#[My Drabbles]

[hypahfixations]

It was only a few minutes. Ten at most. But fuck if they weren't up there as the most heavenly experience Evan had ever had.

They had insisted, his beloved friends, they snuggle together on his small air mattress. It was barely big enough for him alone but two feasibly could if push came to shove. But Sam and K had insisted, with voices that wouldn't be swayed and large, sincere eyes he could never refuse. When Evan had laid down on the very edge to be as thin as possible, K tugged at him in an achingly familiar way. His body turned from memory, settling in the center on his back and extending an arm that K immediately slotted themself into. Evan glanced at Sam and extended his other arm in invitation, only slightly surprised when she nestled in as if the act were the most natural thing in the world.

Both leaned into him.

K on his right, as they always had been, curling up small under his arm. Their leg flamingo hitched high on his lap and fist kitten tucked into his side and under their chin. Evan returned the cradle in kind, holding them tight, returning compression.

Sam on his left, immediately comfortable, draped herself across his body and enveloped him. Her head rested upon his chest, and her arm melted over to his other side to idly stroke K's scalp. Her leg lazily wrapped around his with toes similarly rubbing into his calf.

This would be enough for him. Enough for a lifetime.

Inspired by this lovely art by @sootchild

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Convict!Ghost and innocent!reader who signs up for a program to visit and write letters to convicts without friends or families on the outside. You believe in the program, believe you're acting as a way to anchor a man, who would otherwise be lost, to society.

Ghost pretends you're getting through to him, nods and smiles when you tell him you know he can do better, be better. Meanwhile, he's thinking of all the filthy, depraved things he wants to do to you when he's released, thinking of his friend Soap in the laundry whose specialty is smuggling contraband in and wondering if he can convince you to slip him a nice lil picture of yourself or maybe even a pair of your panties. Soap probably wouldn't even want his usual cut, so long as he can get a look too.

[stevesjockstrap]

Eddie discovers origami and very soon the surfaces in Steve’s room are overrun with cranes and frogs and fish and butterflies.

One day he sees writing on a wing of one and slides it apart.

Those two moles on your neck make me want to bite them.

He reaches over for another one that says, I want to live in your chest hair.

Eddie walks through the door to see Steve in a heap of opened notes on the floor.

“You just now opened them?”

“I… I didn’t know.”

“Then why did you keep all of them?”

“Because they were from you.”

“Oh.”

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

DRABBLE: YOU SPEAK HIS NATIVE LANGUAGE TO HIM (18+) (One Piece) (for Fem!Readers)

Writer's Note: I had this idea after remembering that Luffy is Brazilian. Enjoy! And please, PLEASE let me know if any of the foreign phrases used are not correct or accurate. I did the research on Google. Thank you! -Jazz

*********

LUFFY (PORTGUESE) 

You always loved it when Luffy spoke in his native language. 

He is from Brazil and though he hadn’t lived there in years since meeting Shanks and traveling among the Grand Line with the Strawhats crew, nothing and nobody could ever take the Brazilian out of him. It was in his blood. 

He always made it known with the Brazilian recipes he would ask Sanji to make and the music he would blast across the ship. Usually, this resulted in him forcing you to dance him with and holding your hips as his his swayed and rolled in ways that often resulted in your knees going weak and every part of you becoming tingly and sensitive (including the places where Luffy usually had his mouth on). 

He wouldn’t speak Portuguese often; only sometimes and at random moments, like when something exciting happened or when he was asleep. You would catch him mumbling words in his native tongue as he drooled on the pillow, making you giggle.

He would do it during sex too, usually when his tongue was buried deep in your pussy: “Você tem um gosto tão bom, mama. Deliciosa (You taste so good, mama. Delicious.),” he would mumble into your pussy while you whimpered and moaned.

Or when he had his cock buried deep inside of you as he hammered away at your insides, gripping and smacking your ass: “Tão bom! (So good!)” he’d moan into the bedroom. “C’mon, mama, cum with me! Goze comigo!” 

His usual high-pitched voice would get deeper and raspier in his native tongue as each foreign words rolled and flipped on his tongue. It would make you combust every single time, cumming all over his cock at the same time as him bursting inside of you. He would then peck your forehead once you snuggled up together, his hat on your head. “Te amo,” he’d whisper, never telling you what it meant, but you had a feeling. 

So after picking up on some of his lines and inflections, you decided to try out speaking his language one night. It was a boring night and Sanji was cooking, trying to get Luffy out of the kitchen as he groaned and complained about being hungry.

“Y/N, would you please come get him?” Sanji sighed. “He won’t leave and I’m not gonna have him sneaking the ingredients off of the counter to eat.” 

“I’m not gonna do that!” Luffy protested. “I told you so, Sanji!”

You had giggled and walked to the stereo sitting on the table, playing one of Luffy's favorite songs that was popular in Brazil. The captain’s head immediately shot up from the table, his big eyes staring at you. You smiled and began to sway to the music, opening your arms for him. 

With the biggest grin on his face, he shot up and went to you, immediately gathering you into his arms. You giggled as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck and held your hips as he began to sway with you, your senses invaded by nothing but him. He softly sang the lyrics to you, his voice raspy and soft, each word rolling off of the tongue. He sang has if the very song was written for you and you decided now was the perfect moment. 

“Luffy?” you whispered. He pulled away to look down at you, looking like a confused puppy. You cupped his face in your hands and pressed a kiss to his lips before whispering, very low, “Te amo.” 

Once those gears in his head started turning, you’ve never seen him look so happy. His smile grew about ten sizes before he gripped you to him and coated your face in kisses. “Hey, hey!” Sanji yelled. “Not while I’m cooking! Do that outside!” 

ZORO (JAPANESE) 

Compared to Luffy, Zoro barely spoke Japanese. 

He would only mutter his native language in swears when he was stressed or angry. Other than that, you could never catch him doing it. He barely even spoke about Japan as a whole.

“Why you askin’ so many questions?” he would grumble, glaring at your curious gaze. “I haven’t been there since I was a baby. Go read up on it or somethin’.” 

But when he did speak Japanese, and that was very rare, you loved it. His voice would get even deeper when he spoke the foreign swear words during a battle and it would make your heart skip several beats. You wanted to somehow coax him to speak it more or even be closer to him than you already were. 

So you started teaching yourself Japanese. You collected as many language books as you could during your stops on islands when walking into town with Nami and Robin and began practicing. In two months, you began speaking in sentences though not professionally or fluently. However, you got each inflection down. 

The first time you said something in Japanese to Zoro, he was busy working out one hot, boring day and you had wandered in, feeling extra bratty. “What?” he demanded, grunting as he did his bench presses, his muscles bulging and glistening in sweat. 

“Just came to see if you broke up with your dumbbell yet,” you asked sarcastically. “I don’t know how the cuddling at night works, but to each its own.” 

Zoro cut his forest green eyes your way before going back to his exercises, barely pausing. “Woman, if you’re gonna come in here with that shit, leave it at the door. You know I need to focus on my training.” 

“But you’re already so strong, Zo!” you protested, padding farther into the room. “And a great fighter. You can spare one day without training.”

Though Zoro looked pleased with the praise, he still didn’t let up and continued to pump those sexy arms away at his presses. Pursing your lips, you walked over to him and kneeled down before him, just as he lifted the dumbbell up and put it back up on the rack behind his head. 

You began to run your hands up his thick, tree trunk-like thighs in his green slacks, squeezing the muscles and digging your nails deliciously into them. He liked that. He tensed immediately at your touch, breathing heavily from the workout. “Stop that,” he growled. “I’m tryin’ to cool down.” 

“Then let me help you,” you purred, sneaking your hand over his cock to give it a squeeze. You were pleased to find that he was already hard. He grunted at the contact and began to squirm under your touch. “I mean it, Y/N,” he panted. “Cut it out.” 

You looked up at him then, staring boldly into his eyes. "Watashi o tsukuru (make me)”, you said in a low, breathy voice that often made your man go absolutely insane. 

At the sound of his native language coming from your lips, the swordsman sat up straight and stared down at you, astounded and extremely aroused. His cock grew in your hand as a blush appeared on his cheeks.

“What did you say?” he questioned, his voice dangerously low. You just smiled and stood up, tearing your hand away from his cock.

“Now are you gonna spend time with me?” you questioned, a hand on your hip and arching a brow at him. 

While this didn't get him out of the training room, it did help tear him away from his workout to instead work you out, your legs spread over his bench and his cock pummeling your insides as he whispered how good you felt in Japanese.

Mission accomplished. 

SANJI (FRENCH) 

Sanji always felt proud of his ethnicity and heritage, so he always made it a point to speak his native language. 

Like Luffy, it would be at random moments. He could be cooking and would mutter to himself in French about instructions or maybe lyrics to a song.

Sometimes, he would swear if he nearly dropped a bottle of sauce or about the noise Luffy and Usopp would make outside the kitchen door. But always, when he served you and the crew, he would give you all a bright, proud smile and a “Bon appétit!”. 

And always, always, he would speak French during sex. He would whisper in your ear about how good you felt and how sweet you tasted, his words like honey in your ears.

“Je me send is bien en too, princesse, (I feel so good inside you, princess)” he’d moan into the tense, sexed-up air of your bedroom, your ankles on his broad shoulders as his cock stroked your insides. “Tellement parfait. Si belle. (So perfect. So beautiful).”

He would kiss your foot before taking one of your toes into your mouth. 

That would usually set you off like a rocket, making you cum all over the bed and his cock. And because he thought you were so pretty, he would always explode deep inside you, filling you to the brim. That’s part of why he always let his native tongue slip in the bedroom with you. 

Other than the nasty shit, he would always tell you, “Je t’aime”. When he would kiss you; before you went to bed; when you’d separate for an expedition or when when you’d go to the other side of the ship. It was only right as the love chef. “Je t’aime,” he’d say, an adoring smile on his face and hearts in his eyes. It would make you tingle and feel warm all over you. 

So you surprised him one night when he cooked dinner specifically for you before the crew even ate. “Sanji, baby, you didn’t have to make me a whole separate meal,” you giggled as you sat down in the chair he pulled out for you. “I would’ve eaten the lamb!” 

“Nonsense,” he tutted, looking sexy in his apron dusted with flour and spices. “You said you didn’t like lamb too much. And believe me, honey: fixin’ grilled fish for you is nothing compared to what these hooligans want.” He then pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered, “Bon appétit, my love” before hurrying back to the stove to check the yeast rolls in the oven. 

You stared down at the dinner spread on your plate: grilled fish drizzled in lemon and garlic with a side of honey-glazed, oven-roasted carrots, kus kus, and steamed broccoli. You cut a piece of the fish and put it into your mouth, humming in pleasure at the taste. You turned to Sanji, his back to you, as you gushed over the food. “This food is delicious, Sanji!” you said. "C'est trés bon! (It's very good!)” 

Sanji visibly paused before turning around to look at you, confused. Your smile grew and you lowered your fork. “Mes compliments au chef (My compliments to the chef),” you giggled. Before you could take a breath, Sanji was flying across the kitchen and planting kisses all over your face as you giggled. “Since when do you speak French, my love?” he laughed, giddy. 

“I’ve been practicing,” you hummed, playing with the color of his shirt. “I wanted to impress you.” Hearts in his eyes, Sanji pressed his forehead against yours. “And impress me, you did, mon there,” he murmured. “Now finish that food so I can hear more of my native tongue coming out of those sweet lips.” 

You did and while he had you bent over the kitchen counter while the crew ate in the other room, you repeated one word to him, over and over again, as he pummeled inside of you: “Je t’aime”. 

LAW (GERMAN) 

Law never spoke German. Or at least, not in front of you or the Hearts crew. 

“What’s the need?” he asked when you asked him to teach you something in his native tongue. “I haven’t lived there in years. Why are you so interested in my language anyway?” You would tell him you were curious, but that wouldn’t make him budge. 

You found it sad. Though he claimed he felt pride in his ethnicity and his native land, he barely mentioned his time there or taught you any phrases. So, in order to coax him into it, you fixed him a German dish. One day when the ship docked on a little island, you ran out to town to grab the ingredients for it and fixed it for him that night. It took a lot of preparation and stressing over whether or not he’d respond well to it, but that night, you sat the crew down for dinner. 

“I made something special for y’all,” you giggled, smiling secretively at Law. He scowled in confusion and suspicion at you, not sure what you were up to, until the crew took the silver covers off of their plates to reveal their meal: slices of roasted pork shoulder glazed with a cumin sauce and sitting on a bed of roasted potatoes and peppers. “Ta-da!” you shouted. “Sh-wen-braten!” 

At you mispronouncing the name, the corner of Law’s lips quirked a bit while his crew barely blinked. They were too busy drooling over and gobbling down their food. “Wow, Y/N!” Bepo growled. “This tastes amazing! I haven't tasted pork this good in so long!” 

“Thank you,” you giggled, but your attention was still all on Law as he took a bite. You stood behind his chair, nervously ringing a dish towel around your hands. “How is it?” you asked, bending down to hear him better over the chatter. 

He continued to chew and chew, leaving you in suspense, before he swallowed. “S’good,” he murmured and you sighed in relief. “Though you pronounced the dish wrong.” You made a face, pouting cutely in confusion at him. “It’s pronounced “schweinebraten,” he said, his deep voice rolling over the foreign word.

“Sch.” He paused, waiting for you to repeat it back to him. “Weine.” You parroted him, doing your best to keep from smiling out of giddiness. “Braten.” 

“Braten,” you pronounced, earning a satisfied nod before he turned back around to finish his meal. But you weren't done. you leaned down to his ear, loving how he tensed at your touch and presence. “Between you and me, I already knew how to pronounce it,” you purred. “I just wanted to hear you say it. Guten appetit (Enjoy your meal).” 

Something happened to Law in that moment hearing you speak in his language. His cock swoll in his pants and he nearly broke his fork as he sat rigid in his seat. You turned and walked away back to the stove, swaying your hips and biting back a grin as he watched, wanting to fuck you right there in front of his entire crew and make you say some very nasty words in his native tongue. 

“Law, why are all red like that?!” Jean practically yelled across the table. 

“Shut up!” Law growled as you laughed. He was gonna get you back for that later tonight.

[kaoribriefs]

it was strange for her, it was something new even though she hadn't been a child for a long time. Dany found this way of making love from her new husband strange, he was hungry of her but it wasn't the same hunger of her sun and stars or the forgotten Daario, no, Jon Snow cared about giving her pleasure, he was strangely altruistic , when he put his head between her legs, he caressed her or looked into her eyes gently as he moved inside her. For the first time Dany felt a new warmth inside like she no longer felt from the red door, she didn't worry about being enough for Jon...but only about hearing his heartbeat...in the night.

[ipleadbritney]

magic, crushes, and time warps

osctober day 25: magic

landoscar, magical realism, time travel, rough sequel to three-sixteenths

"Where's Oscinha?”

“Haven't heard that one in a while,” Oscar says, not looking up from his phone.

Lando plasters himself all over Oscar's back. “Where'd you hide the kid?”

Oscar finally gives Lando his full attention, doesn't fight Lando nuzzling into his neck. “First, he's not a kid. Second, why would I even hide him? Third, where would I even hide him?”

“You tell me,” Lando mumbles. “I had a short meeting and then he wasn't in the clinic. Nurses said McLaren staff fetched him.”

“Kim and Mark's probably talking to him. Calming him down.”

“He seemed pretty calm when I saw him. He's you, Osc. Of course he's calm.”

“You saw him from a distance, and he's 17. Nobody was calm when they were 17.”

“I thought you were,” Lando says. He slides into the space in front of Oscar. Their driver rooms weren't meant for this sort of acrobatics, but they make it work. Lando's also grown used to Oscar's magic in close quarters. No suppressor can fully erase magic that sharp.

Lando knows Oscar, knows his magic, and also knows when he's hiding something from him.

Lando pinches Oscar's cheeks and stares into his eyes. Almost gets lost in them, but. “You know where Oscinha is. Why won't you tell me?”

Oscar has the decency to look sheepish. “It was no use, huh?”

“No use at all.”

“Well,” Oscar clears his throat, “he is with Kim and Mark. They're in Andrea's office. He's overwhelmed, and his magic is a bit all over the place. I didn't have good control back then.”

Lando can't imagine a time when Oscar wasn't a textbook example of a responsible magic user. He's loyal to his suppressor, and apart from a few instances, he hasn't seen Oscar's magic get out of hand. “You didn't wear suppressors back then?”

“Whatever got him thrown into the future also messed up his suppressors. He's wearing one of my back-ups, but it isn't calibrated, and there's the whole not-supposed-to-be-here part that's difficult to deal with.”

Lando hums. “Makes sense."

Oscar rubs their hands together, one of his nervous tics. “The team said he's fine, and they also said it'd be best if we're kept apart. Too much tampering.”

Lando understands, as much as he can when he's never remotely experienced anything like this. It's not exactly common for the world to spit out a younger version of yourself right after FP2.

“I can talk to him, if you'd like,” Lando offers, softly. “I can see him, right? I'll check up on him and report back to you.”

Oscar's eyes widen. “You don't have to do that, Lan. I'm sure he's safe, and they'd tell me if anything— if I have to be there.”

“But you're worried. I can feel it.” Lando holds up their joined hands. “See?”

Oscar's worry is clearly etched on his face, and so is his hesitance.

“It's just me, Osc. I won't make fun of him.”

“I know you won't.”

“But?” Lando cares for Oscar. He cares for every version of him, past or present or future.

Oscar tips his head forward, curling into Lando. His voice is small when he says, “He has a crush on you.”

“What?”

“I told them to hide him from you, because he has a crush on you.”

If Lando's maths is right, and his tutors always said he fared better with numbers than with words, then. That would mean. Whoah. “You had a crush on me at 17?”

Did they even know each other that far back? Max had mentioned Oscar in passing, and several journalists asked Lando questions about this young gun in F3, F2, in Alpine reserves, but until Zak plopped him in front of Lando in 2022, he had no clue.

What did Lando look like at 19? Surely not hot enough.

“You had a crush on me at 19?” Lando repeats, unable to fight his giggles. “Osc, that's adorable.”

“It's really not. It was debilitating.”

Translation: Oscar was down bad.

“You told me you wouldn't make fun of him,” Oscar points out, mouth ticking downwards.

“I'm not! I'm honored.”

“You shouldn't be.”

The conversation goes back-and-forth until Jon comes knocking on Oscar's door, looking for them both. “Debrief's in five, and we're checking you both for any side effects caused by the time warp.”

When they step into the hallway, Lando reassures Oscar that everything will be fine. They’re no strangers to weird, powerful magic.

Lando lifts Oscar’s arm and puts it across his own shoulders, velcroing himself to Oscar’s side. Maybe his words won’t do much against Oscar’s spiraling thoughts, but he hopes Oscar feels warm and loved. Because Oscar is— loved. And Lando runs warmer than most people, so that’s a free heater already.

Whatever Lando was about to say next— another proclamation of love or a jab at Oscar’s teenage dreams —dries at his throat. There’s a prickle at the back of his head. Raw magic, leaking out.

He turns around, looking for the source. Just in time to see young Oscar ducking his head, caught. That familiar flush on his face.

[jamminvroomvroom]

here me out, friends and bennies with oscar, but you guys both secretly have feelings for each other, then a fight breaks out cause he gets jealous at a club or something, then an angsty fight breaks but it ends with smut or something 🤭

messy

OP81 x reader

ty for the request! big in my oscar feels atm <3 i don’t loveeee how this turned out but i think i wanna expand this trope with oscar at some point

warnings: minors dni! 18+! language, creepy man in the club, implied smut, alcohol, sl*t is used in a not sexy way, implied physical fight, minor angst, some fluff

you liked to pretend there was nothing going on, that the way he looked at you didn’t affect you and that you hadn’t gotten all dressed up for him.

your relationship with oscar was complicated, friends with a bit on the side when the stress of his job and life got a bit too much and you each needed the extra comfort.

oscar didn’t seem like the type to engage in this kind of thing, in fact you’d never even looked at him that way before, until the night he won the f2 championship and you’d taken a heated tumble into his bed. it didn’t happen again for a while, you’d both managed to keep the urge at bay, but when he woke up in the middle of the night to the alpine fiasco, you were the one he called. you were the one he flew out to bahrain at the beginning of the f1 season, and you were the one that occupied his bed on most race weekends.

it wasn’t a thing, or, to put it more accurately, you both pretended it wasn’t a thing. you viewed yourself as emotional support, stress relief, a very close friend. you viewed him as a person that you could easily fall in love with, but you couldn’t get into the habit of thinking like that.

nonetheless, there you were in a club somewhere in japan, looking far too good to act like you didn’t have a motive. lando had dragged you and some others out, a double podium in suzuka the perfect excuse for a messy night in a foreign city.

oscar may have been good at hiding just how elated he was, but you knew him better than the media did, and you knew exactly how ready he was to celebrate.

in the spirit of having a good time, you’d disappeared over to the bar, fully intending on starting the night off on a high. you were ordering a round of shots when it got messy. it just wasn’t the kind of messy you’d anticipated.

a hand on your waist lured you in, assuming it was oscar, considering how confident the touch was. you leaned into it, but the hand felt wrong, the mould of it against the curve of you waist was wrong.

“what’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” the mystery man slurred into your ear, making you shiver in all the wrong ways. the line was icky and the way you felt his breath hit the curve of your ear was just plain disgusting. he wasn’t oscar.

“not you, that’s for sure.” you mumbled, pulling away. the hand on the waist tightened and you panicked.

the next few seconds were a blur, a flash of indistinguishable words coming from the creep, oscar’s body between you and the man, lando stood assertively behind him. you couldn’t tell what was being said, the music too loud and the sick twist in your stomach too prominent to focus. all you caught was the delightful asshole calling you an “f1 groupie slut”, and that’s when everything slowed down.

oscar knocked him on his sorry arse, while lando tried to move you out of harms way. your best friend, who would never hurt a fly, as harmless as a person could be was furious, and you couldn’t keep up with his movements as he handled the situation. you caught lando guiding the less than impressed bouncers to the pathetic mess on the floor, while oscar turned to you.

“are you okay? i’m so sorry, did he hurt you?” he cupped your face, shocking you. pda was not his thing. you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, finally at ease.

“just… take me back to the hotel.” you sighed. the privilege of being an f1 driver, you supposed, was the way all he had to do was nod at the bouncers and they let him leave.

it was all too much, the unwanted attention, a new side of the usually monotonous f1 driver, the confusion. oscar had defended you like his life depended on it, like you were his to defend. it topped protecting a friend, he had been blind with rage until the guy was indisposed. oscar didn’t just do things like that, that’s what had shocked you more than anything.

you were in a daze when the fresh air hit you, getting into the car that pulled up. the ride back to the hotel was dead silent, the city lights being both a perfect distraction and a banging headache in the making. you couldn’t stop yourself from looking out the window, though, because if you did, you’d have to look down at his hand intertwined with yours, and you didn’t think you could face that quite yet.

you didn’t get it. were you falling for him? of course you were. but he’d never given even a smidgen of indication that he felt the same way, and now what? he was scrapping in clubs with drunken idiots? over you? it made no sense, you didn’t know how to make it make sense.

the car slowed and your door was being opened for you. you stepped out, finding your feet as you walked on shaky legs into the foyer. oscar’s hand found the small of your back and despite better judgment, you fell into step beside him. he was so familiar, so comforting, you knew you were too far gone.

the way he looked at you in the elevator was dangerous, like he was staring into your bare soul, like he wanted to take you apart and put you back together.

he stepped towards you in the enclosed space. you reached out for him meeting halfway and then it was blissful. his lips slotted over yours, fireworks, hands on your body, frantic. yours were in his hair, threading through his curtains, a symptom of too much time on the road without a haircut. you liked this look though, he looked older, more undone. your back was against the cold wall and you moaned when his lips hit your neck, marking you up for the first time ever. was he making a statement?

“oscar-“ you started, ready to open a can of worms and questions, but you were interrupted by the ‘ding!’ of the elevator. it seemed to break the trance you were in and you both shuffled out of the lift.

“i think i should go back to my room.” you said quietly.

“oh.” was all oscar could muster, not trying to hide his disappointment one bit.

“i’m just… oscar, i’m confused.” you averted eye contact, looking longingly down the hallway towards your room.

“about what? about us?” he sounded defensive.

“is there an us? i don’t even know what this is anymore.” you sighed.

“‘is there an us?’ are you joking?” the defensiveness progressed into a state of pissed off, another rarity for him.

“i’ve never seen that side of you before, we’ve never been like this before.” you pointed between the pair of you, the weight of the space seeming to heavy to bare.

“i couldn’t just let that guy freak you out, it scared the shit out of me watching someone make you that uncomfortable. the idea of someone getting into your space, touching you…” he trailed off.

“why? why do you care so much? because we sleep together? because you didn’t like that it wasn’t you touching me?” the frustration got too much and the words you’d been threatening to say for months came spilling out.

“because you’re too important to me! because you mean more to me than i can even begin to understand.” a raised voice that you couldn’t recall hearing hit your ears and your heart sped up, ringing in your ears.

“oscar, i’m scared.”

“of me?”

“of losing you. what we have now, well, it is what it is. but you’re my best friend and the idea of anything changing, as much as i want it too-“

“do you want me? do you?” his eyebrows furrowed and his voice wavered in a way that made your stomach drop.

your eyes betrayed you immediately and he was kissing you again, softer this time, passionately. the hotel corridor felt too exposed for such intimacy and he was leading you back to his room. the door shut and your clothes were gone, a trail of them formed from the entrance to the foot of his king sized bed.

everything about that night still lingered on your skin. his butter melting kisses, finger prints on your hips, the drag of his grown out hair tickling the delicate skin of your inner thighs. you’d made sure to leave your mark too, his thick neck bruised purple, the trace of your fingerprints right over his heart.

it was all permanent now, every kiss, touch, whisper of affection, and when you fell into bed with him, weekend after weekend, it was the bed that you shared. he was all yours and you were more than happy to let yourself fall in love.

[cx-boxbox]

Short landoscar drabble inspired by the picture taken outside of the McLaren motorhome (~500 words):

Oscar jumps when the alarms start ringing, and his first instinct is to get the fuck out of here.

He doesn’t go with his first instinct.

Taking the steps two at a time, he bursts into Lando’s room, throwing the door open like a crazed man. And sure enough, Lando is right there, curled up on his tiny bed and sleeping through the alarm like it’s a lullaby.

Oscar’s eyes land on his socks. Interesting choice of footwear you got there, mate.

“What the fuck. Wake up.”

Well, surely a moment or two to catch his breath… and stare at Lando in his cutest, most vulnerable state wouldn’t hurt.

The alarms are still going. Lando is still sleeping.

Oscar exhales. “Oi, mate, you’re really not making this easy for me. If I pull a muscle and don’t make it to quali, I’m blaming you.”

Swiftly, he grabs Lando around the waist and hauls him up, practically tossing him over his shoulder. Thank fuck, his teammate is tiny. Three apples tall.

Lando immediately startles awake and scrambles for purchase, screeching, “Oscar?!”

At least, he’s not struggling against the hold Oscar has around his upper thighs.

Oscar ignores him and the fingers digging into his back and just the fact that he’s carrying Lando out like a groom would his bride in Ancient Greece or something.

“Oscar, my shoes!”

“No time for that,” Oscar replies. It’s Lando’s fault for taking them off before wandering about and then promptly falling asleep. He should be grateful he’s otherwise fully clothed.

Lando whines sadly.

“I’m going to put you down now.”

He whines again. “I’m actually rather comfy. The view’s pretty nice too.”

Fighting his blush, Oscar gives Lando’s butt a little pat in response and carefully sets him down on his feet, aware of the gravel and the thin material of his tiny socks. Lando looks disheveled, and his cheeks are pink, like being tossed over Oscar’s shoulder like a sack of flour somehow caused all the blood in his body to rush to his head.

Unable to contain himself, Oscar bursts out laughing at his teammate just standing there with his hands on his hips, looking very much like a small disgruntled kitten in skinny jeans and ballerina socks.

Jon hurries over, glancing between them, and says, “Oh my God, I was looking for you two- Lando, where are your shoes?”

Lando glares at Oscar, who wheezes. It’s not even that funny to begin with, but there’s a camera right behind them.

“Mate, your ballerina socks are going to go viral,” he manages to say at last, wiping a tear. Just to be a shit, he quotes, “‘And it’s all too much for little Lando Norris, twenty-four years old. He just needs a bit of sleep.’”

“Are you quite done?” Lando huffs. The back of his left sock fell when Oscar put him down, and he fights the urge to crouch down and fix it for him.

That would be kind of weird for teammates. And extremely intimate.

“Yeah, I’m done.”

He and Jon proceed to tease Lando relentlessly about his socks.

But once the fire is cleared, Oscar still plucks Lando up off the ground the moment he begins complaining about how much his feet hurt.

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Imagine a young Simon Riley working at one of those interactive Halloween experiences where he dresses up in a skull mask and stalks patrons through the dark as they stumble through the woods, paying for the pleasure of being terrified.

Except he seems particularly interested in you. The first time he jumps out at you, you startle and then laugh along with the people around you at your embarrassment, quickly shrugging it off. But when you turn around next, he's still a little behind you, eyes burning into your back, not looking away even when he sees you've caught him staring.

He follows closely behind you the whole time and surely he'll get in trouble for not doing his job properly? And it's almost definitely part of his whole act, right? Except, if you really believed that then you wouldn't be waiting in your car when your time slot is up and you've said goodbye to your friends, sitting there until the last patrons leave.

A ittle later, the staff begin filtering out and you start to think you've missed him when he appears, still dressed all in black, still wearing his mask. He looks around for a second, then his eyes find yours across the empty carpark.

He tilts his head for a second, as though in consideration. Then he walks quickly towards you, sliding into the front seat of your car.

"Drive," he says.

And you do, not saying a word when his hand slides down to find its place on your thigh.

[stevesjockstrap]

Feral linecook Eddie Munson shamelessly flirting with brand new never worked in a kitchen before in his life server Steve Harrington

Makes a point to fuck up dishes for his tables so they get returned and he gets to see the embarrassed blush across his freckled cheeks when he brings them back, and so he has to spend more time at the window where Eddie can say raunchy things to him

Eddie showing him diligently how to do his side work before he can leave, so he can walk out with him and offer him a hit of his joint when they’re done

Steve scared to put in his tickets for his own meals because then Eddie will know he’s on break and take his own break, sprawled out on a folding chair in the back room, shamelessly staring at him

Steve staring back at his tattoos and piercings and the little tendrils of hair that fall out of his updo

Gareth beside him on the line snickering into his shoulder at the absolutely unhinged things Eddie gets away with saying and doing

[marinaiguess]

something something sonic held onto blaze with both his hands at the end of sonic rush because the last time someone turned into their super form alongside himself, ended up falling and Sonic didnt get to catch him even though he tried.

He didn't wanna see the same story unfold again.

[whumblr]

Warning

"You know what's a shame... Soon, people will not even remember you anymore."

"What's that even supposed to mean?" Whumpee snarled in return, watching with their hands bound behind their back, sitting on their knees as Whumper paced back and forth in front of them.

"I mean, hell, they'll definitely remember you," Whumper continued, ignoring the outburst. "But not in the way you'd want to. Like, how nice you were to them or how much effort you always put into things... how you helped them. Your smile, the twinkle in your eyes, your little preferences, the sound of your voi-- ah, no, wait, they'll definitely remember your voice."

He traced off ominously, a sly grin finally forming on his lips before he carried on.

"Instead, people will look away when your name falls, shudder at the memories the mere mention of you evokes. After a while, they will not even want to think about you. Because the image that comes along with you is too horrible to even think about.

All that you were, it will all be engulfed and you will be so much more. You, my dear, are about to become a warning."

He finally stopped pacing, looked at the stunned Whumpee who finally looked up with fear in their eyes.

"A warning not to mess with me," he said and knelt down in front of them, brushing a lock of hair from their face. "Don't you worry, darling, it's nothing personal."

-

General whump tag: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan

[thebest-medicine]

79 ler Wendy, Lee dipper?

Prompt 79 - “You’re not going anywhere.”

A/N: they’re so sweet and goofy! Love Wendy she is such a badass, his crush is understandable lmao. here ya are!!!:

...

“Wendy! Don’t!”

“Ticklish?! And trying to get away ..from me? No no, you’re not going anywhere.” She declared, gripping the back of Dipper’s shirt collar and dragging him back.

“Nononono- WendyheheHEEHEE! DON’T!” He cried as she started to pinch his sides with her other hand, while the one she’d grabbed him with began to skitter over his neck.

“Awwww man, this is too good!” Wendy jeered excitedly. She let out a little giggle that Dipper would have thought was adorable had he not been too consumed with his own laughter and how badly this tickled.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease!” Dipper shrieked when Wendy got a hand under his arm. He flailed back and rolled around on the ground as Wendy continued to tickle him.

“Stop-stop! I cahahan’t take it! Plehehehease!” Dipper pleased, his arms flailing about in front of him desperately.

“Oh, aaaaalright.” Wendy sighed. She stopped tickling, instead patting him on the head and then offering a hand to help him up.

As soon as Dipper went to take it, huffing and panting from the tickle attack, Wendy’s hand lurched forward and poked a few times as his tummy. It sent Dipper wobbling back with a squeal.

“HA!” Wendy snorted. “Sorry, sorry. I had to. I’ll stop, I’ll stop.”

Dipper watched her, blushing madly as he stood on his own. “You! You’re! .. you!” Dipper palmed his face, groaning. “Don’t do that again.”

“No promises.” She winked.

…

[more sentence starter fic prompts]

[other sentence starter fics]

[read this & further gravity falls drabbles on ao3]

[bucksangel]

angel ik it’s about 12 hours later since you posted about being bored and wanting some asks, but i’ve just woken up and am just imagining how it would feel waking up next to bucky, him trying to pull you back into bed with “come back to bed doll, it’s too early to get up” as he basically drags you into him so he can have you in his arms again. (can you tell i want a bucky to stop me from going to work by basically suffocating me in his arms) 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

ok ok but same?? i just woke up and thank GOD i don't have to work today bc if i did and had a bucky in my bed i'd be forced to call out bc there's no way i'm gonna pass up the opportunity to get squished to death between those arms

and now you've given me inspo so here you go <3 (this is also the shortest thing i've ever written it feels weird)

Just One More

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 828

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, kissing and smooching, that's it i think

Everything is soft, warm, and hazy, it’s almost like being wrapped in the morning sun's rays as you float across the sky on a cloud. True peace exists only at this moment; Bucky’s arms are wrapped around your body, sleeping with his head on your chest while you run your fingers through his hair, absentmindedly kissing the top of his head.

But then your damn alarm decides to go off louder than ever - the alarm’s tone doesn’t change, it just always seems to be louder whenever you’re too comfortable to get out of bed. And dear Lord you don’t want to. You want to stay right here all day, only getting up to eat or use the bathroom. Other than that, you’d be adamant that neither of you were to leave your little bubble of love.

You’re nearly unable to reach your phone due to Bucky lying almost fully on top of you, but you manage to snag it before the alarm gives him a rude wake-up. Upon stopping it, you drop your phone on the pillow next to you, wrapping your arm around Bucky’s back again to rub up and down in a soothing motion. He stirs under your touch, rubbing his face into your chest like he’s a cat burrowing into a blanket, hiding from the world in the hopes of being allowed a few more minutes of sleep.

He groans when you laugh, your fingernails scratching at his scalp.

“Honey?” You whisper softly, kissing his forehead. “Baby, come on, we have to get up.”

“No,” he grunts, blindly reaching up one of his arms so he can cover your eyes with his hand. “Go back to sleep.”

You can’t help but laugh a little louder, especially when Bucky starts grumbling about needing his beauty sleep.

“You’re beautiful enough,” you say with a smile, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand off of your face so you can kiss his palm. “We need to get ready.”

Huffing, Bucky lifts his head, blinking several times before giving you a look so mean that others might be afraid, but it only makes you giggle harder. He’s such a baby. And it’s absolutely impossible not to kiss that pout off of his face, so you do. You press a soft, lingering kiss to his plush lips until he stops his whining and leans into it. But then you pull away, and Bucky pouts again.

“You’re going to wake me up and only give me one kiss?” He huffs again as he lifts himself off of your body so he can hover over you, one hand planted next to your head while the other grabs your left hand, threading your fingers together and bringing them up to his mouth so he can kiss your knuckles. “You know I’m going to need at least three more before I can even consider letting you out of this bed.”

“Three?” You ask with a laugh, using your free hand to cup his cheek. “How about two?”

“Four,” He grunts, eyes squinting.

“One?”

“Now that’s just rude!” Bucky exclaims as he pulls further back so he can truly look at you so incredulously that you can’t help but laugh again. “One kiss isn’t good enough. I need five.”

“Oh, now it’s five kisses?” Your giggling continues when he nods, dipping down to steal one. “How about this: I give you four more kisses and then we get up and get ready. Then I’ll give you another five kisses before we leave. Deal?”

Bucky sighs, knowing he’s lost this battle. Damn you and your tempting lips.

“Fine,” He grumbles, leaning down again.

With each kiss he gives you, you mumble one, two, three. But the final kiss gets a little more heated. His tongue slips through your lips and into your mouth, neither of you caring about the fact that you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. How can you when the man you love is so adamant about showing his affection for you that he gets genuinely upset when he can’t even hold your hand?

Before you lose yourself too far in the kiss, you pull away breathlessly. “Four.”

Bucky sighs, pulling away and rolling off your body. He gives you his best puppy dog eyes while you sit up and stretch, letting the blanket fall into your lap. It’s just as you move to get out of bed when he grabs your wrist again.

“Baby,” He says, causing you to turn and look at him with a playfully raised eyebrow. “Just one more?”

He smiles when you roll your eyes because just like he can never say no to you, he knows that you’d never deny him of anything that makes him happy. One final time, you lean over and kiss him, pulling away almost immediately so he can’t wrap his arms around you - because then you know you’d never leave the bed.

“Now, come on. We can’t be late to our own wedding.”

[ipleadbritney]

lovers to enemies, the play

osctober day 20: lovers to enemies

landoscar, vaguely high school au

Oscar's about to say some very bad things any moment now.

“Where the fuck did George get this from?”

Okay, so Oscar might have worded that out a little bit differently. But the sentiment is the same, because yeah, where the fuck?

It's telling that no one berates Lando for his comment. Everyone's fatigued from George's latest script read. The team has separated into little cliques across the auditorium, poring over the new script.

Lando untangles himself from the curtains. Logan hasn't repurposed the curtains yet, but he says they're supposed to be the night sky. All Oscar sees is a lump of blue fabrics. “In the last scene, I'm proposing to Oscar, then in this one, I'm— I'm killing him?”

“Maiming him, actually,” Alex drawls, flipping through the script. “Oscar's getting killed by Carlos in scene 14.”

“So I don't even get to kill Oscar!”

Alex shrugs. “Take it with George.”

Lando huffs, returns to his pile of would-be night sky curtains. He looks like he will take it with George. Luckily, George was called by his student council peers to supervise a fight. Or something. Oscar wasn't really listening; he was preoccupied with understanding how his character turned from engaged to half-dead in between scenes. 

He stares at the tiny scrawls his sisters left in the margins of his old script— the one George called “too raw to be performed” and completely rewrote over the weekend. Heart eyes for Harry! Don't forget! Based on George's pace, Oscar will have to forget everything and restart.

Even Lando's character's name got changed. Logan says it was first Stephenson, but Lando demanded something different and it turned into a whole fight. Oscar wouldn't know. He hadn't been casted yet. Then it was Harry, up until 30 minutes ago. Now it's Orlando.

At least Oscar kept his name. Oscar, played by Oscar Piastri. 

“Do you get it?” 

Oscar considers bailing out. He's only doing this as a favor to Logan, who's only doing set design as a favor to Alex. Mr. Stella would be disappointed, but that might be better than whatever George's thinking of.

“Hey, Oscar!” 

Oscar looks up. Lando's moved closer to him, dragging his island of curtains with him.

“Been trying to talk to you,” Lando pouts. 

Oscar flushes. “Sorry, was just… trying to understand the edits.”

“Yeah, that's what I'm trying to talk to you about.” Lando fully sits in front of Oscar. “Do you get it? The edits?”

He's not entirely sure he got the previous draft. “To be honest?”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, not at all.”

Lando's face brightens up. “Great, because I don't either.”

It's comforting to know Lando, who's much more experienced than him, is just as confused as Oscar. 

“George's my mate,” Lando says, “and he's brilliant, but this is— what's the word? Convulsion?"

“Convoluted.”

“That one, yeah. Convoluted. He went to this workshop with Nico Rosberg and Jenson Button— the actors —and suddenly he thinks he's Shakesy P reborn."

Oscar nods, unable to form a proper answer.

Lando doesn't seem to mind. He continues, “Why do you get to keep your name, anyway? Orlando's horrible. And I know George's into this whole lovers-to-enemies trope, but where's the development? Where's the tension?”

Over Lando's head, Alex gives Oscar a thumbs up, mouthing, now's your chance. Oscar ignores him. 

“What's the point of being—” Lando pauses, checking the script, “—of being fated enemies if I'm not gonna kill you? Orlando and Oscar don't end up together, but they deserve to at least kill each other, right?”

Oscar tries to process the dozen plot points Lando discussed. He fails. Instead, he says, “I see you're excited to kill me.”

“Totally not the point, Osc.”

“Osc?”

“If I keep saying ‘Oscar’, it sounds like I'm asking for your hand in marriage. So, you're Osc.”

“Let's have dinner first before all this marriage talk. I'm free tomorrow. We can also go over the script again. Sounds good to you, Osc?”

That can be arranged, Oscar thinks deliriously.

Wait, what? 

Lando laughs, fond. “You're cute when you blush, Osc. I'll text you the details, okay?”

“Uh, okay.”

Oscar feels like they've skipped a couple steps, a couple scenes— but when Lando Norris is looking at you like that, who would ever say no? 

The moment breaks. George storms inside the auditorium and stalks towards the stage. “I have a new idea!”

Everyone groans. 

[cx-boxbox]

Since Ao3 is down and I'm tired of seeing drama on my dash, here's a short drabble (~400 words) I wrote a while ago in a sprint with @nyoomfruits inspired by the prompt:

“Everytime I touch you, it feels like a personal challenge to stop again.”

“You’re staring.”

Oscar hums, not even bothering to deny it. “Yeah?”

“If you have something to say, just say it, mate,” Lando tells him. He tucks himself into a tiny ball on the couch and sighs. “Just tell me that I should’ve won, but instead, I was too stupid, incapable, incompetent to. Again. Bottled it. Again. Fuck, that’s what everyone else thinks anyway.”

Oscar slowly scoots closer to Lando, approaching him like he’s a skittish cat that’ll run away from him as soon as he gets close. As expected, Lando flinches and finally looks at him.

“That’s not what you want, though,” Oscar says, confident in his perception of his teammate. Friend? “You’re too hard on yourself.”

Lando doesn’t say anything.

It’s difficult to read him at the best of times, but his limpid eyes contradict his words.

“You think you know me so well.”

“Well, maybe not, but-”

Ignoring the feelings swirling around inside, Oscar finishes his statement by pulling his teammate in for a hug, wrapping his arms around him tightly. And perhaps he does have a better read on Lando than he assumed because Lando immediately melts into him, curling into his warmth.

Oscar squeezes him tightly as goosebumps rise on his neck where Lando shakily breathes against him. He buries his nose in Lando’s curls, hoping he doesn’t notice the little kiss he drops into them.

Neither of them seem to want to let go, and that’s okay. The team can spare another moment.

“We only hug after podiums, Oscar,” Lando points out, when he finally detaches himself from Oscar’s arms. He doesn’t go far, even if he is a little tentative to remain close.

Oscar lifts an eyebrow. “You got a podium, didn’t you?”

“Still-”

“And I placed seventh, so even if you didn’t win or get a podium, I’d still hug you. It’s not transactional, y’know.”

Oscar doesn’t want to say that getting to hug Lando is like his own reward—or punishment—even when he’s not deserving of it. Staring at him is one thing, but hugging? Touching him?

That’s another thing entirely.

“Ask for a hug anytime,” he says, because he loves torturing himself like this. “I’ll give it to you.”

Lando looks at him.

“What about a kiss?”