#posting a oscar smut in a few minutes !!!

[httpiastri]

neck, hands, pretty face = thumbs up 😚😚

#babie #oscar content makes me happy #cant believe it’s been a week since his sprint podium 😭😭 #darling #only 21 days left until next gp 🫶 #posting a oscar smut in a few minutes !!! #just need to find a pic and write the authors note and all that shsjshsjsj #still not over that clem pic but i’m trying #oscar piastri #f1 #osc hands osc neck osc arms

[norrizzandpia]

Heyy, I don’t know if your requests are open, if they are just ignore this.

I was just reading “quiet night, loud morning” (btw I love your writing and this one is definitely one of my favourite stories you wrote) and I had an idea for a story, but it is kind of similar with the one I was reading, so I thought of giving the idea as a base for a whole new story that you could do.

Y/N was dating Oscar and no one new, but everyone suspected. And she lived with one of the boys (maybe she could be someone’s sister or daughter). And the story would be basically various time that they almost got caught. I imagine moments like: they’re roommates was out for some reason and they get a call or a message of noise complaints (y/n and oscar were being loud in the apartment and the neighbour tried to call her but she didn’t answer, so they called the roomate); or maybe they get caught getting out of the drivers room together and they were all messy; oscar or yn were caught with hickeys; the two of them going missing together; etc. And then in the end, you could make them getting official caught but like in a scandalous way, maybe caught having sex in a clubs bathroom by one of the boys or so.

If you don’t like the idea just ignore the request, is completely fine.

Btw sorry if it got hard to understand, English is not my first language, but I hope you understood my idea.

Have a good day <3

I understood this perfectly and I absolutely love it 🧡 I’m not sure if you’ll like this but I’ve taken the idea and made it the second part to an imagine i just posted “Loving You in the Shadows” This just really fit perfectly with the way I saw the story going hope you like it!

Sneaking Around (Loving You in the Shadows Pt. 2) (OP81)

Summary: After getting together, Y/n and Oscar find themselves wanting to keep their relationship private. Unfortunately, they can only try so hard.

Warnings: sexual conversations, light smut, Oscar and y/n being dumbasses, language

After that night in the garage, Oscar brought Y/n up to his room and the events that ensued ranged from incredibly inappropriate to family friendly. They laid tangled together, naked forms stuck together, and spoke softly about the future of whatever was blossoming between them.

“I want you to be mine.” He whispered against her hair, his hands rubbing up and down her back.

She giggled, giddy over the words she had wanted to hear from him for so long, “Me too.”

He turned her over slightly, so he could lean down and kiss her sweetly, “So, then it’s settled! You’re my girlfriend! I’m your boyfriend!”

His exclaims had Y/n laughing, her smile stopping his heart as it always did, “Osc, I love you, but that was way too cringy.”

His head tilted, teeth peaking through his grin, “Say it again.”

Kissing his cheek and letting her mouth rest next to his ear, “I love you.”

He sighed, dropping his head onto the pillow below him, “I never want you to stop saying it.”

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I-” She laughed, bed sheet falling down her chest as she rolled onto him and poked his chest.

He rolled his eyes playfully, “Okay, that’s good.”

“Never want to hear me say it again?” She challenged, his hands resting on the warm skin of her hips.

“Nah, every day I’d like to hear you say that.”

Quietness followed, the two letting their hands trace scars and marks across the other’s body. It was only a few minutes later that the thought popped into Y/n’s head and she blurted it out, sick of all the secret feelings.

“Can we keep it a secret for a while?” She inquired, hands coming to splay across his chest.

He looked up at her with confusion, “Why?”

She breathed out, “Because, Oscar, being a female driver and Lando’s little sister, it’s already thought by everyone else that I get hand outs. Being with you publicly will just add to that. I can’t have that risking my seat anymore than all of it already is.”

He frowned at her, “I don’t think you get hand outs.”

She smiled softly, “I know you don’t and I love you for that. But, not everyone is as kindhearted as you.”

Her hands in his hair made a smile take place rather than his prior frown as he said, “Okay, we can keep it a secret for some time.”

“Thank you, pastry.”

“You’re welcome, baby.”

—

Oscar’s booming laugh bounced across the walls of Y/n and Lando’s apartment. He was on the verge of peeing his pants as he gripped onto the counter, hunched over, as he watched Y/n try and get up from the fall she took.

“Y/n! How the fuck did you do that!” He exclaimed, wheezing interrupting him every so often.

His laugh was contagious and, even though her ass felt bruised all over, Y/n found herself joining him in the giggles, “I don’t know! Why didn’t you clean up the water you spilled?!”

He scoffed loudly, smile ruining his fake annoyance, “Because you were yelling for me to come help you put away your laundry!”

As they caught their breaths, he walked over to her, pulling her into him by her waist and letting his hands move to rest over her ass.

“You okay, though?” He asked, kissing her cheek quickly.

She nodded, “Yeah.”

Her head swiveled around suddenly, “Where’s my phone?”

He cocked his head, “Mmm, not sure. Did it get lost in the couch when we…” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She smacked his shoulder, “Stop it! Because of you, when Lando and I sit on that couch to eat dinner, I’ll have to think about you over me.”

His jaw dropped, “Because of me?! You were the one who decided to wear the shortest, tightest shorts and a shirt with my name and number on it. You knew what you were doing.”

She smiled mischievously, “Yeah, I did.”

“Okay, but seriously, Oscar, where’s my phone because I don’t want to miss a text or call from Lando and have him come back here early because he ‘thinks I’m dead’.”

“Has that ever really happened?”

“Yes,” She deadpanned, “Lots of times. If he comes back here early, there’s nowhere for you to hide and I’ll have to try to explain to him why you’re here, why the couch looks like it went through a tornado, and why I’m wearing a shirt with your shit on it.”

“You used to wear this same one before we started dating.”

“Yeah and he would always say something about it.”

“Surprisingly, Lando was right about us loving each other.” He laughed, giggles coming back forcefully.

They only grew when Y/n detached herself from his arms and ran across the room, falling once more on her ass, “HOW THE FUCK?” She yelled as Oscar fell to the floor in a fit of giggles.

“HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?!” He yelled back, the two of them hunched on the floor, clutching their chests as they began to cry.

“I DON’T FUCKING KNOW! DID YOU SPILL WATER ALL OVER THIS GODDAMN PLACE?!” She tried to crawl to him, but gave up when her wheezing took over her body.

He shook his head, “THERE’S NO WATER OVER THERE! THAT WAS ALL YOU, BABY!”

“DON’T ‘BABY’ ME, YOU BITC-” She began, but was interrupted by loud vibrations coming off the coffee table behind them.

She glanced over, seeing her brother’s face brighten her screen.

“Shit, it’s Lando. Be quiet.” She rushed out, scrambling on her knees to grab the phone.

He sat still on the floor, watching from afar as she answered.

“Hey, Lan, what’s up?” She said softly.

“The downstairs neighbors just called me and told me that you’re being loud. They said they tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.” Lando informed her.

Her face dropped and she looked at Oscar as he stared blankly at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll be quieter.” She whispered, face draining.

Before she could hang up, however, her brother stopped her.

“Y/n?” He began, to which she let out a sound confirming she was still there, “They said there was another voice along with yours. Usually, I wouldn’t mind that, but they said this person was calling you ‘baby’ and…” He trailed off.

“And what, Lando?” She pushed.

“They said it sounded like you were having sex.” He said quietly, his voice communicating how uncomfortable he was.

She tried to conjure up a lie for the truth, “Oh, well, um, I was watching a show and there was a sex scene, so maybe it was that?”

“Mhm,” He gave, “Y/n?”

“Yes, Lando?” She said again, still looking at Oscar, completely lost.

“You would tell me if you were dating someone, right?”

The question stopped her, she felt incredibly guilty responding with, “Of course. You’re my brother.”

“Okay, well, that’s all. Just be quieter if you can please.” He said softly.

“Okay, I will. Bye, love you.”

“Love you too.” And the call clicked, signaling its end.

Y/n looked at Oscar before he was whispering, “Guess we need to hangout at my apartment now, then.”

—

“Do I look okay?” She asked, staring at Oscar and waiting for his approval.

He cringed, “I mean, yeah, you look like you just got fucked.”

She groaned, head falling forward, “Oscarrrr”

He shook his head, walking up to her, “It’ll be fine! Just walk out there with confidence, no one will know.”

She looked up, meeting his eyes, “You want me to walk out of your driver’s room, looking like I just had sex, which I did, and pretend nothing happened with confidence?”

He rolled his eyes, “Well, when you put it like that,”

She took a deep breath and walked toward the door, “You know what? It’s fine, so long as no one sees us walk out together. Especially Lando.”

Of course, the world hated their guts as they both shuffled out and were met with the confused look of Oscar’s teammate and Y/n’s brother.

“Lando!” She smiled, her voice sounding strained.

His eyes shifted between the two of them, “What were you two doing?”

Oscar was quick, “What do you mean? We were just hanging out like we always do.”

Lando shook his head, “No, I heard noises.”

“No, you didn’t.” Y/n said immediately, silence falling upon the three as Oscar and Y/n tried to look as nonchalant as possible.

“Are you two together? Did I miss a love confession?” He quizzed, finger waving between the two.

Y/n and Oscar gasped obnoxiously simultaneously, “What?! No. For the love of God, Lando, we do not like each other.” Y/n said, deflecting and defending.

Oscar nodded, agreeing with her unwaveringly.

Lando’s hip popped out and his arms folded together across his chest. His mouth opened to counter, but his sister got there first.

“Oh, hell no. I know that stance. That’s your sass stance. I’m not dealing with that, Lan. Ain’t no fucking way.” She brushed off, screaming on the inside, before moving past him and walking away.

Lando was left to stare deeply at Oscar, “Anything to tell me, Piastri?”

Oscar shook his head forcefully, hands coming to surrender, “Nothing, Norris.”

Lando walked past him, stopping next to him and grabbing his bicep harshly, “Hurt her, I’ll kill you. Don’t test me. I don’t care what kind of friendship I’ve developed with you. I’ll cut a bitch.”

—

“What’s that on your neck, Y/n?” Daniel quizzed, a smile gracing his features as the two hung out in Alpha Tauri’s hospitality.

She looked at him blankly, “What?” Her eyebrows drew together, pulling out her phone to open the camera and check what he was referring to.

She tried to keep her anguish in when she saw the purple hickey on the side of her neck, memories of that morning with Oscar filling her brain. They had had to be quick with Lando saying he would be to her hotel room at any moment, but Oscar had still somehow found time to mark her skin the way he always wanted to.

She blinked, staring at Daniel and trying to find an explanation, “Oh, I’m not sure. Must’ve hit my neck on something.”

She went back to her food, trying to stop the conversation and any following questions, but Daniel’s next statement had her choking.

“You know, I say Oscar with the same kind of mark earlier today. Asked him what that was all about. He told me he had spent the night with a girl before, saying she had been eager.”

Y/n just kept her eyes on the bowl in front of her, willing herself into a small hole, “Hmm, so weird. No correlation there though.”

He nodded, face telling her he didn’t believe either of them for one second, “Yeah. No correlation.”

—

“Lando, have you seen your sister anywhere?” Alpha Tauri’s main race engineer asked, seemingly frazzled.

Lando shook his head, “No, but have you seen Oscar?”

The man murmured a ‘no’, eyes frantically looking over the crowds in search of her y/h/c hair, “You can’t find him either?”

“No,” Lando’s eyes widened slightly when the idea came to his head, “Hey, has Oscar been mentioning Y/n a lot more lately?”

Pierre, the race engineer, laughed, “I don’t know how he could talk about her anymore than he already is. But, come to think of it, I feel like they’ve been together a lot more lately.”

“Yeah…” Lando trailed off, leaving the conversation to try and see for himself. His body moved quickly across the paddock, looking in every room in both McLaren and Alpha Tauri buildings. When he came up empty, he resorted to searching random corners of the track.

He was pacing by an alleyway when he caught a glimpse of Oscar’s hair, his head whipping around to inspect. He didn’t approach, wanting to see what he had stumbled across. Unfortunately, Lando couldn’t see who was with Oscar, their body being covered by his as it caged them into the wall, but it seemed to be someone he was romantically involved with. Lando watched as Oscar’s hands gripped onto the hips of this woman, his head leaning down to catch her in a kiss. When he saw the way Oscar’s hips ground into hers, Lando turned around and practically ran back to where he had been before.

Though he couldn’t make out who Oscar was involved with, Lando had an inkling it was his sister, a reality he had wished for her for so long.

—

Lando never got up in the middle of the night. It just never happened, he was a deep sleeper. However, for one reason or another, he was awoken with a thirst he had to quench. His eyes drooped as he slipped out of bed and into the hallway to his and Y/n’s kitchen. He stood, leaning on the cool counter, pouring himself a glass of water when he heard small noises coming from her room. At first, he thought she was watching a movie, but then he heard a deeper groan emit from the closed door and his ears strained to listen. He inched closer, trying to understand what he was hearing, but as he continued to hear almost inaudible sighs, he figured he’d just go in to check on her, wanting to make sure she was getting good sleep.

Abandoning the water fully on the island, he moved to stand with his hand on her doorknob. He hesitated, something in his mind nagging at him and telling him to walk away, but the another side, the protective side, told him he needed to make sure she was okay. Truly, if he had been a bit more awake, he would’ve clocked the category of sounds coming from the room; if he had been more awake, he would’ve walked away; if he had been more awake, he wouldn’t have opened the door and see his sister having sex with his teammate.

“SHIT!” He screamed, shrieking as he covered his eyes.

Oscar, his dick still buried inside his girlfriend, grabbed the duvet and pulled it quickly over their connected bodies. Y/n, whose legs were wrapped tightly around her boyfriend’s waist, yelled at Lando to get out, the boy still standing there with his hands squeezed over his face.

He ran out, sounding on the verge of tears. The door slammed shut behind him and Oscar dropped his head onto her shoulder, “I fucking swear to God. That cannot be the way your brother finds out about us.”

She gently pushed him off of her and grabbed their clothes off the ground, covering herself and preparing for the state she would find Lando in, “Looks like it is.”

The couple came out shamelessly, heads stooping low as they met Lando, the man sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.

“Lan, I am so so so sorry.” She whispered, hand clutching Oscar’s.

He lifted his head, squinting at her, “I’m not fucking mad, just so shocked at you two being together and seeing… that.”

“Shocked?! You were one of the people who continuously told us we loved each other.” Oscar argued.

Lando shook his head, “I didn’t think you would go through with it. I thought the two of you would just stay friends seeing as you were both too scared to say anything.”

Oscar shuffled, “Well, she forced it out of me.”

Y/n nodded, giggling, “Yeah, I did.”

“Thank God, you did.” Oscar smiled down at her.

No matter how much he wanted to claw his eyes out, Lando knew he wouldn’t ever want to stop seeing how happy Oscar made Y/n. He felt relieved to know that the person he was leaving her to smiled at her that way, made her laugh that way, made her eyes twinkle that way.

Even though he wanted to claw his eyes out now, he was fully aware that he never wanted to stop seeing the love they shared.

It was so special and he was so elated his sister, out of all people, got to experience it.

He stood up from the couch, walking over to his sister and hugging her softly, whispering in her ear, “You picked a good one. I’m happy for you.”

He pulled back, loving the easy smile on her face, and moved to Oscar. He pulled him in for one of the few hugs they had ever shared, whispering in his ear, “I still stand by what I said before. Hurt her and you’re fucking dead, bitch.”

When the brother pulled away, he continued, “I don’t mess around when it comes to Y/n.”

Oscar chuckled and nodded, “Neither do I.”

And those three words reaffirmed everything Lando knew in his heart.

Oscar was good for her and, even though it had taken him so long to admit, he would love his sister in the way Lando always wished for her to be loved.

Cherished, protected, prioritized, and respected.

#mclaren #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagines #oscar piasstri #oscar pia #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfiction #oscar piastri imagines #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri smut #oscar pastry #ln4 #mclaren formula 1

[pdflayn]

BEACH DAY PT. 1 (1.1K)

oscar piastri x reader

summary: Oscar makes sure his girlfriend experiences the perfect vacation in his hometown, Australia. warnings: smut under the cut ! note: this is only part 1, part 2 will be posted once i find time again. reqs r open btw, enjoy!

It was already one in the afternoon and you were all behind the time planned to leave the house. Recently, Oscar had this brilliant idea to have a day or two at the beach with his whole family as a chance for you to be able to bond with them, something you’ve always wished for the moment Oscar asked you to officially be his girlfriend. 

Everyone, excluding your boyfriend, were pretty calm about the situation. Oscar has been walking back and forth in the living room while holding his checklist. You couldn’t help but to chuckle at the sight of him. Little moments like this made you adore him even more. He really wants your stay in his hometown to be perfect. What he doesn’t know is it already is. What you meant by bonding with him and his family only meant to spend time with them even in the comfort of their own home and eat dinner at the table.

“Love, sit down for a bit. You’ve already triple-checked that list of yours.” You whisper to him as you run your hands on his shoulder, trying to ease him. It worked eventually and he flashed a smile to you. “I’m sorry, I just want this vacation of yours to be perfect. Especially since it's your first time here in Australia. Wouldn’t want you to hate the place and not think about going back here now, do I?”

You giggled at his silly remark and placed a peck on his lips. “Silly baby, of course I’d want to go back here. Even if you show me the dirtiest and ugliest part of Australia, I'd still want to go back. It’s your hometown, it’s basically you in many ways so why would I hate it?” 

“Even the spiders?’

“No, Piastri. Not the spiders.” you say as you glared at him and he just laughed as he ruffled your hair. You didn’t mind really, but if it were other people you would already burst in flames. 

After a few more minutes, everyone has already finished packing and finally placed their bags in the trunk of the van. Oscar and his mom were even fighting at first because Osar wanted to drive but his mom won’t let him. Eventually he gave in knowing how much of a mama’s boy he is. The both of you sat at the back of the van, it was your favorite spot in every van because you felt more comfortable since you feel no eyes watching behind you. Aside from Oscar’s of course. 

“Will you ever stop staring at me?” you joked as you turned off your phone. you heard Oscar release a small chuckle and felt him scoot closer to you. you didn't mind at all, physical touch was your love language and he knew that too well. you took it as an opportunity to rest on his chest and close your eyes but Oscar had different intentions. 

As you relaxed on his chest, you felt his cold hands linger on your clothed body. tracing your curves and drawing circles on your back, slowly making its way on your thighs which he had easy access to, all thanks to you deciding to wear your favorite skirt. “Oscar, not here.” you mumbled as you enjoyed his touch but the thought of being caught by his family members is such an embarrassment. 

“Hey, can you get the blanket in ma’s bag? It's cold back here.” Oscar said as he took out his cousin's earphones in front of us. Oscar smiled as he reached for the blanket and gently covered you up as he placed a kiss on the side of your head. “no one will see now, you just need to be quiet if you want me to continue.” 

“Do you want me to continue?” you nodded as a response. “I need words, baby.” 

“Continue please, love.” 

Oscar guided your head to rest on his shoulder as he rested his arm on your waist and his free hand slid under the blanket. you can feel his hands wander around your body, starting from your knees, to your thighs, to your hips, up to your waist, cupping your clothed tits. your breathing hitch as you struggle to be quiet. “Look at you, struggling so hard to keep it down already and I barely touched you yet.” Oscar whispers to your ear, adding fuel to your fire. 

“Osc- fuck!” you yelped as he suddenly pinched your nipple. He responded quickly, covering your mouth with his free hand and chuckled in your ear. “Be quiet, love. you wouldn't want them to know how desperate we are, don't you?” 

You bit your lip, hoping it would help you stop the lewd noises that might come out of your mouth as Oscar slipped his hand inside your panties. His fingers playing with your clit and teasing your hole. “Do you feel how wet you are, love? I can easily put my finger inside you.” he said as he slid two fingers inside you without warning, making you grip tightly on his arm as you battle with yourself to prevent yourself from releasing a moan or a whimper or a whine, you weren't sure anymore what sound would come out of your mouth. But you know it would be trouble if people in front of you heard it. 

“Osc, please.” you whimpered as you felt yourself trembling and clenching around his fingers. “are you near, love?” you nodded quickly, almost sobbing from the feeling. “Of course you are. Look at you, such a needy baby enjoying my fingers. Imagine if it's me inside you and not just my fingers. the sounds you'd make will be heavenly.” 

“Fuck- oscar, i'm almost-” you struggle to complete your words as he adds another finger inside of you, fastening his pace even more. He curled his fingers inside of you, reaching your spot which made you scream. Thankfully, he was fast enough to cover your mouth as he continued to fuck you with his fingers as you reached your high. 

You were left breathless as he removed his hand inside you and licked his fingers clean. 

He took his bag and grabbed a roll of tissue and wiped off a few of the residue left on his finger. He took another sheet of tissue and wiped the tears from your eyes, you didn't even feel it. “I think I stressed you out too much. we both know how much of a screamer you are." Oscar jokes, you slapped his arm with no energy at all. He took some wet wipes from his bag as well and slid his hand back on your underwear and wiped you clean. 

“You can still get some sleep, I'll just carry you to our room when we arrive.” Oscar said as he moved towards the other end of the seat so you could use his lap as a pillow which you were more than happy to do.

#layn archive ! #formula 1 fic #f1 imagine #oscar piastri #oscar x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar smut #oscar piastri smut #op81 #smut #mclaren

[fernandopiastri28]

high for this ~ oscar piastri

Notes:

i am officially finished with holidays and back to school :/ so im going to be posting a lot less but i do have a few works just rotting in my drafts so i'll probably just be changing the names of characters and posting them. (not proof read so i apologise if there's any mistakes)

warnings: smut, weed, drug use, mdni

Oscar mindlessly lays sprawled out on his bed, his muscles aching from the gym earlier in the day. He tenderly rubs his hamstring, trying to nurse it back to not being too sore for his match tomorrow. 

He has some music playing as quietly as possible, a pulsing tune of some heavy rap. It’s not really to his taste, but he’s bored with his own playlists at the moment. His phone is near the foot of his outstretched left leg, while his right leg is tucked up towards his torso, his knee pointing high towards the ceiling. Both hands are hard at work around his right leg, his fingers pressing into the tough flesh.

He feels a buzz travel through his left foot as his nails dig into his skin. He makes a note to cut them. He hears the buzz too, this time over the sound of the music. He sits up awkwardly, wincing at the strain on his leg. Using his left hand, he picks up his phone and checks the two new messages he’s received. 

It’s Talia, unsurprisingly. She should be asleep, though, she promised him she’d start working on fixing her sleep schedule. He clicks the notifications, squinting to see the messages with the medical white lights flashing in his eyes in comparison to the darkened room.

tals🧡: you up?

tals🧡: do u wanna come over

Oscar shifts around in his bed so his back is pressed against a stack of pillows. He brings his hand away from his hamstring, ignoring the dull shoot of pain that runs up his leg once it loses his attention.  

They don’t do a lot of sneaking over to each other's houses, simply because they can see enough of one another during school days, so it isn’t anything essential. They get in all the kissing, cuddling, and make outs they want to during the day, so if she’s suggesting this, it means sex. 

Not necessarily just sex, anything within the umbrella of sexual activity. Oscar shifts his hips, trying to decide what he wants to do. They live pretty far from each other, meaning for him to sneak over, it's a 25-minute walk each way since he can’t just take the family car. It’s late—nearing midnight—and he’s sore. On the other hand, he’s horny.

And at Talia’s house, she doesn’t live with her parents. She lives with two of her close friends, skipped out on the college experience after her first year. Oscar didn’t get that luxury, much like his older sisters. Both of them lived at home for uni. But while she’s off now in France, he’s still a third year university student. Since her family won’t even be there, they don’t have to worry about being sneaky or quiet.

Oscar: Yeah. See you soon

He unplugs his phone and slips his feet into the pair of slides that are sitting at the foot of his bed. He opens his wardrobe, grazing his fingers over the line up of shirts that rest there. He grabs a graphic white t-shirt, wrestling it on. He cracks open his door, walking past his sister’s and the guest room, both vacant. His parents are on the level upstairs, so they can’t hear any disturbance he’s making. 

He settles for catching the bus instead, unwilling to walk up to an hour. He sits down in a row of empty seats, ducking his head down and popping an earbud in. There’s a scarce number of other people on the bus, two girls sitting close together, their heads spinning drunkenly. An old man, greying hair and a newspaper in his callused hands.

tals🧡: come thru window. sammy will bark otherwise.

Oscar replies with the hard thought out reply of a thumbs up before re-pocketing his phone, staring mindlessly out of the window at the dark surroundings that whip by. 

Oscar gets off at his stop 10 minutes later, and he’s the last person on the bus by that point. He approaches Talia’s house, not even bothering to go through the front door- Sammy would bark and wake the whole house up. He clicks open the gate, dragging it out only just enough to slip in. He walks across the side of the house, tapping on her bedroom window once he gets to it. He presses a hand to his pocket, making sure the pack of condoms he grabbed are still there.

The curtains swish open and Talia’s standing there, fiddling to get the window open. Once it's open, he feels a rush of cold air hitting him, accompanied by the smell of something almost like diesel. “Hey,” He grins as she leans down. 

She narrowly avoids the kiss he’s going for, giving him one on the corner of his mouth. “Sorry- god, it’s dark,” Her shadow rubs her eyes, reaching out a hand to help him in. 

Climbing in through the window isn’t a difficult task- just slightly uncomfortable. His crotch rubs against the window pane as he brings his second leg over into her room. Talia wraps her arms around his waist as soon as he’s inside. “Hi, Oscccc,” She looks up at him, her teeth gleaming white. 

Just as Oscar is about to reply, the petrol smell hits him even harder. He crinkles his nose, confused as to what it is. “Tals, what the hell have you been smoking in here?,” He laughs, his hands grabbing at her ass to get her to wrap her legs around his waist. His voice is thick with sarcasm, Talia is the furthest thing from a druggy possible.

“Weed,” She rubs her lips into his shoulder, mouthing at the fabric of her shirt. Her mouth is dry, barely wetting the cloth. Oscar’s eyebrows knit, tensing in confusion. “Got a joint, was bored,” She mumbles. 

He doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. At the same time, it’s late- his mind is cloudy anyways. He looks past her, at her bed where there’s a metal tin and a joint laying on top of it. Explains the smell then. “Fuck Talia,” He lets out a deep breath, “Maddie and Amber can definitely smell it,” He groans.

Talia laughs, her voice thick and loopy. “Nah, they cleared out tonight so I could do this.” She pulls away from the embrace, tugging him after her by his shirt. She falls back against the bed, her eyes clearly red rimmed from the dim lighting over her bed. “Cmonnn Opie, wanna get stoned with you,”

It’s so strange to see her like this, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t hot. It’s so unexpected, such a pleasant surprise from his usually wound up and rule following girlfriend. Oscar’s resistance weakens, the sight of her laying there- a goofy grin plastered across her voice is enough to make the strong man give in. 

He hovers over her on the bed, a knee on either side of her hips and a hand on either side of her head. “You’re insane,” His mouth meets red, puffy lips for a kiss. She’s hungry for it, bringing her hands up to his hair to tug him down. 

“More,” Talia begs, her voice breathy. Her pupils are huge and there's a spacey look in her eyes. Oscar teases her, shaking his head as he slightly resists kissing her any further than little pecks.

“I want a drag,” He whispers, reaching over her to where the blunt is precariously resting. He places it in between his lips, the bitter taste already seeping into his mouth. “Light it up,” He murmurs around the lump in his mouth. 

Her mouth and ears feel as if they’ve been packed with cotton, his voice is far away and just barely a noise. “You don’t know how to,” She giggles weakly, her fingers pinching the fabric of his shirt that hangs down onto her.

Oscar gets off of her, sitting against the head of her bed. His legs are spread, his body slumped down comfortably. “Teach me,” He pats the space in front of his lap, his eyes looking up through his lashes. Talia’s mind is foggy with weed, lust, and need. She’s willing to do anything. 

“Take this,” she pushes a plastic water bottle into one of his hands, already unscrewed and partially drunk. “You’re gonna cough a lot- the water will help with that,” she explains, leaning forward with her hands propped up on his quads, pushing the hem of his shorts higher up. 

She reaches over to where the bottle had been and her fingers feel numb as they wrap around the lighter. “You feel good?” She asks as he twists the joint around between his lips. He doesn’t quite know how to answer, it feels like a question for after he’s actually smoked it. He nods regardless, tensing his leg muscles under her hands.

“I’m gonna light it, okay?” Another question from her. Her voice is becoming harder to understand, the true effects of the weed settling into her. It’s bizarre to him, this whole situation. “And you just try to inhale as much as possible,” She waits for a nod of competency from him before continuing. “Don’t let it just rest in your throat- it’ll burn. If you can’t do a lot, just do it in small bits,” 

Oscar’s hand snakes behind her, resting on the small of her back. “Ready,” He mumbles awkwardly. She clicks down on the lighter and a flame flickers, wavering just below his nose. 

“Don’t stress it,” She can see how his eyebrows are still furrowed and his nails are digging into the fabric of her shirt. It’s almost euphoric at first, then it’s hell. Heat fills his mouth and he’s coughing and wheezing. He did exhale- probably too much. 

He feels Talia’s hands all over him, her coldness contrasting against the warmth throbbing through himself. She takes the spliff from his mouth, sucking down on it herself. Oscar watches her hazily, his bottom lip tucked under teeth. 

“How long have you been doin’ this?” The words feel as if they’re not coming from him. Jesus, surely he’s not baked already. He feels the heavy weight of the joint being pushed between his lips again, his question seemingly going unanswered. 

He takes it, breathing it in again. He doesn’t let it rest in his throat, he focuses on the inhale. He doesn’t cough as much this time, but he still guzzles down what’s left in the bottle. 

They spend a few minutes alternating the spliff, blowing air into eachothers faces. The room reeks of weed and it’s boiling hot. He wipes the back of his neck with his hand, a line of sweat gathering there. She twists the hem of his shirt between her index and thumb, pulling it up slightly. She doesn’t need to ask- he takes it off for her. 

“I started when I first moved here,” She finally answers his question from earlier, dragging a thumb down his cheek, rubbing the back of his jawline. “I think one of Mads’ friends gave her a bunch because she was moving- couldn’t take ‘em. Us three smoked them one night, it was fun,” She mumbles. It means she’s only been doing it for about 3 years now. 

He tilts his head, resting it against a pillow. She presses the pad of her thumb into his bottom lip that he’s unconsciously pouting out- asking for either another drag or a kiss. “Wanted to introduce you,” Her lips turn into a smirk, her eyes half-lidded.

“And why’s that?” He teases, his other hand moving down to her ass. Talia looks to the side behind him, a knowing look on her face. She pulls herself into his lap, effectively straddling him.

“I wanted to get high,” She states plainly, “and when I’m high- I’m horny. Wanted to be like that with you,” Her eyes are bright and her cheeky are rosy. Oscar kisses her cheek, experimenting with how his mouth is getting drier and more uncomfortable. Once he feels some moisture returning, he kisses further along her jaw. 

She has the spliff in her mouth which forces him away from her mouth. He focuses on her jaw and neck, suckling near her collarbone. She moans, tugging his hair and effectively his head back up. She places the joint in his mouth again and pulls on the pillow behind him. He tilts his head enough for her to move it out of the way, leaving him laying down almost completely flat. 

 He watches dazily as she pulls her top off, leaving her in a lacy white bra. He reaches out, his fingers barely feeling her flesh. He knows he’s touching her, she’s making noises to confirm it. “ More , more , fuck ,” She’s begging, her voice so desperate. Oscar wishes he wasn’t so fucking spacey right now so he could see how wanton she was over him. 

He tips his head forward, looking past where smoke is burning into his eyes. He’s apparently not just touching her bra, he’s touching her fully exposed breast. He hasn’t realised up until this point that he’s actually hard. 

“Can I shotgun you?” She asks, her fingers snaking over his nipples. He whimpers at the touch and his mouth drops open around the blunt. He knows he’s out of it, but he’s consciously thinking enough to know that shotgunning is either claiming the front seat in a car, or piercing a beer can and then drinking it as fast as possible.

He settles with the assumption it must be the second one. He lols his head to the side, searching for where the beer is. “Yeah,” He hums, his hand dropping down over the edge of the bed and his hand swinging with the intention of hitting a can that isn’t actually there.

Talia laughs, tugging on his bicep. “Shotgun- I puff smoke into your mouth,” She explains, her voice all raspy from being so dry. Oscar licks over his teeth, his mouth still painfully dry. His mind feels empty, the only resounding thought is just talia, talia, talia. There are a few other ideas, sex stuff, nothing coming close to being as important as making her happy.

She leans forward, plucking the joint from his mouth. He gets a breath of fresh air and begins to gasp for it- a telltale sign he’s had too much in one go. He hollows his cheeks, cleaning the taste of smoke out of his mouth with spit. It’s a useless attempt as it’s already well stained.

She slides two fingers into his mouth, pressing down on his bottom teeth. She lays down on him, her legs still hooked around his hips and a hand pressing to the headboard above him. Their chests are pressing together, her boobs heavy on him. He stares at them, shamelessly, his cock getting even harder to the point he’s beginning to actually feel it. 

“Can you suck my cock?” His voice is strangled and on the verge of incoherency because of her digits pressing into his tongue. She nods, kissing the tip of his nose. Her other hand is still holding onto the spliff, just sliding it against her wettened bottom lip. She finally sucks down on it, her lips twisting around it to keep the smoke in.

His mouth opens out of instinct, his eyes going bright just thinking about her mouth. The second their lips meet and he feels a slow release of smoke into his mouth, he feels like he’s dying. His eyes roll back and he grips a hand to the back of her head, pushing their mouths into each other’s harder.

He’s kissing her like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. It’s disgustingly dirty, a combination of spit, teeth, tongues and far too much moaning. Being stoned apparently just makes him feel everything . His lips are on fire, his throat is on fire, his eyes are on fire, his dick is on fire. 

Their mouths pull apart, sticky from the remnants of lip gloss that Talia has on. He peppers her face with a few more kisses, desperate for the stinging burn. They look at each other for a few moments, a complete disconnect from the two of them and the rest of the world. 

“You still want it?” She’s semi sitting up now, her elbows resting on where his hips are poking out from his low sitting shorts. His mind goes blank at the question, unsure of what she could possibly asking.

“What?” He lets out a puff of air, his hand mindlessly travelling through her hair. She nudges low down on his abdomen with her nose, making a weird squeaking whine. 

“Suck you off,” She looks up at him, the green in her eyes barely just a thin ring around her blown up pupils. Oscar nods, shifting further down the bed. Her fingers hook into his waistband, an invitation. His eyes flicker shut, already wasted off the feeling of her hands tugging his shorts down. 

Cold air whacks into the tops of his thighs, the dark fluffs of hair standing up. Oscar doesn’t need to tell her what to do, it seems like every time she’s gotten baked before this has been spent with her preparing for this. 

Talia begins aimlessly mouthing at his crotch, licking and kissing over where the head is resting. Her mouth is wetter than his, seemingly soaked with saliva. He takes a drag from the blunt, his fingers retracting and stretching to scratch her head. She purrs at the motion, getting more eager around him. 

“Cmon princess,” Oscar murmurs, helping to slide his boxers down to mid thigh. He doesn’t wince or shiver when it meets the cold air as there’s barely any time for it to do so. The second he’s fully undressed, her warm mouth is engulfing his length. 

She bobs her head up and down, her lips tightening around his shaft and her cheeks hollowing for him. He’s pushing her head down without realising, the pressure is light but definitely suggestive. 

She doesn’t gag, just takes him further. He encourages her with a string of moans mindlessly escaping his mouth, mixed in with ‘ oh god, good girl’ and ‘that's perfect, princess, keep going’. He’ll smoke or eat edibles every weekend if this is how getting head feels like when he does.

Her nose presses into his crotch, her throat muscles working hard to accommodate the intrusion of him. He tries to touch her, help her get off while she’s giving him the blowjob he’s ever received but the way she’s lying with the rest of her body so far away, he settles for focusing the pleasure elsewhere.

He rubs his thumbs over her nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. She whimpers and whines, her moans choking into noises that sound like she’s crying. Her face is reddened and her hair is sweaty, her fringe plastered down to her forehead with sweat.

“Close, I’m close,” He twists some of her hair around his index, his middle finger tapping into the top of her hair. She looks up at him with glassy eyes and tensed eyebrows. 

“In me,” She gags around his length. She doesn’t need to ask twice. He fucks his hips up into her mouth, forcing a moan and a gag from the back of her throat as he releases into her. 

He feels spent, his body aching worse than it did back at home. 

She pulls off slowly, her lips oiled with spit and cum. Her neck muscles flicker with tension as she swallows it down. That’s new. She’s strictly been a ‘spitter’ to this very moment. He wipes a drop of cum off her lip and kisses her deep. He tastes himself in her mouth but there's hardly any recognition for it. He doesn’t care enough to be disgusted about it, nothing about kissing her is disgusting.

“You’re perfect,” He slips his tongue into her mouth, tugging her up to be laying on top of him. “Wanna make you feel good,” He moves his head, kissing down her neck.

Talia lets out a noise of confirmation, “please,” she whines burying her fingers against his scalp. From the awkward angle he’s at, he slips her pants down past her ass, her underwear at the same time. 

He rubs a finger over her wet hole, teasing it. She lets out a stifled whimper, burying her face further into Oscar’s chest. He slides the finger in slowly, watching the bits of her face that he can see intently. She’s shying away, forcing her face away from his view.

“You’re all shy now?” He teases, massaging one of her breasts with his palm. She doesn’t reply, just keens on him, desperate for more. He pushes his finger fully in, sliding it in and out. “Look at me, pretty,” He kisses her forehead, nudging the spot with his nose. 

She reluctantly looks up before snuggling into his neck. It’s a drastic difference from how she was only minutes earlier. He pushes a second finger in, knowing her all too well that she’s needy for it. She groans, scraping her teeth down along his shoulder.

He groans, throwing his head back. He knows what he’s doing, not needing to even look. He pushes in and out, deeper and just as controlled. Her walls tighten around him, her wetness slicking down over his palm and around his wrist. His thumb joins in, rubbing along her clit. 

“Oz,” it comes out all jagged and breathy. “Fuck- need to,” She can’t finish her sentences at this point, pushed so close to the edge. He gives her a whisper of allowance, his breath hot against her ear. 

“Come for me,” He instructs her, his thumb applying more pressure as he feels a gush of wetness spill down his occupied hand. She’s gasping, panting for air when it happens. His body is still trying to regain full senses from the weed, barely noticing how deep her nails are digging into his sides, leaving red crescent moons into his skin.

Once she’s come down from her high, Talia rolls onto the space next to him on the bed. They watch each other, laying on their sides as they share the joint. They puff smoke at each other, laughing over absolutely nothing. 

“You’re staying tonight?” Whether it's a statement or a question is unsure, just how she intended. Oscar cranes his head to where he can see the sun is peeking out and beginning to set. 

“Yeah, I’ll stay right here,” He hums as the two of them both nod off to a hazy, stoned induced sleep.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #f1 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x original character

[twinkodium]

𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓁𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝑔𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓈 (𝐿𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇 / 𝑀𝒸𝓉𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈)

ᥫ᭡ Pairing: Landoscar / Mctwinks

ᥫ᭡ Warning: ‼️ Dirty words, suggestive, sexual activity, anal‼️

ᥫ᭡ Genre: Smut

ᥫ᭡ Word count: 5,4K

ᥫ᭡ Summary: Excitement fills their home, seeing the falling snow outside that makes Lando extremely happy and wakes up his boyfriend. He already has plans for how to spend the day, that don't involve staying in bed.

ᥫ᭡ A/N: No beta-reading this time. I wanted to challenge myself in a way so expect more grammatical errors because I’m NOT a native. Don't mind me posting a Christmas fanfic when it's already long forgotten, I'm shit at time management and sticking to the deadlines 😭

ᥫ᭡ Taglist: @slugesh @formulahuh @laciijane @izzief1rambles @httpiastri @481boxboxbaby @papayaaa04 @landoom @f1extras

ᥫ᭡ Up on AO3 too

‼️+18 content under the cut! Minors, please, do not interact ‼️

“What the hell? Is there an Earthquake?” Oscar is woken up by his bed shaking under his body, highly confused. His disoriented mind needs a few seconds to reboot and it all gets clear what's going on when his vision fixates on the sight of his boyfriend jumping up and down on their bed.

“OSCAAAAH, OSCAAAH! It's snowing!!!” His beaming smile lights up the whole room and while Oscar is not a morning person, a soft smile spreads across his face by Lando’s excitement.

“Wonderful, can I go back to sleep now?” He fake-yawns just to tease the Brit further.

“Don't even think about it!” Stomping his foot dramatically on the bed, he almost loses his balance and falls backward. Quickly circling his arms to gain back his composure, placing his hand over his rapidly beating heart and heaving out a deep breath. Oscar fights back his giggles not wanting to piss him off even more. “Get up Osc, I wanna decorate our Christmas tree.”

“Hm… make me.” He lays on his forearms, the duvet slides lower on his pale skin revealing more of his well-trained pecs. He licks his lips and gazes at Lando, eyebrow cocked in a challenging manner. A cheeky grin appears on the other boy’s face as he launches himself on Oscar. Straddling him over the covers and leaning down to press a sweet and distracting kiss on his lubed-up lips. Before Oscar could touch him and deepen the kiss Lando is already gone. Escaping his embrace at neck-breaking speed, stealing the covers and leaving a shirtless Oscar only in his boxer shivering in bed. What a little shit, he thinks.

“Please put on the Christmas sweater I bought for you and meet me downstairs in 10 minutes.” Lando shouts back from the hallway as he bounces down the stairs to play some music and prepare for the day ahead.

Oscar lets out a sigh as he finally separates himself from the warmth of their bed. Quickly enters the bathroom to brush his teeth and run his fingers through his bed hair to make himself more presentable, even though he’s certain his messy hair is a big turn-on. He checks his reflection in the mirror one last time before clicking off the lights and heading back to the room. He dresses in simple jeans and is about to put on the sweater Lando mentioned but he stops in his tracks when he spots the caption on the front. Choking out a laugh on his way to find Lando with the ugly piece of clothing in his hand. He hears the soft Christmas music coming from the kitchen Lando humming along with the lyrics.

“Lando! I’m not going to—” He loses his train of thought when Lando faces him. His navy jumper has a gigantic candy cane with the text ‘it’s not going to lick itself‘ next to it. Oscar stands there with his mouth open, completely speechless. Lando steps forward and closes his mouth shut with his index finger, seductively grinning up at him as his finger slides along his defined jawline.

“You were saying…” He takes in Oscar’s shirtless form, biting his lower lip at the sight of his creamy skin ready to be touched and marked. He places his open palm over his heart, sliding his fingers over the sensitive surface leaving goosebumps in their wake. Oscar trembles under the sweet touches, a moan escapes deep from his lungs. He swallows the upcoming ones down, wetting his lips yet again.

“I’m not putting on this jumper. It’s ridiculous.” He lifts the jumper to his chest with big balls and the caption ‘If you jingle my balls, I’ll guarantee you a white Christmas’ is sporting on the front.

Lando doubles over with laughter, pressing his warm cheeks to Oscar’s muscular chest as he hooks an arm around his waist, preventing himself from toppling over. Oscar watches his lover having a breakdown, waiting patiently for his chuckles to die down. He places his hand on his lower back to bring his body closer to his.

“Look, I have your balls on my face.” He blurts out, laughing into the fabric between their bodies. The Aussie truly contemplates how the hell did he fall in love with such a child.Lando’s childish behavior and tradition of laughing out loud in serious situations bring joy and happiness to their extremely stressful life. Even when he makes fun of him and bullies him to no return, Oscar swoons over him like a lovesick puppy. Without him joking around, they might crumble under the pressure and demanding focus their job requires. “Okay, sorry. I calmed down now.” He travels his eyes up to Oscar’s, expecting the find annoyance in his chocolate brown obs, but he only gazes back with adoration and love. His heart picks up the pace of his heavy breathing and the thousands of butterflies wake up in his stomach. He’s so in love. “You either stay half naked - that I’d not mind at all - or wear this. No other options available.” He wiggles his eyebrows funnily, knowing oh so well that Oscar can’t say no to him. Especially when he pulls ‘the puppy eyes’ card. Big, sparkly green eyes, pouty lips and he’s a goner.

“Fine.” Lando releases Oscar to step back, crossing his arms over his chest and looking him up and down, clearly enjoying the glimpse of his exposed bare skin.

Oscar plays into his naughty thoughts, flexing his arms when he finally pulls the ugly sweater over his head and smoothes the material down on his wide chest. It stretches over his figure perfectly, if it wasn’t for the stupid pattern and text, he’d even like it.

Lando, on the other hand, can’t hold back his sweet smile, wearing ‘matching’ clothes with his more serious boyfriend truly lights him up on fire.

The change of music interrupts their intense eye contact and they split their sides laughing as the ‘Jiggle Bells’ starts blasting from the speakers in full volume. Once they regain their self-control and get their breathing slowed down to their normal rhythm, they finally make their way towards the living room where the artificial Christmas tree already stands in its naked glory. It’s taller than he remembered. With the star finial on top, it’s going to touch the ceiling.

“When exactly did you wake up?” Oscar begins separating the mismatched Christmas decorations and selecting the ones he wants up on the tree into a neat pile.

“Maybe too early?” A small blush appears on his golden cheeks due to his embarrassment of how excited he is and fully in a festive mood.

The Aussie acknowledges his discomfort with a smile and pulls him closer to kiss his forehead to ease his uneasiness.

They agree to bathe the tree in their favorite colors that represent them perfectly; papaya, some neon green, Australian green, red, and white for the Christmas vibes. It doesn’t take much time to hang the ornaments, however Lando cuts loose with the colorful boas. Either doesn’t realize or most likely doesn't give two hoots that Oscar still stands by the pine when he runs around to throw them on, tying Oscar to the evergreen.

“What was the plan here?” Oscar does his best to rescue himself from the tight embrace, without any luck. “Could you at least help me, please?” He continues writhing to make eye contact with Lando but he jumps around like a little kid in a candy store, getting out of his sight. Probably to hide his shit-eating grin.

“Nah ah, I love seeing your squirm.” Lando lets out a chuckle but eventually steps forward to loosen the clutch of the boas around his body. He crouches under the feathery decoration and immediately backs up Lando to the nearest wall, invading his private space. He places his hand on the wall next to Lando’s body, caging him completely. Eyes fire with lust, their breath mixing as they exhale.

“Let’s see who’s going to toss and turn now.” Oscar bites into his lower lip as checking the Brit out from head to toe.

Lando gulps down nervously, completely aroused by the idea of having his boyfriend’s hands all over him, but they’re snowed under many tasks for the day. “E-easy there tiger! Let’s finish up here and maybe you'll get lucky later.” He obnoxiously winks at Oscar and keeps his eagerness and neediness under control, placing his enormous hands on Oscar’s pecs to have an out.

The younger one decides to tease him a little more, bumping his crotch with Lando’s, earning a low moan from the curly-haired man. Satisfaction brightens his handsome features before stepping back and leaving the flushed man behind. Lando clears his throat quickly and follows Oscar back to the living room table to snatch the last remaining ornament, the star with a picture of them kissing neatly glued to it. He swipes his gaze over the room to find a chair that is tall enough for him to reach the top of the tree without any difficulties. Before he could move, Oscar gets down to one knee in front of him, delighted brown irises leading up, locking with teal sapphire ones. He strikes dumb but rapidly finds his voice to speak up.

“Are you already proposing? Aww, how cute.” His voice comes out raspy thanks to his nervousness and in his usual fashion trying to mask it up with jokes.

“No.” Something breaks in Lando hearing the straight rejection. They’ve never really talked about marriage before, but he knows Oscar is his soulmate. They clicked immediately after their first meeting, he had never felt so loved, so accepted, and safe in anybody else’s proximity. “Not yet.”

Lando gets dizzy by the addition and the softened gaze of his boyfriend. Warmth fills his veins and a newfound smile appears on his cheeks. “Sit in my neck, I’ll lift you to put the star on top.” He itches to obey, immediately throwing his legs over Oscar's wide shoulders, reaching to grab his hand for leverage.

Oscar places his other hand on Lando’s thigh, dainty fingers pressing into his flesh a little harder, making him hiss in pleasure. The older boy stretches out to set the ornament in its place and backs up to admire his handiwork. Unlucky for him, he leans backward a little too much, being in danger of falling off. Without thinking he grabs a handful of Oscar’s hair, yanking on it harshly to become steady again. The Australian lets out a deep growl.

“Jesus, I can feel your excitement on the back of my neck…” He takes a step away from the tree.

“I’m not immune to your obscene sounds and touches… Excuse me for being a weak man.” He drags his hands downwards to touch his sexy thick neck with feather-light touches, amused by the feeling of him swallowing. He shrieks as Oscar’s strong arms push him off his shoulders and drop him between the cushions of the sofa.

“What’s next mister?” The taller man stands in front of him with all of his cuntiness, hands on his small hips, slightly tilted to the side. He could be a funny sight but instead radiates sexuality and confidence. Yet another reason for Lando to get hard in his sweats. He shakes his head swiftly to rearrange his thoughts before opening his mouth.

“DO YOU WANNA BUILD A SNOOOOWMAAN?” His inner child shows its teeth while screaming the comical lyrics of a children's movie. He jumps up from his lying position to dart straight to the door putting on his boots and winter coat. “CMON, FASTER, FASTER! You’re such a grandpa… so damn slow!” Trailing back to his boyfriend to rush him into his clothes.

“Don’t forget what you've just said when you’re getting railed later.” He bends down to whisper the naughty words into Lando’s ear, making him blush in return. It overflows him with satisfaction even though a soft blush appears on his cheeks too as his jeans get a little tighter at the visual of him burying his dick deep into Lando’s pretty hole.

He’s halfway through to zip up his thick coat when Lando grabs his hand to drag him outside. He might be living in the UK for a while but is still not adjusted to the colder weather and prefers Australia’s warmth over anything.

The snow stopped falling, covering the ground in ankle-high whiteness. Breezing wind swipes over his heated-up cheeks, tinting them the most gorgeous pink Lando has ever seen. He loves making him blush, it looks delicious on his pale complexion. He could spend hours tracing the pinkness, with his big bear hands, with his full lips, marking up his territory.

The Brit scoops up a handful of snow, providing a wonderful sight of his perky little ass to Oscar who fights back the urge to slap it and pushes him into the snow face-down for being slutty. His curly hair is tucked under his beanie yet an unruly curl gets loose and falls over his forehead as he rolls the snowball in all directions, rounding it out and making it bigger.

“Are you done ogling or do I have to do that hard work all by myself?” His sassy remark gets him an eye roll, but eventually, he makes his way over to him, starting the middle part of the snowman. When it's all rounded out, with their combined strengths they lift it to place it over Lando’s.

“Would you fetch some sticks and a couple of stones?” Lando has a light bulb moment and wants to execute it without Oscar’s studying gaze, hence sending him on his way to collect necessities to decorate the masterpiece with.

Oscar stops dead in his tracks and brims with astonishment when he spots the marvelously sculptured creation, the fragment of Lando’s imagination.

“Do I want to know why there is a giant snowcat standing in our garden? Or I better not ask questions?” One of his eyebrows raises a notch while spectating his boyfriend working on the details of the cat.

“I made a statue to honor my lovely and sweet boyfriend. You should be more grateful.” Lando whips around with his hands on his hips, leveling Oscar with disapproval.

“Oh wow, thank you very much, your Majesty. It's surprisingly decent.” He focuses his gaze back on the cat made of snow, checking it out more from all angles and humming in satisfaction. He likes what he sees, but teasing Lando is the higher priority. Hence the emotionless wave of his voice.

“What a compliment.” He pretends he doesn't enjoy Oscar’s sarcasm, but the light twitch of his mouth and soft tone of voice says otherwise.

He extends his hands towards Oscar, impatiently waiting for him to hand him the collected goods which he does. He crosses his arms and stands back, letting the Brits what he envisioned, he was the one who wanted so desperately to come outside anyways. His gaze lingers on him though, literally burning a hole into the side of his face, yet it doesn't divert his attention away from sticking the stick into the snowcat, creating its whiskers.

Out of the blue, Oscar feels the need to disturb his peace, just like he did with his, waking him up from a sweet dream. He bends down to create a little snowball and sneakily throws it towards the unsuspected, concentrated man. Boom, headshot!

His loud, shrill cry could wake the dead, as it echoes back from the high trees around the property. The melted liquid runs under his thick coat, contacting his skin and making him jump around to stop the flow. Soaking through his knitted sweater, there is no way to block the unexpected sensation and shake off the chill it gives him.

“You didn't just do that!” He's already reaching to collect snow in his hands, ready to fight back. His determination heightens as he looks back at his doubled-over boyfriend, laughing uncontrollably over his misery. He uses his permanent distraction to fire the ball through the air, missing the aim completely.

The sudden whooping sound of the rapidly gliding ball just inches away from his face makes him alert, standing up straight to come face to face with the fuming gaze of green orbs, all set to destroy him for the sins he has committed against him.

The Australian looks around to hide behind something from the possible attack coming his way. His thoughtfulness dissipates like wisps of smoke that doesn't go unnoticed by his boyfriend either. Using the opportunity to eliminate the remaining distance between them and galloping toward the nervously distracted man.

Oscar is pressed face-down into the snow, with the smaller boy straddling the back of his thighs and shoveling the white substance under his clothes. Down under the collar, up under the hem, doing everything possible to make him suffer and squirm. “Your reward for being mean to me.”

Oscar chuckles lightly before pushing himself up into a planking position and thrusting one of Lando’s legs to unbalance him. His plan works perfectly, making him fall off his body and lie on the floor facing up the sky. He's too slow, blinking in confusion and Oscar is already on his feet and kicking a thick layer of snow over his spread-out figure.

“You let me torture you, while you're so much stronger and could easily defend against me.” He pouts, wiggling his limbs to get free.

“Yep, correct.” He has no intention of helping him yet, just towering over him and watching the scene unfold. “You had that murderous sparkle in your eyes that you needed to get out of your system as soon as possible. Otherwise, you'll be a pain in the arse for the rest of the day.”

The laying boy sucks in a sharp breath, his lips form a thin line of annoyance because, at the end of the day, the Aussie is right. He's extremely irritating when he has his mood swings, going whiny without any trace when he was jumping for joy seconds before. The brunette boy takes pity on him, sweeping off the whiteness from his body and hugging his slim waist to pull him flush against his muscular chest. Mesmerized by the beauty of his lover, tan skin against the white scenery, emerald eyes digging into his chocolate brown ones. Plump lips are insignificantly purple and chapped due to the freezing weather. They're so close that they breathe in the same air to fill their lungs. He's tempted to lock their lips in a sweet kiss.

“We should go outside before freezing our asses off.” Lacing their ice-cold hands together, he leads Lando toward the entrance, impatient to undress from the soaked-through fabric, avoiding frostbites.

Boots and coats are disposed of at the door, they are not bothered to hang them, just casually throw them on the floor like messy schoolboys coming home after a long day.

Their pants and ugly sweaters get the same treatment, lying forgotten on the hardwood flooring as the boys make their way into the living room, halting only in front of the fireplace. They try to warm up and get the circulation back into their frozen body parts.

Lando’s discomfort doesn't evaporate, quickly realizes the only piece of clothing he wears, is also drenched. He doesn't even think before sliding his boxers down this olive and trained legs, throwing the piece at his stunned boyfriend. At a teasingly slow pace, he strolls to the sofa, swinging his cute little butt side to side. Still trembling due to their previous activity, he reaches for the blanket to wrap it around his frame and cover himself from the hungry eyes of Oscar.

He wets his lips and chokes out a moan watching Lando’s seductive show and obnoxious wink, tempting him. He's going to destroy him for his behavior.

“Come here and warm me up please.” He beckons him with grabby hands, excited to touch his milky white skin.

Oscar takes his time to get closer, playing hard to get on purpose, making him wild. He loves it when He loves him desperate, whining and begging Oscar to get on with it already. Lando’s nails are digging into his palms as he fastens his grip on the blanket, pausing to launch forward and grab him by his waist.

Eventually, Oscar makes it, waiting for Lando’s next move. His mouth falls open when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulls them down without mercy. Already drooling at the sight of his half-mast dick, eager to brush his fingers over his length but instead just opening the blanket and gesturing to him to take a seat.

As soon as Oscar places his peachy ass on the furniture, Lando climbs in his lap. He positions himself carefully on Oscar’s muscular thighs, leaving enough space for their dicks not to connect, at least for now.

He circles his arms around his deliciously thick neck and buries his face in the croak of it. The inviting pale flash calls out to him, and who is he to deny giving in? He's not God’s strongest soldier, he could never resist kissing down the slope of his neck and marking him up.

His open-mouthed kisses start their descent from his jawline to his collarbone where he flicks his tongue over the area and bites down on the sensitive skin, possibly leaving the imprint of his teeth behind. Oscar’s thighs are clenching at the sensation, a whimpering mess at the mercy of his bratty boyfriend.

Lando can't fight back the smile stretching over his lips. He follows the throbbing veins on the side of his neck with the teasing whirl of his tongue until he reaches his sweet spot right under his earlobe. His luscious mouth hesitates no more to suck a dark purple mark there. His teeth hungrily graze over the two moles on his Adam’s apple, giving them extra attention.

“You know I’m very respectful, but if you don’t stop sucking on my neck, I swear I’ll change the way you walk.” He thrusts his hips upward desperately, their hard erections meeting in the middle, lust clouding their minds.

“That was the plan all along, Osc. Would appreciate it if you let me be in charge for a short amount of time, before manhandling me into next Friday.” Lando loves to be in control, even though he usually lets Oscar make moves and devour him completely. But once in a while, the Brit asks to be the dominant one, not for his own satisfaction but to worship the pale canvas provided to him and show his love and adoration without using words.

Oscar leads his hand up on Lando’s back, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him in for a kiss, sealing the deal the sweetest way possible.

Lando slides closer, craving for skin-on-skin contact. Moans break free just to be muffled by their tongue licking into each others’ mouths. Getting drunk on the taste, driven by their needs and sexual frustration.

Their members are enclosed between their stomachs, every twitch of their hips brushing them together, making the friction unbearable.

“I need to be inside you.” Oscar can't take it anymore, wanting to be buried deep, feeling the tight squeeze and grasp around him.

“God, yes please.” Lando is out of his mind, basking in pleasure and sucking into the base of Oscar’s necky. Yet another mark to admire later.

The Australian untangles his hand from Lando’s curls reaching over to grab the lube from the drawer.

“Since when do we have lube there?” Asks the Brit, confused and amused at the same time.

“Since you're a horny bitch and demand to be bent over on every possible furniture and surface in the house and being fucked daily.” Oscar opens the bottle, applying a few drops over his slim fingers and rubbing them together to warm it up. He places the free palm of his hand over his hips, pushing him up a little to have a better access.

“I didn't hear you complaining.” His voice hitches when Oscar circles his finger over the rim of his hole. He isn't even pushed in, but Lando already becomes restless. “Fuck Osc, just give it to me.”

With an evil grin on his face, he does as he was asked, entering him with a sudden push and making him shudder against him. Groans fill the room with every pump, adding another finger alongside, fueling the need for Lando’s pornographic sounds.

He grinds his hips down, riding Oscar’s fingers deliciously. Hands fisting in hair, tugging on soft strands, teeth sinking into the skin of his shoulder silencing his grunts. Oscar curls his fingers inside him, scraping his prostate straight on, making the man on top of him tremble from pleasure.

“Shit… Oscar… I-I, please.” Lando breathes heavily against his neck. He needs him, he craves him. Not done letting go yet. Lifting himself off the skilled fingers, his shaky hand locates the lube next to them. Hastily wraps his other hand around Oscar’s abandoned shaft, squeezing it to the point that makes him see stars and hiss both in pain and pleasure. He runs his thumb over the sensitive head, smudging the pre-cum all over the swollen and pink tip. If he wasn’t on the verge of breaking down, he'd consider giving him head but he's too desperate for release and being filled to make a move.

“If you don't sit on me in the next couple of seconds, I’ll combust.” He drops his head back, revealing his destroyed, thick neck. He has almost as many bites as moles, Lando made sure to decorate it completely, not leaving any part untouched.

Gulping down the temptation to attack him again, Lando busies himself with applying lube on him.

Oscar sucks his lower lip in, fighting back a nasty remark and the urge to throw Lando off him and fuck him sideways.

He watches the lube streaming down his length, before positioning himself over the glossy tip, welcoming and wrapping him in his warmth and tightness.

Oscar finds his hips, helping him emerge. God knows he tries his best to not buckle his hips up and enter him quicker. But he’s as respectful as it gets and would never think of going against Lando’s wishes.

The Aussie bottoms him out perfectly, letting him adjust to his size and drawing hearts over the skin of his hips to distract him from the extreme stretch.. His head is thrown back in a howl of lust, arching his back. He keeps rotating his lower half, edging both of them close to the sweet paradise. Oscar leans towards his throat, nuzzling his nose on his Adam's apple, moving his lips alongside his jaw. He gifts him a matching hickey, tongue flat on the mark, extremely satisfied.

Lando fucks him at a slow but sensual pace, gazing directly into his clouded eyes. Momentarily gets distracted by the sweat gliding down between his pecs, over his abs, pooling right where they connect.

The stalling pace of motion makes Oscar feral, thrusting up to meet his rhythm, pushing himself deeper inside Lando. He gasps out a moan, bending forward to bite into Oscar’s neck, whimpering into his skin while letting his man use his body to chase their releases.

Lando’s face contorts when Oscar tightens his hand, giving him a few strokes up and down his cock. He's so close, nails scratching on Oscar’s skin tearing him open, warning him of what's to come. Every deep thrust of him brings him closer. His throat is dry as a desert, unable to form a sentence, only moans and cries fight their way out.

Oscar slaps one of his hands down his handful ass, lifting him faster and faster and pounding into him harder. Their lips connect in a sloppy, uncontrolled kiss when the familiar tingle appears. Oscar’s strokes speed up a notch, sending Lando over the edge. White ropes of cum spurt out all over their stomach, coating Oscar’s long, slender fingers in the process.

His tight walls constrict around Oscar, following Lando into the blissful release. He cums inside him, giving him rope after rope of his creamy treasure shot, filling him to the brink.

A line of spit still between their lips, foreheads touching and sticky with sweat, but neither of them cares. The comfort of being close together, in each others’ arms overrides every unpleasantness.

“I can’t move. You fucked me up.” Lando backs up a little to look at his boyfriend. Soft gazes go over all of his features; the cute pointy nose, the gorgeous doe eyes, straight eyebrows, Rose tinted cheeks, delicious swollen lips due to hungry kisses, and the moles covering his pale skin. His usually soft hair, messily sitting on the top of his head, a few locks sticking to his clammy forehead. Breathtakingly gorgeous, his and only his.

“You asked for it tho.” Color filters into Lando’s cheeks at the appearance of Oscar’s infamous lopsided grin. “I’m going to clean you up and get us some hot chocolate, okay?”

“That’d be mint, thank you.” Softly wrapping his arms around the small of his waist, shifting their position to lay him down on his back. He slips out of him with a shift move, causing him as little pain as possible, and kissing him on the cheeks.

The sexy, round ass comes into view, tempting him to be slapped with long, raw strikes.. Naughty thoughts invade his mind, already ready for round 2, but he wants his hot chocolate first. He only blows a gentle hit on the flesh to make it jiggle, earning a yelp in response. Oscar narrows his eyes at him but continues his journey to the bathroom to clean up. Soon, he comes back with a lukewarm towel, tenderly scrubbing off the mess Lando created.

The Brit laces their fingers together before the man can escape without placing his lips on his. He signs exasperatedly but leans down for a peck before heading into the kitchen to prepare their seasonal drinks.

Landon starts dozing off when he hears footsteps. Too lazy to get up properly but whips around to look at the naked, Australian God. “I hope you stirred my drink with your dick. It'd taste 100% better that way.”

“I swear you're sick in the mind. Wouldn't want to get a 2nd-degree burn, thank you very much.” He’d pinch the bridge of his nose if he wasn't holding two mugs filled with burning hot liquid.

“I’d be your nurse and cure it with my mouth, don't you worry.” Oscar imagines Lando in a tight white dress that barely covers his ass. Dropped to his knees in front of him, eager to have his mouth wrapped around his length, swallowing it fully. His dick is awakened, standing at half-mast already. “Hmmm… I assume you used your imagination.”

He places the mugs down quickly, spilling some of them on the glass table, and takes his seat miles away from his lover. “I see the dangerous glint in your eyes but I want to drink my hot chocolate in peace.”

Lando pouts but can't do much about it, if Oscar sets his mind on something, he doesn't back off until he succeeds.

The Aussie teasingly licks the side of the mug, cleaning off the whipped cream. He keeps his eyes locked with Lando’s, waiting for him to lose his cool and attack him as he always does. He hums erotically, extremely impressed by Lando’s self-control. Even though he taps his fingers on the table, clearly trying to urge him on, but stays seated and holds back his eagerness.

Oscar finally finishes off the drink and is about to put the empty jug down, when he catches a glance of Lando, rapidly racing into his direction. He wraps his fingers around his wrist and drags him out of the living room and up the stairs.

“You better be ready for round 2, I won't be gentle. Your teasing was over the top and I'm going crazy.” A low chuckle escapes him but accepts his fate with open arms. He knows he's safe with Lando, even though he sometimes gives off mean energy, he's the sweetest boy he has ever known and could never hurt him intentionally.

#f1 #lando norris #mctwinks #my papaya boys 🥹🧡 #oscar piastri #f1 fanfic #smut #landoscar #twinklaren #f1 smut #lando norris x oscar piastri #lola writes 🖋️

[adventuringblind]

Drive With You Forever

Chapter 12.5: Max and His Stamina

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri

Chapter summary: Lando is a pain and Max takes everyone apart because of it

Warnings: sexual things ahead, very little description os said sexual things because y'all can use your imagination, definate Dom/sub things going on, rope, a lot of rope,

Notes: I wrote this with the intention of shamless smut, and then I ended up with this. I actually really enjoyed just writing the interactions between all five of them.

Previous <-

Masterlist

"This is you're fault Lando."

"Is not!"

"It definitely is."

"Pretty sure we wouldn't be here if you didn't antagonize Max."

"Is Max normally like this?"

"Only with Lando. We're innocent bystanders."

Having one person tied to each bed post is not how they envisioned ending their day. Max is nowhere is sight, and they've been waiting for him in nothing but undergarments for at least twenty minutes.

Three of them had no clue what they'd done wrong. Sure, Max had won another rave, but he'd very clearly said 'punishment' in his text after the race.

Lando had done a stupid thing a whispered in Max's ear while walking past one of his interviews. He'd yet to fess up what he'd said.

Charles is sitting with only one hand tied to the post because he'd done the other three. The other hand still has his phone to communicate with Max.

Consent is still important even if he's not in the room. And he was mildly worried that the female was going to panic that she'd done something wrong.

Oscar had only watched them do things like this and joined in a couple of times when he felt like he understood what was going on. One thing he learned early on is that Lando doesn't do what he's told unless he's in the mood to comply, and Max has less patience for that.

Charles is incredibly patient and can handle Lando. It's always shocking when Oscar sees him piss off the Dutch instead.

Oscar doesn't know where he falls yet. He's been going with the flow of things, and despite being the youngest, he quite likes telling people what to do.

"Os, Max wants me to go over rules with you while me wait." Says the Monegasque who is sitting comfortably with his knees bent.

Oscar shifts his gaze from the Brit to him. This looks much nicer than the one Lando had been receiving. "Didn't we already do this?"

"Yes, but he's being cautious."

"It's because of the Daniel incident." Says the female with no hesitation. She'd told him about it on their way to meet up at Max's hotel room a while back. They'd invited him in on something intimate for the first time, and she thought it best he knew.

They'd had discussions about everything prior. A few times, at least. But when he actually joined the first time, Max was incredibly hesitant. But he understood why and didn't take it as an insult.

"Safe words?" Charles quizzes him.

"Green for good. Yellow for slow. Red for stop." It's simple and universal for all of them. "No choking unless it's light for Charles and Lando. Don't put Y/N on her knees. Also, keep ties loose unless it's Lando. Make sure Lando communicates because otherwise, he'll let himself get hurt..." he thinks for a moment if he's missing anything.

"Anything you want to add to the list for yourself?" Asks the female.

"I've learned I don't like being hit or choked or things like that." He confesses. He's watched Charles and Lando get hit a couple of times and spanking is fun to give less fun to recieve.

"I'll add it to the list and make sure Max know as well."

They communicate so well like this. There is no shame and no secrets here.

"Lando, what did you whisper to Max to put him in a mood?" He asks. Both out of curiosity and for future reference.

"Possibly something about him not being able to take all four of us." Lando gives Oscar a cheeky smile. The other three collectively role their eyes.

"So we're here because Max has a point to prove." Charles shakes his head.

"You're not even completely tied up!" Complains the Brit.

"Max will do the other hand when he gets here, relax."

The girl pulls her knees to her chest. Her look is a bit distant, but not in an incredibly concerning way. “Max is on his way up.”

“Why do you look scared, chéri?”

She shrugs at the question. “Don’t want him to be mad.”

“Luckily for you, I think he’s only frustrated with Lando. He’s doing this as his podium celebration.” Explains Charles. She nods her head in understanding and relaxes a bit.

They hear the door unlock and Max leans in the opening of the of the room. He can perfectly see all four of them. “Everyone alright?”

Despite three saying yes, Charles begins to list off everything they’d talked about. “Os has the rules memorized now, Lando is still being petty, I couldn’t get my other hand done and needed to text you anyway, and y/n thinks you might be mad at her so reassurance is in order.”

Max makes his way over to them and gently takes Charles’ other hand. He uses the leftover rope to secure his once free hand. When he’s done he plants a kiss on Charlie’s head. “Thank you.”

Charles looks at Lando and eyes him smugly.

“So here’s what I’m thinking.” Max crosses his arms and stands at the foot of the bed. “I’m going to start with one of you, then add another, then a third, then Lando.”

“Why am I last?!”

Max shoots a glare at the Brit causing him to shut his mouth. “Because you started this. I could not let you off the rope at all.” Lando casts his eyes downward. Being last is better then nothing.

Max steps next to the female and unties Charles’ knots. He gently tugs them away from then kisses her wrists. “You’re not in trouble and I’m not mad at you.” Max pulls her into him and runs his finger across the bare spots on her body.

She sighs in content. Her body leans into him more just from the contact. Max could spend hours just memorizing her body, but he won’t torcher her. She’s done nothing wrong so there’s no need for it.

He’s got her finishing with just his tongue. The other three boys are now squirming.

Shockingly, Max goes for Oscar next. He unties his wrists and kisses them.

“Maxy, did I do something wrong?” Charles asks. It’s not whining, just confusion lacing his voice.

“Not at all, I just want things to be even, and you have been tied as long.” Max winks at him, and Charles nods in understanding.

"Perfectly honest, I have no idea what we're doing." Oscar trying to look confident but failing miserably. It doesn't help that Max is both tall and broad.

"Letting me take care of you."

Oscar hates it when his knees get weak. But he loves it when Max and Y/N are pulling him apart. Even more so as he gets to reciprocate.

To say that Charles and Lando are struggling would be an understatment. There is much more squirming then there was before.

Soon, Max is repeating his actions. Albeit more sweaty this time.

Charles had done his time and now is having his ropes untied and wrists kissed.

Charles definitely knows what he's doing as he's all over Max the second his hands are free. Charles is much more exploitative with his tongue than the rest. An advantage he uses over the other four.

It's not long until Max is picking him apart as well.

When four are heavily panting and all of them are shocked that Max is going to go another round. He eyes Lando with a cheeky smile. "Have you learned your lesson?"

Lando looks like he might cry if he doesn't have any physical contact in the next thirty seconds. He's begging Max to let him go.

When Max feels satisfied, he repeats his actions a fourth and final time. His kisses the Brit's wrists where he had been rubbing them against the rope.

Max takes his sweet time undoing Lando. His patience is immense. He's showing him just how good he takes all for them. It's meticulous, really.

Max almost collapses after everything. He didn't even know he could go for so long.

Charles disappears from the main room and comes back with towels for everyone. He passes them around and then helps Max move into something more comfortable. Practically putting on clothes for him, them covering him with a blanket. It takes thirty seconds until they can hear him snoring.

Charles sighs and shakes his head. "I hope you're proud of yourself, Lan."

Lando is still on the floor, catching his breath. He gives a thumbs up to show that he is, in fact, very proud.

Charles knows the routine and makes sure his three younger counterparts are taken care of. The female doing the same for him after she's done in the bathroom.

She hates it, but they'd learned their lesson after her first UTI.

Oscar and Lando are curled up next to Max. They leave no room on the bed for the other two.

"Max should start booking his own hotel rooms." She whispers over to Charles. "Maybe then we'll have a bigger bed."

Charles just laughs and drags her to the couch. It's not ideal, but it works.

Soon, the five are asleep. Much to the displeasure of a certain tall Australian who'd been trying to get a hold of any of them.

~

Next ->

Tags: @styles-sunflower @purplephantomwolf @boiohboii @reblog-princess-blog @jayda12 @faithm120601 @eugene-emt-roe @lpab @yaaadii @80sloverry @spongebeck3101 @eviethetheatrefreak @chanshintien @vellicora @hollie911 @pretty-little-bunny382728

#x reader #fanficion #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 #racing #angst #f1 fanfic #max verstappen #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x you #lando norris x reader #redbull racing #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren racing #charles leclerc #formula racing #charles leclerc fic #lando norris f1 #scuderia ferrari #f1 #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri f1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

[avalikesf19]

A Day at quadrant: LN4 (Part 2)

Author note: I don’t even know how to post anything on this and never wrote a fic but I hope this is good but I think it’s pretty shit and I haven’t finished it yet and if any writers want to use this idea you can for sure just @ me please oh and if you have feedback please let me know thanks xx

Also i tried to change my like writing style thing cause i feel like it was shit last time but yeah idk

Lando x quadrant fem reader

Blurb: reader is a member of quadrant, she games most of the time but also likes f1 along with her best friend Ria bish. She is friends with all members at quadrant and finds it a good laugh with all her mates, but maybe her view of someone in particular is more than a mate..

Warnings: sexualising, swearing, mention of a gun, leaked tape, sad distraught reader, friends to maybe lovers if I make it a series? Smut-ish? If I missed any let me know (I don’t know how to do warnings sorry x)

Well wasn't last week a fucking eventful week. You still cant stop thinking about Lando right next to you comforting you about what happened. You're starting to feel better about the whole issue and get some support from people online and all the other members of quadrant, but fuck that was just shit. You haven't been in any quadrant videos since, but you're in a better place now and probably need to start participating in them more.

Lando and ethan make the idea of quadrant meeting up at landos apartment and trying to train like him for a day. You aren't exactly looking foward to it but oh well, at least Ria is going. You text your gc back and tell them that you will do it too. Then, you get a message.

Lando: are you 100% sure ur okay to come back and film already? you dont have to if you dont want to.

Y/n: yep. I need to get in more videos and im feeling better anyways, thanks for asking.

Lando: all good

Well that was polite and unexpected of Lando to reach out, but whats more unexpected is for your panties to be soaked right now over 2 text messages. well fuck, oopsies.

That night all you can think of is Lando, it's a bit embarrassing to admit, but he was circling around your head like it was an f1 race. You decide to get your head out of it and call Ria to come over and have a chat, since she is your best friend after all. Shortly she pulls up to your apartment in Monaco, funning in bursting of excitement to see you.

"RIAAAAAAA!" you shout when you open the door for her. "Y/NNNN" she replied back. You give her a hug and make her a cup of coffee just how she likes it. You guys sit and chat about the f1 grand prix in Bahrain coming up, and how you hope Lando continues to have a good season with Oscar this year. "Did you see the chat about the new yt vid we doing" You ask Ria. "omg yes and they are bringing angry ginge in I heard" Ria replies back.

"STOP IT" you yell back laughing. You love ginge and his videos, who wouldn't? he's a very very funny bloke. "OMG i''m definitely coming tomorrow then to the recording are you kidding?".

Unfortunately time goes by when you're having fun, and Ria was the most fun, so she had to go a few hours later which felt like minutes. Besides you both need sleep for the youtube vid you're filming tmr at Lando's. You go to bed and try to sleep as much as you can, which didnt happen lol.

rise and shine love. It's already 6am and time to go to Lando's place to film. Normally you don't have to wakeup early as fuck but for the purpose of the video and "being Lando Norris" you had no choice. You get to his apartment after parking at the front and knock on the door, to which he opens. "hi y/n" he says nicely and gives you a hug. "So good to see you Lando, where is everyone?".

"first here mate" he says almost excitedly. "so what are we actually doing today like playing video games or some shit" you say. "haha your funny mate, we are lifting weights, eating what i eat, using the sim, and neck strengthening" he says laughing at you. "fuck r u taking the piss" you say laughing. "oh my days Landoooo do I look like an f1 driver" you also reply with. "well yeah thats the whole point of the video ya dumb fuck" he replied jokingly.

"hahaha get fucked lando nowins" you snap back. he laughs as you proceed to miss the chair you went to lean on making you flinch and stumble looking like an idiot. he is still laughing which makes you laugh too. "Lando norizz" u reply. "haha you think I have no rizz, funny" he replies egotistically. "yeah i do actually" you don't at all, in fact he hasn't even tried yet he has rizzed you up. "wanna bet?" he snaps out.

you don't have time to think before he pins you against the wall and just looks at you with those hot eyes of his. you can already feel your cheeks burning and your thong getting wet. "you say I have no rizz yet your cheeks are burning, and I bet those panties are more soaked than that porridge you tipped over the counter when you stumbled at my gaze, huh?" he grunts out.

what the fuck just happened, first how did he know and secondly did he just pin you against the wall. not the first time you want that to happen. you know what fuck it if we wants to be like that then he may as well be uncomfortable the whole video.

"how did you know about my tight, black lacy thong i'm wearing over my tight pussy hey? not your first time thinking about it aye?" you tease him, but whole walking over to him you see him looking uneasy.

why? because ginge was at the fucking door and heard that, and can see Lando's boner from a mile away. "well bonjour" ginge says laughing. "bonjour mate" lando says as he daps up ginge covering his boner and trying to ignore what just happened.

You already know this video is gonna be the longest set of your life..

sorry its a short one x

#lando norris #formula 1 #quadrant #ln4 #f1 fanfic #ln4 x reader #lando fic

[f1-giuki]

i'm here again. lestappen chussy smut with touch tank by quinnie <3

Caro have I ever asked your hand in marriage? 🥺❤️ FINALLY HERE WITH THE CHUSSY!!! it's been 84 years but I managed to write some chussy action😭 Hope you like this, even if it's long af😭💖 The song choice was amazing and I hope I did it justice!!!!!!!💖💖💖

touch tank - prompt post

-

“Where has Charles gone? This is supposed to be her championship pool party!” George complains, holding his Martini glass tightly in his hands.

Lando rolls his eyes.

“It's her championship party, if she wants to sneak out with someone, it's her right to do so…” Oscar argues.

“That's why we can't see Max!” Carlos snickers, making the others laugh.

“Max? Did she invite Max, of all people? I thought they were mates on track only!” George asks, confused.

“Have you been living under a rock, George?” Oscar asks with a small smile.

“I beg your pardon?” George asks after taking a sip of his drink. Alex, on his side, has to keep a loud laugh from escaping his mouth.

“Mate, they've been dating for the past season, what is wrong with you?” Lando asks, disgusted that he finished his concoction of rum and Capri sun.

“Actually, they're together now, since the competition between them got tighter,” Carlos explains, proudly showcasing his knowledge.

“Since the Tuesday of Brazil, I think, Max asked her before the Sprint,” Oscar points out.

“How the fuck do you know this?” George keeps on asking.

“We have eyes, George…” Alex laughs.

Max and Charles are not far away from the party going on in the garden and adjacent beach of the Dubai villa Charles rented. They're on the roof of the building, where the sunspots are, giggling and sneaking away to have five minutes where they don't have to shake hands, accept congratulations for the championship! and sorry for the championship! or withstand some teasing. Five minutes where they can be freaks in love.

The 2025 season was one for the books, with Charles becoming the first-ever woman to win a Formula 1 world championship and Ferrari winning the title again after 18 years. Italy turned completely red, with people and celebrations filling the streets during the day and fireworks illuminating the night. The dream came true for Charles. Win with Ferrari. Against Max. Her boyfriend. She ticked off every point from her list, except having a moment for herself.

The party on Sunday was crazy and the sex with Max in the bathroom of the club was crazier.

Monday felt like a fever dream littered with soft kisses, with realisation slowly sinking in, as all the journalists left in the Emirates asked her all types of questions. The president of the Italian Republic and the Prince of Monaco also asked her for official events where she could be honoured as a champion by the local institutions.

Tuesday was calmer, in a way. Charles wanted another celebration, with just her friends, so she rented a villa in the morning for the afternoon. Her wish was everybody's command. She's a Ferrari world champion. But the party felt stuffy after a while, and Charles, in her bright red bikini, wanted nothing more than to feel Max's cold lips on her skin, looking at his messy hair and sunburned face, so they disappeared on the rooftop of the villa, where a few sunbeds were waiting for them.

Max doesn't bother closing the door to the rooftop, he's too preoccupied kissing Charles, with her legs wrapped around his waist, and trying not to fall as she keeps rubbing herself on his dick.

Max gently lowers her on the soft towel covering the sunbed and kneels between her legs. Charles Leclerc is a sight to behold, splayed out underneath him, her short and curly hair creating a delicious brown halo around her head. She thinks about all the religious imagery created with her face. If she's the Virgin Mary, then he shall be God. Maybe she shouldn't think about him putting a baby in her. Maybe later.

“No reward for the champion?” She asks, with a sly grin on her lips. The red lipstick she wore has moved all over her lips and on Max's.

Max laughs and rolls his eyes. They can hear laughter coming from two floors down, where the party is still going on. Max blushes a little.

“What? Are you afraid they will find out how good you can eat me out?” Charles asks, slowly undoing the strings of her bikini bottoms on her hips, baring her pussy to him. Shameless. Max loves her too much.

She knows he's salivating at the sight in front of him. He's thirsty, no matter how many times he quenches his thirst at such a source.

She watches him kneel on the ground and pulls her closer to him from her knees. Max feels such a deep hunger inside of him.

Charles moans in anticipation and Max licks a fat stripe over her cunt, making her laugh. The Max show is about to begin.

He leaves kisses all over her pussy, keeping eye contact with Charles. When she throws her head back Max sucks her clit lightly, enjoying how she writhes under him. He starts licking at her folds, savouring and claiming, sucking, as his hands keep her thighs spread. Charles moans and Max laughs, reverberating on her pussy. She fists his short hair, pushing his face closer to her core.

Max moves one hand to her labia, toying with the wetness he finds there as he goes back to her clit, sucking and flicking it with his tongue. Charles is always so sensitive, so easy for him to take apart. He gently bites her folds and enjoys when she clenches over nothing. He teases her again with kitten licks at her entrance and when she tugs his hair meanly he grins and starts fucking her with his tongue.

Charles moans and the thought of all the people downstairs comes blaring in her brain, making her impossibly wetter. Max, slurping and sucking, is the only one who doesn't make her feel like a maniac. He gets it.

He coats his middle finger in her arousal and starts teasing Charles’ entrance, looking up at her, covered in spit, searching for consent, breaking his rhythm and driving her crazy. She groans and nods and Max slowly replaces his tongue with his finger, moving up to kiss her mons Venus.

As he pumps his finger in and out he places his other hand over her lower belly, claiming the soft skin there. Charles sobs and undoes her bikini bra, playing with her breasts, pinching her nipples and pulling them, moaning louder as Max inserts another finger in her and fucks her.

He looks so good, gentle and devoted, with his baby blue linen shirt open, matching his ice eyes. Charles could come on the spot, thinking just about her lover. So big and safe and brave. She feels like just a girl when she's with him, in the most positive sense. She's just Charles, whether on an F1 track around the world, in an ice cream shop in Italy, or with her tits out in the Emirates afternoon sun. She's not some kind of circus animal with him.

Charles comes, squirting on his face, as he curls his fingers inside her, licking at her cunt and stimulating her clit with his nose.

He licks her clean and she sobs happily. Before it gets to be too much, Max lets her go, sitting next to her. She hugs him from the side and Max holds her with a big and dumb smile, as she inhales his scent, mixed with the salt in the air.

“I love you,” he says, stupidly in love, and she grins, with her forehead against his bicep.

“I love you too,” she says, laughing as Max drags her on his lap, making her sit there gently, lending her back to the sun.

“Oh God, Oscar, mate, you were right! They were fucking on the roof!” George shrieks in the garden, making her and Max laugh.

#lestappen #lestappen fic #lestappen fanfic #ao3 #charles leclerc fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #lestappen smut #f1 rpf #lestappen fluff #girl charles

[racinginchid3nt]

I’d Probably Still Adore You | Eight

Y/N x Lance Stroll, Y/N x Lando Norris, Y/N Best Friend x Pierre

Gasly

In which a night at the club and a game of never have I ever turns into something new

Inspired by 505 - Arctic Monkeys

Warnings: some smut, mostly in discussion/description. 18+

Previous | Next

————————————————————————

You spent the rest of Wednesday night relaxing in your hotel room. Starting to unpack and hanging your dress up for the event, your phone chimed.

When you checked it, it was Lando, replying to the text he had sent himself.

Smiling to yourself, you weren’t sure how you ended up with a date to tomorrow nights event but you figured if it had to be anyone at least he wasn’t a stranger. Besides Y/N Best Friend would be with Pierre, so you would have someone to talk to besides her.

————————————————————————

Thursday

Thursday morning went by quickly. You had opted to not attend media day. Pierre wasn’t on a panel and instead had individual interviews and team video shoots so there was no need to watch them.

You also took a few work calls, responding to some emails that came in throughout the day. While you had taken the day off, your boss only agreed if you were willing to participate in the two morning meetings. By midday, you were finally free to relax.

Stepping out of you room, you pushed the down button for the elevator. You’d skipped breakfast due to the time change but we’re starving and needed to pick up lunch.

As the doors opened, you saw a familiar face in the elevator.

“Hola Y/N. No sabiá que estabas aquí.” (I didn’t know you were here)

“Hola Carlos. It was kind of a last minute thing.”

“We’ll it’s great to see you. Are you going to the sponsor event tonight?”

“I am. Lando’s picking me up at 7:30.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” He laughingly replied.

Unsure of what he meant, you gave him a confused look.

“Lando told Oscar and I that he had a date last night. We wondered what poor soul he convinced and why he was so happy, but it makes sense that it would be you.”

“Oh uh yeah. We ran into each other last night and he asked.”

“Well I’ll see you tonight.” He replied, before stepping out of the elevator.

He made his way to the front desk, while you continued to the front doors. As you stepped outside you were greeted by a large crowd behind a barrier. Someone must have leaked the drivers hotel. As you pushed through the crowd to try and get to the small bistro you had seen on the way in last night, you were surprised to hear someone scream your name.

“Y/N! Can I get a picture?”

Unsure of what to do or why someone would want a picture with you, you turned and saw a fan in a Ferrari shirt waving at you. Confused you walked up and took a quick selfie. Was this because of that wag post a few weeks ago? You noticed a few other people taking photos of you as you chatted with the girl about the race weekend, before wrapping up and continuing on.

You placed your order to go from the bistro, heading back to the hotel to eat in your room and relax before you needed to get ready. As you sat down to eat and scroll through your phone, you got an Instagram notification that you were tagged in a photo.

Opening the app you saw that you had once again made the wag Instagram. It wasn’t your best picture, makeup free and hair undone, but you hadn’t expected anyone to care about you.

Is this what it’s always like for Y/N Best Friend you thought? You couldn’t escape the stupid wag pages and you weren’t even seeing anyone.

————

Lance sat in the car on the way back to the hotel from media day. The break had been nice, but he was ready to be back behind the wheel. Zandvort wasn’t his favorite track, but it certainly wasn’t his least favorite either.

As he sat in backseat of the car, driving the 30km or so back to the hotel, he thought back to the night before. When he arrived at the hotel from the airport, he had seen Y/N. After their hookup before the break, he had expected that to be the end of their interactions. He’d never seen her at a race before that week, so he figured he wouldn’t any time soon.

But to see her getting out of the car with Norris was a shock. While he hadn’t reached out to her after the hookup, she also hadn’t reached out to him. The last thing he expected though was for her to be dating someone already. It had to be serious if they had arrived together, but with less than a month for the break, he questioned how quickly that happened.

He had spent the next week replaying the night over in his mind. And every time a girl flirted with him on break, he couldn’t help but compare her to Y/N. Had she really thought so little of the night that she could move on immediately? During their game at the after party she had said she’d never slept with a driver. Sure Norris has mean’t the question about Pierre when he asked it, but that also mean’t she hadn’t slept with Lando either.

He knew first hand that there was a lot more to hookups besides sex. Just because she hadn’t fucked him didn’t mean she couldn’t have kissed him. Or sucked his dick. And as the thought of her getting on her knees for Norris crossed his mind, the tiniest hint of jealousy bleed through. He had missed out of the chance of that. Missed out on watching those big brown eyes look up at him while he fucked into her mouth. Missed out on watching her swallow down his cum.

He didn’t know much about Norris, but he seemed to have some charm. Lance had seen him leave the club with his fair share of women. What if he had the chance to eat her out? That thought sat even worse. He didn’t like the idea of someone else, much less another driver getting to see her like that. Recalling the look of her glazed over eyes when he tucked her in on the couch, he didn’t like the idea that he wasn’t the only one who had seen her like that.

He wasn’t typically a possessive man, but he also didn’t typically interact much with his occasional flings after the fact. He’d been single for awhile, hooking up here or there as he felt like it, girls aware of the situation, that it would be a one time thing. But for someone else to have made a move on what he viewed to have been his first didn’t sit right with him at all. He knew better then to confront either of them, he had no rights. But why was he upset about that?

Opening up Instagram for the first time in a week, he navigated to her profile. She had posted twice during the break, one a casual photo of her and some friends at dinner, the other a photo of her laying out at the beach. He tried to think back to where Norris had said he was spending the break. He said he was going somewhere warm, and he vaguely recalled an Instagram story of him on a jet ski. Had she gone with him?

Flipping through her story she had only two posts up. One of a photo outside the plane window, showing the dark runway at the Amsterdam airport, and one of what he presumed was her lunch from earlier. Neither of those were helpful in the slightest. He’d already started to edge towards creeper territory, so he might as well take it further.

Navigating to her tagged photos, he saw a new one from earlier that day. It showed a zoomed in photo of her on her phone, hair up in one of those messy clips and in a casual outfit, she seemed to be walking down the street. Reading the caption, it confirmed what he already knew. She was staying at the same hotel as all of the drivers.

Esteban had complained earlier to him that his room was next to Pierre and his girlfriend. Apparently the two had been going at it 24/7 for the past few days. Which meant that she hadn’t flown in with them and wasn’t staying with them. So who was she staying with? He didn’t know what she did for work but highly doubted she had forked over the money for overpriced luxury hotel.

Pulling up to the hotel, he exited the car. Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he thought about the upcoming sponsor event. He’d have to stop by for at least a few hours to socialize. It wasn’t really Fernando’s thing and someone had to represent the team well. At least they would serve dinner he thought to himself, the food was normally good at these things. As he headed up to his room, he ran through the rest of his weekend, analyzing what his engineer had told him earlier, all thoughts of Y/N leaving his head.

————————————————————————

A/N:

I really appreciate the support I’ve gotten on this story so far. If you guys could continue to like, comment, and reblog I would really appreciate it!

#f1 fanfic #lance stroll #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll x y/n #lance stroll x you #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x you #f1 #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #aston martin #alpine #mclaren

[safetycar-restart]

hiiiii! so post race Logan and Oscar, Oscar and logan are both so excited cuz oscar was almost on podium and logan was almost in points. maybe you let them have a free for all, just total smut fest or just relaxing night, bubble baths and soft hand jobs. i don’t know, I just love oscar and logan. have a good rest of your night, 🎾 xx

Aw I love this! I think this is the perfect ask to come back to, soft and sweet and smutty and so so cute.

Firstly, I love the idea of not having a very structured scene as a treat for them? Because honestly I think they would be almost giddy? They can't stop smiling and giggling whenever they look at each other, both so so happy with their performance and so so happy for each other.

When you see how sweet and giggly they are, you just can't start a formal scene because some of that happiness with fizzle away as they focus on being good boys. And no! They must stay giggly and soft and happy!!

So you tell them that you just want them to feel good and enjoy themselves, and that there won't be any strict rules or punishments because they've done so well!! They deserve to just be loved and cared for and enjoy being with each other and getting spoilt.

You start out with a make out session on the bed. Well, they do. You start out by running the bath and when you return to the bedroom of the hotel room, you find Oscar and Logan kissing on the bed. Oscar has crawled into Logan's lap and Logan is practically melting into bed as Oscar kisses him silly.

But because they're both good boys, their hands never venture below the belt because they know they need permission for that.

You watch them for a few minutes, just seeing your boys enjoying themselves and thats when you notice that they seem to be whispering something to each other. You inch closer, trying to make out what they're saying between kisses.

And your heart melts when you hear Oscar whisper, "you did so well" against Logan's lips and Logan responds with "so did you! P4!"

Naturally you have to interrupt them then because they both deserve a forehead kiss and it's time for a nice warm bath.

They sit on opposite sides of the bath, blowing bubbles at each other and requesting kisses and asking you to wash their hair. You wash Logan's hair first, making sure to scrape your hands along his scalp to hear him whine.

Throughout the bath, they're both clearly so horny and worked up, but they keep it PG because you havent given them permission for anything more. And honestly they're both so happy to just sit with each other and kiss and giggle and let you love on them.

And then once they're finally all clean, you let them out the bath. They're both so hard when they stand up, cocks standing up obscenely cause they're so turned on and so horny.

Maybe you make them jerk each other off? But the rule is that they have to cum at the same time, which leads to Oscar trying to beg Logan to cum quicker because he's about to lose it and they try to kiss at the same time as jerk each other off and it's such a mess and they're just so so hot.

They do end up cumming at the same time, and then they lick each other's cum clean like good boys and then immersed tackle you because they must both give you head at the same time.

#poly!Oscar/logan #oscarp #lsarge #nsfw. #gn!reader #soft soft vibes #post race vibes #🎾

[simpingwriter]

So. For those who know how I am...severe procrastination, loss of motivation and so on...feel free to ignore me rant in a moment.

For those that don't, BE MY GUEST IN THIS IDEA. : D

Cal Kestis Fanfic.

I am jumping on the bandwagon like...way too late, with Survivor about to be dropped any week now (and tbh, I prefer Fallen Order Kestis...older Cal isn't my Cal.). But I only just recently have been blessed with enough money for a Gaming Laptop, my very first, and Fallen Order was on Sale, I am a Star Wars fan, so it had to be done.

To my Fanfic idea:

Cal runs a mission on (currently still unnamed planet), runs across a sudden spike in enormous Force Energy, for like...a split second, but even that was enough to take his attention off his initial target (He sees weird stuff or chest, he goes for it, Magpie Cal)

The Empire ofc also notices that and is on the Force Sensitive in minutes, causing Cal to run into a wall of Stormtroopers.

In an act of "safe the idiot from getting himself killed", they end up as a team for his mission Yada Yada Yada.

Goes on for a for a while, she joins the Mantis Crew, I might, depending on my mood, skip a big part of that bonding time since that ISN'T the main attraction.

It is...Inquisitor Cal Kestis. Yes I know, I am so original, give me an Oscar rn...

The main Character is already a more neutral Force Sensitive, to a point she doesn't just question the Dark Side, but also the Light, the one she's supposed to serve. But that's something she keeps in her background monolog, never let's anybody openly know until later.

She's basically a Grey Jedi...well, Padawan. They both were never knighted before the Purge after all.

Anyway yeah, tldr:

Begins as Basic Cal Kestis x Force Sensitive OC

Ends in a chaos of "What is even right anymore?" Inquisitor Cal Kestis x Inquisitor OC

I will try to add Smut, if we even get that far

NEWCOMERS, DO NOT LOOK AT MY FORMER WORK. DO NOT SPOIL YOURSELF FOR THE MISERY THAT HAS TO ULTIMATELY HAPPEN.

EDIT FEW SECONDS AFTER POSTING:

I am literally hanging myself on ONE song for my obsession, so it would probably fit best to listen to while reading (if I make something)

In the name of Love

Both the normal version and the slowed one. Gives me tingles for my pairing.

#Star Wars Fallen Order #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #Cal Kestis x OC #this is a mistake #Someone stop me from making myself miserable #fanfic ideas #author rant #rant #inquisitor cal kestis #inquisitor cal kestis x OC #inquisitor cal kestis x reader

[httpiastri]

hii! I love the way u write, could I request some oscar smut pls? <3

thank you sweetheart!! 💗 the fic will be posted in just a few minutes, thank you for requesting <3<3 hope you have a wonderful day!

#asks! #anon! #requests!

[h0unds-of-h3ll]

I posted 115 times in 2022

That's 105 more posts than 2021!

104 posts created (90%)

11 posts reblogged (10%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@foxilayde

@inklore

@plumforpersephone

@headfullofpresley

@h0unds-of-h3ll

I tagged 109 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#xreader - 49 posts

#asks are always appreciated - 46 posts

#inbox is always open - 41 posts

#h0unds of h3ll responds - 39 posts

#fanfic - 25 posts

#send me asks - 25 posts

#smut - 22 posts

#oscar issac x reader - 20 posts

#elvis presley x reader - 18 posts

#oscar issac hernandez estrada - 17 posts

Longest Tag: 39 characters

#the unbearable weight of massive talent

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Golden

Javi’s been gone from you for business. When he comes home, he makes it up to you the only way he knows how.

Javi Gutierrez x reader smut.

Word count: 6k

Viewers beware you're in for a scare with the: angst, fluff, smut, drug use, alcohol consumption, a few little spanks, unprotected sex, nipple play, edging, biting, bruising, fingering, almost blowjob, spitting, inappropriate use of travel vodka, eating out, smoking, shotgunning, recorded sex, sugar daddy themes, boat sex, exhibition, the term *daddy*, language & explicit themes, age gap, jealousy.

A/n: I couldn't resist writing something about him, sorry not sorry. Very minimal Spanish, I took two courses in High school so, apologies for miscommunications!!

He’s been away on a business trip for a week and a half. 10.5 days, 252 hours, and 15120 minutes. Not that you were counting. He lied. He said- promised even, that he wouldn’t be gone longer than four days. You became discouraged when the week rolled into another. This has been the longest he's been away from you. His promises left his tongue, with none of them being true. You have loved Javi ever since you’ve met him. But if you would’ve told your younger self that he would mean so much to you, you would’ve laughed. Here you are sitting on one of Javi’s lavish balconies staring off into the sunset. You’re dressed in one of his blouses, the smell of him barely lingers. The extravagant cologne that you were pretty sure was older than you barely hung on. You wanted to cry.

It was heartbreaking to be so far away from someone who makes you feel alive. You scroll through the many messages shared with him. Trying to reminisce about the feeling during that time. His “I love you” “I miss you” “Mi Princesa” makes your heart twist. Your stomach tears at the more- scandalous texts. Pictures are exchanged, scantily clothed, not clothed at all. Words in his mother’s tongue make your skin set on fire. And then nothing at all. You’ve reached the beginning. You deflated against the wooden chair. Thinking about throwing away your phone seemed like a great idea. Javi would buy you a newer one without questioning you. It was so uniquely him, his love language. He would walk in, and your face would be stoic, but he would know.

By looking at you, he knew everything. He read you better than yourself, the way he ravaged you the same. Maybe that’s it. Spending meaningless encounters with younger counterparts never made you feel the way he does. Makes you feel as cherished and wanted as he does. All you can wish is for him to come home. His big brown dopey eyes, messy curls, broad shoulders, and too warm aura haunts you. Along with his scraggly facial hair. The scratches and burns. The moans that come deep inside you when his mouth travels your skin. You close your eyes, you can feel your thighs dampen. Your palm vibrates furiously, ringing his tone, showing his name. Suddenly, life doesn’t feel as bad anymore. 

~~~

Your stomach is full and heavy. Your wishes have been answered. Javi made his arrival shortly after that call. After having the best sex in your life, he grabbed your hand and ran to the nearest restaurant. Soon after, the greatest idea popped into his thick skull. Which led you here; on his boat and clad with the most lavish swimsuit known to man. It barely covered anything. It held jewels that glistened in the sun. You were unsure when he first offered it to you. His encouragement and eager words made you slip it on.

In a certain move, your nipple could pop out from the top. The bottoms were almost comical. The small stretch of fabric laid itself between your cheeks and high on your hips. Your core's soft lips were threatening to peek out. But the way Javi looked at you. The way his eyes darkened with lust. When he lifted his sunglasses from his eyes to fully look at you without the tint, it made it worthwhile. You’ve tried to deny his gifts for how expensive they are. In return, he would pout, asking why you didn’t like it.

Which was completely untrue, but in his head, that’s the only reason you deny such a thing. You’re slightly still resentful over his absence, but you try not to fret when you have him. Your heart hammers in your chest. You’re not sure if it’s the drugs, the alcohol, or just him that does it. You welcome it anyway. You sink into him, your head on his barren, wide thigh. The top half of your body is in his lap. Your head is ever so close to his speedo-covered cock.

His paunchy stomach rubs against the temple of your head. The ends of his beige button-up touch your face when he breathes. You’re sprawled out in the little booth for him. You almost drool over him every time you look at him. He was just that erotic. If you were to think about it, his collarbones could get you off. Tingles run down your spine.

The leather seat of his boat sticks to you. He draws a puff of smoke from the blunt. The green embers fall off the long cigarette. He’s careful to tap the debris off the side of the boat. His chest stills as he holds the venom in his lungs. You stare up at him in awe. His eyes are hidden by some name-brand sunglasses. His hair is slicked back from his previous swim. Droplets roll down his skin and bead down his stomach. The sliver of his button-up is easily the hottest thing ever. It’s a hint, just a glimmer of him. You breathe shallowly, the sight burns you inexplicably. He tilts his head to the orangery sky. His plump lips part and smoke billows from him. It’s beautiful, everything about it. Him, the clouds he makes, but mostly him. Something romantic and slow plays on the system you had to set up.

Even if you dated such a luxurious older man, it had some costs to it. You’re not saying that it's a bad thing in the slightest, it’s just adding something to him. You can’t explain it, you just have to be there to understand. He taught you the words to this song. You squirm on him, you know all the words. He does too, the song was hot and loud, to say the least. It represents him perfectly. His stomach jiggles softly as he smiles. Those perfect fucking white teeth peek underneath the hair on his face. His elbow rests on the side of the boat as he drags another draw from the drug. His hand nearest to you falls from the top of the seat to the expense of your tummy.

He fended off any insecurity you had, the way you felt about your body was quickly ridden with the way he devoted love to it. If jealousy were to spout its ugly head over the women he did business with, he’d quickly whisk you away to remind you who he belongs to. His long fingers spread across to cover more skin. His hand is warm, and the touch nearly pulls you out of your body. You want more- need more. He leans down to your face, flicking the but of the cigarette into the water below. His face is close to yours. His long nose brushes against yours. The hand on your stomach rises and you rub your thighs together.

Your doe eyes can see the reflection in the glasses. You look so little and a mess. Your hair is knotted, and your skin is crimson from the sun and the drugs. You can’t think coherently, his head tilts. You close your eyes, lips parting for him. You think he’s going to kiss you, make out with you even. The warm and strong-smelling smoke makes its way from his mouth and over to yours. You breathe the drug in, the spark in your lungs ignites and God it feels good.

He leans back when he’s done. He seems smug about the way he’s teased you. One of his eyebrows perked up. His age shows when the lines on his forehead are shown. You don’t know what it is about him being older, maybe it’s the taboo but it’s simply sex embodied. His fingers draw meaningless shapes around your naval. His cheeks are flushed and you can barely make it out on his dark skin but you see it. His head tilts like a puppy as he looks down at you. 

“So eager for me, Princesa.”

His hand trails lower, flattening your abdomen. Your breath hitches, as his extensive finger dips into the band of your panty. He smirks, loving how greedy you are for him. He wants to frame the image he sees. Such a good girl for him. 

“Have I have not fulfilled you?” 

Your lips fall as his hand grows deeper, closer to your sensitive bud. You clench your thighs harder together. 

“I- please.”

You give up knowing if you tried to speak, it would make your desperation known. The boat sways along the wakes of water. His tongue licks his bottom lip, his other hand coming to push fallen hairs off your forehead. You’re just so pretty like this for him. He knows that you’re younger than most women he’s been with. Something about the way you’re always inviting him into you, up to all his adventures, has him going. He’s been told he’s too much, too excited over life. You’ve only encouraged it.

And that alone makes him feel hopelessly in love. He’s absolutely torn from being away from you. Hates absolutely despises it. But he'd rather have you in his satin sheets than in a sketchy life-threatening hotel with him. He’s thought about going cold turkey and running away with you, but he knows Lucas would find him. He cherishes these moments with you, where he can get away from it all and just enjoy you. Well, he thought. The intercom's sound turns to static, and a ringing of a phone somewhere in the boat buzzes. Great.

He gives you a look mixed between a pout and an apology. You don’t know what you feel, but anger and sorrow are prominent. His hand lifts from you. He sags into the corner of the booth. You get off him walking to the bow of the boat. You wrap your arms around yourself. He promised once again that he wouldn’t let work invade tonight. You feel lied to and stupid. Gabriela’s stern voice comes through. Something involving the whereabouts of Nic.

You watch with clouded eyes how the sunbeams off the water. It’s entrancing, the particles moving back and forth and the colors combining to become one. You understand that you shouldn’t be upset with him, but you are. It’s almost as of late that he’s been consumed with work. It was fun, the money, and drugs, but you’d rather have him than anything.

You were confident in your relationship with him. He’s told you he’s loved you while sheathed deep inside you. Worshiped you even, but sometimes like these, you felt like you didn’t matter to him. Tears brimmed your eyes. Even in Spain’s heat, you felt cold, too exposed. Your arms leave you and wrap around the glass. You lean on it, your current anchor. Suddenly you wished to be back in your- Javi’s room buried underneath thick blankets. It heightened your senses by the tainted blood running through you. You can feel him before he even touches you. His arms wrap around your midsection and his face is shoved into the side of your neck. He rubs his scruff on your skin.

His lips press deep, wet kisses along the length of your neck. You try to stay angry, but you can’t. His nose digs into the meat of your neck as his teeth nip the sensitive spot behind your ear and you break. Your arms fall to lace over his. Your small fingers dip in the junctions of his big ones. Your body shudders on him, the material of his shirt on your back raises goosebumps. He groans into your ear, holding you tighter to him. He sways his lips, almost in a slow form of dance. He closes his eyes, breathing you in. Fuck, you smell good. The most potent thing he’s ever smelt. It’s slightly hidden from the smell of drugs but all of a sudden he’s a bloodhound. You could be miles away and he could find you. He doesn’t care if you’re mad at him or if you fight. He’ll always make it up to you in more ways than one. Always being drawn back to you. He doesn’t speak for a few minutes, just burning this moment in his brain. It’s peaceful. His strong jaw lies on your shoulder. His lips brush against your ear when he does speak. 

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617 notes - Posted May 4, 2022

#4

Sandman

 Steven meets you and it changes his life forever, it changes yours too. 

 Virgin! Steven Grant x reader x Marc Spector smut.

 Word count: 23k  

 Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with the: Tooth rotting fluff, Steven is a creep low-key, smut, noncon, angst, daydreams, mental illness, limited knowledge of DID, language, explicit themes, a hellish slow burn, bad puns, self deprecation, making out, praising, clothed grinding, rough smut, tender loving, dirty talk, fingering, belt spankings, somnophilia, blow jobs, overstimulation, creampies, dumbification, teasing, eating out, choking, hair pullling, kidnapping, breeding kink, hint of anal, bondage, spitting, manhandling, restraints, HIS DAMN CHAIN, innocence kink/corruption kink? dark themes, scratching, sexual innuendos, taboo, manipulation, domestic violence, stalking, murder, ed, and many more things that could be triggering!

 A/n: I am absolutely sorry for being away but you get this masterpiece in return! This is the longest fucking filthy thing I’ve ever written, I love Steven what can I say. This is loosely based around ep 1 of Moon Knight. To sum this up I’m just so desperate for Oscar and decided to share it with you. So, enjoy!

   The glare of the golden beams impelled him just right in his spectacle-covered eyes. He checks the analog clock jostled far enough under the mountain of books to see he was late once again. Getting lost in the far-distanced world of Egypt. He sighs, rubbing his temples with his right hand and his left holding his glasses by a leg. They were tipping over the book he was reading. Not only that, but he grumbles something out under his breath, tucking his library card to hold his place in the book as he shoves it into his satchel. He gets up from the wobbly chair and over to Gus. He pauses before he gives the fish its food. Wondered if Gus had his own thoughts, his own feelings. Now Steven understood that the misconception of fish was highly falsified.

  Maybe that’s why he adored the small chromatic thing. It, too, could understand the complications of being…misconstrued. Especially one with only one fin. How hellish of a world Gus must live in. He stared at the small tank. Perhaps he should get another one. Gus hadn’t been eating for quite a while. Could he be stressed? Could fish even get stressed? He didn’t know he grabbed the cylinder from the same table Gus was on and took the lid off and sprinkled the disgusting flakes over the brim of Gus’ ocean. 

  He’d rather you to not ask how he found out the flakes were disgusting. He planned to pop in by the fish store after work if he had time and, by the looks of it he didn’t have any at all. He pursed his lips together in thought. Such a small creature was his only friend. It was sad, sure, although Steven enjoyed his own company. Even if it was a bit lonely, then again, he had Gus. He waved at the tank before wishing Gus a good day. He liked to think that Gus waved back to him.

  He locked his door and broke into a not-so-subtle sprint towards the elevator. The doors enclosed before him. He watched in horror, wishing for his feet to not slow down. He felt as if his ankles were being sunken into quicksand with each step into the gray carpet of the corridor. The weight became unbearable. He was about halfway before he accepted his fate. He shouted out for whoever was in there to stop the door for him. (He didn’t take in the fact that he rarely has ever seen someone using the lift.) 

 He pushed forward. He could feel the heat from the failed wiring touch his skin. Burning him with energy. He was sort of taken aback when he watched a small hand dart out, almost being sandwiched between the giant metal doors. His shoulders deflated, and he smiled a lopsided grin, relieved to know he wouldn’t be set back an hour or two by taking the stairs. 

  Although he was star-struck as the doors opened to reveal one of the most stupefying people he ever laid his eyes on. A soft smile was gifted to him. The sight was a blessing as well. A woman with soft eyes admired him from afar. He didn’t think that of himself. Someone admires him. It was laughable, but the way the woman was had his stomach twisting a certain way. A way that he'd only felt once or twice in his life. A way that made his mouth gape open like Gus’. He just gawked at the woman. She was as stunning or more stunning than Hathor. He didn’t have a single thought in his brain. It was like witnessing a great disaster occur. He wants to run and hide, but he simply cannot look away. Everything about the woman was perfect. The way her hair fell from her head. Her lips were painted a deep red. Her sundress fell about an inch-no-an inch and a half below her knee. It was such a beautiful color that complimented her skin and her lips. Oh, so delicately he could study her forever. He wondered where she was going dressed so nicely, and if he would see her again. 

  Seconds turned into ticking minutes as he stood there. He probably looked like a creep. Goggling at a woman with no dignity. He wouldn’t have noticed the lift was moving if she hadn’t said anything. Her voice, don’t let him get started. It sounded like the most delicate piece of music he’s ever heard. He shuffles into the corner with a slight blush burning his tanned cheeks. His hands grip his satchel with such a serious grasp that his knuckles started to turn white. He was nervous, to say the least. The way her perfume, which smelled like roses, wafted into his nose, made him hysterical. He fell in love with the scent right then and there. She must have been new. There was no other way he wouldn’t have noticed her before. She was so unique, such a refresher, to have something new come into his mundane life. He was nearly choking on air like a fish out of water. His eyes stared forward as a soldier would in the field. 

  He closed his eyes tightly, wishing the feeling of uneasiness to flee. He takes several, several, deep breaths in. He feels like he’s going to faint. He couldn’t just leave this moment without knowing who this mysterious woman was. So he decides to have small talk. Shit. The worst decision of his life. He has nothing to talk about. Until his monkey cymbal led brain scrambles to one thing in particular. The reason he got here was that she held the door open with such generosity. Most people wouldn’t go out of their way for him in the slightest. She was just different. He wanted to be someone else, so he mustered all that, pushed down courage, and acted like someone else. 

  “I-I- t-thanks for holding the doors.”

  He wants to bash his head into the metal container. He feels slightly at ease. He didn’t completely fuck everything up. Although he feels warmth crawl up his spine and onto his neck. He’s sweating bullets. Was it always this hot in the lift? He looks like he’s in one of Egypt’s deserts by the way he looks absolutely exhausted. Thick droplets of sweat raced down his neck, his veins being highlighted with such urgency by them. Dark purple ones stretch down his collarbone and down in between his clavicles. The dainty gold chain was smothered by the rain of them. He curses himself when his dark gaze hovers over to her, picking at a sticker left by some juvenile on the wall. He wants to cry.

  He wrings the strap of the satchel as he devises a plan. He worked so hard the first time in attempting to speak with her just to be shut down? Classic. His brain goes into a convulsion. He wants to know her name. But how is he supposed to get it when he can’t even speak to her? His anxiety hits an all-time high as the numbers illuminated in a dark red decrease. He had about a floor left to make his move, or he’d never see you again. He almost outright has a heart attack by the way his heart thrums against his chest. Then everything holds to a halt and time stops. She turns with the loveliest smile he’s ever witnessed, and she turns with her hand out. 

  “I’m Y/n. Y/n L/n.”

  Your accent isn’t like the people he hears every day. It’s eager and bold. His hand that’s not taken by the strap shakes when he takes yours. He almost punches himself as he realizes his hand is most likely clammy from his dilemma. He hopes you don't notice, what would you make of him from it. Although every thought in his head leaves once more. Shit. Yours is so much more delicate, softer, smaller.  His brain can’t even track what’s happening, as he just gawks at the exchange of touch. The doors chime open, and he realizes he has to say something-anything. 

  “S-Steven.”

  Your hand falls to your waist. He points to the hand that once held yours to himself as he said his name, pointing his index to his chest. Like a preschooler figuring out how to introduce themselves for the first time. You smile at him, beaming with pearly whites underneath the red. He takes notice of the way your nose scrunches when you smile. Hell, the action is like the sun hitting him. You nod your head in accord.

  “I hope I see you around, Steven.” 

  You grasp his forearm, the one that was holding the strap and squeeze slightly as a farewell and whisk it away. The smell of you leaving the lift, he wanted to bottle it and keep it. The image of your sundress bouncing with every step was burned into his mind. 

~~~

  Steven rushes through the enormous doors and stretches his legs as much as he can in quick strides. His broad hands gripping the strap unyielding. He curses under his breath, his eyes wildly flashing amongst artifacts and mummies. He was scanning the room for Apep (for Donna.) Strands of dark curls soaked into his forehead as he shuffles past people. Polite inquisitions were spat from his tongue. He swore it fell on deaf ears as he fled. His feet shuffled against the tile, sounding his presence.

  His deep brown eyes searched for the tarnished gift shop. Once they fell on the store, his chest deflated and his strides slowed. Another day at the shop, he guessed, it wasn’t to him. He had met you. He smiled softly to himself at the memory of you. Beautiful, polite you. He bowed his head, walking into the store. His hopes lifted as only a few people were cast aimlessly throughout the small store. He whisked behind the desk as a ghost would behind a bannister. Maybe he was a ghost inside a world full of boisterous living. He shook his head as he crouched down, his hands pulling the strap over his head and into the cubby. He felt vulnerable in some capacity without it- his security blanket. His fingers pinched the metal rectangle and pulled the pin through his jacket. He would lose his own head if it wasn’t attached. He smirked at the ridiculous insinuation. 

~~~

  Hours turned into endless amounts of swiping, inputting numbers, and ‘thanks come again’ with a smile that he didn’t mean. Every single thought revolved around you. You ate him up inside and the only thing he said was his name. The way you spoke the syllables on your sweet tongue made the collar of his shirt tight. He wrings it free with his index. He loved the way your shoulders connected to your neck, your jawline in the perfect symmetry of your body. You held both masculine and feminine energy balanced with a twinge of something he couldn’t place. You were just uniquely..you. He pondered about whether you knew how to dance to the slow music he likes. 

  If you like singing while you cook. If you liked guys like him. His cheeks were painted with a dusty rose color. He grinned with ease. You made him feel that life wasn’t all that terrible. All throughout the day, you occupied his mind. Scenarios and what if’s danced inside his mind. He was intrigued by their different sensations. The sun’s once bright stature turned into a burnt orange cascading throughout the windows of the museum. All he knew was that his shift was almost over. He could go through the pet shop and do miscellaneous hobbies he indulged in. Well, that was before an eager man in what Steven presumed to be late forties waltzed up with an item. A pyramid, Steven’s scanned thousands of them before. What was different was the knob’s accusation of small talk.

  “You know aliens built tha pyramids?”

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897 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

#3

Top girl

Blue has taken a liking to you. Little did you know it would turn into an obsession.

Blue Jones x shy! reader smut.

Word count: 13k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with: heavy angst, heavy smut, rough smut, coercion, sexual assault, dark themes, mentions of prostitution, cockwarming, degrading, a bit of exhibition, spanking, language & explicit themes, abuse of power, thigh riding, doggy, hitting, talk of abuse, kinda fluffy, innocence kink, threats, unprotected sex, cuninglingus, praising, alcohol, stuff being broken, yelling, smoking, masochism, collars, clothed grinding, groping, masturbation, use of dildo, orgasm control, mutual masturbation.

A/n: I am 1000% not sorry for this filthy thing. My baby, easily my favorite fic of mine. You’re called mouse a lot in this fyi. Also Ezra from Prospect is in this. Can be an au?

   You watch them twirl and stretch in various ways. Girls in corsets, faux silk dance around you. Your beige skirt and worn shirt puts you to shame. You didn’t arrive with much of anything, just the clothes on your back. It’s only been half a day, but from what you’ve seen was enough. You were instantly walked into this orchestrated business and given orders to just watch. You didn’t speak and nodded when spoken to. Eyes glossed over with a hazy hue. You’ve grown familiar with the nicknames to keep their identity hidden. The Doctor and the doll were the only people who had shown you kindness. You’re new here, your head tilted to the wood floor.

Reluctant, even excited deep down. It’s new and the first day of the rest of your life. A melody booms from the make shift speaker. A routine you don’t know, but the girls do it with perfection. Observe and execute is the order you remember for verbatim. The Doctor’s words run through your head. The brief interview and briefing of rules, given with a flick of a hand. A sharp hit of her cane. Your position was to be a fly on the wall and nothing more. You’ve grown nauseous from knowing there was someone higher. The Doctor referred to him as Mr. Pleasant. The mention of a meeting with him ran your blood cold. Goosebumps rising on your flesh. God, you were in for it. Just the whisper of his name has you shivering. 

   Even through her rough demeanor, you can see that the Doctor truly cared about her performers. Sharp barks turn into a gradual push. Praises spew from her painted lips after the group finally gets the difficult quotidian. As you watch these masters perform, you almost hide. You’re cowering under the intimidating demonstration. You try to swallow but you get choked up. The small room almost shifts as you grow ‌disoriented. A gentle palm touching your back makes your head jerk.

The older girl that you now are fond of smiles at you. She knows how you feel, how tamed you are. She was in your place at one point. That time felt like decades ago. She grieved over finding someone like her, someone so innocent. She’s determined to console you, to preserve you. You know little, since you’ve only spent a few hours here. But you can get a decent idea of how this place works. Her hair is messy and damp with sweat. White strands carelessly thrown into the ties on the sides of her head. She looks rough, yet like an angel. She’s been working to her breaking point, but she’s still going. A couple of other girls, she has mentioned, have been worked to the bone. She points them out, and it’s only a shell of the person who they once were. A sickly feeling grows in your stomach. You admire her ambition. Most of the other girls have given up on the act. It’s sad, but the truth. She runs her long fingernails along the length of your arm. 

   “Are you okay?”

    Her heavenly voice calmly coos. You nod, never looking into her eyes. She frowns before casting a knowing look. The nervousness twists in your stomach and you want to cry. You’re scared of what’s to come. The men- beasts, who you’re going to serve, horrifies you. You’ve watched the way they eat the girls here. It’s only time before it’s your turn. How the hosts' dark eyes linger on you. The burn, all of it stabs at your gut, then blossoms into a desperate warmth. Your cheeks grow rosy. Baby pins it on the anxiety and she takes your hand in hers. 

     “Let’s get out of here.”

     She knows there are few places to go, but anywhere then here will suffice. She tugs on your hand and before you know it, you’re leaving out those enormous doors. With dirty glares thrown your way. She’s tugging you too hard for you to care. You feel heavy, your knees wobbly on thick heels and filled with adrenaline, curious about the beginning. 

~~~

Your hasty getaway has cut off. A staff member whisking you away and the pale girl giving you a sorrowful look. She’s spilled everything she knows to you. The deaths, the corruption and greed. It was the failure of the past. The renewal of the updated version. You feel like a criminal who just committed a scandal. The guilt plugs up your throat. A single look in your direction makes you feel immense ‌shame. Your mouth will open and you’ll speak on command. You don’t know how you’re going to last with this crucial idea. You don’t think you’ll last very long at all. You don’t need to list all the reasons you think you’ll fail. The biggest one was that you had a poker face in a window. It’s seen through ‌blatantly. Your heels make you cringe when you near a metal door. 

“Get the food then serve it to Boss. Wait until further demand.”

The man in white says lazily behind you before leaving. You lick your lips before picking up the courage to push the cold door open. You’re met with a barely sanitized kitchen. Leaks and hisses of gas are spewed throughout the room. A large man with a clever in hand, takes quick notice of the new meat entering his space. He likes the way your chin is jutted deep into your chest, how small you try to make yourself. He raises his hand and sticks the metal into the side of a cutting board. He pivots and grabs a dirty rag, wiping the grime off his fat fingers. Your eyes flick across, taking everything to memory. You have a funny feeling you’ll be in here more than you wish. You feel his beady eyes stare holes into your skin. It makes you shrink if that was possible. He leans on the back of the sink. 

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Like he cares, his voice is groggy filled with mucus. You ghost an expression. He carelessly takes it. You don’t respond and irritation runs up his red face. 

“I don’t think you’ll last long here.”

He rounds the corner to walk to you. The potent smell of meat and his body odor make you gag. Your cheeks puff and he reaches his hand out to touch you. The pudgy fingers come to your cheek. You feel tears brim your eyes, his breath fanning over your face. The putrid smell will haunt you. 

“Boss likes his girls feisty.”

His large hand cups your cheek. He jerks your head up to look at him. He tilts your face, examining you. Picking your features apart, making a note of the things he likes and doesn’t. The large man's face is only a few inches from yours. 

“But what do I know? He might like the change.”

His lips curl into a smile. He’s taunting you, seeing how he can shape you into being complacent. The cook isn’t a nice man, but he wasn’t as bad as the boss. If you’re getting scared of this, then you have another thing coming. Water boils in the distance with a high scream. He breaks from you; he goes back behind the make table. The standard food is being brought out by him. He slides it over to where you stand. Your head bowed. You hadn’t moved an inch during this entire encounter. 

“Better get going, little girl. Boss doesn’t have much patience.”

~~~

The plate weighs heavily on your small hands. The clicking sound of your heels hits your ears with every step. A ticking bomb setting off your destination. The establishment was large, yeah, but it was easily memorable. Everything was labeled with ‘staff’ or ‘restricted’ so you made your way past those. It’s eerily quiet. Not a sound is made other than your shoes. Not a single ounce of chitter chatter, just you. You supposed it was evening because of his dinner, so why was it so quiet? It made your skin crawl and your head dizzy.

The blood pours out of the slab of meat on the porcelain. If you stared at it long enough, you could feel the biles in your stomach form. You look side to side looking for any hint of where you should deliver this to. You nearly trip when you find the gold plaque reading ‘mr. pleasant.’ Your heart rate picks up and you suddenly can’t breathe. You swallow thickly, maneuvering the chilling plate between your ribs and wrist as you pull your hand to rap three consecutive knocks.

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1,084 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

#2

Lover’s exchange

After submitting your final. Jonathan’s more than intrigued as to where the inspiration comes from.

Jonathan Levy x reader smut.

Word count: 8k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with the: fluff, smut, rough smut, VERY EXPLICIT, age gap, fingering, blow jobs, eating out, unprotected sex, gagging, anal play, ass eating, overstimulation, coercion, consenting adults, power control, breeding kink, recorded masturbation, explicit language & themes, dark themes, drinking, smoking, rough smut, hair pulling, scratching, Jonathan is not as innocent as he seems, teasing, porn? Porn, teacher x student, somnophilia, implied face sitting, sensory deprivation kinda.

A/n: I literally took the idea of him being a professor and fucking ran full throttle with it. Can be an au! I guess. Head empty just him. Just a disclaimer that I’m not in college and nor have any idea what consists there. I apologize for any misconstrued ideologies! Most is written in the 3rd pov.

“A passionate encounter, one that has never been replicated since. That is what I want you to write about.”

He rolls the sleeves of his cardigan up to his elbows. The few students scattered throughout the small auditorium. He knows they’re not listening, but he continues nonetheless. 

“It can be with a spouse, a stranger, anything really. I’m giving you the freedom to express a feeling only you have felt so incomparable to anyone else.”

The electronic bell he’s grown to despise rattles. His students billow out into the side door, to their next seminar. He plops into the wheely chair with a long elongated sigh. He hopes it came across well, the prompt of their final. A feeling twists in his gut, not even half listening to him. He wants to help them prosper. He’s a lenient professor, one of the most laid back on the board. But there’s only so much he can brush past. Late work that’s a month overdue, students pleading for him to turn an F into a B- is exhausting. He takes his glasses off, hanging his head into his palms. He’s trying desperately to wipe away the misery that's clinging to his features. The soft sounds of shoes patting the ground. The loud chit-chat of the pupils communicating through the corridor. He fails to hear you sneak up on him. 

“Professor?”

His head whips upwards to the chirp of your elegant voice. Your hands tied around your school bag. A gentle smile creasing your cheeks. Hair flowing like a drape of a veil. Easy going on his aging eyes. His brain inputs into hyper drive, admiring you. You’re the only student who cares about their work. Who asked questions, who listened intently to the subject he taught. He’s taken a kindness to you that he has given no one else. Rounding up those fives into one hundred.

Giving you that plus you didn’t need, but makes your transcript look more polished. You never spoke to him about subjects outside of education. But you always came to him to broaden your knowledge to keep your work proficient. You’re smart and charming. Pulchritudinous even. (A word that he came across in your work that means beautiful.) He feels immense guilt. Pushing his blurred gaze to the side of his desk. More suitable for the atmosphere. He shouldn’t think of you in such a way. He can’t help it now matter how hard he tries. 

“Yes? What is it?”

His voice is short and snappy. Cutting the rope that he’s tethered to. He punches himself for how your smile drops to a vacant expression. 

“I was wondering how uhm,”

You pause. Brows knitted on your smooth forehead. You look for the words that aren’t immature in the phrasing. 

“How much vulgar use you would allow.”

There's that sheepish smile again. He chokes on his saliva, blind eyes widening. The long curve of his nose is where he pushes his glasses back. He sees your unmasked beauty, and he’s sputtering. An unknown speech impediment develops as he racks his dumbfound skull for an answer. He loses the suaveness of a preceptor and the eager man he truly is comes to play. 

“I-, as long as it’s a salient contribution to the plot. As much as you’re comfortable with, I suppose.”

He applauds himself for coming off the slightest bit as composed. What do you mean by vulgar? Maybe you wanted to include paraphernalia or explicit language. But what if- you wouldn't, you are too put together to even indulge. But what if? You nod swiftly. Brightness swims in your eyes. 

“Thank you, pedagogue.”

Your idyllic body pivots walking through the big twin doors. He lets out a heavy heave exit his lungs, one that he didn’t realize he was holding. He leans down, pressing his febrile forehead onto his desk. He’s stupefied by the title. Pedagogue, really? He praised himself for being benevolent and you thought that he was austere? A new, fresh hoard of scholars enter his domain. He groans, wanting to bash his cranium into the wood. He doesn’t know how to feel. But the only thing he can think about while teaching his course is feeding you grapes in a lavish room in Israel. 

~~~

A week and a half later, Jonathan is sprawled out on his couch. A wine glass in hand, shitty cable on demand playing some nonsense. A pair of grey joggers low on his hips, a dark earthy tone sweater on shoulders. All wrapped together with a thin white chain with the Star of David draped on his sternum. He doesn’t really know why he wears it anymore. He doesn’t feel like he treasures his faith, cast from the religion. He doesn’t hold the practice to his heart. Especially not after the occurrences with Mira. The exact reason he sits alone in this big empty house.

Longing for Daughter’s presence. A distant glow of his laptop on the coffee table in front of him, pleading for him to do something, anything. His heart torn from the absent wishes of wanting his life to be different. Filled with artificial happiness. Loneliness puts him in a corner with no escape. He’s grown accustomed to the feeling, throughout his failed marriage, he knows it all too well. Ridden by the pain of it, something unfamiliar takes its place. Something stronger than isolation. Desolation. He’s felt like this for so long that he’d forgotten that there are other emotions. Like jouissance, similar to having a penchant for something. To have it for you. He knows deep down that it’s wrong.

Fuck he knows, he does and it will kill him. Shouldn't think of his student in such a desirous manner. But he can’t stop. Ever since you walked yourself into his class, he hadn’t gotten you out of his head. Daydreams he's living in with you. Different past lives he could’ve had with you. Every waking moment you’ve plagued him. Every off hand hungry exchange with Mira, he imagines you. He can’t get away from you. A deep breath emits from him. He scratches his forehead, lost in the thought of you. His laptop pings with a buzz. It seems that the universe has answered his prayers. He straightens his posture, setting the glass on the table before pulling the computer on his lap.

He adjusts his glasses; the glow glares off the glass spheres. His house is pitch black other than the distant television and the radiance in front of his face. He sets it flat on his lap, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. He uses the track pad and finds his notifications. You. You’ve sent him something, your email in his inbox. A pdf. Your semester final. You work his schedule like clockwork. It wasn’t due for another week and yet you’ve already finished. He’s already gotten a few messages from other disciples needing the date pushed back, but you’ve completed it. His heart soars, resembling something along the lines of being proud? No, appreciative. He remembers the words you spoke to him the day he gave the prompt. Vulgar.

How lovely you looked that day, but in his opinion you always looked like that. Somehow you looked even better that day. Chipper and gleaming like a morning dew. The cursor hovers over the link. He clicks, opening the document. The black words on a white sheet were gifted to him. Your introduction and citations at the top corner. The title in the middle. Lover’s exchange. He scrolls to the first paragraph, with a heavy heart and high hopes he begins. 

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1,647 notes - Posted May 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Helping hand

The biggest name in Hawkins visits you. The bully, but before you can refuse. He meets you with a proposal: help him and he’ll help you.

Steve Harrington x reader smut.

Word count: 5k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with the: choking *slightly, degrade and praise, talk of harassment, unprotected sex, p in v, making out, groping, manhandling, hair pulling, hickeys, scratching, explicit language & themes, finger sucking, talk of jealousy & masturbation, secret pining, enemies to lovers? Descriptions of pus, blood and bruises *see gif below, parents in the other room.

A/n: nothing. Look at him, read the filth I wrote for this goon. He’s hurt AND wAnTiNg. What a dream come true. Not really set in a specfic season sooo. This is so cheesy oh my god.

Brown boxes are scattered in your room. Some filled to the brim with memorabilia, others with clothes. The one you’re currently packing, a collection of your work. Academic medals, shoved into the bottom. It’s bittersweet having to leave for college. To become a scholar to better yourself. To get an education for a career. Your parents were more excited than you were. You were mourning over lost memories. The pictures you forced Jonathan to take. The clubs you were in with the introvert. You thought his strike against Polaroids was a bit odd, so you had to get creative in other ways. Such as sneaking, quick photos of him and Nancy. They were cute, even with the unrequited thing they’re going through. Your heart weighs heavy in your chest. Digging through the piles. As you dig, you find an old essay. One that you did for Steve Harrington. You smile. It’s funny, really the strange deal you used to have with the king. You made pretty good money from it. A’s were $100, Bs $50. Test scores were doubled. The dirty hassle lasted all throughout senior year.

It’s amazing how neither of you got caught. Now and then you’d slip up and add a word Steve most definitely didn’t know. Or some punctuation. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t know the difference between a semicolon and a colon. The most bewildering thing being that you actually got to know the person behind the hair. He was an idiot, but a charming one. You got to understand him better as you tried to tutor him. Always after school at your place, four on the dot. (It was the only window of time for your parents, both at work and school ending.) But it didn’t matter, he rarely showed. Always saying something came up.

Or when the times he showed, he was always nervous and unconcerned with the work you tried to teach. It was useless trying to teach a dog who’s too stubborn for his own good. The tricks he didn’t understand. Which leads you to do his work. You reminisces the times he would flash a sharp smile when you popped a joke. The flutter of your heart as he looked at you. The demeaning look he had when he actually tried. Shivers run up your spine as you trace your thumb over forged words. Lost in the mirage of what your life would be like if you acted on your feelings. The rattle on your window spooks you, you jump to your feet. Scurrying over to the window, your heart thumps against the cage of your chest. Trying to pump out of the flesh and bones. It’s the middle of the night, and the only light you have is the soft glow of what’s in your room. But you can make it out. Who it was. Him. The legend of your dreams. His face is casted over with dark shadows. His hair in clumps, facing every which way. It wasn’t normal for him to look so disheveled. He’s slumped over, a hand pressed to the side of your parents house. His other pushed against the side of his torso. You purse your lips together, thinking of every possibility. Your window was incredibly small, although you knew it was possible to escape through it. However, Steve was bigger than you.

Broader even so you scrambled for a better plan. You couldn’t just waltz in a foreign boy into the house. Your parents would lock you up like Rapunzel if they found out. The gentle buzz of the living room tv is a reminder that they’re home. “Date night” resolved to a movie marathon on the couch. They weren’t talking so you assumed that they were passed out. But what if they weren’t. You paced by the window. You step on your tiptoes to peer through the small rectangle. With a deep breath you unscrew the window, propping it open. The cool Night’s air prickling your skin. The air is still as humid as ever. You’re beyond confused as to why he’s here. But the urge to help clouds your judgement. Did you summon him here? It wouldn’t surprise you if you did. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing that’s happened here. As you stare down at him, he runs a shaky hand through the thick strands of his hair. A dark jacket matched with a light shirt is drenched in what you assume is blood. His or someone else’s you didn’t know. He looks to the side, wiping his cheek on his shoulder. 

”What're you doing here?”

You whisper as loud as you can. Careful to not waken your parents. Even though you're grown, you’re still terrified of them. He blinks dumbly at you. Those puppy dog eyes, bruised and busted open. It pains you to see him so broken. He looks to the ground, not able to look at you. 

“I-“

He pauses. Tears burn the backs of his eyes. Remembering the night's events has scarred him worse than it ever has. He’s honestly shocked he’s hobbled all the way to your house, but here he stands. Wobbling to the side and discombobulated. He chews on the inside of his cheek. 

“I need your help.”

~~~

It’s astonishing how he managed to fit through the window. With your “help” you tug on his hand, pulling him through. He’s tripping over your night table. He staggers a couple of steps before crouching. He cups his hands around his shin and groans. A pained wince going across his face. Now you can examine his wounds. It’s almost sickly, the long deep gashes on his temples. The short ones across his jaw and lips. One of his eyes has a big welt near the lid, it drips fresh blood into the cornea, blinding him. His skin was filled with grime and dried blood. Your heart floods with sorrow. Even if he was an ass to you, he didn’t deserve this. His head falls back on the edge of your bed. He whines high in his throat, almost a moan. You panic, placing your finger over your lips and shushing him. He’s too loud. He’s going to get you caught. With a boy in your room. Without a doubt, your parents would murder you and bury you under the house. His head whips to you. Eye(s) throwing daggers. 

“Did you just shush me?”

Fuck. Why does his voice sound so good? It’s groggy and feels like drinking Coca Cola. Butterflies form in your stomach. You push your chin into your chest and nod. Not wanting to say much else, knowing that if you do you’d expose yourself. Your eyes fall to his once white shoes. His jeans rolled up twice around his ankles. The material tattered at the end. He notices that you’ve shrunken into yourself. He feels at home. Not seeing you for months, but you haven’t changed a bit. It’s a relief to not see something defiled. He huffs, chest being stabbed with every breath. It’s quiet other than his fragile breathing. You’re as quiet as a mouse. Just observing him, trying to figure out how to fix the issue. To make him feel better. The room holds still, almost like time has frozen in place. With Steve. The idiot decides to break the trance. Turning around to attempt to lift himself off the floor. The springs of your bed croak as he uses it for support. You quickly come to his aid. Your hands come to his shoulders, helping him stand. 

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

You murmur, pulling him to his feet. His jaw ticks as he grinds his teeth together. Restraining himself to not just scream in agony. His feet shuffle as you push him to the chair by your desk. He falls with a choked gasp. His hand goes back to his waist, pushing. You wonder if there’s a nasty bruise forming, or worse, if he broke his ribs. Your blood runs cold. Steve looks to the side. Above your desk was a mirror, one he wished he hadn’t seen. His eyes flicker over his face. He doesn’t recognize himself. Gashes littered across his face that it hides his true form. Why does he feel so ugly, like he’s a monster? He wants to cry. You chew on your lip as you rack your brain for answers. Among the conspiracies, you can’t find a definite answer. His clothes are drenched with crimson and brown. You can’t see the major wound that’s causing such damage. The only way to find out was to get him to shed the top layers. You blush before you pull on the lapels of his jacket. The bastard smirks. The tear in his bottom lip stretching. 

“Trying to get me out of my clothes, already? I mean, I’m all for it, but I think foreplay is pretty hot.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Stomach flipping at his jest. Steve wants to sleep with you? Is that what he was insinuating? It’s comical how outrageous it was. He didn’t even bat an eye at you walking by you in the halls, and now he wants you? It made little sense. You shoved your foolishness deep down. Remembering that you’re simply here to help, not to make matters worse. You shake your head. 

“I’m trying to see where you’re bleeding.”

He nods briefly, face falling to complete stoicism. He leans forward, peeling off his jacket. His hands were shakier than when he was outside. Was he nervous? You put it that he was in shock. Your eyebrows knit together as you see him fully. Dark pools are scattered everywhere, not just one definite spot. His hand falls back to his side. 

“I can tell you one thing sweetheart, I don’t think there’s a place I’m not bleeding.”

He smiles, blood clotting around his teeth. He’s stupid, such a fuck boy with no shame. You should’ve known that’s all that he wanted from you. There’s no right for your thighs to dampen and your pussy to flutter at the pet name. His dark eyes roam over your body. Loose tee and baggy shorts, hiding the curves he knows you have. You look at ease, well before he interrupted. He likes the look of it. He wonders why he never paid you any attention. Such a sweet thing that he never gave the time to. He feels like a dork about it. But with the way you’re looking at him reminds him of his mother. Hands on hips, and face cut to stone. Your face mixed with a scowl and utmost concern. As he breathes, he can feel that broken rib poke into his palm. One thing is for sure, is that this is going to be a night he’ll never forget. 

~~~

About every medical bandage in your premise was on Steve. After you had cleaned him up with a warm rag. And after a thousand more sexual innuendos, he looks better, to say the least. Instead of cuts, his skin was now littered with bandaids. Two gauze rolls are wrapped around his waist. (The stupid bastard wouldn’t admit to it hurting, so you had to push a finger there. You seethed the moan and the way it made you feel after.)

He breathed shallowly, each breath felt like his lungs were being punctured. But you were more curious, scattered on his bare chest, that trailed down his stomach and under the waist of his blue jeans. When did that happen? Numerous times at his basketball practices did he took his shirt off. But when did he become so masculine? It was impossible for you to place your finger on it. You tried your hardest to not gawk. You dabbed the now cold rag on his most likely broken knuckles.

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1,700 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

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[mydreamysummerstudio]

new chapters every friday now :)

the fire we started | chapter 2/8 | ch1 here

pairing: pedro pascal / oscar isaac

chapter word count ✎ 2,370

genre: real-person-fiction, angsty angsty ANGST and fluff and some smut eventually

overall summary: in the days following an accidentally public display of affection, oscar and pedro try to pick up the pieces of their quickly unravelling secret. as they try to figure out what they are, it becomes clear to one of them maybe they weren’t hiding it so well after all.

author’s notes: this week was awful and i wanted to share some happy so here’s chapter 2! stay tuned for when i eventually get my invite and can post this to aO3 instead. i hope you like it - we’re getting out of the angst and into the fluffy fun soon! thanks for reading! -mydreamysummerstudio

Oscar sits in the dark of his living room for a long time after hanging up with Pedro.

With his feet propped up on an ottoman, he reaches over the arm of his favorite yellow chair for the glass of whiskey sitting on the end-table beside him. He hasn’t touched it since he first called Pedro, and the melting ice leaves a ring of water on the surface of the wood. He watches as the ring shimmers from the light of the nearby window, Brooklyn traffic lighting up the room with red and yellow blinking lights every few minutes. He can hear the chatter of a pair walking by on the pavement outside. As they pass, the summer air grows quiet again, hanging heavy and thick around Oscar; just him, his racing thoughts, and his heaving chest.

He brings the glass to his lips as he glances at his phone, thumbing the screen where a headline glares at him. In the soft glow of his phone light, his brow furrows as his finger grazes over the words he’s read at least a hundred other times today. Amor Confirmado? Oscar Isaac y Pedro Pascal se ven besando en secreto afuera de Pedro’s Apartmento en Manhattan - “Love Confirmed? Oscar Isaac and Pedro Pascal seen sharing a kiss in secret outside Pedro’s Manhattan Apartment.”

The words sting anew like a knife sliding into his chest, burning him slowly as he drops his phone into his lap. Each time he reads this headline and all the others, the same shameful fire flourishes inside him. And yet each time he reads them, there is a part of him hoping to see if it’s a mistake - it’s about someone else, it isn’t real, it never happened. He takes another sip at his glass and feels the burn in his throat as the whiskey goes down, putting out the fire momentarily and leaving it a smoldering rubble.

How could they be so careless? For the past eight months, he and Pedro had been skirting around defining what it was they were doing, stealing moments in secret with each other after a photoshoot or press tour, visiting each other’s homes late at night over the weekdays when no one could suspect it may be anything other than business.

And yet, at the same time, they knew exactly what they were doing.

From the moment Pedro had grabbed Oscar’s waist that one fateful evening last December, they both knew that whatever happened from that moment on, they could never turn back.

But still, even as the sparks grew and grew and grew, they should have known better than to steal a quick kiss before saying goodbye yesterday. Oscar’s heart skips a beat as he remembers those crucial moments, body reacting viscerally as if it were happening again in real time.

-

Oscar had spent the night at Pedro’s apartment in Manhattan, just as they’d grown used to doing over the last few months. Especially on the nights the two would fly home from their latest round of press, it was much easier for Oscar to just keep riding home with Pedro in the same taxi instead of ordering a different car to take him back to his and Elvira’s flat in the next neighboring borough, a full 30 minutes away. On this particular night, fingers secretly intertwined underneath the car’s middle armrest, they rode in silence the whole way, often stealing quick sweet glances. Once safely inside Pedro’s entryway, they would hurriedly strip to just their tees and boxers, eager to land on the couch and flip through the tv channels all night, lazily exchanging long kisses and slow, satisfying scratches across their backs.

Early next morning, Oscar was getting dressed in a hurry, saying something about how it was his turn for dinner prep tonight now that he was home from the tour. Pedro insisted on walking him down to the ground level, “Just for a quick goodbye,” he’d begged longingly, watching Oscar fumble with the laces on his sneakers with a little flutter in his chest.

Oscar had agreed with a smile after a little more pestering, saying, “Okay, okay, sí amor.” They walked hand in hand to the elevator, in which they then stood completely apart from each other. But once the doors slid open and they reached the end of the outside hallway leading to the street, temptation welcomed them yet again. Pedro hovered maybe a little too close to Oscar, pinky finger reaching down to graze the inside palm of Oscar’s hand. Oscar leaned right back in ever so slightly, their gazes becoming level. They breathed long and slow, inches apart from one another, drinking in the August heat.

In Pedro’s mind, they were hidden by the apartment building’s tall fencing, the only thing separating them from the sidewalk and the bustle of the city outside. Even with the world waiting just steps away through the building exit, Pedro leaned in closer still, head still swimming drunkenly after having slept cradled in Oscar’s arms the night before. Oscar’s eyes switched rapidly from Pedro’s mouth to the green hedges lining the tops of the brick and metal fences closing them in on either side. He swore he sensed movement on the other side, but Pedro’s pull was so intoxicating, Oscar couldn’t stop himself from reaching down and intertwining their fingers, pulling them together.

Their lips met in the softest, sweetest goodbye kiss - slow and steady, Pedro’s facial hair tickling Oscar’s two-day old stubble. It was over as soon as it had started, but before Oscar had even had a chance to fully pull away, he’d heard the unmistakable sound of cameras shuttering off rapidly just on the other side of the fence.

Oscar, panicking, pushed Pedro off him using his free hand, fingers digging into Pedro’s speckled cotton shirt. Fingers still locked, Pedro was suddenly being dragged by Oscar back down the hallway to the elevator. All Pedro could manage to get out was a, “Were there - did we just?” In a stupid stutter.

“Give them a show? Yeah, we did,” Oscar was frantically pushing the elevator button, but it was too late. As the the doors groaned open for them again, a few men balancing huge cameras on their shoulders were filling the hallway, clamoring over one another and asking for their statements on the moment they’d just shared. Pedro protected Oscar with his arms and chest, making himself larger than Oscar who was now cowering into the corner of the elevator, face scrunching up as a wave of tears began. Pedro managed to block all the reporters out from entering the elevator car, and when the door finally came to a grinding close, he collapsed near Oscar, attempting earnestly to catch his breath.

The roar of the reporters chattering excitedly amongst themselves grew quieter and quieter as the car lifted them up back to Pedro’s floor. The two men stared at each other, eyes wide with the fright evident on their faces; Oscar, still bent into the corner of the car, wiped at the tears streaming down his cheek.

“Now we’ve done it,” he said sadly. Pedro, staring at his feet, didn’t say a thing.

When this started, they had agreed they would stay this way as long as they could, quietly growing fonder and fonder of each other in a way they hadn’t thought possible before. But now, their pact was shattering right before their very eyes, in front of the world, and they were scrambling to pick up the pieces.

-

That was yesterday, and today, Oscar still feels just as hopeless. Having snapped out of his memory and back to reality in his armchair, he groans and reaches up to grab his forehead, the ice in his whiskey rattling in his other hand.

At that moment, a door to his right opens, the light from the hallway casting a warm triangle over the living room and ending in the corner where he sits. He squints into the brightness and watches as his wife moves into the doorway, messing with her bright blonde hair that is shining from the ceiling light above. She turns behind her to close the door as she starts to descend the carpeted stairs, abruptly leaving the room in cool darkness again. She pads over to where Oscar has been sulking for the past hour, sinking down into the matching armchair across him.

“All done with bedtime,” she says quietly with a smile, adjusting the watch and bracelets on her left wrist. They glimmer slightly in the light bouncing from the window and Oscar’s phone. “They went down without a fight tonight but they did ask for you, both of them. They sent you goodnight kisses.”

Oscar winces. The knife has reappeared and is threatening to slide into his heart again. “I’m sorry. I know I should have put this all aside for a second to be there for them but I…I had to talk to Pedro.” He pauses to glance at her and is surprised to see her calm expression doesn’t change, listening intently. “I promise I’ll be up in the morning, first thing, I’ll be the one to wake them up for camp.”

“It’s okay,” she replies, and nodding, adds, “Yes, thank you, I can get going on coffee while you work on getting those little sleeping dragons up.”

Oscar chuckles and then quickly opens his mouth, air escaping as he tries to form a question. Words fail him and he just stares at her, at the loving, pitiful expression she is returning back, and he shakes his head slightly, lips still parted.

“How are you so okay with all of this?” He finally manages, lifting his hand from the glass and gesturing vaguely into the air. “You know? How have you not lost your complete shit at me once today, and still helped me with everything like it’s all fucking normal?” Oscar’s words are tumbling out faster and faster and his chest heaves a little. “How are you cool as a fucking cucumber after all you’ve heard about me today?”

She’s still smiling, her head nodding ever so slightly along with every word that shakes out of Oscar’s mouth. She picks at her bracelets and is quiet for a moment, then, looking away she says, “I always knew, I think.” She returns to look at him again as she says his name. “Oscar, I just always knew there was something there. Whether you two didn’t want to realize it, or admit it, that was your own thing.”

Oscar’s mouth goes dry very quickly. He thinks about chugging the rest of his drink, but she starts again before he can pick the glass back up fast enough.

“I have never for a second doubted that what we’ve had, the life we’ve made together, was real,” she says, looking away again as she turns her body toward the window, sinking lower into the armchair.  “I know you’re going to keep loving me and our babies through all this as you figure it out.” She takes a big breath. “And I know I’ll still love you through this too and after, no matter how it ends up. But part of me was just…waiting for this to come out. It was undeniable, at least to me.” She steals a glance at Oscar, whose eyes have glossed over, fingers at his lips. “Don’t you-” she tries, “Don’t you remember that Spanish article a few years back, after Pedro made that instagram post?”

“The Univisión one,” Oscar mutters into his hand, remembering that article clearly as if it had been one of the ones shared today, instead of two years ago. The headline flashes behind his eyes. Pedro Pascal ha dicho que Oscar Isaac es el amor de su vida: su amistad esconde muchos secretos. “Pedro Pascal has said that Oscar Isaac is the love of his life: their friendship hides many secrets.”

“I told him not to post that,” he recalls, laughing with a slight shake of his shoulders. “We were giddy at my movie premiere. We were having so much fun. He showed me what he typed and I thought he was kidding. This whole thing, we were supposed to be playing around. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“I remember that night too. You were having fun,” she says, and as Oscar looks up at her he can detect a hint of sadness in her tone this time. “But I don’t think you’ve ever been pretending with him.”

Oscar’s breath stutters - that one hurt; and yet, in the back of his mind, there’s the lingering thought she might be right. The knife reappears yet again with a threatening burn against his chest. He tries to catch his breath and offer something up but before he can do so, Elvira stands.

“I’m going to start heading to bed,” she announces, slipping her shoes back on and taking a few steps towards Oscar. She places a firm hand on his knee as she lowers herself to him. “I…if you need me at all, if I can help somehow, please just ask.” She plants a calculated kiss on his cheek, and he closes his eyes; the knife finally twisting into his chest and bursting into flames. “Please, just tell me, whatever you need. You don’t have to fight through this alone.” And then she stands back up and is walking away, disappearing into the dark room and leaving the air still again.

Oscar, chest on fire and breathing quickly, wipes the tears at the corners of his eyes. He grabs for his phone without looking and tries to search for another contact, squinting at the blurry screen. He clicks a name with a star, “Lucía, Agent.”

The line rings once before she picks up with a quick hi, knowing to pause and let him speak. She already knows what he’s going to say.

It tumbles out, “Lucía. Hi. I- We. We - we made a mess. I need your help…sorting this out,” and that’s all he can say before the smoke rises up in his chest and catches in his throat, unable to breathe.

#my writing #here we go again! #pedro x oscar #oscar x pedro #oscar isaac fic #pedro pascal fic #sweet girlfriends #space sisters #the fire we started #real person fiction #rpf #pedro/oscar #oscar/pedro #pedro pascal/oscar isaac #Oscar Isaac #be nice thank u

[jan-joki]

So basically the major question that I would have is what are your do's and dont's? I'm sure you have your personal kinks that you like but do you do m/m, f/f, futa, stuff like that. Perhaps you can do a muse page for the fetishes, characters, and fandoms you prefer to do and which ones you won't do at all.

I had a few story ideas if you don't mind. Smut is optional if you want to take a break from the NSFW stuff.

1- Ozpin realizes early on that RWBY and JNPR are just one large team and fuses them together as Team RRJNNBYW or Team Rainbow "based on RWBY and JNPR reacts to Red vs Blue by Curelean Lancer" So the mega team is cramed into one room with Ruby as captian and Jaune as co-captain. Needless to say they would have drama right off the back. Between Ruby and Jaune, Weiss whining about not being leader trying to make friends with Pyrrha, Blake and Ren trying to deal with six roudy roommates and everyone developing feelings for the idiotic blonde.

2-Sienna Khan goes to Vale to check on Adam, only to be double-crossed and have her ship explode, leaving her in the care of a certain Blonde huntsman.... not Jaune. Taiyang! Finding the tiger washed up on the beach he nurses the woman back to health and teaches her not all humans are assholes. (Just the rich ones) Plus I got a badass shipname for this, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon!

3- Kind of a weird one but some character (Jaune, Oscar, Cardin, etc) kicks the can and Ozpin realizes that he has a free body to do Frankenstein magic with. So he turns the Idiot into a slime. Figuring that the new creature would multiply and become his Mook the throw at Salem and fight Grimm when Huntsmen get low. However neither of them know just how strong the slime can be, while he figured that creating a slime that eats road kill and rotten fruit would be easy to handle, he failed to realize how a creature with human memories that can multiply exponentially and have aura would be a problem.

Anyway from I read so far you do a good job writing if just very infrequently, but I get it everyone has a life. I look forward to see what you come up with next.

I don't do m/m unless one side is total dom, and I'm not going to write a f/f story either.

And thank you for suggesting the muse list, I'll get that set up in a minute. And thanks again for your story suggestions, I'll see if I can write them some time, maybe I'll post them on fanfiction too but again I'm not sure.

[heich0e]

a matter of convenience

➭ “The weekend you planned your long-anticipated move into your new apartment, your university town is being hit with the worst heat wave it's seen in thirty years.

And of course, your A/C is broken.

Fortunately, the convenience store across the street has cold A/C and even colder slushies to get you through the heat.

The boy behind the counter is just a bonus.”

☾ pairing: jean kirschtein x reader ☾ fandom: attack on titan ☾ genre: convenience store au, romcom, smut, strangers to lovers ☾ wordcount: 15.6k

[crossposted from AO3]

** warnings: slowburn(ish), annoyingly flirtatious banter, frat party hookup, fingerfucking, customer service to lovers, jean wearing a uniform vest

It almost surprises you how neatly your entire life’s possessions fit into boxes.

The totality of your childhood bedroom, admittedly forgoing your rather impressive collection of stuffed animals, fits more or less into 12 boxes - along with a couple of suitcases that you use to transport your clothes, and your backpack stuffed to the brim with notebooks, your laptop, and a lonely pair of socks you forgot to put in with the rest of your apparel.

The heaviest boxes are those containing your plentiful collection of books: a mix of well-loved and re-read novels, and the textbooks you accumulated in your first year of university. The lightest box is the one you’d packed last, stuffing odds and ends into that you’d forgotten to put into other boxes - including a last minute addition of your favourite stuffed teddy bear from childhood, named Oscar, who you couldn’t bear to leave behind (no pun intended.)

All in all, it only takes the movers you hired around 45 minutes to unpack the contents of the small box truck and lug it up to your new apartment: a quaint two-bedroom on the third floor of a building not too far from your university’s campus. You thank them when they leave, offering them each a cold bottle of sports drink you’d made a point of setting aside in the fridge before they arrived - they accept both the beverages and your words of thanks gratefully.

After only an hour, the move that you’ve been anticipating for the better part of the summer is finally over.

You’re then left with the challenge of unpacking.

The apartment is already mostly furnished by your new roommate, Sasha, who has been living there for a year already. When her previous roommate moved out at the end of the school year prior, she’d made a post on your university’s Facebook group advertising a room for rent. Though you didn’t know her particularly well, you were coming off a year of living with a terrible roommate in a cramped dorm room with abysmal campus food, and jumped at the prospect of better living conditions.

You met for coffee one afternoon before the semester ended late in the spring, toured the apartment quickly, and had already made plans to move in at the end of the summer by the time you’d made it back to your residence.

Sasha seemed nice enough: outgoing, relaxed, and with a serious appetite judging by how quickly she scarfed down not one but two pieces of cake in the cafe where you met up just down the road from the apartment. You’d only exchanged a few texts in the weeks leading up to your move-in, to coordinate getting a set of keys and various other logistical details, but she seemed nice - leagues better than your last roommate - and you were looking forward to getting to know her better.

The move went as smoothly as it possibly could; the boxes were packed ahead of time; the movers were highly rated, punctual, and professional; and everything was neatly labelled so that when it came time to start unpacking it would be easy to do. You're a notorious planner, so you’d accounted for every possible misstep and planned contingencies in the case they occurred.

One thing you hadn’t planned for, however, was the heat.

It made sense that the one singular thing that you had absolutely no control over would be the thing to go wrong; the weekend you planned your move, your university town was being hit with the worst heat wave it had seen in thirty years.

And of course, your A/C is broken.

“The landlord said he’ll send someone over to look at it on Monday,” Sasha says, sweeping a hand across her perspiring brow as she stands near the front door.

The movers had just left, your furniture and boxes all piled high in your new bedroom, and Sasha was just about to head to work for the day - having informed you on first meeting that she works part-time through the summer at a bakery a few blocks away with her boyfriend, Niccolo.

It’s only Friday, which means you’ll have to suffer through another excruciating four days of heat before you have any hope of reprieve.

“How nice of him to come fix it after the worst of the heatwave has passed,” you grumble to yourself, pulling the material of your t-shirt away from the sticky skin of your abdomen.

Sasha laughs a little at your bitter response. “The bakery has A/C - you should come by later if you need to cool off!” she says with a smile, which you endeavour to reciprocate in spite of your disgruntlement. With a final wave of her hand she ducks out the door, leaving you to the heat and your boxes.

You pad across the apartment, back into your bedroom, tugging your shirt off as you go.

It’s simply too hot for clothes.

You survey the boxes around the room warily, and with a long world-weary sigh you set to work unpacking.

Twelve boxes had been easy enough to move, but were a hell of a lot harder to unpack when the air felt as thick as concrete.

You make good progress throughout the day, and when four of the twelve boxes have been completely unpacked you take a much needed break to chug the last sports drink in the fridge and sit on your new balcony to cool off.

You’d stripped down to the absolute barest amount of clothes human-decency allowed while you worked: a simple pair of athletic shorts and a sports bra. But it still feels like too much fabric given the oppressive heat hanging in the air.

You watch the people passing by in the streets below from your seat on your apartment’s balcony, scraping your bare toes across the concrete beneath your feet - even in the covered shade the ground is still hot to the touch.

As you sit out in the practically non-existent afternoon breeze, you find your attention particularly focused on the people entering and exiting the little convenience store on the corner across the street. You watch as people duck into the sliding doors of the store, emerging minutes later with plastic bags dangling from their hands. Some people emerge with popsicles, others with cold drinks - most seeming to turn to the convenience store to help them survive the veritable hellscape that wasn’t set to pass for at least another few days.

You make a note to run over to the shop yourself and grab some more drinks before the day is over, knowing you’ve completely depleted your stock.

You don’t linger long outside, realizing that thanks to the stagnant air there’s little difference in temperature between your bedroom and your balcony, heading back inside to return to the task of unpacking.

The fifth box you begin unloading is full of books - you take your time slotting your collection of titles neatly into the bookshelf you’ve set up beside your desk, organizing them alphabetically by author’s last name.

You’re halfway through authors whose names begin with the letter N when your phone starts ringing. You look around your new bedroom from your place on the floor - sitting cross legged among short stacks of books still waiting to be shelved - spotting your cellphone on the other side of the room on the edge of your bedside table.

You nearly trip over a pile of books (authors with last names beginning with R) in your haste to retrieve the device.

“Hello?” you ask, a little winded, when you finally manage to answer the call.

“Hey!” Sasha’s voice greets you from the other end of the phone. Her tone is chipper but subdued, and you distantly wonder if she’s making the call in secret while she’s still on-the-job. “My friend Connie left his phone charger at the apartment the other day, do you mind if he swings by to grab it?”

“Of course, I’m just unpacking. He can come by whenever!” You nod your head, though you realize a moment later she can’t see you.

“Okay!” Sasha chirps happily. “Oh! He has his own key, also - I probably should have told you that before you moved in.”

You pause, unsure of how you feel about some stranger having a key to your apartment, but if Sasha has already entrusted it to him you suppose you don’t have much ground to complain.

“Okay cool, that’s fine. I’ll just be in my room.”

You hear someone call Sasha’s name irritatedly in the background of her side of the call and she squeaks out a parting before the line clicks dead - you laugh lightly as you look down at the Call Ended screen on your phone.

Since you’re already up, you take it as an opportunity to pad out to the kitchen and get yourself a glass of water. As you let the tap fill up the glass in your hand, you note again that you really need to run to the convenience store to get more drinks. You take a long gulp of your disappointingly tepid water as you shuffle over to the living room.

You set your glass of water onto a coaster and flop down onto the couch - turning your head to watch a bead of condensation roll down the side of your glass and pool on the coffee table below.

Everything feels heavy as you lay reclined on the surprisingly comfy sofa: the air, your limbs, your eyelids.

Your eyes flutter closed for a moment, and before you know it you’ve fallen asleep.

When they open again, there’s a stranger’s concerned face hovering over you.

“Ah!”

“AHHH!”

The stranger echoes your own shout of surprise as you roll off the couch onto the floor, your hip colliding painfully with the blunt edge of the coffee table.

You scramble up to your feet and find yourself face-to-face with a guy around your age with his hair cropped close to his head in a buzz cut.

His tongue is purple as he yells: “I’m sorry! I thought you died!”

“I was sleeping!” you yell back, “who the hell are you?”

“I’m Connie! Sasha told me she’d tell you I was coming over, I’m so sorry!” he apologizes profusely once more, his hand raised in what you can only assume is a stance intended to make him look as unintimidating as possible.

You blink, remembering your phone call with Sasha earlier in the day. Your mind is hazy from the heat and the sleep and the fright you’d just experienced, but you recall it after a moment.

“Oh, right. She did tell me you were coming over. Sorry, I must have dozed off,” you say, relaxing slightly and feeling the tension in your shoulders dissipate.

Connie mirrors this deflation, head drooping a little in relief. He shoots you an easy smile. “It’s hot as hell in here, I don’t blame you. Sasha wasn’t kidding when she said your air-con was busted!”

At the mention of the heat, it seems that you suddenly both become aware of how underdressed you are - you both look away, your arms crossing over your barely-covered chest.

You only look back at him when you hear slurping sounds from across from you.

“Is that a slushie?” you ask curiously, noticing the drink in his hands that you must have missed in all the excitement.

“Uh, yeah. I just got it from the convenience store across the street,” Connie says, holding it up a little for you to see.

“Huh, nice.” You can’t remember the last time you had a slushie - it had to be a good couple of years - maybe even since you were a kid.

“Well, it was nice to meet ya! Sorry again for the scare!” Connie waves from the door, the charger that he’d come to retrieve clutched in his hand that wasn’t holding his drink.

You laugh a little, pushing your hair back from your face. “No worries.”

After your unexpected visitor leaves, you go back to unpacking - but you can’t seem to tear your thoughts away from the slushie Connie had been sipping. After a while of lusting after an icy beverage of your own, you push yourself up from your seat on the floor - resolved to do something about it.

You take a brief, delightfully cold, shower and then throw on a flimsy sundress and a pair of sneakers.

You head out with your new set of keys in hand.

The A/C in the convenience store is so strong that you shudder when the sliding doors shut behind you, the perspiration on your skin cooling quickly under the burst of unexpectedly (but very welcome) cold air.

You head right to the fridges along one side of the store, grabbing a few more bottles of brightly coloured sports drink and some green tea, and then you continue towards the slushie machines lining the walls on the opposite side of the store.

There are four flavours for you to choose from: grape, cherry, blue raspberry and orange. You fill the largest size cup available with blue raspberry, watching as the icy blue slush pools in the waiting cup below the dispenser.

One the drink has been filled and you've popped on a domed plastic lid, you tote your purchases over to the checkout counter, and get in line behind an old man who seems to be arguing with the shop attendant over lottery tickets. You try to ignore it, but can’t quite tune it out as you wait only a few paces behind the scene.

The drinks in your arms are cold as you hug them to your chest, and you wish you’d grabbed a basket as you squirm against the chill seeping through the thin cotton of your dress. You should have put a bra on before leaving your apartment - but the very notion of putting one on fresh out of the shower had sounded so torturous you simply couldn't bring yourself to do it.

Eventually the cranky customer ahead of you in line shuffles out the door - tickets in his hand and muttering under his breath about the injustice of lottery odds.

“Sorry about that,” the young man behind the counter sighs when you finally step up.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” you laugh lightly, dropping your purchases onto the surface in front of you but keeping your slushie in hand.

He begins scanning your items, tawny eyes flickering up to you as you take a sip of your drink.

“It’s pretty gross out there today, huh?” he asks, making polite small talk.

“Absolutely disgusting,” you agree, chewing on the end of your straw as you glance out through the windows lining the front of the shop. “I just moved into an apartment across the street and our air-con is broken.”

“Brutal,” he winces sympathetically.

You sigh with a nod. “It is, so I’m grateful for an excuse to hang out in the cold - even if it means seeing you get bullied by a pensioner.”

“Well, Mr. Tompkins comes in every afternoon around this time if you’re hoping to catch a repeat viewing,” the young man quips, and you laugh lightly.

Your eyes scan the front of his blue vest where his name tag is pinned. Jean.

“I might take you up on that,” you say, eyes flickering back up to his, “at least until Monday when the A/C is fixed.”

He smiles, reading you off your order total. Your brow furrows in confusion.

“I think you forgot this,” you say holding the slushie up, the total too low to have included it.

He shakes his head, smirking a little. “Don’t worry about it - consider it a house warming gift.”

“My house is already pretty warm,” you reply dryly, handing him over some cash.

“Fine, consider it a gesture of goodwill to help prevent you from getting heat stroke.” Jean drops the cash into the drawer of the register before handing you your purchases in a plastic bag.

“What a good samaritan,” you snort, before softening appreciatively. “Thank you. You might have just earned yourself a return customer.”

He grins, a brow quirked curiously. “So, see you tomorrow around the same time?”

“If I don’t die of heat exhaustion,” you muse, holding up a finger in warning, “and I’m paying for my slushie tomorrow.”

“If you say so.”

///

You don’t pay for your slushie the next day.

Or the day after that.

You do however get a rather spectacular viewing of an argument between Mr. Tompkins and Jean over the price of a carton of milk while you sipped an orange slushie - Mr. Tompkins having some choice words about the effects of price inflation - and then another about how Mr. Tompkins swore there was usually a senior discount at the convenience store, and Jean assured him that there never had been and never would be one.

You fall into this routine: you show up, pour yourself a large slushie from the self serve dispensers lining the far wall of the store, stand behind Mr. Tompkins as he argues with Jean for anywhere from 5 to 10 minutes, and then you step up to bicker about whether or not you should pay for your beverage. Jean always wins.

It’s pretty dead in the store that Sunday, just an old lady browsing the aisles, so you don’t feel bad about staying and chatting for a while after you pay for your bag of pretzels and two bottles of tea - and once again lose the argument about paying for your sweet, frosty drink.

“Does Mr. Tompkins really come in and pick a fight with you every day?” you ask, leaning against the counter as you sip on your slushie. You had chosen cherry that day.

“Hasn’t missed a day that I can remember since I started working here Freshman year,” Jean nods, eyes flickering over your face as you swirl the straw through your drink.

“Oh, are you in uni?” you ask curiously, looking up and catching his eyes on you.

“Yeah, going into senior year,” he nods, looking away. His cheeks go a little pink.

It’s cute.

“You?”

“Yeah, going into second year,” you reply. There’s only one university in your town so it isn’t hard to guess that you go to the same one. “What are you taking?”

“Business,” he replies, scratching absentmindedly at his ear.

“Capitalism is a plague,” you sniff indignantly.

“Capitalism gave you that slushie,” Jean reminds you pointedly, a smirk tugging the corner of his lip upwards.

“You didn’t charge me for it, so technically this is a radical act of anti-capitalist rebellion,” you reply.

“The slushie cost 2.99 - it’s not like you assassinated Jeff Bezos.”

You stick your red-stained tongue out at him.

He laughs.

“So what are you taking?” Jean asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Dietetics,” you say, smiling.

“You consume a lot of sugary drinks for someone studying nutrition,” Jean snorts.

“And you sure give away a lot of those sugary drinks for someone studying a free market based on the exchange of goods and services for profit,” you bite back.

“I only give them away to you,” he says with a light chuckle.

You blink, processing the admission. You seem to realize at the same time exactly what he’s said and the both of you look away, suddenly unable to meet the other’s gaze

“I can’t believe classes start up again in two weeks,” Jean complains, swiftly changing the subject as he raises his arms over his head in a stretch. Your eyes catch on the way that the white t-shirt under his convenience store vest rides up, revealing a patch of skin at the bottom of his abdomen. You tear your eyes away once more, taking a long sip of your icy drink to douse the heat you feel kindling in the pit of your stomach.

The little old lady who’d been browsing leisurely around the store chooses that moment to shuffle up to the counter.

“Hi Jeannie,” she coos as she begins slowly unloading her purchases onto the counter from the basket in her hands.

“Hi Mrs. Jones, how are you doing today?” Jean asks, smiling warmly at her over the counter.

“Oh, same as always,” the elderly woman croons with a chuckle. “Roger sent me out to pick up some bits and bobs - I think he was just trying to get me outta the house again.”

“I’m sure Mr. Jones wouldn’t do that - not to as sweet of a wife as you,” Jean chirps, exuding a sort of effortless charm as he interacts with the woman - clearly a regular customer.

You smile as you watch the exchange, stepping back towards the exit. You pause, waiting for him to glance up at you. When his eyes flicker up to meet yours, you raise your hand and wave, which he reciprocates while ringing Mrs. Jones’ purchases through. She’s still prattling on as you slip through the sliding door back into the heat outside.

Jean does seem like the type old ladies would fawn over.

You’re still smiling as you make your way back into your apartment, hardly even noticing the sweltering heat anymore as you shuffle through the door.

You leave your convenience store bag on the kitchen counter and cross the room towards the balcony to crack open the door and let a bit of breeze in - not that there’s much reprieve in doing so, the air outside is just as hot as the air in your home.

You pause in the doorway, peering across the street towards the convenience store as your thoughts flitter back to the boy behind the counter.

At that exact moment, the doors to the store slide open and Mrs. Jones dawdles out with a plastic bag in her hand. You watch as she gets a few paces away before the door slides open again, Jean darting out after her with another bag in his grip, his blue vest flapping behind him .

They exchange a few words, Jean handing the plastic shopping bag to her which she takes gratefully - clearly she’d forgotten it in the store and he’d rushed out to return it to her. You watch as the elderly woman reaches up to pat Jean’s cheeks appreciatively, he has to dip down so she can reach him.

You catch yourself smiling to yourself as the two part ways, ducking back into your apartment out of sight.

You swear the red slushie tastes even sweeter after that.

///

Jean isn’t working the next day when you go into the convenience store, and you can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Mr. Tompkins is there though - and he spars with the man behind the counter about how sales tax is a scam for a good nine minutes before the clerk shoos him out of the store.

You pay $2.99 for your slushie. You got grape that day.

Connie is at your apartment when you return home, sprawled across the sofa like he lives there - which you’re beginning to think he might as well.

“Hey, new roomie! Good to see you’re still kickin’!”

“Barely,” you laugh as Sasha shuffles out from the kitchen. “Still no A/C?” you ask turning to her, misery heavy in your tone. Your maintenance man had been working on the cooling unit for the better part of the afternoon before you went for your daily visit to the convenience store, but now he was nowhere to be seen and your home was still unbearably warm.

“The guy said they have to order a part but that it should be here by Wednesday,” she says, equally downtrodden, and both of you share a sort of commiserating look.

You’re in this hell together, after all.

“You guys have plans for the night?” you ask, dropping your tote bag on one of the stools at the island in the kitchen, unpacking your drinks onto the counter.

“We’re going to see a movie with some friends! Wanna come?” Sasha asks.

“What movie?” you inquire, yanking on the handle to the fridge and luxuriating in the cool air that spills from inside.

“The new zombie one! 'Redemption of the Undead - Part Five’!” Connie says excitedly, popping up over the back of the sofa to grin wildly at you.

You wince - you’ve always been a bit of a baby when it comes to scary movies.

“I’m not much of a horror gal - real life is scary enough,” you say, shaking your head a little.

“Awwww come on! You can meet the rest of the gang!” Sasha says, “plus you can get in on our bet to see how long it takes before Ymir and Historia start sucking face!”

“Who?” you ask, confused as you don’t recognize the names.

“Our two friends! They’re… y’know…” Connie flips his wrist.

“Ah,” you say, nodding in understanding. “Well, as fun as that sounds, I’m still pretty wiped from the move. I’ll probably just stay home and get a good night’s sleep.”

Connie and Sasha nod, not pushing the offer, and you shuffle off towards your room as the two of them fall back into conversation.

You pause in your doorway, grape slushie in hand, debating whether or not to ask Sasha and Connie if they know anything about Convenience Store Jean, before thinking better of it.

Yeah, you may all go to the same school, but you hadn’t met either of them before you moved in, so it stands to reason that they probably don’t know him either. You shake your head a little to yourself, slipping into your room for another quiet night, languishing in the heat.

///

As the start of classes draws ever nearer, your friends from school start to come back to town.

A few days after moving into your own apartment, you spend the day with your friend Hitch - who you’d become fast friends with the year prior after suffering through an introductory level biology class together - helping her move into her own (thankfully air-conditioned) apartment.

The two of you are standing in Hitch’s new kitchen, unpacking a very Hitch-appropriate set of pink dishes into her empty cupboards, while you listen to her recount her various summer sexploits in painstaking detail.

She’d just finished telling a particularly spicy story about a lifeguard who worked at a beach near her family home, who had been all too happy to give her a bit of mouth to mouth, when you put the last pink bowl onto it’s new shelf and close the cabinet door.

You turn to her, an eyebrow raised. “So, what about Marlowe?”

You watch as Hitch freezes, a mug dotted with a pastel flower design in her hand, unwilling to meet your gaze. She immediately gets cagey at the mention of the boy, spluttering out something evasive and non-committal. The two of them had been partnered up the year prior for a group project in one of their classes, and had remained friends even in spite of their drastic differences in personality. You strongly suspect there are some unspoken feelings between the two of them that neither of them have yet had the courage to act on.

You smile a little to yourself but don’t press it when she clearly side-steps the subject.

“So, what about you? Any juicy boy news?” Hitch asks, nudging a drawer closed with her hip after half-assedly dumping her silverware into it. You bite back a comment about her terrible system of organization, mulling instead over her words.

“Not really,” you trail off, nibbling on the edge of your lip as you fiddle with a spatula in your hands.

Hitch catches the ambivalence in your words right away. Like a hunter stalking its prey, she pounces on the moment of exposed vulnerability without any hesitation.

She sidles up alongside you, leaning close to your face, her bright eyes sharp and prying.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” she purrs, pressing the tip of her pointer finger to the crease that had formed in your brow, her nose practically touching yours.

“Okay, okay!” you bat her hand off your face, sliding away from her to put a bit of space between your bodies. “There’s this guy… who works at the convenience store across from my new place.”

“The convenience store?” she asks flatly, clearly unimpressed with the decidedly unsexy profession.

“Yeah, he’s really… nice.”

“Nice?” she parrots back monotonously.

“Yeah he always chats with me.” You continue to chew on the edge of your lip as you think about Jean and the strange relationship the two of you have cultivated over the past week or so.

“Honey, I hate to break it to you but that’s called customer service,” Hitch says, her tone gentle as though softening a blow.

You roll your eyes and throw a nearby roll of paper towel at her. It hits her head dully and bounces off, making her squeal. You can only laugh in response.

“Is he hot?” Hitch finally asks, having grappled a second roll of paper towels out of your hand after she saw you reaching for another.

“Extremely,” you sigh, though you sound a little miserable as you say it. It’s undeniably true, and has caused you more than a little bit of agony over the past few days.

“Well, then all hope is not yet lost.”

The two of you continue unpacking for the better part of the afternoon, though you do take a break to order some food through a delivery app. You sit together on her kitchen floor eating and gossiping about your friends and classmates that you’d been keeping up with over the summer as the afternoon sun sinks lower on the horizon outside her windows.

You get a text from Sasha late in the afternoon when the sun has almost completely disappeared from view in the sky, asking if you want to join her and her friends at a frat party that night. She knows you’re hanging out with Hitch, and tells you to invite your friend along too if she wants to come.

You’re not really a fan of frat parties, having very quickly come to that conclusion in your freshman year, but you know that it’s probably not going to be too crazy seeing as not everyone is back on campus yet. You mull it over for a moment after receiving the invitation, before eventually extending the offer to Hitch.

“What frat is it?” Hitch asks curiously as she unpacks a box of blu-rays on her living room floor.

“Uh, Alpha Omicron Tau?” you reply uncertainly, scrolling back in your conversation with Sasha just to confirm.

“Annie’s boyfriend’s best friend is in AOT - you know, Eren?”

Annie was Hitch’s roommate freshman year, and though the two of them had been an absolute nightmare to deal with for the first few months of living together, they ended up unlikely friends. You eventually formed a friendship with Annie as well, by proxy thanks to Hitch, and you had also met her boyfriend Armin - whose smiley personality and gentle demeanour is as shockingly different to Annie’s as you could have possibly imagined.

“Oh, the one who looks like he hates the world?” You have a vague recollection of a surly guy you’d met through Armin the year prior. He was a little unpleasant to be around, but his quiet dark-haired girlfriend seemed to be cool.

“That’s the one,” Hitch snorts.

Hitch eventually agrees to the party - deciding that the two of you deserve an evening to let loose after all of the hard work you’d put in that day. You don’t point out that you spent the majority of the afternoon laying on her floor watching TikToks together, and that the better part of her belongings are still in boxes.

The two of you spend the rest of the evening getting ready - you borrow some clothes from Hitch to avoid making a trip back to your apartment - and you split a few bottles of wine between the two of you before taking an Uber to the party.

It’s busier than you would have thought as the two of you approach the house on Greek Row - the street just off campus where all of the frat and sorority houses were situated. The music pulses loudly into the hot summer night, and there are plenty of people lingering outside the entrance to the house as you make your way in.

“Let’s find Sasha so I can introduce you!” you say, raising your voice a little to be heard over the music, tugging Hitch along behind you through the crowd.

After a bit of searching, you find Sasha, her boyfriend Niccolo, and Connie all seated around a red cup covered coffee table with two other girls.

“Hey new roomie!” Connie cheers at your arrival - still having yet to drop the nickname. You notice he's wearing a shirt with the frat's insignia on it - clearly Sasha's connection to the party in the first place. “Glad you made it!”

You smile, tugging Hitch up alongside you.

“This is my friend Hitch!” you say, making their introduction. Everyone greets her warmly.

“These are our friends Ymir and Historia!” Sasha says, pointing out the two other girls who were joining them - a dark haired girl with sharp eyes and freckles dotting across her cheeks, and a petite blonde perched atop her lap with her arms circled protectively around her thin waist.

“Nice to meet you guys!” the blonde, who you’re pretty sure is Historia, says to you both warmly.

You catch Connie flicking his wrist in your direction from behind them, in what was probably the most pitiful attempt at covertness you’d ever witnessed. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him and instead smile at them, returning the girl’s sentiment.

From the corner of your eye you see two other figures approach the group and Connie breaks into a grin.

“And here are a couple of my brothers!”

You turn and have to keep your jaw from falling open in shock.

“I see the resemblance,” Hitch teases, earning a bit of a laugh from everyone gathered.

Two other boys had approached the group both also sporting frat shirts - one with short dark hair and freckles on his cheeks, smiling warmly at the two of you.

And the other is Jean.

The two of you blink at each other for a moment like some sort of standoff, totally unaware of the conversation continuing around you. After a moment you both smile, laughing a little.

What are the odds?

As the group is chatting, you and Jean find yourselves standing off a little to the side next to one another. He crosses his arms over his chest, fiddling with the red cup in his hand.

“Hi,” he says quietly, keeping his voice low as to not be overheard by the rest of your friends. He smiles down at you from behind the brim of his cup, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Hi,” you repeat his own word in reply, feeling the telltale warmth of a blush sting your cheeks. Your eyes flicker over to him, trailing to the t-shirt that covers his broad chest. “Weird seeing you without the vest.”

“Weird seeing you without a stained tongue,” he quips back dryly.

You stick your aforementioned tongue out in response, which earns you a laugh from him.

“So you’re Sasha’s new roommate, huh?” Jean asks, absentmindedly ruffling the hair at the nape of his neck. “Small world.”

You hum in agreement.

Sasha says something, evidently recounting the harrowing tale of your broken A/C unit to the group at large, pulling you back into the conversation to share in the woeful retelling.

You like Sasha’s friends. They’re nice, and funny. Connie, having evidently had quite a bit to drink that evening, is even more boisterous than usual and his relationship with the other members of his frat is fun to watch.

You gather more information about the boys of AOT as the evening progresses: a big blonde guy named Reiner is the frat chapter president, and you catch sight of him with his righthand man Bertolt - vice president, and very possibly the tallest guy you’ve ever seen in your life - on and off over the course of the party. You also find out that Connie, Marco, Jean, and Eren (who you haven’t yet seen but are sure is also in attendance) all pledged together first year. They’re a rather mismatched group, but you can’t help but notice that they all seem to complement each other well.

Reiner and Bertolt approach your group later in the evening, giving you and Hitch the chance to be properly introduced, however briefly. Marco is quickly called away to help Bertolt with some drunk guy stuck on the roof again - to which you had, rather incredulously, muttered ‘again?' only to find out that it was a semi-regular occurrence at the frat house’s infamous parties. You choose not to pry into it any more than that.

As Marco, Reiner and Bertolt begin to shuffle away, Reiner looks back over his shoulder towards Jean.

“Make sure to show our guests where the drinks are!” he calls to the boy beside you, who nods dutifully.

As Jean offers to lead you and Hitch through the party to where the drinks are found, Connie pops up and opts to tag along as well - and as you cross the crowded house, he and Hitch fall eagerly into a conversation about third-wheeling because Connie didn’t want to be stuck alone with the two duos of Niccolo and Sasha, and Ymir and Historia.

The four of you step into the busy kitchen and make your way to a counter covered in bottles of practically every type of liquor imaginable, all while Connie and Hitch are still loudly complaining about the indignity of being forced to spend time with people in love.

Connie had just made some comment about how annoying it is listening to people talk about how much they like someone when Hitch nods eagerly in agreement, a finger reaching out to point at you accusatorially.

“Tell me about it! She’s got a big crush on some guy who works at a convenience store, and I had to listen to her talk about it alllll afternoon!”

Your eyes widen immediately at the comment. First of all, because she’d been the one to pry the conversation out of you in the first place, and secondly because that “some guy” happened to be standing only a few feet away. You find yourself grateful that Connie seems to be too drunk to put the pieces together, and Jean doesn’t seem to have heard the comment at all.

“Hitch!” you hiss at your friend through your teeth, reaching out and clutching her arm tightly - willing her to sense the ‘shut the actual fuck up’ vibes you were sending in her direction.

“Yeah, yeah I know: he’s cute or whatever!” Hitch says dismissively, shaking her arm out of your grasp. You don’t dare to cast another glance towards Jean, who you know must have been close enough to hear that comment.

Connie snorts, jutting his thumb out towards Jean. “Yeah well he’s obsessed with some hot girl who keeps coming to his work to buy slushies!”

Both you and Jean freeze.

A few things happen then in rapid succession: Hitch sees Annie across the party and runs off to greet her; Connie gets distracted by people doing keg stands and forces his way over to participate - yelling something about how he doesn’t want anyone to beat his record; and finally, Jean’s large hand circles your wrist easily - tugging you towards the doorway.

He guides you along behind him through the halls of the crowded frat house, pausing every so often to glance back and make sure you’re okay, make sure you’re still there, make sure you’re still real - you aren’t really sure. Eventually the more crowded space of the main living area turns into a labyrinthine series of dimly lit and sparsely occupied halls, and soon you find yourself being pulled into a room with the door shut behind you.

Your pulse is pounding distantly in your mind as you survey the room, like the music playing somewhere far away in the house, only the dull thrum of bass meeting you so far from its source. You’re in a bedroom, you realize that much quickly - with two beds pushed on either side of the room, one made and one unmade. There are various trinkets you’d expect to see in a bedroom - textbooks, pictures and posters on the wall. There’s a shirt crumpled in a heap on the floor and a backpack hanging from one of the chairs pushed under one of the twin desks set side by side along one wall. You know Jean shares a room with Marco, and it’s not hard to gather that this is where you presently found yourself.

“Did your friend mean it?” Jean asks after a moment of you looking around curiously. You peer over to see him standing almost comically far from you on the other side of the room.

“Mean what?” you ask him uncertainly, tilting your head slightly.

He shoots you an exasperated look, as though frustrated he has to spell it out for you.

“You know, that you… think I’m cute or whatever.” He suddenly seems exceedingly bashful - all of that confidence he’d had when he dragged you along behind him to his bedroom seeming to have abandoned him when he needed it most.

“Dunno,” you murmur, toeing idly at the dingy beige carpet underfoot, “when Connie was talking about the hot girl with the slushies… was that me?”

Jean sucks in a sharp little breath of air, looking away as he purses his lips thoughtfully.

“I mean, you were technically hot. We’re in a heat wave and your air-cond-“

You shoot him an unamused look, and he cuts himself off before he makes it any worse for himself.

Jean sighs.

“And what if he was? Talking about you, I mean.” He seems to muster up a bit of courage, holding you in his stare. “What if I told him about you? What then?”

He takes a hesitant step towards you, and then another - slowly gaining confidence until he has you practically pinned against the door.

A moment passes as you acclimate to the weight of his words and to the staticky hum in your ears at his sudden nearness. You’re not even sure if you’re capable of stringing together any coherent sequence of words, but you force something out anyway.

“Well, I guess I’d have no choice but to admit that you’re the cute convenience store guy.”

Jean breaks into a crooked grin above you.

Something flutters in the pit of your stomach at the sight - a flicker like a flame, only this time you don’t have a slushie in your hand to douse the kindling hazard.

“I mean, it’s not like I was talking about Mr. Tompkins,” you mutter, your lips pursing into a little pout.

“I sure hope not, because that would make this pretty awkward,” Jean sighs and before you have a chance to ask him what he means, he's dipping down to crash his mouth to yours.

You’re taken aback for a moment, hands flying to grasp the tops of his arms. You aren’t sure if you’re going to push him away or pull him closer, but one gentle brush of his fingers against your jaw makes up your mind for you as you melt into him instinctively. He cups your cheeks in his large hands, tilting your face up to meet his as your lips part against his own.

You know this is probably not a good idea. You know that you have a house full of your friends just a floor away, likely wondering where the two of you have disappeared to. But even knowing that, you kiss Jean like you have all the time in the world; moving at your own pace, savouring it like the weight of your hasty decision couldn’t rapidly creep up on you at any moment. You lean into it, you reach for it blindly, clinging to him like he’s the only thought you’ve ever had.

The way his lips mould to your own, alternating between parting and suckling; licking and biting; giving and yielding. You allow yourself to get lost in that, until the voice of reason in the back of your mind has be drowned out by the thrum of your own pulse.

You’ve had your fair share to drink that night, but you know that the way your head swims, the heat that pumps steadily in your veins and paints your skin in a flush that you can feel crawling up your neck, that’s all Jean’s doing.

“Fuck, hold on to me,” Jean mutters, finally pulling his lips from yours.

Two strong hands slide down your hips to your thighs, hiking them (and you by extension) up around his waist. He holds you up with one hand, the other bracing himself against the wall beside the door. Your own arms reach up to loop around his neck, your chest pressing flat against his from your newfound elevation.

You hold a little tighter to him than you had been a moment prior - instinctively seeking his mouth again with your own, chasing the warmth and the wetness. He laughs a bit at your eagerness, kissing you again, though this one is slightly more chaste.

You sigh as he moves to trail his lips along the line of your jaw, sliding eventually down to your throat. He leans down to mouth against your collarbone and you crane your head back, arching your spine to give him better access to the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. He places a kiss there, and then another, and another - tracing a warm line back up again where he finishes the sequence with a gentle suck to your pulse point.

You keen at the feeling, a whiny unintelligible sound peeling from the back of your throat. Your hips shift forward as your wrap your legs a little tighter around his waist, unconsciously seeking friction. In response, you feel Jean drag his teeth against the skin of your neck, biting down lightly as a groan rips through his own chest.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Jean mutters the words directly into your stinging skin, fervid and reverent. The hand he’d been using to support himself against the wall trails gently over the skin of your shoulder, sliding his fingers under the thin straps of the slinky dress you’d borrowed from Hitch for the evening.

“How long?” you gasp out, breathy and exhilarated.

Jean pauses, peering up at you through his long lashes as he flicks his tongue over a bite he’d just left against your clavicle. His long, lithe fingers continue their journey downward, tracing lightly over the visible peak of your nipple beneath the material of your dress.

“Since the day you walked into the store in that little sundress, the air-con so strong these were peeking through,” he pinches lightly at the bud he’d been idly tracing, earning a squeak from you. “Fuck you were gorgeous.”

“I was?” you ask breathlessly, and he nods.

“You are.”

You seek his mouth again, pressing your lips together to stifle the moan that he coaxes out of your throat as he grinds his hips up against yours. He pulls you away from the wall, your arms winding tighter around his neck as both of his own hands press against the curve of your ass. He carries you over to the bed, laying you down with a surprising degree of gentleness.

You stare up at him as you lay flat against the cushy surface of his mattress, chest rising and falling rapidly as your eyes trace the lines of his handsome face. His own eyes trail down your body, settling at the tops of your thighs where your dress has ridden up, exposing a peek of the panties you wear beneath.

“Can I?” Jean asks quietly, hooking his thumbs under the hem of your dress as he peers down at you. You nod eagerly, helping him tug the garment up over your head before tossing it somewhere onto the floor behind him.

His own t-shirt soon follows, revealing the muscular planes of his chest from underneath and the sparse line of hair that trails from his navel down below the waistband of his jeans.

That’s as far as the two of you get before you’re eagerly reconnecting your mouths, having gone too long without the feeling of his lips on yours - though the newly exposed flesh of your bodies brings an added level of excitement as you feel his warm skin meet yours.

His hands find your thighs again, drawing them up around his waist as his fingers dig into the plush thickness of them. Your ankles cross behind his back as he grinds his hips down into yours, making you gasp against his lips. It feels entirely different than it had when he had you pinned against the wall - now, with the entirety of his weight on top of you, with only the thin material of your panties between his touch and your skin, it’s like something has ignited inside you.

You suddenly feel hotter than you had at any point in the past week, heatwave and broken A/C be damned.

But this is a nice kind of hot, building in the pit of your stomach like you’re burning from the inside out - a slow simmer that turns scorching and all-consuming with only a couple grazes of his hands along your skin.

“Want you so bad, it's been hell,” he murmurs into your mouth as his fingers slide up the inside of your thighs towards your core. His touch ghosts over the damp patch that has formed at the centre of your panties, the fabric clinging to the skin beneath it.

You whimper against his lips, and he pulls back a little, settling on his haunches so he can watch the movement of his own fingers between your legs. His eyes are dark and ravenous as he observes the way your thighs twitch with every careful graze of his fingertips along your slit.

“Watching your tongue turning all those different colours and wanting to taste it.”

His fingers press a little firmer against the fabric, tracing along your covered cunt until he finds the raised bud of your clit, rolling it under his thumb. Your hips shift into his touch, desperate for more contact, more pressure, more friction.

“Watching the way you bite your straw when you’re thinking.”

You teeth dig into your lip as Jean traces a firm figure eight with his thumb, tearing a moan from your throat.

“Please,” you whisper, breathy and pleading.

He’s quick to appease you, looping his fingers under the band of your panties and tugging them down your thighs, finally ridding you of the final layer of clothing between his touch and your skin.

“Perfect,” he sighs as he admires you bare beneath him, firm hands pinning your thighs back so he can appraise your dripping, aching core.

His fingers snake down between your legs once more, orbiting your clit a few times more before swiping down to coat his fingers in the slick that has been rapidly accumulating along your slit. A single finger traces around the dripping entrance to your cunt which has you clenching impatiently around nothing, whining at the insufficient contact. He chuckles at your eagerness, but it’s barely more than a breath of air huffed through his parted, kiss-slick lips.

Suddenly two long fingers slide in, crooking up inside you, and the sensation sends you reeling.

“Fuck,” you both hiss at the same time as you clench around his digits.

You want more.

More, more, more.

You feel gluttonous at your first proper feel of any part of him inside of you - and you’re suddenly unsure if you’ll ever be sated by your fill of him.

“Kiss me, please,” you keen, desperate and sweet, and Jean almost moans as he eagerly obliges, jerking forward and catching your lips in another searing kiss as his fingers curl inside of you again.

Your hips cant up with every snap of his wrist, chasing the fullness and the bright spots that spark behind your heavy eyelids every time his long digits brush against a particular spot inside of you that you could never hope to find on your own.

Jean slowly but methodically takes you apart with his fingers until you’re whimpering and babbling unintelligibly against his lips - a brush of his thumb against your momentarily neglected clit is all it takes for the flames that had been licking you to swallow you whole, a silent scream tearing from your throat as you cum.

Jean’s fingers don’t pause their careful ministrations, working you past your peak until you’re trembling and mewling for him to stop.

“S’too much, too much,” you whisper, voice weak and quivering, shaking your head from side to side as dampness collects along your lash line at the oversensitivity.

Jean kisses the corner of your mouth with a chuckle, withdrawing only at your insistence. He leans back, bringing his hand up to his mouth where he wraps his lips around his still glistening fingers.

You watch, enraptured, as his tongue eagerly laps around his knuckles to clean every last trace of you from his skin. The sight is sinful and lewd - and has that same fire that had only just subsided in the pit of your gut fanning alight once more.

The hand not presently between his lips travels to the button of his jeans, undoing it.

He pops his fingers from his mouth, staring at you intently.

“Is this okay?” he asks you carefully, hesitantly. “We don’t have to do any more if you don’t want to.”

“Want to,” you hardly even sound like yourself now as you rasp out your broken reply. “Want you.”

He groans, palming his clothed erection through his jeans.

He doesn’t even bother shucking his pants completely, too frantic and incensed by the earnest, needy way you replied to him, tugging his jeans and his underwear down to his thighs impatiently.

His cock bobs free and you take a moment to appreciate it. He’s long - though you’d surmised as much from the impressive bulge he’d been sporting since you were grinding on each other beside his door. His dick is slightly curved, the head pink and glistening with beading precum as he gives it a few cursory strokes once he draws it completely from his briefs.

He leans over you and quickly retrieves a condom from his bedside table, his scent and his warmth suddenly overtaking you as he reaches across your body. You watch intently as he rips into the foil package with his teeth, rolling the rubber deftly down his impressive length.

He catches your eyes watching him and smirks a little, dipping forward to kiss you again while grabbing a pillow from behind your head. He tucks it under your hips, a large, domineering hand on either side of your waist as he angles you just the way he wants you.

You feel the thick head of his cock run through your slick folds, nudging against your still-swollen clit and you keen a little - sensitive from the orgasm you’d only recently come down from.

But you want him.

He clearly feels the same desperation that you do, because suddenly, without much further preamble, he slides inside the welcoming walls of your cunt.

If you thought the depths his fingers could reach were impressive, it was nothing compared to this.

Jean’s forehead drops to your shoulder, cursing as you envelop him, clenching down instinctively against the sudden intrusion.

“Feel so good,” he moans, his words practically slurring in pleasure as his hips jerk forward shallowly - like he’s trying to hold back but can’t.

“Jean, g-god 'm so full,” you whimper as you try to shift your hips - you're not sure if you're trying to push yourself away from or further down his length, but his hands on your hips keep you pinned down in place either way.

“Hold on, baby, give me a minute,” he says, his voice very nearly cracking as he pleads with you, his grip on your waist tightens slightly. He sounds as wrecked as you do already.

He shifts after a quiet moment of panting breaths and racing pulses, rolling his hips against yours with more haste this time, and your fingers twist into the sheets underneath you at the sensation of him properly filling you up. He seems to gain confidence after the first few thrusts, building into a steady rhythm that has you choking on his name at the back of your throat.

Jean uses his grasp on your hips to pull you down to meet him as he ruts into you desperately. Your hands reach for his, wrapping tight around his wrists as he holds fast to you. Every fibre of your being feels like it’s on fire again, the heat that you’d thought had subsided reigniting with even more ferocity than the first time.

You can’t help but think you’d happily allow yourself to be incinerated away into nothingness beneath him if it felt as good as this.

His grip remains tight on the curve of your waist, but his roughness only serves to further fuel your pleasure, each harsh meeting of his hips against yours bringing you closer to the brink of release once again.

Your chest bounces with each thrust; Jean fucking you down into the mattress with such a fervour that you can hardly catch your breath. Your nails bite into the skin of his arms, desperately trying to ground yourself as pleasure singes through your veins, his name slipping from your lips quietly on every stroke.

He reaches his end before you see another - a carnal moan ripping from his chest as you feel his cock pulse inside of you. You suck in a sharp breath, the feeling of him finishing within you unexpectedly causing your walls to flutter, clamping down around him.

“Ah, fuck,” Jean hisses, pulling out from inside you as the feeling grows too much in the wake of his orgasm, smearing some of your own arousal down the skin of your thigh.

He makes quick work of pulling off and disposing of the condom in the trashcan beside his nightstand. Once he’s done so, he leans back on his haunches and brushes his hair back from his face, a few strands sticking to the sweat dampened skin of his forehead while he catches his breath.

You feel empty without him inside you now, the second orgasm that you’d felt building only moments prior ebbing away beyond your reach, but you can’t deny that you feel distinctly satisfied as he flops down beside you in his bed. Your chest heaves with every inhale as you try to calm yourself down - or at the very least get your heart rate to return to a pace that wouldn’t get you admitted to a cardiac intensive care unit.

Jean shifts slightly from his place beside you at the head of his bed, turning his chin down to look at you lying next to him. Just as his lips part to speak, there’s an unexpected knock at the door.

You jolt in surprise and instinctively reach for the sheet twisted under your bare legs, yanking it up to cover your chest. Jean shifts, sitting up in the bed and angling himself between you and the door to shield you behind his broad back - though it remains closed.

“Uhhh, Kirschtein?” a somewhat reluctant voice calls out from the other side of the door. "If you’re in there, the breaker flipped and there’s no power in the kitchen again. Bert’s still trying to get that dumbass from Sigma off the roof so you’re the only one tall enough to reach the box.”

Jean sighs deeply, a resigned sound. “Yeah, I’ll be down in a sec!” he calls back gruffly, thinly veiling the annoyance in his tone as he reaches for his t-shirt that had been unceremoniously discarded on the floor.

“Sorry for interrupting!” the voice calls sheepishly while Jean pushes his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. You almost snort at the sincere remorse in the boy’s words.

You watch as Jean hastily redresses, knowing you should do the same. Hitch is probably wondering where the hell you went, since you hadn’t gotten the chance to tell her about Jean.

Jean turns to you as he stands at the end of the bed, now fully dressed - stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Uh, the bathroom’s through there if you wanna clean up a bit,” he says, nodding towards a door on the other side of the room. “Sorry if it’s a mess, Connie’s room is on the other side and we share it, just make sure you lock both doors.”

You nod in understanding, rising from his bed on unsteady legs. You almost stumble a bit, though you catch yourself at the last moment, but Jean takes a step towards you anyway.

It’s a little bit awkward.

You don’t know what else you expected, sleeping with a guy at a party who you barely knew.

And who you’d now be forced to see on a semi-regular basis thanks to your mutual connections.

Yeah, you really hadn’t thought this one through.

Jean quietly excuses himself, slipping through his bedroom door which you lock again behind him. You gather your clothing from around the floor, perching on the edge of his bed to quickly tug them back on - resolved to find Hitch and get the hell out of there as fast as humanly possible.

This doesn’t prove to be a particularly difficult task: when you return to the party downstairs you quickly locate Hitch entirely too drunk for her own good - which is almost impressive considering you hadn’t even been gone that long.

You send a text to Sasha to let her know you’re leaving and that you’ll see her back at home the next day, and then maneuver Hitch out the nearest exit - eager to take your leave.

You soon find yourself walking down the road on greek row, Hitch’s cellphone in hand as you order an Uber to come and pick you up.

It’s Hitch’s cellphone and not your own for two important reasons: the first being that since she’s too drunk to make the walk back to her place, she can be the one to pay for the cab. The second being that you confiscated the device when she made an attempt to drunk dial Marlowe on your way out of the frat house - leaving the two of you to squabble over it as you make your way down the cracked pavement of the sidewalk.

“Hitch, it’s almost 2 in the morning - the poor guy is probably sleeping,” you say exasperatedly, trying uselessly to reason with her. You finalize the Uber request so it will pick you up on the corner down the road from the Alpha Omicron Tau house as Hitch makes another attempt to wrestle the phone from your hands.

“Annie would let me call him!” Hitch jeers back defensively as she trots along behind you, though her steps are staggered.

“Annie would leave your drunk ass on the curb,” you say flatly in response, pausing your stride to look at her pointedly, stuffing her phone safely into your purse.

Hitch pouts, knowing you’re right but still crossing her arms over her chest indignantly. Suddenly her eyes narrow - head tilting as a comedically blatant expression of realization dawns on her.

“You look like you had sex.”

You start walking again, unconcerned as to whether or not she’s following you.

“I did have sex,” you reply flippantly.

Hitch audibly guffaws, sputtering incomprehensibly for a moment before finally forcing out a coherent: “with WHO?”

“Jean,” you say simply, still walking down the sidewalk.

“What about convenience store guy?” Hitch protests in outcry, suddenly up in arms in defence of your otherwise unnamed crush. You finally pause your steps, sighing, and turn to her.

“He IS the convenience store guy, genius.”

Hitch’s bleary eyes go wide as she processes this information.

“That tall guy? From the party?” she asks, seeking clarification. “That’s him?"

“Uh huh,” you say with a nod, tone slow and movement exaggerated as though speaking to a child.

You watch her as she mulls this over, practically seeing the gears turn in her alcohol sodden brain.

Finally her lips purse, and she nods a little - as though in support of your decision.

“You really weren’t kidding when you said he’s cute, huh?”

///

You spend the night at Hitch’s apartment, having fallen asleep in her bed shortly after she locked herself in the bathroom with her cellphone to call Marlowe.

You wake up side by side, reaching over and ending the 6 hour long phone call that lights up the screen of her cellphone beside her on her pillow - with only soft snores coming from the other end of the line. You laugh lightly after you hit the red end call button, shaking your head at your friend’s obliviousness to her own feelings - and to those of the boy who had answered her call at three in the morning and stayed on the phone with her all night.

You spend the day helping Hitch nurse her hangover and doing a bit more of her unpacking - though not without making sure to remind her that you still have your own unpacking you could be doing at home every time she flops down onto her sofa to complain about her headache.

By the time you get home that evening, you shuffle in the door of your apartment and feel an immediate rush of cold air.

It seems that in the two days you’d been away, your A/C had been fixed.

You call out for Sasha, but quickly realize she’s not home - you wonder if she’s working or if she ended up spending the night at Niccolo’s and hadn’t made it home yet, and make a note to text and ask her.

You head into your bedroom, luxuriating in the deliciously cool atmosphere in your apartment, and flop on top of your bed, exhausted.

As you lay flat on your back staring up at your ceiling, you can’t help but find your thoughts drifting to the convenience store across the street.

Truthfully, a lot of your thoughts that day had been dedicated to the subject - or rather the boy in the blue vest who worked behind the counter.

A quick glance at the clock on your bedside table tells you that Jean’s shift has probably already ended for the day.

You gnaw on the corner of your lip as you mull this realization over.

Even if it hadn’t, would you go?

You’ve had almost a full 24 hours to process just how awful your decision making skills had been the night before, and have come to a few conclusions:

1 - Hooking up with your new roommate’s friend was unlikely to end well, and was asking for a mess.

2 - Hooking up with a guy who was supplying you with free slushies was borderline prostitution.

3 - In spite of points 1 and 2, you thoroughly enjoyed yourself the night before, and you have absolutely no idea what you were supposed to do about it or what it meant.

These three points continue to loop through your mind on repeat.

You’d been making daily trips to the convenience store since you’d moved in, and you know that after a day or two of not showing up that Jean would be likely to put the pieces together himself.

You know you need to come up with some sort of plan to address the anxiety you feel knotting in the pit of your stomach, but instead you choose to ignore it for a little while longer - resolving to deal with it the next day.

By the time the next day rolls around - which feels all too soon considering you're no closer to coming up with a plan - you pace around your room for a bit as you once again contemplate whether or not to go across the street.

It’s right around the same time that you’d usually show up, and you know Mr. Tompkins is probably already there giving Jean hell.

You should go.

You know you should go.

But you don’t.

Instead you opt to unpack a box of your school papers, setting up your desk. It takes you longer than you expected (certainly not because you were intentionally drawing it out) and by the time you finish, the sky is dark and Sasha has arrived home from work. The two of you decide to watch a movie in the living room, and you force the thought of Jean to the back of your mind again.

But you know you can't keep doing this forever.

It takes you three full days after the party before you finally muster the resolve to drag yourself to the shop across the street.

You stand outside the door to the store for a while, equivocating on whether or not you have the courage to step through it. You’re sure people think you’re up to something weird, hovering around outside the door to the convenience store like a teenager trying to find someone to buy them cigarettes, so you take out your phone and scroll through your email’s junk inbox for a while to make it look like you aren’t just loitering.

You scroll past your fifth email from some Nigerian prince who wants to sell you weight-loss tea when you finally decide against going in for a multitude of reasons - it’s a stupid idea, you’re not ready to face him, you have no idea what you’re even going to say - and so you step back towards the crosswalk to head home, head hanging in defeat.

You pause as the light above you turns green to cross the road, staring at it for a moment but not moving. You know your time to walk is running out, the person on the other side of the road having already made it halfway across the intersection in the time that you’ve been hesitating, and before you can think any better of it you’re spinning on your heel and stomping towards the convenience store again, stepping through the door.

But he’s not there.

The air-conditioning is as cold as you remember it being, only it somehow feels a little bit more frigid and unwelcoming now as your eyes sweep the store. The kindly looking woman behind the counter greets you warmly, though eying you a little warily as you stay firmly planted in the entry-way. You mumble something about forgetting your wallet and duck back out through the door into the heat of the summer evening.

In spite of leaving the convenience store empty handed, you’re carrying something heavy in your chest.

You head back across the street to your apartment, slumping through the door lethargically.

Of the 12 boxes you’d moved in with, you only have one left to unpack - some photos and decorations you’d brought along with you to make your new place feel a bit more like home. You unpack it slowly, taking time to arrange the photos and trinkets in just the right places.

Even in spite of the painstaking care you devote to the task, you soon find the final box emptied.

You sit on your bedroom floor, peering around your new room - full to every corner with pieces of yourself, your friends, and your life. You smile a little to yourself, though still feel suspiciously blue.

After breaking down the final box and adding it to the pile of cardboard recycling you’ll need to take to the garbage the next day, you pause.

What now?

You’ve finally exhausted your primary source of distraction that you’ve been relying on to keep your mind off of things for the past few days.

Well, thing.

You flop atop your bed with a miserable groan, and reach across your sheets to clutch Oscar the Bear to your chest.

“I think I might’ve really gone and done it this time, Osc,” you mutter quietly into the plush fur between his ears.

“I’m home!” A chipper voice suddenly calls out from the other side of your closed door - the muted sound of keys jingling as they’re dropped and shoes being kicked off reaching you shortly after.

You sit straight up in your bed, Oscar tumbling off the edge to the floor, frightened by Sasha’s unexpected arrival.

“Connie and Jean are here too!”

Oh.

Good.

You panic a little, hopping out of bed and pacing the length of your floor as you grapple for what to do. You wring your hands nervously as you try to come up with some sort of plan.

Should you act like you’re not home? No, your shoes are at the door and your keys on the counter - Sasha has to know you’re already there.

Do you pretend to be asleep?

You’re just contemplating feigning slumber when a knock at your door startles you, a little squeak slipping from your lips. You slap your hand over your mouth.

“We’re ordering pizza! Do you want in?” Sasha’s voice calls cheerfully through the door - having seemingly missed your sound of surprise.

You clear your throat a little, trying to keep your voice steady and unsuspicious as you reply: “Yeah, I’ll be out in just a sec!”

You can hear the trio’s voices conversing from the living room as you lean your forehead against your door, mustering every shred of resolve you have to force yourself out into the main area of the apartment. You take a shaky breath, yanking open your door and stepping out.

“Hey!” Sasha says happily when she catches sight of you - she’s in the kitchen rifling through the cupboard where she keeps her snacks. “They’re just going through the menu over there!”

Your eyes turn to the living room where two sets of eyes are waiting to meet your own.

Connie grins, waving enthusiastically. Jean smiles a bit too - though it looks a little pained.

“Come look!” Connie beckons you over, holding up the takeout flyer for a little pizza place down the road from your apartment.

You pad towards the couch, leaning over the back of it to scan over the menu in his hands while the four of you decide amongst yourselves what to order.

It’s a bit awkward between you and Jean; neither of you really acknowledge the other, though you can feel his eyes on the side of your face as you read the menu. It seems that you’re both trying to play it cool and not let on that anything has transpired between you around the other two people in the room.

Once the order is decided upon and called into the restaurant, an argument breaks out over who should be the one to go and pick it up. Connie and Sasha eagerly volunteer, which surprises you until you find out that the nice Italian man who runs the shop always gives them extra breadsticks.

Jean is rather unwilling to let Sasha go to retrieve the order, which turns into a spirited spat.

“She’ll eat half the pizza before she even makes it back!” Jean argues, pointing accusingly at Sasha as he looks at Connie - who has somehow been deemed adjudicator in the matter.

“Will not!” Sasha counters, but no one in the room quite believes her - not even you, and you’ve barely known her for a week.

“If you go, you’re not allowed to eat a single piece of pizza on the walk home,” Jean says warningly, and Sasha gasps in dismay.

“What? How can you expect me to make the whole walk home and not eat any of it?” she defends herself ardently as though he’s asking her to work a miracle, and not make a five minute walk home without eating a slice of pizza. She puts her hands up in a concessional kind of way, tone softening as she tries to strike a compromise. “How about no more than three slices?”

“One,” Jean counters.

“TWO and TWO BREADSTICKS.”

“Fine, but if there isn’t any marinara dipping sauce left by the time you get home again I’m making you walk your ass back and get more,” Jean rolls his eyes as he concedes, though you suspect it’s mainly because the argument has gone on for so long that the pizza will soon be ready to be picked up.

“Deal,” Sasha says happily, grabbing eagerly his hand and shaking it like they’ve sealed a business deal - he rips it from her grasp with a laugh, shoving her by the shoulder.

Sasha and Connie begin pulling on their shoes when you all seem to come to the same realization at the same moment.

“Oh, are you cool hanging out here with Jean?” Sasha asks you, looking up as she slides her foot into her sneaker.

Your heart feels like it’s been dropped off the top floor of the Empire State Building, plummeting down all 102 floors of it towards the asphalt below.

What the hell are you even supposed to say to that? No? How weird would that look?

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“This way you guys can get to know each other since you didn’t really get to talk much when you left the party early the other night!” Sasha adds, and it’s so absurd that it’s almost funny.

Almost.

She wasn’t wrong in saying that the two of you didn’t talk much at the party, but it’s precisely because you had been “getting to know each other.”

In the biblical sense of the word.

You simply settle for a nod, forcing a smile that you hope doesn’t look as anxiety ridden as you currently feel. Evidently it doesn’t - either that, or Sasha is so preoccupied with the thought of pizza that she doesn’t care to investigate - because soon her and Connie are slipping out the door with one final wave back and the promise to return soon.

The door swings shut with a gentle thud behind them, leaving you and Jean standing alone in the apartment which suddenly seems much too small for the two of you.

You keep your eyes fixed on the back of the closed door for a moment, your breath stuck painfully in the back of your too-tight throat.

“Do you want a beer?” you ask quietly without looking to him.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” he grunts out a reply and you shuffle towards the kitchen.

You hide with your burning face tucked behind the door of the fridge for far longer than you need to, eventually forcing yourself out again. You feel Jean’s eyes on you as you cross the kitchen to the drawer with the bottle opener - popping the tops off both bottles you’d retrieved from the refrigerator.

You have no choice but to look at him as you hand him his drink.

“Thanks,” he says, warm eyes boring into yours as he reaches for the outstretched beverage.

His long fingers - the very ones that had been consuming far too many of your waking thoughts over the past few days - brush against yours as he takes the cold beer from your hand.

You suppress a shiver.

“Wanna go sit on the balcony?” you ask him quietly, nodding you head towards the other side of the living room. He agrees, and the two of you make your way towards the sliding doors.

“It’s warm out,” Jean remarks idly as the two of you step out into the balmy night.

“Not as bad as it has been, thank god,” you say with a little sigh, taking a long swig from your drink - if for no other reason than to give yourself something to focus on that wasn’t him.

The two of you sit side by side on the concrete ground of the balcony, your knees brushing against his as you sit cross-legged, his own posture mirroring yours.

“You haven’t been in to get your slushie the past few days,” he finally says after a few moments of quiet. “Are you avoiding me?”

You choke a little on the mouthful of beer you’d been in the process of swallowing.

“No,” you reply, too quickly to be sincere. “I was… worried I was cutting into Mr. Tompkins’ argument time.”

“Is that so?” he asks, head tilting. If his tone isn’t enough to tell you he doesn’t believe you, the playful glint in his eye as he pauses with the lip of his bottle poised at his mouth sure is.

You hum a little, focusing your eyes on the convenience store on the other side of the road. You take a moment to appreciate the way that the fluorescent light from inside the shop filters out into the street, washing the pavement just beyond its walls in a soft light and casting shadows into the street as the occasional car drives past.

You have been avoiding him. You both know it.

“I think you might be lying,” he doesn’t hesitate to call you out on the truth, and his forthrightness surprises you a little.

You knew the conversation would end up here eventually, but it didn’t help you feel any more prepared for it.

“You’re right,” you sigh, setting your half-drained bottle down on the ground beside you. You place your hands flat on the ground behind your hips, leaning back against them and letting your head loll against your shoulder to meet his stare. “I finally looked into the nutrition of those things. Turns out drinking 24 fluid ounces of pure sugar every day is pretty bad for you, who knew?”

He only snorts in response, draining the last mouthful of his beer.

You watch as his eyes shift a little, flickering down to your lips as he sets his own emptied bottle aside. Your tongue peeks out to moisten them without thinking, and you watch as his gaze follows the motion.

“What - so now that your air-con is fixed you don’t need me to get your fill anymore?”

He inches closer to you than he had been a moment prior.

“Don’t sound so sad, what we had was special while it lasted,” you muse, though you’re undeniably affected by the dwindling distance between your bodies. “You even put your job on the line for me and everything - you must have cost Big Convenience a whole nine dollars not charging me for those slushies.”

“It was worth it, if you ask me,” he laughs a little as he says it, and he’s so close now that you feel the burst of air hit your parted lips.

“Really?” you ask quietly, still feigning as though you’re not wholly and helplessly tormented by the way you can almost taste the beer he’d just drained on his lips.

“Every penny,” he breathes, eyes scanning your face for just a moment before finally leaning down to press his mouth to yours.

The brush of his lips against yours is hesitant - measured almost - as though he’s not certain if he should be doing it at all. This moment of doubt quickly melts away, like ice on a hot sidewalk - dissolving into a puddle and then evaporating into nothing but raw want.

Your hands reach quickly to grip the material of his t-shirt, pulling him closer. His own hands rest on the ground beside your thighs as he dips down to meet you from his towering height.

You should have known that this is how things would end up.

Though you can’t say you’re disappointed in the slightest.

Jean’s tongue swipes along your lips, which part eagerly at the call - allowing him to steal the breath straight from your lungs.

Your arms reach up to loop around his craning neck, and with an unexpected dexterity he picks you up by the waist, pulling you into his lap to straddle him. Your bare knees scrape uncomfortably against the rough concrete below them, but you hardly notice as his hands find the curve of your ass - large palms moulding to your flesh through the denim of your shorts.

It’s hot, only amplified by the warmth of his body pressing into yours. You feel the slight perspiration at his nape as you curl your fingers through the ends of his hair, tugging gently to pull his head back - separating his lips from yours and earning you a groan that originates somewhere deep in his chest.

The material of your tank top clings to your body as you move your lips across his lightly stubbled jaw - you can taste salt on his skin as your lips brush the column of his throat, but you like it.

He only allows you to run the sharp point of your canine across his pulse once before he’s impatiently catching your mouth with his again - his hands gripping you a little tighter from their position on your ass.

You continue like this for a while - teasing and tasting and seeing which noises you can pull from the other with a graze or a nip or a particularly pointed suck. Eventually you can no longer tell if the beer you can taste in your mouth is from his or from yours - and frankly, you couldn’t care less.

It goes without saying that this can’t continue on forever.

The making out and the… whatever else was going on between the two of you.

You brace your hands on his shoulders, fingertips pressing into the firm muscle you can feel beneath them as if to ground yourself.

You pull away a fraction of a millimetre, his hot breath still breaking across your lips on every exhale.

“For what it’s worth,” you mumble into his mouth, and he pulls away just a little bit more to hear you clearly. “I would still like to get my fill from you every once in a while… if the offer stands.”

His eyes, lidded but attentive, watch you carefully as he processes your words.

“We’re open seven AM to midnight every day,” he teases, tilting his head to bump his nose against yours gently. “You know where to find me.”

You huff, hiding your suddenly flushing face in the equally warm crook of his neck. You draw in a breath that smells like laundry detergent and lemongrass and you wonder idly what kind of soap he uses.

“I wasn’t talking about the slushies,” you mutter after another moment of quiet.

He laughs, a warm breath of air ghosting across the shell of your ear as he leans his head towards you.

“Neither was I.” He presses a fleeting kiss to your temple - barely more than a brush of his lips against your skin, but surprisingly tender.

Your fingers tighten in the material of his t-shirt and you smile.

///

“So,” Connie draws out the monosyllabic word with a stilted sort of nonchalance as the four of you sit around the coffee table of your apartment’s living room some time later, sharing the pizza that he and Sasha had returned with not long prior. His eyes flicker between you and Jean as he says it, a slice of pizza poised halfway to his mouth. “Do you guys want us to like, pretend we didn’t see you two making out on the balcony while we were walking home, or wha-OW!”

Jean immediately reaches over and smacks Connie on the back of his buzzed head in response to his unfinished question. You can’t help but notice the taller boy’s cheeks have flushed a sweet shade of pink in spite of his annoyance, but he avoids your gaze.

Connie ruffles the side of his head that was just so unceremoniously accosted. “I was just asking because I was trying to have some tact, thanks!”

“Yeah, real tactful,” Sasha snorts from beside you through a mouthful of food.

“Says the girl who almost choked on a breadstick when we saw them swapping spit,” Connie mutters lowly, taking a large, resentful bite of his pizza.

It’s quiet for a moment as you all chew over the food in your mouths and the comment Connie had just made.

You’re the first to giggle - the sound slipping through your lips before you can stop it. You immediately press the piece of paper towel you’re using as a napkin to your mouth in an attempt to cover the sound, but it does little good.

The rest are soon joining in.

This seems to shatter the heaviness that had momentarily settled over the four of you - everyone relaxing a little as the laughter peters out.

You and Jean’s eyes meet as Sasha leans forward to grab another breadstick from the pile on the table in front of you. There’s a rosy hue flooding the apples of his cheeks that you’re certain is just as apparent in your own, his tawny eyes crinkled at the corners in a smile.

You’re not used to this; jumping into something so risky, so impulsive, headlong and without forethought. It’s unlike you - and goes against what you normally stand for: stability, predictability, certainty. But as Connie launches into a terrifying (though almost inspirational) story about how he once watched Sasha devour two entire large pizzas on her own - which the girl beside you makes no effort to refute - you can’t help but feel like things are gonna work out okay even in spite of your complete lack of a plan.

After the pizza is finished and the mess mostly tidied up (AKA moved from the coffee table to the kitchen counter to be dealt with later) the four of your settle in to watch a movie, dimming the lights in the living room as Connie scrolls through whatever streaming service he’d elected to browse for the evening - whose membership you were likely stealing from Niccolo.

“Oh, god. Not a horror movie,” you groan, burying your face in your hands as you see Connie’s attention linger on some terrible looking movie about a little ghost girl that you know will inevitably leave you with nightmares.

“Come on, new roomie! It’s not that bad! I’ve seen this one a million times,” Connie says with a laugh, hitting play - and you have no choice but to go along with it.

Connie is seated on the floor - propped up on a bunch of throw pillows and blankets he’d dragged off of the sofa to burrow into. Sasha was seated in the armchair just behind him, having already moved on to her second course of the evening: the largest bag of gummy bears you’d ever seen in your life. Jean on the other hand was seated at the opposite end of the sofa from yourself, an entire cushion’s length between you.

Unspokenly you seem to have agreed to maintain a safe distance - things are still new, after all.

As the movie plays you relax into your seat a little, though you do keep a pillow clutched to your chest should you need a place to burrow your face and hide from whatever frightening scene lights up the screen.

Throughout to film, you draw your legs up into your seat with you, though eventually you find them stretching out towards the other end of the sofa and the boy who’s seated there - never close enough to touch, but nearer than they had been when the movie started.

During a particularly scary scene, you jump in your seat - even Sasha squawks from her own seat across the room, and Connie laughs maniacally as a result. Your face is burrowed into the pillow in your lap, your cheeks burning and your pulse pounding in your ears.

But it’s not because of the movie.

It’s because suddenly there’s a warm hand settled on your thigh.

You pull your face slowly out from the pillow, your eyes flickering over to see Jean smirking. His eyes are still glued to the TV, but his hand is undeniably resting just above your knee, his thumb idly sweeping across the smooth skin beneath it.

You go to push him off in annoyance, thinking he’s making fun of you for being such a baby when it comes to horror movies - but before you can do so, his hand grabs hold of yours and twines your fingers together.

He shyly looks at you from the corner of his eye, almost as if to ask if it’s ok.

You purse your lips, turning your own attention back to the movie in front of you, but you’re undeniably trying to fight off a smile.

An even scarier scene comes on not long after Jean took your hand, and you’ve got his fingers in a veritable vice grip as the eerie music plays - tension building for what you’re sure is about to be an even worse fright than the last. Even Connie is hiding behind Sasha’s legs - who’s shielding her own face with a slice of leftover pizza.

Suddenly there’s a loud thunk, and a garbled hissing noise.

Then complete silence.

A girl on the screen in front of you screams - high pitched and shrill - but none of you are paying much attention to the movie anymore.

Slowly, everyone’s eyes turn up towards the air-conditioning unit overhead.

It had stopped.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

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