you think!”

Applause echoes throughout the studio as the lights dim, marking the end of an exciting session filled with laughter and anticipation for Bridgerton Season 3.

As you walk off the stage hand-in-hand with Luke, glancing at Newton who’s waving to the audience, you can only hope that you have managed to intrigue your audience enough to eagerly await the unveiling of the thrilling new season.

Sometimes, life feels just as dazzling as the world of the Bridgertons.

[oneforthemunny]

what used to be mine |older!dilf!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: gina finds out that you and eddie got married.

age gap relationship. everything is consensual. set a few years after the initial series so the reader is 29 and Eddie is 45.

gina is eddie’s ex. brielle is his daughter with gina.

contains: older!eddie, dilf!eddie, language, gina, jealousy

Gina sat on the couch, coffee steaming on the table beside her, phone held lazily in her hand as she scrolled mindlessly through her phone. She could hear her mother's voice nagging her in the back of her mind, telling her she was so obsessed with other people'd lives, and maybe that's why she was so bored in her own. But Gina didn't care. She had to look, to be in the know.

Everything was typical, scrolling bored past the birthday posts, memes, and other updates about people she didn’t give two shits about on Facebook.

Then Gina saw it.

She stopped, eyes widening in disbelief.

Brielle Jo Munson was tagged in a photo!

Some person Gina didn’t recognize- someone who didn’t have her blocked like most of Eddie’s friends did- shared a string of photos, the caption reading.

‘Congrats to Mr. and Mrs. Munson! Wishing you both a lifetime of joy and happiness!’

There were the photos, Eddie and her walking down the aisle, some trendy, aesthetic venue. Her dress was stunning, and fit her like a glove. Gina gaped, scrolling, seeing Brielle in her bridesmaids dress, walking beside them, posing in photos with guest. Even having a dance with Eddie.

But none of that compared to the unexplainable rage that Gina felt when she saw the last picture. Eddie and her, he had her dipped down, a classic pose for a kiss, others waving sparklers for a photo op. Gina zoomed in, a stranger gasp leaving her lungs, heart rate rising, hammering in her chest.

The ring.

When Gina and Eddie had gotten married, he’d saved up and gone to a pawn shop, getting the best ring he could buy. A tiny diamond that she snarled at when he presented it to her- he’d worked countless hours overtime, even going back to giving guitar lessons and a night shift as a janitor at the plant to afford it. He’d promised her it was just until he could get a better one. They didn’t make it long enough for that to happen.

Though they weren’t together long, they were together long enough that Gina knew how close Eddie was to his mom before she passed. She’d seen the pictures at Wayne’s, and the one's Eddie kept in his wallet. She'd heard the stories, bittersweet and endearing. They'd even made Brielle's middle name Jo, in memory of departed and beloved Josephine. 

Most importantly, she’d seen the ring- the ring he didn’t give her. His mother’s wedding ring, diamond cut and small. It was her mother’s before her, and her grandmother before that. Passed down to Eddie, a little under a carat, and on a dainty gold band. It was special. Eddie guarded it and protected it like Gollum, refusing to even take it out of the safe at Wayne’s except to show her once.

And there it was. On her finger.

Gina didn’t even register what she was doing until Henry came running in, frightened and concerned.

Gina screamed, hurt and angry, her chest heaving and cries spilling out with rage. She’d thrown her phone, leaving a dent in the wall where it landed. Pulling at her hair, she saw red, her vision blurring and dark.

Henry’s voice sounded distant, he was terrified. “Gina, honey, what-“

Gina rocked herself, deep heavy breaths that only fueled her rage, gas to a fire.

How could her have given her the ring? The ring that was hers! She had his child, and- Oh, that child- their child. Brielle. How could her daughter, her own fuckin’ flesh and blood, do this to her? Let her be blindsided like this! She could’ve talked to him! Convinced Eddie not to do it, she could convince him of anything. He didn’t love her. No, he couldn’t.

He loved Gina, Gina was sure of it.

Well, until those pictures. The love in his eyes, on everyone’s face. The fact that Eddie even had a wedding that big.

He never wanted that with Gina.

They’d had a shambled, put together wedding at the Hideout- the fuckin’ Hideout. Gina's parents hadn’t even showed up, and Jeff and Gareth were telling Eddie not to go through with it moments before she walked down the aisle. Brielle was in a carrier next to Wayne, and Gina had to leave to pump after the ceremony.

No one looked at them like that. Congratulated them, celebrated them.

Gina felt surges of jealousy, hurt, anger tear through her. She pushed past Henry and his rambling, scrambling to find her phone.

She picked it up, ignoring the crack down the middle from where she’d thrown it, clicking Brielle’s name.

The line rang, and rang, and rang.

“Hi, this is Brielle. I can’t get to my phone right now, but-“

Gina growled, huffing angrily as she hung up. Of course Brielle didn't answer. She hadn't in nearly two weeks. Gina twisted her lips furiously, pacing back and forth in the living room. She clicked on Eddie’s name, gripping the phone in a white-knuckled vice.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Yes, Gina?” Eddie sounded tired, annoyed already.

Gina laughed humorlessly. “You stupid, stupid fucker!” She roared.

Eddie winced, pulling the phone back. The two of you were packing for your honeymoon. You looked up, brows furrowed in confusion.

“How dare you? How fuckin’ dare you?” Gina boomed.

“Gina-“

“You get married, and you don’t tell me?” Gina screamed so loudly, static filled on the other end.

“It’s really not your business.” Eddie snapped. “You didn’t tell me when you and Henry-“

“Oh, don’t you dare.” Gina seethed. “Brielle told you, you sick fucker! Where is my baby, huh? What did you do to her?”

Eddie blinked, confused. “What?” He asked. “Gina, what are you talkin’ about?”

Gina scoffed. “My daughter! My daughter, not your child bride’s!” She screeched. An unfair low blow, sure, but she wanted to hurt him. Have him hurting like she was.

“My Brielle didn’t tell me shit! She didn’t tell me she was in town, or-or that you two were getting married! I found out on Facebook, Eddie!” Gina roared, but her heart ached. “Brielle hasn’t called me in two weeks! Two!”

Eddie’s face fell, running a hand over his scruff. He knew Brielle was distancing herself from Gina, he didn’t blame her. She had been too toxic for too long, but it still didn’t make his heart hurt any less at the ache in her voice. He didn’t want her to hurt like that, not with Brielle. Maybe if he was crueler, more like Gina, he would say it was her own fault, but he couldn’t.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to her, or-or what your little Lolita fuckin’ wife has done to brainwash her, but you’ve crossed a line, Edward!” Gina heaved. “That is my baby! My daughter, and you’ve taken her from me! What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, Gina, Jesus!” Eddie screamed back, throwing his hands out.

You looked at him pleadingly. Eddie’s jaw was tight. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe she didn’t tell you because she knew you’d react like this?” Eddie snapped.

Gina faltered. Eddie never spoke to her like that. “Brielle is a grownup now, Gina. She can make her own choices. Neither one of us told her not to tell you. She made that call.” Eddie continued.

Gina felt her breath catch, heart hammering. She wouldn’t let him catch her vulnerable, hurt. “She’s not talking to me, Eddie, and that’s happening for a reason.” Gina snapped. “Is your new wife trying to replace me as her mother? You can tell that bitch she’s got another thing coming-“

“Hey,” Eddie barked. “I’m not doing this with you. You’re not going to talk about her like that, you got it?”

Your heart swelled slightly at his fierceness, protectiveness. Primal and strong, it made your legs clamp.

“You wanna know why Brie didn’t tell you? Ask Brielle. I don’t control what she does.” Eddie snapped.

Gina tilted her head back, keeping the tears that were threatening to fall. She clenched her jaw, breathing in deeply through her nose. “I told you,” she hissed, jaw still clamped shut to contain her emotions. “She’s- She’s not talking to me.”

Eddie fist loosened, looking at you. Your face shifted sympathetically, moving closer to hear the conversation better.

“Can you just tell me if she’s there?” Gina snapped, but even for her it was desperate, pitiful.

Eddie hesitated. “She’ll be in town for a while.” He said reluctantly. “Her and Madeline are house sitting for us while we’re gone.”

Gina felt her heart squeeze, ache. The honeymoon, it was the unspoken word. She never got a honeymoon with Eddie. Steve and Nancy had agreed to watch Brielle for the night so Eddie and Gina could have a night to themselves. That night was by far the best part of the entire wedding.

Gina took a deep breath in, pinching her eyes shut. “Could you-“ she stopped herself, fist clenching. She was embarrassed, begging Eddie like this to have him talk to her daughter. Having him hold control like this made her sick.

“Could you tell her to call me, please?” Gina asked, covering her mouth with her hand. “I-I won’t… Just tell her I want to catch up. I miss her.”

Your heart dropped, looking down the hall where Brielle sat, happy and contently catching up with your little sister. You didn’t blame her for wanting space, in some ways it was the best thing she could’ve done, but your heart still ached for Gina.

Eddie sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell her, Gina.” He said softly. “But I can’t promise anything. She’s not little anymore.”

“I know that, Edward.” Gina’s biting tone had returned, making you roll your eyes. There was a pause. “Fuck, just-just tell her to call me. I won’t…” Gina didn’t finish her sentence, but you all knew what she was going to say.

“Fine.” Eddie said. “I’ll tell her. Anything else?”

Gina scoffed, hanging up the phone. The line beeped and went dead, Eddie looking at you with wide eyes, exasperated and drained. Gina had that effect on people.

“Well,” You chirped. “That went better than I thought it would.”

Eddie chuckled, collapsing on the bed. “Yeah,” he nodded. He looked out towards Brielle, then back at you hesitantly. “She’s real upset about it all, but…” he took a deep breath. “I know she’s most hurt about Brielle.”

You ran a hand down his shoulders, squeezing them softly, your wedding bands glimmering in the light of the room. You pressed a kiss by your thumb, nuzzling into his back.

“I know.” You hummed. “That’s her daughter. I’m not saying Brie is wrong, but… I get it. Maybe she needs to be a little hurt to get better. Repair their relationship.”

Eddie nodded. “You don’t think I-“

“Eddie, don’t you even start.” You snapped sternly, pointing a finger at him. “I’ve watched for years as Gina was so horrible to me, and you, and everyone else we cared about- everyone Brielle cares about too.” You gave him a knowing look. “There’s only so much you can deal with before you don’t want to anymore.”

Eddie sighed slowly. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“You don’t know what happened when we weren’t around either. What Gina said to Brielle. Remember when she was so horrible to me when we first started dating? Because she didn’t want to upset Gina.”

Eddie nodded. “You're right.” He said slowly. “I’m not going to force Brielle, but… I’ll tell her Gina misses her.” He looked at you as if for your approval. “She asked me to, and I think that’s fair.”

You smiled, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. “I think you should.” You whispered, your nose on his. “Then no more Gina talk. Get it out of your system now, because if I hear her name when we’re in Aruba, I’ll throw you in with the sharks.” You grinned.

Eddie smirked, hands gripping your waist and pinning you on the bed. “Oh, will you, Mrs. Munson?” He teased, tickling your sides. “Think you’re gonna get my retirement that easily, huh? My life insurance? I think you’ll be a little disappointed, bunny.”

You giggled, squirming out of his touch. “Stop!” You laughed, head tipping back in laughter. “Mercy! Mercy!”

Eddie grinned, his lips on yours, deep and passionate. Hands finding each other, gripping and squeezing, clinging to each other.

“Oh, God, not this again.” Brielle groaned.

“Ew!” Madeline retched dramatically. “Shut the door you freaks!”

You laughed, Eddie’s nose resting on yours. “Yeah, did you not learn the first time?” Brielle snapped teasingly. “I’m still traumatized.”

Eddie scoffed, leaning up. “You learned to knock before coming in, didn’t you?” He asked with a grin. She rolled her eyes.

Eddie looked over at you, pleadingly and you took the hint. “Hey, Maddy, can you help me pack a few things?” You asked, getting your sister away from Brielle so she and Eddie could talk in private.

Eddie shot you a thankful smile, arms wrapping around Brielle’s shoulder as they went into the living room. You rolled your clothes, chatting excitedly with your little sister about your trip. You wondered if Gina and Brielle would talk.

Gina was at home, Henry anxiously handing her Xanax and trying to pry her phone away from her clutches, terrified of the wrecked woman in front of him. Gina started blankly ahead, her own wedding with Eddie playing in her mind.

Her mind kept flashing back to the ring. The smiles. Every photo she’d seen of the two of you.

Gina grit her teeth, fist balling. She was angry, hurt. Not just because Brielle hadn’t told her she was in town, but because it was official for the first time in her delusional mind.Eddie wasn’t hers anymore. He was yours.

[totothewolff]

Season of Love (5/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal, romance, comedy, and some good drama.

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are.

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Dances with Wolff Arc Chapter 5: Cold tires, warm heart

UK

The weather stays cold all day long at Silverstone; the crisp air bites your skin, causing shivers down your spine, and your breath forms small clouds before you as you walk briskly to the campsite area where the luxury motorhomes & RVs are parked, yours included, huddled in layers of warm clothing, feeling drained as the rest of the grid feels, seeking an opportunity to lay down and rest. 

Everyone warned you the mid-season was tough on the body, and they were right! As you drag yourself inside your luxurious, trendy, and sophisticated RV. The sleek and clean design aesthetic greets you; it's a zen monochromatic color scheme space full of high-end finishes, innovative storage solutions, elegant sofas, and a large comfy bed with a kitchenette and bathroom, creating the perfect getaway place for you away of the chaos at the paddock.

You share your location and access code with Toto, but he doesn't reply to your text. You assume he must be busy, so you fall soundly asleep on the bed there until you feel a pair of muscular arms hug and softly spoon you, half-waking you up.

You feel Toto's firm body against yours, with no inch of space between you two, as he wraps you in a tender and affectionate display of intimacy; your bodies intertwine as he seeks your warmth.

—I missed you so much —you turn to tell him, kissing him softly. —It feels wrong not having you by my side —you find the courage to let Toto know how you felt these past days without him, breaking the room's quietness, then burying your face in his neck, feeling shy and vulnerable and softly smooching it. 

He caresses your cheek with his index finger and slowly kisses your lips, leaving you breathless after a few minutes.

Toto seems exhausted as you peek at him while patiently waiting for him to comment on your confession, but he only looks pensively at your words as he rests his temple on yours. You sense his right hand caressing down your arm on its way to hold your hand. Then he pulls you closer to his chest, where you get cozy and fall asleep again.

-

One text, two texts, five texts.

—She is not answering —Michael says, a bit taken out.

One call, two calls, five calls.

—He is not answering —Niki says, quite concerned.

-

Once again, you wake up after a bit, feeling dozy and disoriented as you hear an iPhone ringing in the distance, still nestled in Toto's embrace, overwhelmed with tranquility and happiness but fucking annoyed at that damn ringtone. 

The softness of the bed, the heat of Toto's closeness, and the gentle rise and fall of his breaths make it a cozy heaven you don't want to leave, but that goddamn annoying phone doesn't let you nap and is about to wake him up too, and you want him to rest.

So you bravely drag yourself to your feet, hating life, and walk straight to Toto's duffel travel bag to search for his iPhone buzzing inside. To your surprise, you find it next to a torn and used voucher for "Cocktails for 2" at The Savoy Hotel in London, along with his passport. 

As you pick up his phone to turn it off, you wake it and notice that Toto still hasn't changed his wallpaper; he appears there posing in a pottery studio couple session, all smiley, with Susie wrapped in his arms, both of them looking in love and joyful as the professional camera lens captures their handsomeness, they look like they belong together. 

You can't avoid the sting of pain and insecurity washing you over, but you take the thought off. It's probably nothing, you try to convince yourself. So you finish turning his phone off and leaving it where you found it.

Then you turn off yours, ignoring all the red bubbles in it, on your way back to Toto's arms. All you want right now is him and you, and fuck the rest of the world. This "relationship," if you can call it that, is meant to crash soon, so you want to hang on to it as much as possible.

-

Two hours have passed since then, and Toto's hands are now roaming across your back, guiding your movements as you are in a cowgirl position on him. At the same time, his tongue dances erotically with your tongue, adding a sweet and sinful layer to your passionate embrace.

Your moans echo throughout the RV, blending perfectly with the rhythmic creaking of the bed frame beneath you. Toto's breathing grows heavier as you ride him hungrily, showing how much you miss him.

As he explores your curves, Toto begs you: —Bounce on my cock —with a voice husky with desire and with trembling hands, and you give him what he craves, exploding with pleasure as each time more desperately you go up and down his shaft.

Your nipples stiffen, them peeking out from beneath the fabric of your dress; this time, you didn't even care to take all of your clothes off; they were begging for his attention. Toto can't resist it; he leans in, pulls down the upper part of your dress, and captures one in his mouth, sucking it gently as his tongue teases its sensitive tip.

—Oh, God! —you cry, arching your back with pleasure. —That feels heavenly.

Toto releases your breast, looking up at you with a sultry grin. —Wait till it's my turn to show you how much I missed you —he purrs, hands dancing all over your ass.

As you are about to reach an orgasm, you can't escape the guilty thought in the back of your mind. —We shouldn't even be here, less doing this —you say in between tiny breaths and moaning a bit. —It was irresponsible for me to text you to come over —you protest weakly. —This could be no good for our careers —releasing a big moan as you finish the sentence, not being able to stop rocking yourself on Toto, moving now your hips in circles. His dick is so hard, and it feels so delicious all the way inside you.

Toto shrugs nonchalantly, then growls, his eyes smoldering lustfully, enjoying the sight of you going all over him. —I was planning to look for you anyway. Do you want us to stop and leave? —he replies, out of breath.

—No.

Toto gives you an "I agree" in the form of thrust, hitting you with such force that causes you to scream out in pleasure and unstabilize you, making you quickly place both of your hands on his chest to not fall on his face.

Then, his strong arms wrap you around the waist, holding you steady as he moves in rhythmic strokes that push your boundaries. Each withdrawal leaves you craving more, and each entry pleases you; he starts speeding up, making you moan out his name many times as the sounds of your body colliding fill the air. It's a symphony of pure passion.

—You make me feel so... complete... and free... and loved —You gasp out, voice shaking as Toto's powerful thrusts drive you deeper into the realm of satisfaction.

For some reason, feelings are bursting out of you in the form of words lately, freeing your thoughts without thinking much about the repercussions, being weirdly open and sincere for once in your life. Maybe it's because your period is near, and you always feel more emotional around that time; you lie to yourself, not wanting to admit falling for him because you know it will hurt more when it's over, which is sadly approaching.

It's not only the sexual part that makes you feel so whole with him. It's also his small displays of affection, his caring texts every morning to know how you slept, to let you know you are one of his first thoughts of the day, or the long conversations about anything you two share, the pictures you send to each other of the most mundane things to share life.

That makes you always feel him present and being taken care of. Also, the many times you advise each other, from billionaire businessman to billionaire businesswoman, or the quiet moments when you two are silently wrapped in each other's arms, just enjoying your presence and bodies.

—Toto, I'm so close! —you moan loud as he manhandles you around; you feel yourself dripping and so warm, like your pussy is burning. Your pussy folds, rubbing around Toto's shaft, who positions himself to pound you against the mattresses.

Then you feel him shifting his entire weight on you, topping you, and placing his thumb finger inside your mouth for you to suck it. —Then cum for me —he whispers, hot against your ear. He starts to fuck you hard like that, making your ass wable, and the bed squeaks so loud as he pins you down against the sheets, but all get muffled by the sounds he is provoking you to release. You feel a bit of pain in your hips and lower back as he slaps hard against you.

With a big moan, you cum all over him, all red and sweaty.

Toto has never had this before, someone so willing to please him, in all senses, someone so light-spirited and carefree. He is trying so hard not to fall for you, too. You please him like no one else in bed but also outside of it. You are the whole fucking package. 

If change didn't fright him, he would be willing to try.

He would venture for more if he weren't so scared of failure.

Toto feels a responsibility for Susie and her feelings and heart; she counts on him for this, and Toto has never missed his duties since he was a young man, even if his heart desires something else.

He ended up agreeing to try the "open relationship thing" after saying no to it at first and breaking things with Susie because she showed up very distressed one night at his hotel room door, crying and saying how much she still loves him and how hard this is, that he shouldn't punish her for not wanting children. Toto felt so guilty; that wasn't his intention, but what if she was right?

But you happened in the middle of this. By accident or destiny is a cruel joker. This fling started like that, and it was supposed to stay there, not this. 

He pays attention to you more than you think; he has noticed the meaning and sentiment of your words lately and can't avoid feeling guilty for not being as open and honest as you deserve and how you are being. But Toto knows you will end it as soon as he lets you know you are his free pass on an open relationship agreement, so he is hanging on to you as much as possible. It's selfish and wrong, but he doesn't know how to quit you, how to say no to this, how to say goodbye.

Only if Toto knew.

Only if you knew.

-

—Is Torger still in London?! —Niki asks out loud, now absolutely annoyed, addressing Sam in the middle of the circus inside the Mercedes garage as he tries to manage everyone for the opening ceremony of the F1 anniversary race, set to start in about 20 minutes. 

Toto is always on time and never misses something without previous notice; this is uncharacteristic. Niki hadn't seen him all day; they had different schedules.

Lewis and George are scheduled to make donuts driving along with the other grid drivers. They all will do the same simultaneously to create a fog while AC/DC performs on a high-stage platform.

—Toto is here. I saw him a couple of hours ago. His phone seems out of reach —Sam has sworn never to lie to Niki. She quickly picks up her phone to call you, knowing you are also missing after being asked for the fourth time by several Williams team members if she had seen you around. WHAT A COINCIDENCE! It is evident for her where you two are. 

Since you don't answer the texts she bombards you with, she takes action and puts her feet in motion.

"You can't act this recklessly!" Sam thinks and looks visibly irritated. People are going to start wondering, especially when you two idiots arrive late with "we just fucked" hair and satisfied expressions at the paddock, and God forbids you two to show up together at the same time! Or worse, you two do not arrive at all.

-

Sam shows up at your RV's door, almost tearing it down, betting Toto and you were in there this whole time.

—Are you mental?! —Sam tells you, looking stressed, as the door's mechanism finishes opening.

—I'm sorry —you honestly apologize, knowing quite well what she refers to.

—Niki is furious! —she informs you, still at the bottom of the stairs and out of the RV's entrance, with no visible intention to come in. —Toto is still in there? —she asks in a low voice, pointing with her head.

You nod.

She comes closer to you, almost whispering to your ear. —Please don't get offended. I love you, but I know you are not here because of the sport, nor do you care which team wins or not; I know this is not your actual job. But please, could you...

You interrupt Sam, finishing for her in a sad tone. —Not interfere?

—I... —Sam sighs; she doesn't want to blame you or make you feel bad; she gets it, knows what you are going through, and wants more than anyone else for you to be happy. —Listen, our team is working its ass off; there are thousands of us relying on performing the best, and this is our livelihood; it worries me that this could...

—It won't happen again; I get it. I know we acted unprofessional. Sam, you understand how hard it has been for me... I'm just... I'm just trying to enjoy life for the first time, to feel happy and free for once; YES! I'm sorry it wasn't the place or the moment, but...

—I know, I know —she quickly adds. —Listen —Sam gets a little nervous and hesitates before adding. —I think you two, really, should talk openly and honestly about your "situation." I don't wish any of you hurt. Please talk —she sounds insistent, which worries you a bit.

—Yeah. Okay. I agree.

—Are you showing up for this Massi's wet dream? —Sam tries to lift the mood and return to the main topic.

—Toto is —you inform her. —He is finishing getting ready in the bathroom. I'm not. I will watch it at the hotel —now is your turn to come closer to Sam's ear and whisper. —I have to prepare for the call; Pascal set the meeting at 2 a.m., and we will rerun the scenario.

—It's good to know; I hope it all goes as planned and well —Sam says, looking relieved as she hugs you goodbye and leaves before bumping into Toto.

-

Toto claims "food poisoning" to excuse himself and that he spent hours feeling nauseous at his motorhome, as he makes it just in time at the garage. It's a white lie everyone buys. Actually, this happened once to him in Spain after going out for dinner.

Niki notices he has far too much color on his cheeks, for that matter, but chooses to let it go. Toto has been far more than responsible for many years, which has significantly cost him a lot in his personal life; Niki feels he deserves and needs some recklessness and happiness in his life. So, he plays along.

He softly pats Toto's shoulder and gives him a small smile as he sits beside him at the workstation and places his headphones and gear on.

The show is about to start.

-

The F1 anniversary's opening ceremony is the most glamorous affair! Bringing together a star-studded guest list of celebrities, like every big name, is there. 

And there are way too many influencers wandering around the garages for Michael's likes; he lets you know as soon as you call him back, excusing yourself for leaving the circuit, calling it a personal emergency.

Minutes later, you turn on your hotel room's TV to watch the start of the ceremony. A spectacular video mapping and drone display showcases the sport's rich history on the circuit track. It displays iconic footage on the many kilometers of asphalt as broadcast to millions of viewers worldwide. 

This is followed by a visually captivating driver's parade in which current drivers donned old-fashioned racing suits representing different eras of their teams, paying homage to the evolution of the sport as they get driven around interloped with cars with performers giving it all and working the crowds, till they make it to the main stage, where AC/DC comes out to close the show. 

In the middle of their set, all the grid drivers exhibit their coordination skills, making donuts together as the cherry on the cake, leaving fans ecstatic. You must admit it looked so cool. Massi must be shitting his pants!

Your room service order comes just in time as the race starts; you asked for too many desserts and sweets along with your salmon; you are feeling low and are taking comfort in the delicious food you savor, an unhealthy habit of yours, eating your feelings. 

Toto let you know before leaving, in between kisses, that he was attending a Mercedes team dinner after the race to celebrate with the team so that you would be sleeping alone tonight. You were so grateful for it, avoiding the trouble of making out an excuse to be able to attend the late-night meeting in private.

Sam is right; you aren't taking any of this seriously enough. 

-

The entire Mercedes team gathers in one of the most glamorous and lavish restaurants in London, "Amazónico." It is the coolest place Sam has been in a while, full of foliage-festooned walls and decor inspired by the rainforest of Brazil. Gorgeous velvets, greenery environments, and deco touches give the place an exotic yet luxurious vibe.

The mechanics and engineers, usually in their sports attire, look sharp in elegant outfits, and the mood is ON! Drinks flow as Toto gives a motivational speech to start the night, congratulating the team for their performance so far and inspiring them to give their all to secure the championship, acknowledging the fierce competition from Williams and Ferrari.

Susie and Toto are by the bar; she is sitting on the stool with her arms resting on the shoulders of a standing Toto as they chat, almost mouth-on-mouth, looking joyful.

Niki looks bemused as he watches them from afar, already sitting at the main large table the venue arranged for them and where they are about to have dinner. He addresses Sam, sitting to his right, without moving his gaze from the couple. —Weren't they..?

—Apparently, they are not —Sam gives him a look as she looks for something in her purse.

Niki looks as disappointed and surprised as she is as he nods to her, lets out a small, barely audible sigh, and sips his bourbon.

-

As Sam gets hammered with Bono and Annalise, Toto reaches them at the booth near the back of the place. He stays on his feet, waiting for them to finish their round of shots on a spinner wheel, and then bends to talk to a very comfortable, sitting, and tipsy-looking Sam with pink-red cheeks.

—What are your plans for tomorrow? —he asks her a bit loud, over the set the DJ is playing.

—Nothing, just chilling and recovering from this night; why?

—To hang out and tourist around, like we always do or did, how about that?

—Aw, you miss me, asshole?

—You are a necessary evil, but yeah, I miss you. 

—Why does everyone seem so emotional lately? I hope it's not contagious.

—We have lots to catch on to; I feel it's been ages and pure work between us.

—Please tell me if it's terminal.

—No, you moron, I'm totally fine —he swings his hand a bit too hard, spilling some of his drink.

"Then tell your eyes, liar! Yeah, all drunk at a work event? Sure, you are TOTALLY fine," Sam thinks. —I'm free, then. Will she join us?

—Who? —Toto looks taken off guard, thinking of you instead of Susie, whom Sam refers to.

—Sus, since she is around again.

—Sam, I...

—Oh, no, it's none of my business. I would rather it that way; I'm just asking.

—No, she isn't; it will be just us.

—Good —she ends the conversation.

"Is Sam mad at me? She sounded like it." Toto thinks. It's always hard to read her.

-

As the night is about to end and everyone seems drunk, Toto comes to cool down and relax after being forced to hit the dance floor against his will. He is not feeling it tonight, so he chooses to sit next to Niki and chat with him.

Toto is not on his usual dumb and lively drunk ass; he is weirdly somber. In the middle of their casual conversation, Niki asks him: —So, who changed their mind? —knowing what's up as he looks at Susie dance with George.

—About?

—Having children.

There is a long silence while Toto looks at Susie, laughing and throwing some moves around the dancefloor.

—I'm giving it a try.

Niki slowly nods and says nothing, and Toto stares at him. He recognizes Niki's disappointed face when he sees it, and Toto takes another big sip of his drink, swallowing hard.

-

You wake up late the following day after falling asleep around 5 a.m. once the call ends, feeling emotionally drained and not wanting to leave the bed. But when in Rome, you mean London. Nothing will lift your spirits more than going shopping; you are a shoes and purses maniac, and that new Miu Miu collection screams your name.

You are in the middle of buying half of Harrods when you receive a text from Toto.

"I won't be able to stay with you these days as I was hoping, I'm expected at Brackley. See you on the weekend. I miss you already."

Great, just what you needed.

-

Still in the UK

The British GP is here! And most of you already feel like you had enough Silverstone already.

Since Lewis swept the floor with everyone on the anniversary race, a similar result is expected for this weekend.

The FIA calls you all into one of the now traditional meetings, but this time around, Massi is expected to join in.

So when you arrive at that sad meeting room, he is standing right there next to the door; you are the last one to join, so he is facing you while waiting for you to finish stepping in to close the door after you, and you don't let go an opportunity like that.

As you step in, you hand him your coat and purse as if he were the receptionist and thank him, motioning to tip him as the entire room laughs.

Massi looks so confused and appalled at you, getting taken entirely off guard, but follows along, not knowing what else to do, or if you are serious or just messing around, still holding your things in his hands, and places your coat on the hanger and your purse on the empty chair next to yours.

—The nerve —Sebastian tells you in a low voice and takes a discrete bow at you with his hands as you sit on your chair next to his. Vettel is hiding behind Charles in the row in front of him, trying so hard not to burst out laughing. Both your eyes sparkle as your looks lock and smile at each other. Seb has the most gorgeous eyes on earth.

Then the meeting starts.

-

After being freed from that, you are walking down the pitlane on your way to free practice, chatting and fooling around with Carlos, Lando, and Mick, but suddenly, you stop just meters away from the Mercedes' slot. 

Lewis and George join you as soon as they notice you guys and come out of their garage, staring amusedly at a very frozen you as they reach you.

—Is that..? —you say, peeking inside the Merc's garage. —Oh, my God! Is that ROGER FEDERER?! —you let out in a funny and pitchy little scream.

George starts to laugh behind his hand, covering his mouth. You sound hilarious, and he looks at you in delight as you act all star-struck. Who would tell?

Carlos takes a few steps nearer you and closes your mouth, softly pushing your chin up with his index finger. —You are drooling —he jokes.

You go all red, tomato red, as you return to your senses.

Lewis sees the perfect opportunity for mayhem. —Oh, I'm so introducing you two! —He returns to the garage as quickly as possible to look for Roger.

—WHAT!? NONO! —you say way too loud as you watch him go, causing a couple of mechanics to raise their heads and look your way.

Lewis abruptly interrupts the engaging conversation Federer is having with Toto.

You start hyperventilating as Lewis walks alongside Roger straight in your direction. Toto observes the scene from the distance, with his muscular arms crossed. You feel his dark eyes on you.

You can't even form a greeting sentence when the Swiss introduces himself to you. A funny sound comes from your lips that sounds like a "Hi!" 

Millie looks at you, astonished, as she comes closer with Normani after the guys pointed at her with their hands and arms a "Come see this, please." She pivots her gaze from you to Normani and back with an "I think she broke" expression.

Meanwhile, your brain goes: "Roger is tall, hot, hot. Jesus, that smile! Is that chest real? Oh god, don't you dare peek down at his grey sweatpants!" as you stand there like an idiot without moving or saying something.

There are a couple more seconds of pure and awkward silence till Lando's stupid, mocking little laugh gets you out of your trance. Oh, the group is living for this!

—Delighted to meet you, Roger. I'm Y/N!

The group burst out laughing at your expense, enjoying the spectacle from afar, watching you try to act human around Federer until he turns his head their way. Now, they are all gathered together, sensing their stares, and the group quickly goes apart, acting like nothing has happened, returning to their activities.

—Is it me, or is Wolff not enjoying their interaction? —Normani asks Millie as they both intertwine arms and walk away together.

—Toto!? —Millie turns her head, looking back at a serious-looking Austrian inside the garage. —I don't think so. He always looks serious. I guess it's just his resting face, but he is such a cinnamon roll.

—A cinnamon roll? What language do you speak?

—English, Miss Posh Britain Got Talent.

Normani rolls her eyes at her. She is bonkers.

-

—In my defense... —you start to tell the table later, as all of you try to fit into a tiny table in the McLaren cafeteria; this time, Lando is sponsoring the lunch, and as you munch your veggies wrap.

—There's no defense —Carlos mocks you.

You toss your arms in the air, mouth still full of food, to protest as everyone laughs again at your interaction with Federer.

—We witnessed one of your canonic events —Mick jokes, making Millie almost fall from her half of the chair they are sharing.

—Oh, it was hilarious —Lewis adds.

—A masterpiece —Lando admits. —That coming from me —he points at himself with a thumb finger. —It means A LOT.

You finish passing the food and clear out your throat before continuing. —In my defense, Roger was wearing the slutiest thing a man could wear, and my brain was trying to process it.

All the boys look inquisitive at you with a please tell us more face.

—The grey sweatpants! —Millie and Normani answer for you simultaneously, agreeing with your statement.

—See! —you give them all a funny face.

—I still don't get it —Lando says.

—OH GOD! Go put on a pair of grey pantsuits and look down at your dick, and tell us —Sam teases him, done with him.

—Don't you remember that viral Lewis "I have an anaconda down here" mirror Instagram selfie with the grey sweatpants? —Millie says.

—That a friend told you about! —Seb jokes, addressing Millie.

—THAT A FRIEND OF HERS TOLD HER ABOUT! That that friend isn't me —Normani joins in the fun.

—With all due respect, Sir —Millie adds, looking at Lewis, who is laughing and trying to hide his red face in the gap his flexed arms are creating, lying on the table's surface.

—So... Do you like your men in grey sweatpants? Good thing I have four of those to wear —Lando tells you, moving his eyebrows suggestively up and down several times.

—OH GOD, PLEASE NOT! —the entire table screams.

-

Toto joins you that night in your hotel room; the two of you don't feel like doing anything fancy; just spend the evening together. After playing a competitive round of "Talk, Flirt, and Dare," as you stack up the board game cards for the next round, he asks you. —So, Tennis? Of all sports... Tennis?!

—Yeah, it's fun! —you slowly approach Toto; he is sitting on the rug next to the game placed on the coffee table between you in the living area, looking comfortable, relaxed, and shirtless after taking a dare card, currently only wearing his briefs. 

You slide a hand on his neck and chest before sitting on his lap, facing him. He wraps your waist with his toned arms and pulls you closer. Whispering against your lips —How?

—Well

—If you say so... —he shrugs. —For me, it's boring; there's not much adrenaline in it.

—Well, not all sports have to be lethal, you know? I thought you would like it since it is fast-paced —you make a thinking gesture by rubbing your chin.

—You have seen him play?

—Who? —you reply, trying to act dumb.

—Federer —he says pretty sternly.

—Several times, yeah.

—Are you one of those girls who follow him around? He told me about his groupies —he teases, but there is a jealous undertone.

—What? No, no. I don't like him like that.

Toto gives you a look that you read as "Really, girl? Closed fist, big long acrylic nails." —Uhm! If I remember correctly, you went all over him today; I think I have never seen you smile that big before —he adds. —You must look delighted in those selfies you took with him before you gave him that private tour of the Williams garage. Did he really get into the car? He passed with us. Did he like the driver's helmet you gifted him?

How on earth did Toto know about all that? That man has eyes everywhere.

—Hey, listen, I met one of my heroes FOR THE FIRST TIME and, AND, I got a bit excited! —you comb your hair with your hand. Toto's eyes can't avoid peeking at your tits as they wiggle with your arm movement. You also ended up shirtless; that sheer bra leaves nothing to the imagination.

Then he arches an eyebrow at your answer. A "bit excited" is downplaying. —He made you lose words, at first, then got you all over him, but sure "a bit excited", so, he looks better up close, or..?

—AND I got carried away. I admit it was a little embarrassing —Yep, Toto is envious. —He is okay, yeah. Are you jealous?

—Yes, completely —he purrs dangerously against your mouth, and you feel his warm breath brushing your lips. —Lucky for me, that guy is off the market —he looks intensely at you.

You kiss Toto, melting for him inside. —I wouldn't pick him over you —you pause to reassure him and keep kissing him. —I wouldn't pick anyone else over you —more kissing. —You are all I want.

Toto reacts weirdly. He gives you a look you don't know how to read; it's full of devotion, but there's something else, like anger. Is he that possessive, or is there something else?

You feel like following Sam's advice, and this may be the perfect moment for it.

But he senses you are about to open a conversation he isn't ready to have. Toto hates himself for it, so he quickly and softly moves you to get on his feet and asks you if you want another glass of wine. He is already taking your glass and walking to the winery, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

[the10jewelry01]

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[magickedteacup]

WIP. We’ll see if I ever get around to cleaning up the broom animation. Sound on for sitar playing. (Sitar Story - Hanu Dixit).

It’s a rave. A broomstick, sitar-playing, Fantasia, Kingdom Hearts rave. Inspired by the fic below (wherein Demyx originated from the world of Fantasia; a classic of KH fanfiction, highly recommended)…but I’m also not going to pretend that my animated rendition isn’t also completely ridiculous.

-

Yen Sid had been occupied in admiring one of them when the sound of strings reached his ears. Curious, he chased down the tune, working from library to observatory to kitchen - only to discover Myde surrounded by a circle of gallivanting brooms, tiny wooden hands linked together to form a posy-ring. "Spare me the nonsense of fauns," Yen Sid grumbled. "Your companions are glorified mops." “Anything that can dance can feel. And anything that likes music can love," the boy laughed. - Pastoral Symphony in Blue Minor by rabbitprint

-

More notes below:

For my animation, I lean into the fact that the sitar is steeped in non-Western musical tradition such as Hindustani classical music, even though it became trendy in Western popular music following its use by the Beatles. I’d bet.. 100 yen… that the latter was what Tetsuya Uematsu meant to tap into with Demyx—that rock star vibe, that could also relate to his favorite topics of existential contemplation…

I favor more Indian classical myself, rather then being interested in the Beatles angle. The KH fanfic of inspiration draws faithfully from Fantasia—but Fantasia was all about Western classical music. Or what ended up considered part of that sphere? Is Russian music like Tchaikovsky considered Western? Anyway… my point is I couldn’t in good conscience not tap into more of an Indian influence too for my animation, so it diverges rather a bit from the source of inspiration in that way…

[dearstvckyx]

Flufftober | 10.09 |

Carnival Friends - Cole Caufield (ft. Canadiens Players & WAGS)

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the Montreal Carnival. Laughter echoed through the air, mingling with the sounds of playful music drifting from the various rides and booths. The sweet scent of cotton candy, popcorn, and funnel cakes wafted through the festive atmosphere, making it nearly impossible to resist indulging in something delicious.

It was the perfect day for a little adventure, and Cole Caufield couldn't have been happier to share it with his teammates from the Montreal Canadiens and their significant others. Dressed casually in a trendy hoodie and jeans, he was buzzing with excitement as he scanned the vibrant fairgrounds with a wide grin.

“Guys, come on! We have to hit the Ferris wheel first!” he urged, eyes sparkling like a child’s. Beside him, his girlfriend Jordan, who was wearing a brown dress that swirled around her on the warm breeze, laughed. She gently tugged on his arm, guiding him toward the enormous spinning wheel that dominated the carnival landscape.

“Easy there, speedy! We’ll get to it, but let’s grab some snacks first!” Jordan giggled, motioning toward a colorful cotton candy stand.

“Alright, but that cotton candy better be pink!” Cole exclaimed, darting toward the stall. A chorus of laughter erupted from the group as they followed Brendan Gallagher and his wife, Emma, who were leading the charge for sweets.

As they each purchased cones of cotton candy their captain fiancée, Caitlin, raised her pink fluff proudly. “To cotton candy! The only snack that’s basically air!” she proclaimed, making everyone laugh.

With their sugary treats in hand, they wandered toward the Ferris wheel. The lineup was short, and soon they were seated in the open-air gondola, swaying gently as they ascended. Cole leaned into Jordan, eyes shining as they reached the top. He held her hand tightly, and together they gazed out at the sprawling carnival below, the vibrant colors and lights stretching as far as the eye could see.

“Look! You can see the whole city from up here!” Cole exclaimed, a sense of awe washing over him. He didn’t want this moment to end.

After disembarking from the Ferris wheel, the entire group decided to challenge one another with the carnival games. With competitive spirits ignited, they split into two teams: Team Caufield and Team Gallagher. Cole’s determination to win shone through as he eyed a ring toss game.

“Alright, watch and learn!” he said, stepping up to the booth. He picked up a ring, tossed it, and it landed perfectly on a bottle. Success! Crowd cheering followed, and they all erupted into cheers.

“Okay, okay, nice throw, but can you beat this?” Gallagher teased, stepping up confidently. He tossed a ring—only for it to bounce off the edge and fall to the ground. Emma laughed and lightly kicked his shin.

“Good try, babe! At least you didn’t hit any innocent bystanders,” she taunted playfully, nudging him with her shoulder.

The friendly competition continued as the day rolled on. They indulged in massive turkey legs, cozying up in blankets and sharing laughter while finishing the last of the cotton candy. Cole and Jordan shared silly selfies with funny hats in one of the carnival photo booths, capturing every goofy moment.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, the group found themselves at the carnival's center stage, where they announced a surprise performance by a local band. The music filled the air, inviting everyone to join in the festivities.

“Dance with me!” Cole shouted to Jordan, pulling her to the front. The joy of the moment enveloped them as they danced, carefree and laughing. The rhythm seemed to match the beating of their hearts, surrounded by the love and camaraderie of their friends.

Brendan and Emma joined, twirling each other around, while the rest of the guys cheered them on. Laughter spilled into the night as they let the music take over, the magic of the carnival ensuring everyone had the best day ever.

As darkness fell and fairy lights twinkled like stars above, Cole wrapped an arm around Jordan, pulling her close. “I can’t think of any better way to spend a day,” he whispered softly.

“Me neither. Here’s to many more carnival adventures,” she smiled, leaning in for a sweet kiss as fireworks erupted in the sky, illuminating their world in scintillating colors.

With their hearts full and spirits soaring, the day at the carnival became a treasured memory they would cherish forever.

[folkwhore1998]

swear to be overdramatic and true to my...

lover

I am a pink girly through and through. Taylor's album aesthetics are so different from one another, and of course, I may be biased but I just love this album aesthetic so much. It completely screams summer. This is the album to roll the windows down and sing with your friends in the car, fall in love, yell at a man, cry... Who knows!

Miss. Americana highlights a large bit of the Lover era and Taylor's thoughts while making the album. The clip in that documentary where she discusses how this is really her last opportunity to do something big in music is so emotional to watch. Reason 1 is that it is a hard headspace to be in. Reason 2 is that it was the furthest thing from the truth. Seeing the shift in her stardom from then to now literally makes me emotional you guys. She had no idea what was going to happen for her. Don't get me wrong, she was already insanely successful, but things are so different for her now.

There is a lot of discourse about how reputation is the real Lover, and Lover is the anxiety that comes with being in love. Some have also said it is wearing the rose colored glasses and being blinded by love. Either way, it is a beautiful album that I will ride at dawn for.

It has a mix of everything... mushy love songs like Lover and Cornelia Street, songs with empowerment like The Man and You Need to Calm Down... self love with Me! and the deepest song being Soon You'll Get Better.

Soon You'll Get Better is a song that means so much to me. My Mom was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer when I was 19 and lost her when I was 22.For me, it was the song that got me through it. The song that encapsulates the helplessness of seeing someone you love be so sick but desperate to do everything and anything to have them get better. It goes back and fourth between denial, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

Denial: I'll just pretend it isn't real. I know delusion when I see it in the mirror. Anger: And I hate to make this all about me. But who am I supposed to talk to? What am I supposed to do, If there's no you? Bargaining: Holy orange bottles, each night I pray to you Desperate people find faith, so now I pray to Jesus too Depression: In doctor's-office-lighting, I didn't tell you I was scared Acceptance: This won't go back to normal, if it ever was It's been years of hoping, and I keep saying it because, Cause I have to

It is something you don't understand until it happens to you. I am heartbroken for anyone who understands while simultaneously being thankful I have someone who understands. It helps me to not feel so alone and I've never heard a song like it.

Here are my rankings for the album, Lover (Taylor's first fully owned album!!!)

Cornelia Street, Soon You'll Get Better (don't make me choose) Daylight Lover Cruel Summer Death By A Thousand Cuts Paper Rings Me! The Man London Boy You Need to Calm Down The Archer False God Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince Afterglow I Forgot That You Existed I Think He Knows It's Nice To Have a Friend

My favorite Lover Era Moments:

she's so real for this

one of my favorite performances

Here is the link to the beautiful framed print: I have a ton of these in my house. I print them at walgreens and put them in a frame! I get tons of compliments on them.

Here is a direct link to the storefront:

Here is a link to the lover live from paris vinyl costers:

Here is the direct link to the storefront:

@taylorswift @taylornation

[shannendoherty-fans]

September 6, 1991 - Jeffrey Thurnher for Entertainment Weekly.

90210

ADVICE TO the makers of Guess? jeans, the hawkers of Clearasil acne balms, the scholars of A.C. Nielsen ratings-to anyone, in short, who urgently needs to know what teenagers are watching on TV these days: Forget about the dweeby viewer diaries. Skip the fusty focus groups. Just follow the shrieking fans.

Note that Fox's Beverly Hills, 90210, now in its second season, makes young women scream and young men whoop. Study the mail sacks that arrive at Fox daily, bulging with the letters of thousands of teen viewers who urgently need to know what's going to happen next to their favorite 90210 characters ─ characters called Brenda and Dylan, Brandon and Andrea, Kelly and Steve, and David and Donna.

Observe the contagious hysteria brought on by thousands of consumers squished together in shopping malls for hours awaiting the appearance of their favorite 90210 actors ─ actors called Luke Perry and Jennie Garth, Shannen Doherty and Ian Ziering.

Listen to the household silence that reverberates for an hour each Thursday night ─ no phones ring, no Guns N' Roses bloom ─ as millions of sets fix on Fox.

Measure the decibel levels and get with the program: The shriekingest show on the air today is a soapy drama about the lives of eight students at Southern California's fictional West Beverly Hills High, class of Right Now.

The plots of Beverly Hills, 90210 revolve around the lives of teenage twins Brandon and Brenda Walsh (Jason Priestley and Shannen Doherty) ─ recent transplants, along with their down-to-earth parents, from the heartland of Minneapolis. In past weeks, boosted by a savvy programming decision to run all-new episodes in July and August while other shows lounged in repeats, 90210 has become Fox's most popular series, bigger this summer than The Simpsons and Married... With Children. First in the hearts of teen viewers on any network, any month (with a solid 58 percent of the adolescent audience), the show gives NBC ratings buster Cheers a run for its money in the 9 p.m. time slot. When teen viewers go back to school this week, so do the students at West Beverly; the new semester starts on Thursday, Sept. 12. That Priestley is teen-angel hunky and Doherty is pouty-pretty doesn't hurt; these twins are zit-free dreamboats. But 90210 zings heartstrings for deeper reasons, too. To fans, the show is, well, like life. Only cuter. Neater. Cooler. The kids at West Beverly mess up and move on in ways that never made the storyboards for Head of the Class. They drive nice cars and wear great jeans (a 90210 clothing line is on the drawing board; so are authorized and unauthorized books about the cast, and a quarterly magazine). But they also know about sex and AIDS. They know about drunken driving and alcoholic parents. Many are children of divorce. They know about drug abuse and date rape. They struggle with questions about sex: how far, how fast, how scary, how safe? Life is photogenic in this affluent zip code, but that doesn't make things any easier. To the 90210 audience, this is a great relief.

To veteran producer Aaron Spelling, whose company makes Beverly Hills, 90210, this is also a great gig: In July, Spelling took a Fox order for 30 new episodes-seven more than the usual invoice.

"The core audience was always aware of it," says executive producer Charles Rosin. "It's just that in calendar year '91, the network really promoted the show." Which is more than it did when the series debuted last fall. Muffled by its original name, Class of Beverly Hills, and hidden in a flurry of other teen-oriented programs including Fox's Parker Lewis Can't Lose and NBC's Hull High and Ferris Bueller (the latter two now canceled), the series was barely hyped, mildly received. Many saw it as just one more shallow show from the same Spelling glitz factory that gave us Dynasty and The Love Boat ─ a trendy soap starring a bunch of little-knowns (including Spelling's 18-year-old daughter, Tori).

“I like playing Brenda because they always give me challenging things to do and throw heavy drama at me. For some reason, I’m able to cry easily” ─ Shannen Doherty.

But teens were watching, and talking about it in school the next day. Besides, the show was getting better: The characters were becoming less stereotypical. The story lines (many by Steve Wasserman and Jessica Klein, who have also written for CBS' Northern Exposure) got tougher. The acting became more self-assured.

After the third episode, the producers knew the show was working. "But no one knew about it," recalls Rosin, who was most recently Northern Exposure's supervising producer. "So we developed a scenario to promote it."

The strategy paid off big, especially after Fox featured the series in July to launch the network's new "52-week" program plan, which intersperses reruns with a continuing stream of new stories.

"I knew the fans were there," swears creator and coproducer Darren Star. "Teenagers really respond to what they like. And they like to see something that says, 'I'm not alone.' Look, on our show, the dysfunctional family is the norm."

Star inevitably calls his baby "teensomething." And he inevitably says he was probably most like Brandon in high school ─ but wished he were more like broody, sensitive Dylan McKay, played by Luke Perry. Dylan is Brenda's some-time boyfriend. Brenda and Dylan had sex once, at the end of this year's school season. Brenda thought she might be pregnant but wasn't. She decided she wasn't ready for sex. She decided she wasn't ready for Dylan. They're now in romance limbo, pining and unsure. While network types wrestle with just how much controversial sex is enough ─ but not too much ─ in the season to come (now that more advertiser eyes than ever are watching), eight trillion teenagers understand Brenda and Dylan. Totally.

"ONCE DYLAN'S HAD a woman, she stays had." That's Luke Perry talking about the Brenda-Dylan Thing. Perry, a onetime soap actor (Loving, Another World), is in his makeshift dressing room in the anonymous Van Nuys warehouse that serves as the 90210 stage set (suburban Torrance High School substitutes as West Beverly for exterior shots). Perry's probably pushing 30, although, like almost everyone else in the cast, he coys up about his age ─ the better, they each avow, to preserve teenish illusions. He's bare-chested. He's bouncing a basketball. And he's being cool ─ charmingly, full-of-it cool. "We're the show that almost was on the network that isn't yet, and here we are, kickin' a little ass, if I do say so myself," he says himself in his smoky Dylan voice. Bounce. Bounce.

Two days earlier, on Aug. 10, Perry had made headlines when an estimated 10,000 shrieking fans at a Plantation, Fla., mall stampeded at the sight of him. Twenty-one people were injured, and the actor was hustled away by police ─ a promo stunt he says he won't be repeating. Was he upset?

"Feel my pulse," he dares, holding out a cool, bare wrist. "Pretty normal, huh?"

Yes, but what's normal in an industry where little-known young actors become wealthy heartthrobs overnight? Many in the cast smoke, with nervous, grown-up gestures. Some have just bought houses. Big, grown-up houses. All are feeling pretty excited, pretty jazzed, pretty dazed. They goof around a lot, and cut up with the crew. The guys in the cast slap and hug and talk about going skeet shooting together. And to a man they claim to have no girlfriends, that they're free agents. (The message: Female fans, there's hope!) The 90210 girls give and receive back rubs. To a woman, they've got boyfriends. (Hint: Guys, back off!)

They claim no tensions, these fragile egos with soft faces, no competition ─ nothing but comradely exhaustion.

"But I think we're all ready for a break!" That's Shannen Doherty sighing with an edgy giggle. Doherty, a screen veteran (one of the Heathers in the 1989 movie of that name and a graduate of NBC's Our House), is defensive, cautious, upset by recent reports that she is difficult on the set. "That's stupid stuff!" she says. There's a sleep-de-prived pallor beneath her Brenda makeup. She giggles again.

During one break, while director Charles Braverman and his crew of 90210-like techies hug and slap each other and set lights, 18-year-old Brian Austin Green blasts his boom box with friends ─ teen colleagues in a rap-rock band he has just formed. "David Silver," he says of the character he plays, "is the annoying guy nobody wants around, but they can't get rid of him." Jennie Garth, who plays Kelly, the "fast" girl, plops down with Gabrielle Carteris, who plays Andrea Zuckerman, the brain. "I think Andrea's really going through a budding time now," says Carteris.

Tori Spelling hunkers in her dressing room with her teddy bear, Stanley. "My character, Donna Martin, is kind of ditzy," she says in a tiny voice. "Into money. She puts down people who aren't popular. I think she's more sensitive than that, though. I think she's really funny." Ian (that's EYE-An, like it says on his license plate) Ziering wanders out to hug and slap his buddy Luke. "Steve Sanders [his role] thinks he can get away with flashing a smile and buying his way out of trouble." Ziering flashes his own smile; he's in actor heaven. "I feel the writers are so capable and I'm not just blowing sunshine up anybody's tush!"

And then there's Jason Priestley. "Jay-Man, Jay-Bob, Jay-Bird!" raps Luke Perry. "Let me show you my Jason pose!" Perry stands in a hustler's slouch, thumbs hooked into waistband. Priestley hugs and "Hey, man!"s with the best of them. He's hot. He's cool.

"Brandon's going to get into a little bit of trouble this season, which I'm looking forward to," Priestley hints. He drags on a cig.

Trouble?

"Well, I could tell you ─ but then I'd have to kill you. Top secret around here, I'm telling ya." Priestley smiles a Priestley smile. A makeup girl comes over for a hug, or maybe it's a kiss. "This is not a high-pressure show to work on," director Braverman says, dryly. Of course not; he's in the middle of receiving a back rub. High school was never like this.

No, wait, maybe it was: a lot of excitement, a lot of requirements, and tons of pressure to be popular.

"All shows have their peak," sums up Tori Spelling, who probably heard a thing or two about the subject growing up. "Right now we're in our peak. I don't want to think about the future. I just want to enjoy it. After we did the pilot, everybody was, like, 'What show are you on? 902-what?' Nobody heard of us. And now-now our goal is to beat Cheers one day, beat them in the share points. Or something."

The students and fans of Beverly Hills, 90210 are cheering: Go, Team, Go