#its like getting comments on the fic before its done

[kickcod]

short fic inspired by @rawme-price 's post (check it out if you haven't already its so good) and all the comments hybrid!au 141 with wolf!hybrid!soap and reader, misunderstandings get cleared up, bit of angst with fluff. enjoy!

Your pack was rejecting you. That was the thought that had you shooting out of your hospital bed in a panic.

Only a few days ago, you had been on a helicopter, watching Soap- the other wolf hybrid on the squad- getting all the attention you had been craving. You had been jealous, but tried to ignore it. After all, You weren’t as visibly a hybrid, and didn’t want to be accused of being insensitive or trying to play into your instincts too much. Unfortunately, the situation had spiralled since.

It started almost the next day, with everyone giving you the cold shoulder. You weren’t sure why- had you done something wrong? Over the next few days you tried to ask, but found yourself scoffed at. Your pack was avoiding you, and when you asked about it you didn’t get a clear answer. You were shut out, and it hurt. Pack instincts were especially strong in wolf hybrids, even if your hybrid nature wasn’t instantly visible aside from your small yet sharp canines. Your brain slowly clammed its way into a dark place, instincts taking over in a way you’d never fully experienced before.

You weren’t sure what exactly had happened, only that you had wound up in a bed in the medical center on base, being checked out for self-inflicted wounds. Bite marks marked your skin up and down, your own sharp teeth had drawn blood in several places. The doctor had done well to patch the wounds up, but also ended up calling Price- the captain being the last person that you had wanted to see. 

“Right- What the hell is your problem?” Price’s smooth voice filled the room, sending shivers down your spine. The glare shot at you was far from friendly, akin to a frayed wire that was about to snap. You failed at suppressing a whine, only to get a sigh from the captain. He began to search through your files, ‘tsk’ing disappointedly while he read.

“First you’re uncomfortable with hybrids, now you’re trying to act like one? You-”

The captain pauses in his tracts. He looks up at you, back down to the file, and back up again. The anger turns to confusion. The confusion ebbs away into a sudden understanding, as the species clear as day states ‘wolf hybrid’. He clears his throat, swallowing down all the bitterness he had held towards you before.

“..Why didn’t you say anything?” His voice comes out softer, suddenly more understanding. You pause for a second, only easing up slightly as you realized what the situation was. They had all misunderstood jealousy for hatred- which was understandable, considering how much shit hybrids get in general.

“I get a lot of shit for it. Either I act too much like a human, or too much like a wolf. I don’t want to act like,” you pause for a second, collecting your thoughts, “Like I’m doing it for attention.”

Your words only succeeded in getting the captain to frown.

“You know we wouldn’t think that way about you, right? We’re s’posed to trust each other.” You look up at him, watching as he grabs his phone to, presumably, send a message to the rest of the squad. He looks back at you with something akin to pity, a strange feeling pooling in the gut of your stomach. Slowly, he makes his way over towards the cot, and runs a hand over your scalp. Instantly, you can feel the change in your instincts, the tension in your body easing out slowly but surely as blunt fingernails scratch at the base of your neck. 

You’re not sure how much time passes, but after a while you hear the door opening, followed by the rest of the squad walking into the room sheepishly. Gaz looks more than slightly embarrassed, with apologies slipping out of his mouth the second he sees the state you’re in.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, I thought-” The rest of his sentence is incoherent, but you can roughly tell what he was getting at. He thought you were a human who didn’t like hybrids. The rest follow suit, murmuring soft apologies. You can’t help but laugh awkwardly, your instincts finally resting as the notion that your pack had rejected you leaves your brain.

The rest of the night is spent cuddling together, with the rest of the team giving you the princess treatment to make up for the past week.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Fic title: Well-Dressed Hot Mess

On AO3

 America was progressive when it came to the Quirkless. There was open acceptance. They even had a bunch of Quirkless heroes.

 Zoey grew up with Batman flying through the night and using his generational wealth as Brucie Wayne during the day. Zoey had met Dean and Sam, the Colt and Rifle of the Winchester hero family, who also doubled as hunters. 

 Zoey also grew up being told about exceptions and how money can buy its way in.

 Not everyone was accepting. Not everyone was progressive. 

 Being half-Korean already set her apart from her fellows. Being Quirkless just made it more of a crack between her and the others. 

 Zoey knew that Mira and Rumi weren’t as used to being hurt because of their Quirklessness. Or well, not by bullies. They had plenty of experience through the media and others. But… 

 They hadn’t had to sit in a school where slurs were slung at them, where people shoved her and commented on her Quirkless. 

Even moving to Korea hadn’t really dimmed her bullying. It was just that they were more focused on her being half-Asian than not. 

 She was too much; to American in Korea. But she wasn’t enough in America, not without a Quirk.

 Zoey knew. She knew what it was like. To be bullied for something she couldn’t control. She knew what the words sounded like and what the physical pain was like. She still had a scar on her arm from a classmate’s plant Quirk. 

 That had been the most significant catalyst for the divorce. 

 Zoey walked out of the hospital. Izuku’s surgery was done. They’d only allow one person to stay overnight, and of course, it was going to be Rumi. Izuku was her cousin.

Zoey let out a long breath. Rumi would be exhausted, wouldn’t she? She’d been holding up that glamour for so long.

 URGH! It made Zoey SO MAD. She couldn’t stand it. 

 How dare Celine show up like that? How dare she stand there while Izuku lay broken and Rumi worked herself into exhaustion to keep a stupid mutation quiet? 

 “ARGH!” Zoey let out a yell, feeling so angry. 

 Celine reminded her far too much of her mother. Of how she would back her daughter and keep her safe, but good luck being there. Good luck having those women show emotion about it.

 Caring about them for real… that wasn’t something Zoey’s mother could do.

  Zoey wrapped her arms around herself. Mira had left earlier to arrange some bodyguards for Izuku at the hospital. Zoey had stuck around a bit longer, but needed to go now. She was exhausted…

 “Is he okay?” a voice asked. Zoey’s head jerked up, and she turned to stare at the speaker.

 One of the demons. The silver-haired one. 

 The really hot-nope, nope. She was not going there. Nope. Thank you very much. 

 Zoey’s hand clenched, ready to call her magic until she was reminded about where she was.

 Using magic in a hospital was a tricky proposition. Healing drew on inner magic and outer magic. To use battle magic meant you could potentially hurt others, too, by draining the magic of the hospital.

 “Is the boy okay?” The demon repeated. Zoey blinked.

 “What?” Zoey asked him. “Why do you care?” 

 “Do you really think we don’t care about children?” the demon asked. Zoey’s face became flat, her face falling as she raised an eyebrow. 

 Yeah, she didn’t. 

 “..Fair,” the demon allowed after a moment. “We don’t often, but… that boy was hurt due to his Quirk or lack thereof, correct?”

 “How did you know that?” Zoey demanded. “Why does it even matter?” she sneered. “Think Quirkless people are so weak they get beaten up all the time? We’ve been sending you to hell for six hundred years.”

 “Indeed,” the demon commented. “Even before I became what I am, Quirkless people sent me to hell.”

“...Huh?” Zoey tilted her head, wrinkling her nose in confusion. 

 “Apologies,” the man grunted. “I’m Mystery Saja. I died around two hundred or so years ago during the first wave of Quirks. I was trafficked by my parents, who sold me to a crime syndicate to be made into an attack dog.” He growled.

 Like literally growled. 

 That was so hot…

 NOT THE TIME FOR THAT, ZOEY. 

 “You were human?” Zoey asked, baffled. 

 “Not all demons are born. Some are made,” Mystery said with a shrug. “I sold my soul for the chance to get revenge. For the chance to rip apart those who treated me less then human. Every person who suggested I deserve it for my Quirk I got to kill.” He smiled, and those were fangs.

 Those were actual FANGS.

 HER MONSTER KINK DID NOT NEED TO COME SO PRETTILY WRAPPED UP. THANK YOU. 

 Mystery swept an arm out. “That boy reminded me of who I was once. The child was hurt at the hands of others. Us demons tend to be possessive of things that remind us of our shame,” he snarled. 

 Again, very realistic. 

 Zoey was dying here. Her cheeks were so warm, her magic begging to crack an egg over them to fry. 

 NOPE. She was not going to do this. The guy knew about magic…

 Oh no.

 Oh NO.

 No, no, no- the popcorn! He’d seen.

 Noooo…. Zoey’s magic made her eyes completely white, a sweat drop dripping down her head. Hopefully, he didn’t notice as she was looking away from him. 

 “Surely you’ve noticed,” Mystery commented. Zoey blinked, looking at him as her magic slipped away. “You’ve had the same issues I once had. The minority in a world where they only tear us down. More so when we get into even a hint of power. They become scared of you, so they force you down more.”

 “No one was ever scared of me. They just hated me,” Zoey said back.

 “Perhaps. But they’re scared of you now, aren’t they?” Mystery asked. “Of what you represent. You are a Quirkless woman who is beautiful and intelligent. Skilled. What do they have but a flashy ability to use? They fear you.”

 “Fear…” Zoey shook her head. “You should go.” Zoey turned around.

 “They are afraid they aren’t as special as they think,” Mystery commented. “And they want to rip you down. But you can stand above them, can’t you?” Mystery asked softly. “Haven’t you ever wanted to show them how far you stand above them?” Zoey’s shoulders stiffened.

  Three years ago, right after Huntrix hit the top of the charts, they went on an American tour. While in Burbank, and avoiding her father, Zoey had run into an old classmate. The woman obviously noticed her, and the amount of fear in her face had filled Zoey with a smug, disgusting emotion. 

 She’d enjoyed it. Enjoyed holding the woman’s eyes. Knowing that one word from her could ruin the other. Zoey could list all the slights that happened. The money stolen, the bruises on her skin, the insults thrown. 

 A part of her had wanted to speak. Wanted to ruin the old classmate. Zoey had money, and she had fame. 

 What did her old classmate have? Nothing.

 She was small, insignificant, like how Zoey felt as a teenager. 

 She wanted the classmate to feel as inhuman as she once felt.

 Zoey held herself back. She had told herself that living well was the best revenge. That she just needed to live.

 Then she found the woman bragging on social media about knowing her. Claiming they’d been besties with some old high school yearbooks. 

 Zoey used a fake account to post the truth, claiming to be an old classmate with evidence.

 The other posts vanished; instead, the old classmate posted about losing her job. 

 It had been so satisfying. Zoey had grinned for days.

  Mystery chuckled, bringing Zoey out of her thoughts. “So you do know how it feels,” he said. “The rush of power you can hold. Was it as addictive for you as it is for me?”

 Zoey swallowed, staying facing away from him.

 She was nothing like a demon. 

 The rush of magic told her Mystery was gone. 

 She tried not to dwell on his words.

-

 “Demons used to be human?” Mira asked, disbelief dripping from her. 

 “I’ve faced them before,” Celine said over the phone. Zoey hadn’t wanted to call her, but the woman had extensive experience. “They’re usually weaker than other demons. More powers but a master of none of them. Why would they have a group of them leading this excursion into the human world?”

 “Mystery, the demon, mentioned he was born two hundred years ago? Maybe he and the others are more adaptable.” Zoey offered. “I mean, we’ve seen how demons can act,” she pointed out. 

 “Regular demons are easy to pick out. Unless we’d seen the patterns, we’d have just thought they were a bunch of jerks,” Mira said, crossing her arms.

 “The Saja Boys are lesser demons than,” Celine said. “We won’t be able to take them out so soon. Not with the public watching them. Work to win the Idol Awards. We’ll strike then.”

 “Yes, Celine,” both women said before Celine hung up. 

 “She didn’t ask about Izuku or Rumi,” Zoey muttered. Her rage burned in her.

 She couldn’t wait to see Celine lose everything. She couldn’t wait to watch as the carefully curated personality Celine put forward crumble. As everyone would see that the ‘rags to riches' Quirkless girlboss show her true…

 No. Zoey let out a breath. Now she cannot do this. 

 Celine’s downfall would not please her. 

 She wasn’t like a demon.

-

 Mystery growled quietly to himself as he gnawed on a dog toy Jinu picked up. That old hunter, Selina or something, had made a statement. The woman with the portal Quirk was the nanny.

 Jinu had requested that Baby look into the woman, as Mystery had already made contact with Zoey. Abby and Romance would tackle the pink-haired woman since they called dibs, while Jinu would target the one with demon blood. He had the most experience with it. 

 Mystery was… intrigued by Zoey. She was interesting. 

 Openly attracted to them, particularly Mystery. Energetic, cheerful…

 Full of a deep burning rage. 

 Mystery had a degree of empathy-based magic. It made things much easier to manipulate others. 

 The rage Zoey felt. The fury burning within her, Mystery had felt before.

 Within himself.

 Gwi-Ma loved to make Mystery relive it. Over and over again. 

 Mystery had developed his Meta Ability, a term often used before the concept of Quirk became entirely accepted by the world. He’d been eight.

 His father beat him so severely that he’d still been unconscious when he was sold. Another captive with a healing ability had saved his life.

 Mystery wished she hadn’t. 

 Life under his master was brutal. Twenty years under the man’s control, forced to be at his beck and call and treated like some animal.

 No, actually. The crime lord had been a good pet owner.

 Mystery was a weapon. Being able to hypnotize people with eye contact was very useful for a crime boss.

 Mystery was reminded every single day of how sick he was for having such power. Never mind that Mystery had only done what he was told. The crime boss used him for his own gain. 

 No, Mystery was the monster. 

 When Gwi-Ma offered him the ability for revenge, Mystery took it. He’d ripped apart his old master with his bare hands and hunted down his parents to rip their throats out. 

 He had laughed, long and hard with crazed eyes as he saw in his parents' eyes the fear they’d always had proven true. He came back for revenge. 

 Mystery just hated he’d proven them right.

 Dying at the hands of extremists had been a blessing. Mystery was haunted by what he’d done. Killing them like that, turning around to use his hypnotism to control his victims to hurt themselves. 

 Then he woke up in the demon realm. Gwi-Ma melded his soul to a dog demon and gave him powerful manipulation abilities. 

 Mystery hated what he’d become.

 That sense of anger, glee and shame wafting from Zoey felt so much like how Mystery felt. 

 She would take chipping, but Mystery knew he’d found the weak link.

 He just wondered how much Zoey enjoyed the fallout of what she’d done. 

 How much she hated herself for it?

Notes: 

-Zoey’s love of cartoons/anime has her magic reacting more in weird cartoony ways.

-Zoey to me is the girl with so much anger. Her anger scares her though, as is her angry petty side. 

-Mystery was… fun to get into the mind to. 

-Mystery is the youngest of the demons. He’s also the only one who knows anything about Quirks. 

-Mystery’s biggest shame is that he became what everyone said he was. Gwi-Ma as such made sure it stuck by having him become a dog, a wild animal. His powers of manipulation also reflects this.

[mechazushi]

Just a little something...

Ron could be fast, but Toto was built to be quicker. He slid off the suit jacket just before Ron's hands could reach and jumped backwards and out of his seat while Ron was distracted with saving his balance. Toto crumpled the jacket in his arms as he made a mad dash out of the kitchen. His speed hesitated slightly as he wondered if it was safer to lock himself in the bathroom or if he should make Ron chase him into the bitter cold outside. That split second of hesitation was enough for Ron to jump onto his back and capture Toto in a relentless strangle hold. The two of them thrashed around for dominance. Ron swinging Toto around in a bid to keep him from gaining enough of a strong stance to break his grip and Toto wildly swinging his legs around to try and send his captor off balance.

"Hand them over Toto!" Ron growled in aggravation as he tried to dig his hands into Toto's grip on the bundle of fabric.

"SPITZ, YOU TRAITOR!" Toto screamed as he continued to thrash.

Spitz remained unhelpful as he was propped up in the doorway, wheezing his lungs out at the ridiculous sight

An out of context excerpt for the Rontoto fic I'm working on.

I'm not trying to hype it up or anything (its still far from finished.) But sometimes I like to show people little parts of what I've got so far and with this section people can wonder what they're fighting about.

[sualne]

was checking my emails before going to bed only to find out my endocrinologist casually scheduled an appointment at long fucking last

[volivolition]

reading Kim's Disco Inferno and i absolutely needed to read this fic earlier than im reading it right now. this is so fucking interesting.

[darling-gemini]

I was momentarily considering stopping ghost au bc The Insecurities got me but then one of my regular commenters left a comment expressing excitement about reading this and last chapter and now I'm like. Well I can't deprive them of that!

[ayy-junipei]

A Defense of Unfinished Fic

I was talking about abandoned unfinished fics on Discord when someone said along the lines "FR bro I don't even read fic if not marked as completed" and that made me scootch my chair out to think a bit.

I think that's a little cruel, refusing to engage with a fic because its not 100% done yet.

Not only are people who do this missing out on great experiences, but its a refusal to engage with the author. It's refusing to acknowledge the author's effort in sharing something they worked a lot of hours on.

Like I get it. Nobody wants to take the cliffhanger or get mad that a fic they let live rent-free in they head disappeared into the ether, never to be updated again.

But that's part of life sometimes man. Sometimes stories are left unfinished. That didn't stop people from loving it as it was and taking inspiration.

Case in point is the manga Berserk. Highly influential series that inspired lots of others (e.g. Dark Souls, Elden Ring, even you guy's favourite Black Butler) amongst other things. The author Kentaro Miura struggled with juggling other projects and his declining health. He died before it was finished. But without this series being read and becoming popular, a lot of things we enjoy would have been really different. FF7 Cloud would have been carrying a little baby Fischer Price sword maybe idk.

So please, I invite you to engage with unfinished fanfic, whether it's one chapter done, or seven out of thirty planned. Give it your time and your comments.

Fanfic writers are not as visible a part of fandom community as artists or cosplayers. When a fic writer posts on social media or TikToks it doesn't make the same numbers as a cosplayer posting part of they fit or an artist posting a WIP.

But boys would cry, scream, throw up, piss they pants, shit and possibly die if Ao3 and FFnet were taken down permanently.

But interacting with the fic as its posted chapter by chapter? That's giving the writer that connection to the community one would give an artist or cosplayer when their work is still cooking.

I don't want this post to make people feel like they're being guilt tripped into participating in reading and commenting on fics. But there's really few ways I can convey how this is vital to the fandom ecosystem. It's like thanking the bus driver or washing your hands. If you don't wash your hands I will curse your crops.

Tl;dr: plz read unfinished fic and comment too thank you

EDIT: Some people gave good additions some had some wacky tobaccy takes so I want to clarify the following:

1 - This applies to fics someone would normally read and enjoy the theoretical fic, but won't because it's unfinished. I'm not telling boys to read every longfic under the sun. If you prefer short fic you can enjoy that.

2 - This is a fandom etiquette thing I wanted to highlight, St Peter won't bar the gates of Heaven if you still do it. The thing about etiquette is that when nobody does it, fandom would be worse off for it and we should strive to be better neighbors in fandom.

3 - Fic adoption is a thing, and don't be shy to ask about it. So is spiritual successor fics, you don't need an author's blessing to continue where an abandoned fic left off as long as you give due credit to the original. Neither are perfect solutions.

4 - Even long abandoned fics are worth your time there is a chance they can get resurrected with enough support. Source: me I'm being bullied by fans who unionised to make posting the next chapter to a fic I started in 2010-12, and haven't posted a chapter for (5) years. That's right this post was an inside job the whole time <- Joke

[4ttack-ur-heart]

Only one call away

Pairing: Sylus x fem! Mc

Warnings: crying, hurt/comfort, soft! Sylus

Genre: fluff!!

Summary: Even when you’re home, you still work. When it gets overwhelming, you decide to call Sylus who drops everything to take care of you.

Ugh I love me a good domesticated Sylus. Self-indulgent fic hehe.

I’m taking requests if you guys wanna see more <3

The phone sits heavy in your hands, thumb hovering over the call button.

Your eyes scan over your desk littered with various reports and the bright blue light your laptop emits stings your eyes after hours of working.

I never should have told Captain Jenna I’d have these done by tomorrow….

You curse your past self for the confidence of taking on too much work at once.

Rubbing the impending migraine through your temples, you release a sigh.

Just call him.

Your thumb presses the button without another thought and you lazily bring the phone to your ear. The phone barely rings twice before he answers, his deep honeyed voice drawling his usual charm.

“I was wondering when you were going to call me, kitten. I almost thought you forgot about me.” Theres a playful bite to his words.

“Hey,” you drag out the greeting. resting your head on your arm. “Whatcha doing?”

There’s muffled noises in the background.

“Nothing important, just taking care of some business, as usual.” Sylus says before his voice grows faint over the line. You can hear him ordering around the twins and the muffled pops of gunfire reaches your ears. “How’s your night, sweetie?”

You stay quiet for a few seconds, not really sure if you should play off your stress or give in. Your fingers fidget anxiously with the corner of one of the reports.

“You still with me?”

You nod as you’re pulled from your thoughts. “Yeah sorry, what did you say?”

Sylus’s chuckle rumbles through the line. “Your night- is it going well?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you struggle to stop the tears from welling in your eyes.

“I-it’s fine.”

Sylus frowns at the crack in your voice. His expression hardens at the emotion clinging to your words. More bullets whizz by him and he rolls his eyes.

“What’s going on, sweetie? Everything okay?” He asks with concern. Sylus places the phone between his ear and shoulder as he empties the chamber of his gun for a new magazine. “Talk to me.”

You let out a small sob, your emotions finally taking over as the stress weighs heavy on your shoulders. You miss his voice, his comforting words, him.

Sylus fires at his rivals with a snarl at your cries coming from his phone. Right now, they’re the only thing standing in the way of seeing you.

“Sweetie,” his tone is more urgent, a note of frustration too, just begging you to tell him what’s bothering you to the point of tears.

“I’m sorry,” you wipe at your eyes. “I’m just overwhelmed. I wanted to hear your voice. I didn’t know you were busy, I’m sorry-”

“If you hang up the phone- so help me, kitten.” Theres another pause as the twins laugh in the background.

“Headshot!”

“Where’s the confetti?”

Even through your tears, you fight the urge to smile at their comments.

“No, it’s just work. I’m supposed to finish like five reports by tomorrow, and I overestimated how much I thought I could do.”

“Well, how much more do you have to do?” He asks.

You glance over the scattered papers with disgust, lips curling up in distaste. “I’m only halfway done, it’s already taken me like three hours.”

There’s grunting over the line.

“Stay put, kitten. Wipe your tears for me and take a break, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Sylus says.

Your eyes widen. The last thing you wanted to do was interrupt his own work. “No, Sy, it’s okay. I just wanted to hear your voice-”

Sylus laughs over as a man shouting in pain. “You can hear it again… in person. Twenty minutes.”

The line clicks dead. Your phone hovers above your ear and you stare at it in disbelief. Sighing, you get out of the hard wooden chair and stretch your sore muscles. Its not like you had today off either, no you still worked the past five day and hadn’t given your body or mind proper time to recover.

Wiping the last of your tears, you shuffle the papers together neatly and try to tidy your apartment as best as you can before Sylus arrives. The dirty dishes are thrown hastily into your sink as a way to pretend they don’t exist, which they don’t right now. Your stomach growls angrily and you turn to rummage through your fridge.

“No food…” you frown at the half empty carton of milk, ketchup, and string cheese sitting lonesome on the shelves. Releasing a groan, you decide maybe to just change and freshen up instead.

Entering your bedroom, your eyes fall to the overflowing basket of dirty laundry sitting idly in the corner.

Oh shit. You were out of clean uniforms for tomorrow too.

“Fuck me.” You whisper in frustration, trying to keep your emotions at bay once again. The familiar sting enters your eyes again and you rub the bridge of your nose and take deep breaths to calm down.

A low chuckle rings out behind you.

“As tempting as that sounds, kitten, I don’t think now is the best time for that.”

Sylus stands tall behind you with his cocky smirk. His clothes were disheveled and wrinkled slightly from dealing with the idiots in the N109 zone.

“How did you get here so quickly?”

“My kitten needed me.”

He lets out a breath of shock as your arms quickly and tightly wrap around his torso. Your face is pressed into his silk shirt that was no doubt stained with blood. A teasing quip hangs on his tongue, but he swallows the words once he sees the slight tremble in your shoulders and feels the wetness on his shirt. Ever so gently, his arms wrap around your figure, one hand cradles the back of your head while the other slides up and down your back.

He dips his head down and his lips brush against your hairline, giving it a soft peck. “Did you overdo it again?”

You nod into his chest and sniffle.

“Alright.” Sylus bends down slightly and lifts your body into his arms. His forearm resting underneath the back of your thighs as the other brushes the stray pieces of hair away from your face. He walks to your bathroom and sets you on the counter while he turns on the shower.

“Sy, I don’t have any clean clothes.” You say, a bit embarrassed at admitting you haven’t been able to take care of yourself.

He only hums in response before his large frame disappears into your closet, remembering to duck his head this time. Sylus comes back holding a small duffel bag. Something he stored in your apartment a while ago; for emergencies, sleepovers, and anytime you missed him.

“Lucky for you, I do.” Sylus says and drops it on your bed. He starts to unbutton his shirt and tosses it to the floor. He comes up to you, his large fingers dipping underneath the hem of your old t-shirt. When you nod, he proceeds to lift it up and discard it with his. You hop off the counter and you both strip the rest of your clothes.

The warm water sprays across your bodies and the hot steam crawls up the shower door and mirror. Sylus stands behind you and runs a soapy loofah over your body. You hum in contentment as his large hands massage your hips and trail up your body.

There’s a soft click and you feel something drip on your head. Sylus places the shampoo bottle back on the holder and massages the thick liquid into your scalp. Your head falls back against his chest and his hand occasionally swipes across your forehead to prevent the suds from getting in your eyes. He repeats it with the conditioner on the tips of your hair.

Once Sylus makes sure the blood and stress is washed away, he wraps his arms around you once more, tilting your chin up to face him. His lips lower down to meet yours in a chaste kiss.

The kiss was nothing sexual, purely a reminder that he’s there. That you don’t have to struggle alone.

Sylus turns off the shower and wraps you in a towel before tying another one on his waist. He ushers you out into the bedroom and rummages through the duffel bag lying on your bed; cologne, accessories, and extra clothes. He tosses you his large grey sweater and your eyes light up at seeing the familiar piece of clothing.

Once you’re both dressed, he sits behind you on your bed and dries your hair with a towel.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, voice breaking the silence.

You slowly nod and your stomach grumbles loudly too. Perfect. Sylus takes your hand and leads you to the kitchen and starts rummaging through your cabinets. He lets out a low hum in dismay at seeing the bare cupboards.

“I’ll order in something for us. Are you craving anything?” His phone is already out, swiping through the food delivery app.

When his eyes meet yours, you feel yourself getting shy again. You play with a loose thread on the sleeve of his sweater.

“Maybe that ramen place in the southern district? You like that last time we had it, right?”

You nod.

Sylus orders the food and leads you back to the table where the reports lay.

“We’ll work some more. Then when the food gets here, we’ll stop to eat and continue again. Sound good?”

Again you nod.

“I miss that voice of yours, kitten.” His knee bumps yours under the table.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

“Okay.”

“There she is.”

—

You managed to get another report out of the way by the time the food arrived.

Sylus dragged you over to the couch and put on a show he knew you liked while the two of you ate. When you both finished, your bellies were full and Sylus pulled you back into his chest to relax while you waiting for the episode to end.

His arms is snug around your shoulders, his fingers rubbing over your arm. Your eyes start to flutter shut and Sylus chuckles before tapping your nose lightly.

“No, no. Not yet, sweetie.” He gently pulls you off of him and stands up, holding a hand out to you. “The sooner we finish, the sooner you can sleep.”

You groan dramatically, wishing anything to just curl into his arms for the night and sleep for the next week.

“Five more minutes?” You plead and give him your best puppy dog eyes.

“No.”

“Ugh.”

And so Sylus helps you get back into your rhythm. He helps you as best as he can and gives you encouragement when you need it.

Then another report is finished.

And finally, the last one is done.

You lean back in your chair and stretch your back once you’ve submitted the final report to Jenna.

“Now I can sleep.”

“Now you can.” Sylus gives you a smile.

Closing your laptop, you shuffle all the papers together and head for your bedroom with your fingers interlocked with Sylus’s.

He fluffs your pillows and straightens out the blankets before he lets you get in.

Now here you are, laying down on Sylus as he scrolls through his phone. His other arm is secured tightly around you as his thumb grazes your hip. Even though you’re painfully tired, you almost try to stay awake to savor the peaceful moment with your lover.

However, the exhaustion catches up with you and your eyes fall shut and your breathing evens out.

“Good night, kitten.”

—

The next morning comes and you groan as your body wakes up. Your hand goes to reach for Sylus but when you feel the empty space, you sit up and rub your eyes in confusion.

He was gone.

Frowning, you pull the covers off and step into your fluffy slippers. The apartment looked the same, but still no sign of Sylus.

Your eyes flicker to the kitchen and you do a double take when you see the sink is clear. Not a dirty dish in sight.

“Huh?”

You walk to the drawers and pull one open to see all your cutlery is put away nicely. You let out a smile when you realize Sylus did the dishes for you.

Your eyes catch a pink heart-shaped sticky note on your fridge.

Open me.

Opening the fridge, you gasp when you see it’s completely stocked. Different proteins, fruits, condiments, and vegetables neatly stacked the shelves.

A chime suddenly rings out through your apartment. The dryer.

There’s no way he did your laundry too. Your heart flutters at the gestures he did for you.

The front door opens and closes and you finally see your scary-looking boyfriend holding a tray of two coffees and a small paper brown bag.

“Oh, I was hoping to be back before you woke up.” Sylus says as he holds out the food. “I got us breakfast.”

You take the coffee and glance at the sticker. The customization is exactly how you like it.

“I also got us some muffins,” Sylus trails off when he sees your expression. Your lip wobbles and you cover your face with your hands as you start crying.

“Sweetie, I was hoping to get rid of the tears, not bring new ones on.” He sets the bag and down and quickly pulls you into his arms.

“You bought me groceries.” You cried.

“I did.”

“And did my dishes.”

“Of course.”

“And my laundry…”

“That was fun.”

You choke out a laugh and sniffle. “I’m just so thankful to have you in my life, Sy. Thank you for helping me.”

His hand brushes through your hair and he places a kiss on top of your head.

“Of course, kitten. We all get a little overwhelmed, I just need you to remember to ask me for help when you need it.”

You nod and wipe your eyes.

“But you never ask me for help when you get overwhelmed.”

Sylus scoffs.

“I deal with the twins 24/7 and you think I don’t get overwhelmed? That’s why I have Mephisto spy on you most of the time, I can check in on you whenever I want and knowing I have you in my life calms me down.”

“Aww, Sylus.” You coo and lift your hand to brush your thumb against his cheek.

Your phone pings on the counter and you briefly pull away to look at the notification. “Oh, it’s from Jenna.”

You’re silent as your eyes skim over the email she sent you, even rereading the words over and over again.

“No way.” You gasp, returning your eyes to Sylus’s crimson ones with a bright smile. “She told me the reports looked great and as long as I’m on call, I don’t have to go in today.”

“That’s amazing, sweetie.” Sylus brushes your messy hair away from your eyes. “What are you going to do today?”

You let out a content sigh and grab your coffee.

“Absolutely nothing, I’m just gonna sit in bed and relax.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Do you mind if I join you? It’s just about time for me to go to bed.”

You notice his tired eyes and momentarily forgot he sleeps during the day like a vampire.

“Yeah! C’mon I’ll tuck you in.”

And the rest of day was spent with you tucked in bed catching up on relaxation while Sylus was sound asleep next to you with soft snores escaping him.

[hamzaheaven]

High fic with hamzah?

a/n: writing this fried as fuck so it only seemed right xxxx thank u for the req :’) also first time posting smut im terrified (its written in the way i enjoy smut so no vulgar words, moreso descriptions i guess?? idk pls im ashamed lowkey.) and its long as hell ok ill stop apologising now. sorry

tags: friends to lovers, tension.

warnings: weed smoking, dry humping.

NSFW <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

you feel your eyes strain slightly as the smoke spills from between your lips, your gaze focused mindlessly on the orange tip of the joint. you’re sitting on Hamzah’s bed, your back resting against his headboard. you and him had been friends for a while now, but it was starting to become harder for the both of you to ignore the blatant attraction and tension that lingered between you. the suggestive tones curling around every word, the glances that last a little too long. it was evident in everything, but you both seem to keep skirting around it. tonight, it feels heavier. hamzah had called you earlier, his voice laced with something softer than usual, asking if you wanted to come over and smoke. you didn’t hesitate. now, the two of you exist in easy silence. 

hazily, your attention drifts across the room. Hamzah is sitting in his desk chair, hunched over slightly as he edits a video on his computer. the screen is the only strong illumination in the otherwise dark room, the blue-ish light reflecting off the glasses on his face. your chest rises and falls slowly as you watch him, your eyes flicking across his back. his jaw clenches and unclenches in focus, his fingers moving over his mouse mindlessly. 

as if he notices your dwelling gaze, he turns his head over his shoulder to look back at you. another moment of comfortable, wordless silence passes as you simply stare at him, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

“what?” he quietly asks, the ghost of a chuckle laced within the simple question. even from behind his glasses, you can tell his eyes have turned a little red, too, like your own. 

you blink your eyes slowly, sparking the lighter in your hand a couple of times before shaking your head and shrugging. “nothing,” you mumble back, looking down at the lighter for a moment before back up to him. “admiring my view,” you add, your tone a little unserious as you sit up slightly. 

he immediately returns his attention back to his screen, humorously shaking his head in disapproval. the sound of his mouse clicking is echoing throughout the silence once more. “don’t say that,” he stoically says, “ew,” he adds, but you are quick to catch the tiny twitch of a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth.

you can’t help but puff out a laugh, knowing how quickly he cringes at comments like that. silently, you relight the joint, your throat and lungs contracting slightly as you inhale. “you almost done?” you ask, your voice soft as the smoke billows out along with your words. 

he doesn’t respond immediately, humming instead. “yeah, just need to-” he starts, cutting himself off as he clicks around on his screen before continuing his sentence, “cut these clips a bit more…” 

a slightly dramatic sigh falls from your lips as you place the joint on the ashtray on his bedside table. “well, you better hurry up, or there won’t be anything left for you to smoke,” you reply, your words carrying a teasingly taunting tone. 

he clicks his tongue in response, still keeping his eyes focused on the screen. “don’t you dare,” he mumbles, his mouse now moving faster across his computer as you amusedly continue to watch. he takes another five agonisingly long minutes to finish up, turning his monitor off before sliding the desk chair back and getting up. in the now mostly dark room, he stretches, his bones crackling a little, a soft groan eliciting from his throat. you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, the same sheepish grin still on your face as he sluggishly pads over to the bed. “scoot,” he mumbles, scratching his hair and waving his hand for you to move to the other side of his bed. 

you do as he says, moving over to make room for him, your movements a little slower and heavier than usual. the mattress dips beside you, his body plopping down on where you had previously been sitting. a deep exhale passes through his lips as he sinks deeper against the pillows, shifting to get more comfortable. your eyes feel heavy as they seem glued to him, tentatively watching his every move. his fingers reach for the joint resting on the ashtray, taking off his glasses with his other hand. he looks at the joint for a second, before sparking the lighter, the orange flame illuminating his face in the dark room. you swallow sharply, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and lolling your head back gently against the headboard. hamzah’s yet to notice your shameless staring as he takes a long drag, inhaling before the smoke billows back out of his nose and parted lips. finally, he turns his head your way, catching your gaze as it was already on him. he mirrors your movements, resting his head on the headboard as well. 

the atmosphere in the room feels a little loaded, the tension between him and you almost palpable in the air, the effects of the marijuana only intensifying it. neither of you look away. his gaze flickers down for a second—just barely. it’s quick, but you catch it. the subtle drop of his eyes, lingering just a second too long on your lips before they snap back up to meet yours.

inhaling sharply, you move a little closer, teasingly placing your hand on his upper thigh as you lean over him, reaching for the joint he had laid back on the ashtray. he flexes the muscles in his thighs in reaction to your touch. your head feels fuzzy, your eyelids strained as you relight the tip, staying in place instead of moving back to your previous spot on the bed. the smoke passes through your parted lips, the taste of the green plant lingering in your mouth before you turn to look at Hamzah. 

his head is lolled back against the headboard as he watches you through low eyes, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. he shifts slightly as you keep your hand on his thigh, leaning on him to prop yourself up a little as you turn your body towards him fully. with your blood-shot eyes, you keep them locked onto his own, taking another drag before tentatively leaning closer. he watches with anticipation as you stop inches in front of his face, blowing the smoke against his parted lips teasingly. you flip the joint around in your fingers for him to wrap his lips around the end, but he doesn’t react for a moment. he seems to contemplate something, his chest rising and falling slowly as he blinks at you. 

wordlessly, he gently moves your hand away from his face, taking the joint from between your fingers and placing it on the ashtray. “c’mere,” he then mumbles, shortly nudging his chin upwards. his hand gently traces up your arm and into the crook of your neck, his fingers lacing in the hair at the back of your neck. you feel your chest flutter slightly at his soft command, watching gingerly as he tugs your face closer to his. 

teasingly, he ghosts his parted lips against yours, grinning to himself. he juts out his bottom lip a little, an airy exhale rolling off your tongue as it touches your mouth. you move your head to the other side, trying to find a way around his teasing, but he doesn’t immediately let up. instead, he removes his thumb from the back of your neck, carefully tracing it along your jawline until it reaches your bottom lip. he pads the finger across the soft, slightly damp skin. you can’t help but stifle a sigh, placing your other hand on his chest gently. a little frustratedly, you curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. 

he notices your frustrated gesture, biting back a light chuckle. his free hand tugs on your thigh, guiding your body to straddle his lap with heavy and slow movements. he exhales against your parted lips once more, teasing the tightened tether of tension carelessly once more before finally giving in. 

your hands slide up to his neck, your spine arching slightly as he gently presses his lips against yours. the dense haze in your head lifts just a little at the feeling, the hand that isn’t curled into the hair at the back of your head moving up your thigh and under your shirt. you inhale sharply against his mouth at his rather cold fingers stretching across the warm skin of your bare back. he applies a gentle pressure, pushing you down onto him a little. his eyebrows furrow, his heavy eyes fluttering shut at the friction. in response, you gently dig your nails into the back of his head. shivers continue to roll down your spine as he keeps his cold hand there, absentmindedly guiding the way you’re moving. 

you pull a hand through your hair, moving it out of the way, never breaking the kiss. something about the effects of the weed seems to make every touch, sound and move feel like a breathtaking bliss. a low, soft exhale tumbles from his throat, strangling into a whiny, barely audible moan. “fuck,” he curses against your lips when you roll your hips, just barely, experimentally, and a sharp inhale cuts through the space between you.

his fingers dig into your waist like he’s attempting to ground himself. his breath shudders as your hips roll over him again. his head falls back against the headboard with a quiet, broken sound—something between a sigh and a whimper. you can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles go taut beneath your hands, the way his grip on you wavers between restraint and desperation.

“f-fuck,” he repeats, his voice thin and unsteady. he’s already unraveling, his chest rising and falling faster as his hands twitch against your skin. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this—so quickly undone, so easily wrecked just by the slow grind of your hips, the teasing drag of your fingers up his chest. 

you curl your spine slightly, leaning down as your lips ghost over his jaw, trailing down to the side of his neck, where you press a single, deliberate kiss to the warm skin just below his ear. his whole body tenses beneath you, a shaky, barely-contained whimper tumbling from his lips. 

“please–,” he starts, but he can’t seem to finish the sentence. his hands flex on your waist, his eyebrows furrowing deeper, his voice soft and whiny. 

you hum against his neck, the vibration making him shiver. “please, what? hm?” you murmur, your lips brushing against his pulse point, pressing a deep kiss there. 

he swallows hard, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “don’t… don’t stop,” he stammers, his voice catching on the words. His fingers twitch against your skin, restless, desperate, barely able to even guide your movements anymore. 

you pull back just enough to look at him, your gaze flickering over his face. his lips are parted, slightly swollen from how hard he’s been biting down on them in an attempt to be quieter. his pupils are blown wide, a deep furrow in his eyebrows. he looks wrecked already, and you’ve barely even touched him.

you tilt your head slightly as you listen to his quiet plea, making the coil in your lower abdomen tighten. your fingers tentatively trace the hem of his shirt before slipping beneath the fabric, dragging your nails lightly up his stomach. his breath stutters at the touch, and when you press them down slightly, just enough to make him feel it, he lets out a high, needy whimper. 

his hands shoot up, gripping your wrists like he’s trying to stop you—but his hold is weak, like he doesn’t actually want you to stop. “wait… wait,” he tries, his voice barely above a whisper, breathy and shaking, giving away he doesn’t want to cum so quick. his head tilts back, his eyes fluttering shut. his chest is heaving as you curiously halt your movements. 

you lean in again, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone. “you’re so sensitive,” you murmur against his skin, and the way his breath catches, the way his thighs flex beneath you, tells you everything you need to know. you gently continue moving, bringing back the friction that was making him writhe underneath you. his taut muscles immediately melt again under your body, a whiny exhale falling from his parted lips. 

“y/n–...” he tries to speak, but your name is quick to die in his throat when you grind against him again, slower this time, more deliberate. his hands clench and unclench at your sides, his breathing turning into short, hitched gasps. his voice wavers, and then he lets out a soft, whiny moan that makes your pulse spike. you watch as his head turns to the side, his skin burning, like he’s embarrassed by the sounds slipping out of his mouth. 

but you don’t want him to be quiet. 

tilting his chin back toward you with a gentle hand, you hover just inches from his lips, your thumb brushing against the corner of his mouth. “don’t hide from me,” you murmur, your voice softer now, coaxing, suggestive on the shell of his ear. “I want to hear you.”

his breath shudders, his grip on you tightening for a split second before going slack again. another curse word tumbles from his lips, his head dropping forward, his voice coming out in airy whines. “fuck… i’m, s-so close,” he stumbles over his whispered words, his chest heaving. 

you watch him, your own breath catching in your throat now, too. 

he lifts his head again, messily searching for your lips with his own, breathing raggedly. his grip on you is tight; harsh, almost as you continue rolling your hips, feeling how he pushes his own hips up every now and then. his whole body is tense, caught between pleasure and overwhelming sensitivity, and the way he’s looking at you—dazed, unfocused, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded—only spurs you on.

your mouths sloppily connect once more, and you can tell he’s struggling to focus. 

hamzah is trembling slightly beneath you now, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as you keep moving against him, your nails roaming his back with deliberate slowness. his head tilts back, exposing the long curve of his throat, and the soft, desperate sounds spilling from his lips are enough to send heat pooling low in your stomach.

“i cant h… im gonna–,” his voice breaks on a whimper, the muscles in his thighs going taut, a string of loud moans following his cut off words. you watch with parted lips as his head drops back against the headboard. his expression contorts with the overwhelming ecstasy that thrills through all of his nerve endings, your nails digging into the skin of his chest as you feel the muscles in his stomach contract and release in rhythm with his whiny moans. they slowly grow softer, and you bite back a brief chuckle as you feel a growing, warm, wet spot in his pants underneath you. his hands slide down from your waist to your hips, his chest still rapidly rising and falling. he keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, seeming to relish in the sensations pulsating through his body. 

you swallow sharply, deliberately shifting a little on top of him, causing him to wince a little at the overstimulation of the sensitive area. he lazily opens his eyes into yours, his lips a little puffy and glistening as he keeps them parted, his panting slowing down slightly. his eyes are still a little unfocused and hazy as he flickers them across your face for a moment, a glint of endearment in them. he then drops his gaze down to his crotch, groaning a little. “look at this fucking mess,” he mumbles, also noticing the wet spot in the fabric, along with some of it splayed out on the skin of his stomach where his shirt had moved up. 

a breathy chuckle falls from your lips as he looks back up at you. “why would you make me ruin a perfectly good pair of sweatpants like that?” he asks jokingly, his eyes still half-lidded as he amusedly gazes at your state; a pink hue on your cheeks, lips puffy and damp, eyes heavy and your hair a little disheveled. he carefully wraps his arms around your waist, craning his neck so he can comfortably press a sweet, simple kiss on your mouth. 

you shrug playfully, grinning into the kiss. “my bad.”

[elliesanqel]

catharsis but dom ellie pls pls pls Im begging😭

take it

sypnosis; roles are switched—seth spits out a nasty comment at ellie, causing your anger to flare up. she decided it was best to take you home, until she decides to find a way to control your anger.

cw; angst, smut, dom!ellie, sub!fem reader, car sex, strap use (referred to as a cock), oral sex, rough fucking, spitting, multiple orgasms, fluff, r!receiving all, men and minors dni.

a/n; there was a few reqs to write dom!ellie for this fic and i looove the idea so here it is! and ohhh if she ever looked at me like that…endgame!! and also, if i haven’t done your request yet, i promise i am either currently working on getting it posted, or im still writing it. a few will get released this week!

➝ masterlist

your eyes narrowed at seth, your whole body filling with heat as ellie just looked at him, her look almost puzzled. you werent doing anyone any harm, just purely kissing. thats it. yet it still gave seth the ability to spit out some homophobic comment one way or another. ellie was your girl, your princess. if anyone was even slightly rude—it’d make you angry. you just thought she was too precious to even be made fun of at all. she noticed the way your face twisted with disgust, and she knew you’d say something if she didnt act—causing her to take your hand in hers softly. “lets go.” she whispers, not wanting to cause a scene.

your eyes finally left seth, looking at ellies pleading face and softening when you did, but the anger still bubbled. you thought it was probably best to just leave instead of causing a scene infront of everyone. even though seth had already done half the job—you didnt want to finish it. you let ellie take you outside into the fresh air, her hand tightening around yours for reassurance. you didnt dare look at her, feeling to angry to even speak.

she knew—so she just walked hand in hand with you to the car. there was a big problem, though. ellie hated it when you didnt talk to her. she preferred talking it out and letting you rant to her, she hated awkward silence. she let go of your hand, watching you storm off to the passenger seat. she scoffed, taking the keys out of her pocket and opening the car, getting in and starting it.

“dont.” she begins, her voice firm as her hands grip the steering wheel, pulling out of the car park. you scoff, still staying quiet and you could tell she wasnt a fan of your growing attitude. “scoffing at me now? you’re brave.” she furrows her brows, her eyes stuck on the road as one hand stays on the wheel, the other on the gear lever. you roll your eyes, testing the waters as much as you could. you wanted this all to be over and the best way for you to do that was so stay silent and bottle it up. but not for ellie.

“baby, seriously,” she begins, her head rolling a little in annoyance. “drop the attitude. none of this is my fault, unfortunately theres always gonna be people like seth and theres nothing we can do. you know that, right?” she explains, firmness still in her voice as her eyes glance over at you before back onto the road.

you sigh, looking at your hands as you fiddle with your thumbs. “i know, but seriously why do we always have to be the ones to say something? nobody else said anything.” you groan as she listens to your rants.

she takes in a breath, understanding where you were coming from. “i know, sweetheart. trust me, i do. but we have to deal with it. you dont always have to defend me, im fine.” she explains, but clearly it wasnt enough for you. you laugh sarcastically, the anger clearly still swarming you. “dont, ellie. dont make light of this situation, you know damn well its fucked up. so dont you fucking—“ you get louder, but before you can continue, she swerved the car to the side of the empty road, parking it. you gasp at her sudden move, confusion clouding your mind. “what the fuck was that fo—“ you begin, but she cuts you off again.

“lose that attitude and get in the fucking backseat.” she demands, her voice firm. you knew she wanted no argument but the way her voice went from reassuring to demanding in the matter of seconds led you to just listen to her words. you slowly unbuckle your seatbelt and get into the backseat of her car, looking at her as you did. her eyes never left you as you moved, her hand reaching into the glovebox, to her strap.

she took it into the backseat with her, her hands immediately wrapping around your thighs and placing you on your back along the seats and she crawled on top of you, parting your legs so she hovered inbetween them, her lips inching to your ear as her breath was hot on your skin. “angry, arent you? well i’ll make you a deal, baby. you take it like a good girl and i’ll fuck that anger out of you, hm?” she whispers, her voice almost mocking. leaving your eyes wide as you felt your body already growing limp under her touch.

your whole body shivered, leaning against the door of the car, eyes never leaving hers. she smirked at you, her look stern yet soft at the same time. with that, her hands reach up, tugging at your jeans, unzipping them and pulling them down—letting you lift your hips to help her tug them off and discard them somewhere, not really caring where. the heat that was growing between your thighs now displayed infront of her face, looking at the wetness pooled there like it was liquid gold. she smirked, both of her hands hooking around your thighs and pulling them further apart for her, her eyes never leaving yours as her tongue darted out, swiping all the way up your wet cunt.

your head falls back against the door, a whine emmiting from your lips—your hand instantly flying to her hair and pushing her mouth closer onto your needy pussy—to which she almost hiccups from the force of your hand. she props herself up a little further, her hands kneading your thighs slowly as her tongue works on your bundle of nerves, swirling around it, her lips making a pop sound every time they left your pussy for her to take a breath, but after she delved right back in, eating you out like she was a starved woman.

she hungrily darts her tongue into your pulsing hole, dabbing it in and out which caused your thighs to squish her head and a string of moans to fall out your mouth. she let out a hum against your cunt, before slipping her tongue out and her lips leaving too. her eyes left your gleaming pussy, looking up at you through her lashes as she slowly spits, letting her saliva drip down onto, your mouth opening a little with a gasp—before she breaks eye contact and leans back down. her tongue licks all the way up your folds, pushing her tongue back into your aching hole, causing you to grip her hair harder, her thick auburn locks tangled in your fingers. “s—shit! ellie, oh my…fuuuu—“ you choke out, your back arching.

“fuck,” she whimpers against your pussy, her brows furrowing as her own heat was needing attention as she ate you out. your body began shaking as you could feel her warm tongue darting in and out of you, your hand gripping her hair hard, pushing her in closer as you felt your high coming. her eyes flickered closed, knowing you were close. she quickened her pace, dipping in and out of your hole before you jolted, a string of moans falling out your mouth as your cum flowed out onto her tongue.

she looked up at your face covered in pure ecstasy: your head tilted back, mouth agape, brows knitted together, sweat aligning your forehead. you felt her drink up ever last bit of your release before she quickly pulled away, wiping her mouth like she’d just had a good meal, and she undresses her lower half—disgarding her jeans somewhere and slipping her strap on. all before your eyes had even opened yet.

once they finally did open, her hands were already squeezing on your thighs—gripping them hard and flipping your whole body around and forcing you on your hands and knees. you whined slightly, already feeling her press the tip of her cock onto your entrance.

her hands palmed your ass, giving you a light smack which made you jump. “shit, look at you. so beautiful like this.” she whispers, voice low and dripping with seduction. you bit into your bottom lip, not even ready for her when she pushes forward—one of her hands leaving your ass to grip the base of the clear silicone, sliding into you and completely bottoming out. your bows knit together, eyes squeezing shut.

“ohhh! fuuuck, els!” you whine, almost choking out as her cock was already pounding against your spongey spot. her brows also furrowed, her mouth open as she pulls your hips back on her cock, filling you up good. “mmm—good girl. taking me s’well, fuuckk.” she mumbles, but it came out more as a desperate moan. your hands conveyed to the steam-covered window, leaving handprints.

you thought this was as good as it could ever get, until she leaned forward…her chest completely pressed against your back as she continued pounding into you. the new angle sending shivers through your body as it instantly brought you to the approach of your second high. her teeth found the top of your ear, taking it in her mouth before speaking. “gonna lash out at me like that again, princess? or are you gonna—nghh…behave?” she whimpers, her breath hot on your ear. one of her hands grips the handle on the window, her other curled around your waist as she picks her pace up.

“cum for me, sweet girl. allll over my cock, yeah?” she teases, her voice sounding breathless. your eyes roll back along with your head, almost meeting with her shoulder as you shivered violently, all of her teases and her relentless pace bringing your body into a frenzy. you jolt, your cum shooting out all over her cock as well as the car seat beneath you. “oh my fucking god…ohhh fu—“ you choke out, your entire figure growing limp as she pulls out.

“fuck baby, that was hot.” she whispers. your hands slip off of the window, leaving a streaky handprint as you feel her arms envelop your body, bringing you close. she kisses your hair, letting it linger before you speak. you had no idea what to say about what just happened, so you skipped over that—after all, her actions did all the talking. “sorry i got so mad, my love. i just hope you understand why.” you whisper as you lean into her.

she smiles softly, holding you close. it was comforting. “shh, its okay baby. although, its cute that you’ve moved on so fast. im nowhere near done yet.” she grins, sounding mocking.

the car was a mess, steamy windows, obvious handprints, clothes everywhere.

anyone who drove past—you prayed for their sanity, as well as yours as you awaited arriving home.

taglist: @valeisaslut @elliesfavtoy @ttspenny @ellieswrath @willurms @slutt4ellie @stvrluvrrpres @elliescoochieeater @les4elliewilliams @eveyuyy @starwilliams @eriiwaii @vahnilla @ellieputellas @vampirq @elliesngirl @se4ttlellie @edenspoem

[ovadzs]

you are in love ᥫ᭡.

✄you’re not in love with Oscar Piastri, and you’re getting pretty sick of everyone thinking you are. come on, you’re just best friends (since like, forever) and yes you maybe used to be head over heels but you’re not now, seriously! and definitely the rumours and the photos you post and the way you’re sort of kind of living together isn’t confusing at all! just friends, really.

✄mcs: oscar piastri x fashiondesigner! reader

✄trope: childhood best friends to… something?

✄cw: fluff, yearning (?) you’re both idiots, landos annoying (as usual) smau! so posts/messages etc! NOT PROOF READ.

✄word count: 10k

✄notes from me??: hi everyone !! exams are finally over, everyone cheer now. so strange to work towards something like that and then it be done, though. anyway,! in all honesty? i hate this fic. i honestly don’t think it’s very good, or logical, or fluid, and i actually can barely bring myself to post this. i’d really appreciate any feedback or anything! and PLEASE, any ideas of fics im DESPERATE. like genuinely !! have no ideas but so much motivation to write! also, this smau kicked my ass like genuinely i was tweaking on getting the photos in place and then they all DELETED? horrifying. never (definitely will do it) again. i hope you like this a LITTLE more than i do! ‪‪❤︎‬

You don’t believe in soulmates, not like that, anyway. But sometimes, the way life works out, seems to test your obstinance. You’d met Oscar Piastri when you could only waddle around, and now here you are, sketching him in the corner of your sketchbook affectionately.

Although you’re a designer, you are still an avid doodler. You had pages upon pages of stupid comics and sketches, mainly centered around him, and Lissie, and Lando. Funny, that was the universe shouting at you again. Out of all three of you, Oscar was the one who had always dreamed of Formula One, and yet you’d all been pulled into its orbit. You, stitching together the outfits on the drivers’ backs, and Lissie, flouncing around Lando, finally becoming a publicist of sorts.

You and Lissie had always been so close, that you knew it hadn’t mattered when she’d left to go pursue a career on the other side of the world. But when Oscar had left, you hadn’t been so sure. You truly thought that was it, that he’d go off and drive and you’d be in that same town, watching your fingers bleed from pinpricks from needles.

You had been in love with him, obviously. Who could blame you? He was quiet, thoughtful, and caring, and you knew him. Truly. Inside and out.

But once he left, you let it go. Let him go. That night, tears welling in your eyes. His rueful smile and messy hair, arms extended. You’d hugged him so hard, certain that was it. And when you’d whispered those stupid three words, and he still got on the plane, you decided maybe it was better, that it was over. Childhood love wasn't real, anyway. Your brain hadn’t even finished developing yet.

But still, it was weird to be back with him. As adults, professional and different. You didn’t laugh as much now, but it was louder when you did. He looked the same, but just, sort of bigger? And he still looked at you, just as he had then. But actually, he laughed more. It was nice to see him happier. He’d been so focused, determined, when you were younger. Desperate. And he’d made it.

You finish your sketch, unsatisfied with the shape of his nose, before Lando comes crashing in.

“Good morning, mate.” he says cheerfully, trying not to trip on his undone shoelaces.

You raise an eyebrow at him hesitantly. “You seem cheerful. What’s up?”

He just beams back. “What, am I not allowed to be happy?” he replies, and you roll your eyes at him.

“It’s Clara, isn’t it?” you ask suspiciously, and he nods enthusiastically.

“She’s coming with me to the gala thing. And you know, I explained to her that it will be pretty public, and people will assume things, or make comments, and I understood if she didn't want that, but she said yes anyway. Like, seriously. Like she was willing to go through it, cause she’d rather be with me publicly than secretly, like being with me is the only option anyway.” he boasts proudly, evidently cheesing, and you can’t help but grin back supportively.

You were glad Clara was coming. You hadn’t met her yet, but he was gushing about her so often that you were desperate to make up your own mind about her. She sounded brilliant, but Lando had sometimes made questionable choices before.

“That’s great, Lando. Genuinely. Do you know what she’s wearing? I could like, incorporate it into your suit, if you wanted. That would be cute.” you say pensively, scrunching your nose at him, and he bursts into laughter.

“I forget that's literally all you think about.” he responds, and you mock being offended.

“Yeah, kind of my job. Anyway, stand straight.” you fire back, walking over to him and pulling your green measuring tape against his torso.

“So, I was going to go for a 1960’s theme for your suit, to celebrate when McLaren was established, sort of? It would be subtle, but that sort of style. Although, I want to try and add a 70’s kind of flare on the bottom, but I can’t tell if that’ll look shit. The sketch looked cool, but you know-” you ramble, scribbling down numbers as you instruct him to raise various limbs.

“Actually, I don't know. But for the record, I would’ve fired you by now as my designer if you weren't good at it, no matter how much Oscar would protest. Funny, you know I actually sent Lissie one of your designs first, so you wouldn’t have needed your boyfriend or your sister to get here.” he murmurs, trying to sound sarcastic.

“Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t have accepted the job if I only got it through them anyway. And for the record, you know he isn’t my boyfriend. You can stop joking about it now.” you reply firmly, and he throws his arms up in innocence, making you curse.

“Lando, stay STILL.” you sigh, exasperated, and you hear a familiar chuckle from your studio doorway.

“Yeah, Lando. Stay still.” comes Oscar’s gentle voice, and you smile instinctively.

“Morning, Osc.” waves Lando, and you catch Oscar wave back in the corner of your eye. You nod at Lando, withdrawing back to your desk, and swiftly close your open sketchbook.

Oscar makes his way towards you, placing down a drink by your arm.

“Careful, it’s hot.” he mutters, before turning back to face Lando. You smile at him absentmindedly, focused on comparing your measurements with the design you’d been working on. You hear them chatter, the sound muffled, until Lando shouts out.

“You guys smell the same.” he practically shrieks, and you look up at him incredulously.

“Um, what?” asks Oscar blankly, and you copy his expression.

“You smell the same. Like, your clothes. Well, you smell like her.” he accuses, like he just figured out some deep, ugly secret.

You inhale deeply. “Yep, my bad. I’m staying at his place at the moment, but I hate using any other laundry detergent, hence the smell of the clothes.” you state simply, surprised by his grin.

“Oh, finally! Lissie and I have been waiting for this for forever. Does she know?” he asks excitedly, pulling out his phone.

Oscar coughs awkwardly. “She’s just staying until she finishes the work here.” he explains, gesturing to the piles of boxes and wiring exposed around the room, and Lando sulks.

“Moving in together would be an insane thing to just, like, do, Lando. We’re not even together. You’re such an idiot.” you hiss awkwardly, trying not to think about a strangely domestic life with the Australian to your right.

He laughs quietly in agreement. “You are such an idiot. I’ve been saying this for a while.” he adds, wisely, and you look up at him gratefully.

“Yeah, okay. Whatever. You’re still practically married, doing laundry together.” Lando mutters, dropping his voice to barely a whisper. But it’s still loud enough that you both hear it, even though neither of you even blink.

“Alright, Lando. I think we’re done for today. I’ll text you when to drop back round to try some stuff on, okay?” you mumble firmly, waving him away with a calculated flick of your wrist.

“Touched a nerve?” he jokes, but his eyes are uncomfortably serious. And he did touch a nerve. You grit your teeth and smile angrily at him, nodding your head to the door.

“Bye, mate.” chimes Oscar, raising an arm as Lando slowly ducks out the door.

There's an uncomfortable silence, but it's momentary, because you’re suddenly too concentrated on what Lando mentioned- he really does smell like you. He’s close now, his head peering over your hunched shoulder. And it shouldn’t matter, and you shouldn't even notice, but you do. And it's pretty simple why.

Textures, smells, sounds. Colours. The way patterns jumped at you. They made you part of who you were, part of how your mind worked. And you had your own specific smell, your own style, the colours you used in your work and the textures you liked best. And here he was, straying from his usual familiar scent, and into yours instead. And maybe it was weird, for you to obsess over it so much. But it was like a form of identification. It was how you’d found your jumper, when it was thrown among all the others at the school. Stupid, little things like that.

But the worst part was that it wasn’t offputting, like when something wasn't matching up to how you thought it should be. Instead, you didn’t mind it. And you knew full well, if it was anyone else, you would.

“Do you like it?” you ask suddenly, breaking the silence, and you watch him lean further, admiring the detailed design in front of you.

“Its so obviously, like, you. But also so obviously him. That's brilliant, really. It will look amazing, I’m sure.” he replies earnestly, but you huff a little.

“You can be honest. No one's ever honest with my designs, but I need it now. This is a big deal.” you mumble, stressing the importance of the outfit, and he smiles gently.

“I am being honest. It’s seriously impressive. I don’t know how you managed to come up with a suit so unique? He’ll be better dressed than me, that's for sure. I’ll try not to take it personally that you requested him instead of me, by the way.” he responds, and you wince.

“Yeah, sorry. Didn’t realise you found out about that. Frankly, I had this sort-of idea for a while, and like you said, it’s very him and…” you start, but you trail off slightly.

“... and he's more likely to have people talking about his outfit than me, right?” he chuckles, clearly unoffended, and you nod back quickly.

“You got it. Sorry though, seriously-”

“Will you be my date?” he bursts out, interrupting you mid sentence.

“Um, sorry?” you ask, startled, and he just blinks back at you.

“To the gala. Unless someone’s already asked you, like Lando, because that would make sense. You know, design and designer, good marketing. Or if you don’t want to go, that's fine. But if you do, and no one-” he explains, and you decide to return the favour and cut him off.

“That would be nice, yeah. I’d love to. And for the record, Lando asked Clara. I’m so excited to meet her, really. How is she?” you reply simply, and Oscar exhales, relieved.

“She’s brilliant. Truly, you’ll love her. You’re sort of alike, really. Bubbly. She reminded me of you, when I first met her.” he answers honestly, and you scowl at him.

“I’d rather not know that Lando's dating someone that reminded you of me. That’s gross. But hey, you think I’m bubbly?” you tease, and he looks away, trying to hide a grin.

“Not my finest adjective, I know. But don’t worry, she’s still very different from you. You’ll see what I mean.” he sighs, before asking a simple question.

“So, what are you going to wear?” he asks, and you freeze.

Shit. You’d agreed so quickly, forgetting that very very important factor.

“Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. Well, I can’t copy this, because I don't want to match with Lando. Wait, what are you wearing?” you fire back, eyebrows raised expectantly.

He quickly pulls out his phone, showing you a picture of his suit. It was fairly standard, but had some interesting shapes and creases you admired carefully.

“Okay, who are you wearing?” you rephrase, and he looks at you guiltily.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I’ll find out. I just got sent this photo by Anna this morning.” he explains quickly, and you nod sharply.

“I like the shape. Harsh where it should be soft, but it doesn't look uncomfortable. And the subtle blue is intriguing. I can work with that. I just need to find out who designed it, so I can ask about the fabric.” You ramble, unfocused on him, but he’s grinning.

“What, you’re going to match with me, instead?” he smiles, and you roll your eyes.

“Good marketing, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” he bemuses, and you shake your head, suppressing a laugh.

***

Other than Lando being a dickhead, the night went incredibly. Your designs had gone down insanely well. An endless stream of compliments flooded you, about Lando but also about your own attire. And as usual, Oscar was right. Clara was brilliant. You loved her, like, immediately. You’d both ran off, leaving the boys, and you’d spent most of the night flouncing around fancy guests and trying to act a lot more important than you were.

She was creative, funny, and absolutely bubbly. It was actually the perfect adjective.

You were leaning against the edge of the stairs, deep in conversation about your upcoming collection, when you felt a familiar hand rest on your shoulder.

“Hi, Osc.” you whispered, not even bothering to look up.

“How'd you know it was me? Could’ve been a different dashing young man, asking you to do something crazy like dance. To this song. Which he would somehow know you very much love.” he grins, and you turn to face him, pulling that reflexive scrunched face.

“I always know when it's you.” you mumble back, and it sounds way more serious than you’d intended. “But for the record, you know dancing is reserved for the kitchen only. Or if I feel like winning in Just Dance, like usual.” you respond, hoping your subtle rejection doesn't land too seriously. He rescinds his extended hand back into his pockets, shrugging casually.

“So, how long have you been together?” comes Clara’s gentle voice, watching you both carefully.

“Oh, no, we’re not-”

“Together? No, it’s-”

You quickly talk over each other, in a blatant panic, hands flapping, but Clara just laughs, sharp and clear.

“Wow, sorry. Must’ve severely misread Lando’s message, when he said I could finally meet his best friend's girlfriend tonight.” she giggles, and you want to laugh with her, but Lando’s stupid toothy grin gleams at you, emerging beside her.

“Must’ve been autocorrect. I meant best friend’s best friend. Or a friend that's a girl, you decide. Sorry for any confusion.” he smirks, sounding annoyingly sincere.

“It’s alright, Lando-we know you didn’t go to school. Grammar is hard.” you say calmly, smiling back at him. He flashes a scowl at you before taking Clara’s arm and whisking her away, much to your annoyance.

“She didn’t protest against dancing.” comes Oscar’s hurt voice, and you snap your neck up to face him, but he’s already laughing at you.

“I’m joking. Just came to check you’re alright. You disappeared.” he states matter of factly, and you just rest your head on his shoulder, giving yourself a moment of quiet.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m actually quite tired. And this dress is too tight.” you groan, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and uncomfortable.

“You made it.” he chuckles, and you whack him affectionately.

“Yeah, I know. Whatever.” you pause, listening to the music.

“So, imagine I’m a different bubbly, um, dashing, woman or whatever. Who happens to know that this is kind of the only song that isn’t house music that you listen to.” you beam, holding out your right hand, raising your eyebrows.

He laughs, and takes it, and you follow the pathway conveniently made from Lando and Clara towards the middle of the floor.

***

yourusername

yourusername too fancy for me lol, but the clothes seemed to suit it. (get it?)

oscarpiastri claranelson landonorris

View more comments

user8 blown me away, as usual

user12 so cute

user21 oscar has a gf?

↳ user42 you’re new here arent you

claranelson mclaren garage is going to get real sick of us soon

↳ landonorris didnt realise we were hard laucning in yourusernames comments

↳ claranelson oscar has this girl in the garage every weekend and they arent together so actually you just hard launched us

oscarpiastri you looked better than you danced

↳ yourusername well im a good dancer so thanks

↳ user36 please get a room, thanks guys!

user36 can we please talk about clara and lando for a sec??

↳ user59 lmfao wait are u the mf that dedicated a whole blog to proving they were together

↳ user36 i dont play about my niche pink haired influencers bro

↳ claranelson wait i remember this ahahh well done

You switch your phone off and flop onto your bed, sighing. It was so bizarre to you, staying here. Calling it your bed, like you owned it. Like it wasn’t in Oscar’s house. It had been generous of him to offer so quickly to let you stay, and he clearly didn’t care about how long your studio would take. Sure, you’d spent many hours in this house, but it felt so different now. Your mess, all over the carpet. Scraps of fabrics and sketches and clothes strewn around. You, bringing colour all over the plain walls. It was genuinely like you lived here. In this room, at least. You’d never even seen Oscar’s bedroom.

But he wasn’t here right now, probably training, and you’d always been curious.

Huffing, you trail to his door, pushing it open. It was pretty boring- as expected. He had an interesting simulator stuffed in a corner, but the room seemed so devoid of character. Almost like a hotel room. You’d been there for two weeks and you’d already made it seem lived in, while his was just so plain.

You scan the shelves for something interesting, and you pause when you see a long row of photos. Various frames and sizes jump out at you, the irregularity of it all making you uncomfortable. It’s cute though, an endless array of baby Oscar next to overly large karts, or his sisters grinning, or his mum and his dogs. Then you see yourself, face scrunched as usual, scowling at the camera. You were so tiny, pointing awkwardly at Oscar’s shirt, while he beamed. You remembered it well, that photo. It was the first garment you’d ever made, and you hated how obvious you thought the clumsy seams were, even though both him and his family had thought it was inspired. They’d always supported you, even when your own hadn’t. Hesitantly, you pick it up to study it, and you watch a large pile of polaroids fall out the back.

You inhale deeply, recognising them. Lissie and Hattie had been obsessed with polaroid cameras, constantly taking picture after picture. You’d kept a couple of Lissie’s, somewhere in a shoebox, but they were mainly of you and her, or relatives. Hattie had always been the one who took snapshots of you and Oscar.

There were so many. An endless stream of different poses. Back to back, in your embarrassingly shiny prom dress, and his slightly-too-small suit with a tie that matched your pink look. A couple more from that night, including some with Lissie and her boyfriend at the time. Then a cute one, of just you and your sister, grinning. Considering they’d been hidden behind the back of the picture frame, you figure he wouldn’t mind if you took that one. So you do. You stuff it silently into your pocket and continue wading through the polaroids, feeling that familiar sense of nostalgia.

They all blur, grins and scowls and arms over shoulders, and you try to not get too upset. It’s sickening, how sweetly you’re looking at him, in the more candid ones. How he didn’t know, you’ll always wonder. Sure, social cues are often wasted on him, but you were so obvious. The proof was in front of you.

You get to the last one, almost wishing you’d never picked them up in the first place. It was a bittersweet sensation, watching years flash by. Watching you grow up all over again.

But this one's the worst. Both of you, evidently no older than sixteen. Your left hand, gently holding his chin. A wide-eyed grin spread across his face. Your lips, barely pressed against his pink cheeks. It’s adorable and disgusting and you want to rip it up and frame it simultaneously. No context could save that, explain the look on your faces. No excuse could make that seem friendly, and you honestly think it's more intimate than if you’d actually properly kissed him. But you can't even remember the context. It must’ve been a joke, or something. Because you know full well the idea of that would’ve made you want to throw up- not from disgust but from pure panic.

And it’s making you feel a bit sick now, something you haven’t felt since he walked away, that brutal rejection. Well, it wasn’t truly a rejection. It was a conclusion, an understanding. But a painful one. It’s a sharp, clear memory.

“I love you.” you whispered, clinging onto his neck.

“I know. I love you too.” he whispered back, into your hair.

You paused. “You need to go, don’t you?”

“I do.” he replied quietly, but he didn’t pull away from the tight embrace.

And although your brain was screaming at you to rephrase, to tell him not to go, to say you were IN love with him, to not release your grip, you stepped back. You watched his resolve falter slightly, in time with your heartbeat, but you couldn’t leave it like this.

“Bye, Osc. Good luck, yeah?” you grinned, mustering up any joy you could find, like the world wasn't collapsing on you.

He laughed lightly, scanning your fake expression.

“Thank you. But this isn’t really bye, is it?” he murmured back, his tone wavering between genuinity and sarcasm. Back then, you’d thought he was just being nice, and he hadn’t meant it.

Now you realised he was right. And you’re so lost in thought, so unfocused, you don't notice you are still holding that photo. So unfocused, you don’t notice he’s leaning against the doorframe, watching, until he speaks.

“You’re not usually in here.” comments Oscar, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

You jump, and turn to face him, a somewhat guilty expression painting your face.

“Ah. Hi, Osc. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, I was just-” you begin, but he chuckles at you, walking forwards.

“-Curious? Yeah, not unlike you. What did you find?” he asks, eyes crinkling.

“Um, I found these polaroids. Hattie’s, I assume?” you reply, shielding the one intertwined in your fingers.

“Uh-huh. I meant to give them to you, when I found them, but I forgot. You’re welcome to take any you want, obviously.”

“I already did. Took one, I mean. One of me and Lissie, you know?” you respond, breathing slowly. He’s not looking at you, instead he’s studying the array of photos beside you.

“I know the one. Are you planning on taking the one of us you’re trying to hide now, or what?” he jokes, still not looking up.

“I’m not hiding anything. I’m just holding it. Anyway, how did you know which one I’ve got?” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“It’s my favourite.” he says casually, and you almost explode.

You blink awkwardly, unsure on how to reply.

“Oh! Well, obviously you can keep it then, I was just looking at it. I don’t remember taking it.” you babble, handing it to him, but he just shakes his head.

“Funny, I barely remember any of these, but that one. But no, you can keep it. Put it somewhere more visible, maybe?” he jokes, but he doesn't seem to be that light-hearted. He’s sort of awkward, and vulnerable, and you don’t really know what to do.

So you nod, seriously, but don’t stuff it into your pocket. Instead, you pull off your phonecase and slip it inside, making sure it's central before clipping it back on.

“Alright?” you question, and he smiles at you.

“Perfect.”

***

Social media went wild at that simple gesture. Who knew a photo could cause so much speculation? Well, Lando did. Someone had caught a picture of Clara in his wallet a while back, and that's how his rumours had started. But he wasn’t being particularly sympathetic, and neither was Lissie.

“Frankly, this is entirely your fault. You’re just prancing around with Oscar, practically attached at the hip, attending all his races. And then, suddenly, you show up with a polaroid of you two kissing in the back of your phone. I'd even think you were together. Or like some of the theories, that you used to be and broke up, or something. If you really wanted to lay low, you wouldn’t be doing all this.”critiques Lissie, pausing only to sip from her obnoxiously sweet coffee, and Lando nods along approvingly.

“First off, we’re obviously children in that photo. Secondly, why should I have to pretend he’s not my best friend for the sake of the cameras?” you fire back, sulking, and Lando just laughs at you.

“You need to recheck what a child is. Also, calling him your best friend is such nonsense. It’s getting ridiculous now, truly. Look, it sucks. We all know it sucks. But if you keep going the way you’re going, it’s going to explode.” he preaches, trying to sound wise, but you just scowl at him.

“You know I rarely say this, but Lando’s right. Before, it was only the races that had events after. That you were dressing him for. Then it became every other one. Then he brought you TO these events, you’re at every single grand-prix, and you don’t even try to shut down anything anyone says.” adds Lissie, scrutiny painting her face.

“It’s not my place to do that. I’m allowed to be close to my best friend of like, twenty fucking years.” you reply obstinately, and they both sigh angrily at you.

“But are you really just friends?” comes a thoughtful whisper. And it’s not Lissie’s sharp voice, or Lando’s mocking tone. It’s gentler, lighter, and genuine. It’s got an apologetic melody.

“Morning, ‘Ra.” mumbles Lando, smiling widely as she presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Sorry to intrude, everyone.” grins Clara, sitting firmly down on a seat nearby, clearly unbothered if she actually is an intrusion.

“No, it’s all good. I’m trying to seek some moral support from these two, and they are hopeless. Too much unsolicited advice.” you explain, stuffing your hands aggressively into your pockets.

“If I may?” she asks, but she’s not really asking for permission. She’s asking for you to listen, so you do.

“Like I said, are you really just friends?”

You pause. Not long enough for it to be awkward, or for anyone to shout ‘I told you so’, but just long enough to wrap your head around how to phrase your answer.

“No, I wouldn’t say we’re just friends. He means more to me than that. But it’s the same sort of dependency I have on Lissie. He’s just like, part of my life. He’s part of me. But it’s not-” you begin, but she cuts in with another question.

“Do you love him?”

You don’t need to hesitate on this one. “Of course. I always have.”

Now Lissie decides to interject. “That’s a lie. You found him properly annoying, until about five. You despised him, truly. ‘We are only friends because we have to be.’ You said it, so loudly, so confidently, that we all believed you. He didn’t talk to you for a week after that. Walking to school was painful.”

You laugh quietly, remembering the reprimanding you had received for being so mean.

“Yeah, and then I drew him a card to say sorry, and we were fine after that.” you finish, and the whole table smiles at the story.

“I’ve got this one!” calls Lando, winking at Clara slowly. “Are you IN love with him?”

You knew this was coming. It was obvious. Obvious enough that even Lando knew what to ask. So you use the same prepared answer you have stored in the back of your mind.

“No. No, I’m not. And before you say anything, yeah, I used to be. A long time ago. But genuinely, I’m not anymore. Which is why it's so infuriating that I can’t just go to his races. Or hang out with him. Without being hounded with accusations and speculation. It makes me want to leave him alone, even though that's not his fault, and I can’t let them win. I can’t let them take him away.” ‘again,’ you add mentally. But you just watch the sullen expressions stretch across their faces.

Clara speaks first, which you didn't expect.

“Does he know? Like, did you ever tell him? Maybe you should. Just, I don’t know, mention it one time? Tell him that you’re over it now, but it’s hard, with the media and all. He’s understanding. Maybe you can work something out?” she says optimistically, and you just smile hopefully back at her.

Lissie beams at you both. “That’s a good idea. You seemed confident in that, ‘No.’ So, you should be fine. I’m glad you’ve figured it out. Anyway, I’m gonna head out.”

Lando pauses. “I’ll meet you in a minute Clara, kay? I have some, uh, fashion questions.” he mutters, and Clara dutifully leaves, trailing behind Lissie.

He turns to face you, a strange expression on his face.

“You’re lying. You are. I can see it.” he accuses, but you don’t even flinch.

“Norris, stay in your lane. I came for sympathy, and your girlfriend provided much better advice than you ever have. I told the truth.” you reply back calmly, but your words are aggressive.

“You can’t convince me this is like, fucking, casual? Do you see the way you look at each other? This is nonsense, seriously. So stop being a coward, and at least admit it to me that you’re still in love with him. Because you’re lying to us all, and we can’t help you.” he whispers bitterly, and you try not to blink.

“You can’t help me anyway. It pisses me off that we can’t just be friends. But I’d rather it be like this, and that’s how it ends, than I push him away because I can't handle some instagram posts.” you fire back, trying to tell him so much with so few words.

“For fucks sake!” he recoils, exasperated. “You’re both truly idiots. Why haven’t you just considered, asking him out? It’s not unrequited, come on. It’s obvious.”

You never had a short temper. You were cool, and calm, things that rubbed off from the Australian. He’d withered his way into your very own personality. But he wasn’t here now, even in your head. All you saw was some privileged prick, asking you questions you’d been asking yourself for over ten years.

“You’re the only fucking idiot here. I told you, I’m over it. It’s done. I don’t want that with him, not like that, not anymore. Look at what’s real, what’s here, not what you want to see. It’s not going to happen.” you whisper-scream, all too aware of the other people in the cafe.

“You won’t even try?” he asks, seriously now.

“I did. I told him. That last night. And he left anyway. Because it was never going to be enough. I can’t go back there, can’t think of it like, ‘oh, if he knew. Oh, if I told him.’ Because I did. And like I said, this works, now. And I’d rather we spend less time together, because of some idiots on the internet, than because me loving him wasn’t enough again. Because he has other commitments. Whatever, I don’t know.” you mumble, truly quiet now. Pensive. Painful.

You feel him touch your arm. It’s alien, and weird. And you’d rather he just jokingly punched you instead, like usual. ‘You’re such a sap, mate.’ But this weird attempt at comfort made it so much worse, and so much realer.

“I’m sorry.” he says genuinely, but something isn’t right. There’s a level of determination on his face, a drive for success in his eyes, and it's something you’ve only seen before sessions.

“Lando, please drop it. I don’t want-” you begin, but he just smirks at you gleefully, and you hate how visibly the cogs are turning in his head.

“Goodbye.” he sings, and you watch him excitedly sling his arm around Clara as soon as he makes it through the door, whispering something in her ear.

***

You throw yourself into your work for the next week. It’s relentless, and exhausting, but a good distraction. You spend as little time at Oscar’s as possible, even occasionally falling asleep amongst piles of fabric and scraps. On the nights you do huddle in his guest bed, trying not to think of him down the corridor, he seems to tread extra carefully around you. Like he recognises your change in behaviour, but doesn't want to talk about it.

You’re being absent because of Lando, because you think he’s up to something. That’s at least what you tell yourself.

It’s definitely not because you’re overthinking all of it.

Your phone blinds you slightly, as you check the time. 02:33. ‘Brilliant,’, you think, knowing the exhaustion will truly settle in soon. But you just can’t sleep. It’s hot, and your brain is whirring faster than those stupid cars that haunt your life.

Begrudgingly you get up, and blunder your way to his kitchenette, cursing as you accidentally slam a cupboard door way too loudly. He emerges instantaneously, and guilt floods your face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just thirsty.” you whisper, nodding to the glass in your hand. You can’t really see him, because the cooker hood’s light is so dim, but you hear him yawn.

“Don’t worry. I can’t sleep either, to be honest. I was just checking you’re okay.” he mumbles, and he steps towards you so you can see him.

He’s wearing odd socks and strange green shorts, which don’t go at all with the oversized top he’s wearing with an odd depiction of a croissant on it.

“Hi. Nice outfit.” you giggle, and he looks at himself, like he’d forgotten what he was wearing.

“You weren't meant to see me like this.” he groans dramatically. “Hi.”

You shrug, unsure of what else to do. “I’ve seen you a lot worse.”

That’s true, you have. You’d seen him with chickenpox, chasing you around on grassy fields as you ran for your life. You’d seen him with tear-strickened eyes after falling surprisingly hard off his bike. Mud, all over his face, as you tried to build a ‘bug hotel.’ When he’d got food poisoning at a sleepover one night, and you had to look after him. When he’d been the donkey in the school nativity. The list was somewhat endless.

He smiles at you, like he’s read your mind. “Very true.”

Silence hangs around you. You loved your silence- it was special. A silence that only worked in the peace you created together. The understanding, the thoughts you shared without saying a word. You always knew what he was thinking, and vice versa.

But this silence was different. You couldn’t hear him, hear him thinking. It was like a barrier had been put up, and you couldn’t see through it.

‘Can you hear me, Osc?’

‘Ask me, this time. Ask me what's wrong. Don’t assume it will work itself out.’

‘Ask me where I’ve been. Tell me what you think about me. Tell me what Lando did.’

“So, how’s the collection going?” he asks hesitantly, like you’re a colleague.

You purse your lips, and wonder what the actual fuck is going on.

“I’m almost done. Been working tirelessly, you know. That’s why I haven’t been around.” you reply honestly, chewing on your lip anxiously.

“Huh. Nice. I’m so proud of you, truly.” he responds awkwardly, like he has more to say, so you let him. You just stare expectantly.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows at you.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just tired, you know? Like you are, I’m sure.” you mumble weakly, watching water fill your glass. You watch it reach the top, and then shimmy around the counter, back to your door.

“Goodnight, Oscar.” you whisper, slipping inside. But you linger, for a second, and that’s all he needs.

“Um, sorry, but like, can you come back?” he calls, and you turn around, placing down your glass and walking towards him.

He looks confused, and somewhat upset, and you want to laugh and joke and tell him to go to bed because it's fine, but you can’t. Because some indescribable emotion is drowning you, and you don’t know what to do. You feel suffocated, like you just want to hide from him, and also like you’re going to be sick. You’ve never wanted to run from him before, ever. You’ve only ever craved his tight hugs, and his soothing slow breaths.

“What is it, Piastri?” you whisper, your throat drying. He strides towards you, studying your paling face.

“Did I do something? What’s going on?” he asks firmly, searching your eyes for an answer but letting his gaze linger on your slightly shaky hands.

“No, you didn’t do anything.” you mutter, and you’re telling the truth. But you want to scream at him, shout until your throat burns. You want him to leave you alone, like before. You don’t want to see his stupid beautiful annoying mole-covered face ever again.

He exhales, relieved, and hugs you tightly, crushing you a bit.

“Good. I missed you.” he murmurs into your hair, and you shiver.

“It was a week.” you reply into his shoulder, but he just chuckles quietly.

“Yeah, but it's been a while since I haven’t seen you in a week. You’ve been so, like, constant recently. In the best way.” he stumbles over his words, but you get the point.

And you give yourself one more breath in his arms before you hurriedly pull away.

“Mhm. About that. I don’t think I can be around so much anymore. It’s just exhausting.” you stammer, and he looks bewildered.

“So I did do something. Come on, you can be honest.” he says, clearly exasperated at the back and forth.

“No,” you reply quickly. “It’s just, like the media side of it all. I make clothes. I’m not meant to be all on camera. And I want to be there for you, and spend as much time as possible with you, but I just can’t because of everything that comes with it. You can understand that, right?” you ask, and he nods.

“Of course I can. But, please don't push me away because of some instagram posts. Don’t disappear on me, we can make it work, yeah?” he responds, and you smile, although your heart is breaking a little bit.

Because that's exactly what you said to Lando, and here you are, letting it happen

And you know something Oscar doesn’t- you still meant what you said then. You weren’t pushing him away because of the media. You were pushing him away because if someone asked you now, if you were in love with him, that ‘no’ would be much shakier.

***

A month later

yourusername

yourusername hi everyone! Long time no see. Studio finally done, ive moved in and everything! Working on a lot recently, and im almost there. So excited to share my clothes with you guys- because im launching eightynine!! More info to come, love you

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user89 wait ive been waiting for this one hello

user12 oh my god. Oh my god oh my god

user8 so does this mean we can like, buy her designs?? Yay

user76 call me crazy but oscars number is 81 and her lucky number is 8…

↳ user36 wait ur onto something..

↳ user59 blind leading the blind

user42 why havent we seen you at a race in a while? Are you still friends with oscar?

↳ yourusername ofc, still friends with the mclaren boys, just busy

↳user21 oh my god ynosc divorce is confirmed im gonna sob

claranelson cannot wait to wear everything

↳ yourusername ur my top model

lissiematthews so proud of you, always. Love you

↳ yourusername best friend and sister we interlinked

landonorris can i model too

↳ yourusername umm maybe?? (not)

oscarpiastri well done.

↳ yourusername thank you,osc

↳ user42 user21, maybe theyre fine?

You smile slightly as you switch your phone off, and hate yourself for it. It had actually been quite nice, to get away from it all for a bit. You’d seen Lando for some more outfit stuff, but he hadn’t said anything about Oscar. Maybe it was because he realised you actually were keeping a distance. At first, it was awful. Horrific. Then slowly it got better, and you stopped seeing him every time you blinked.

And you realised it was indefinitely easier to have space, and breathing room, than to hide feelings and curse social media. There was nothing to question, nothing to confront. Just you, and drawings, and fabric. The true definition of home for you.

That’s when the door swings open, and you immediately become irritable.

“Hello, Lando. Unless Clara’s with you, why are you here?” you ask coldly, and he rolls his eyes.

“I knew you’d like her more than me!” he pouts, and you scowl.

“Not hard, is it?” you fire back, and he laughs sharply.

“Ouch. Anyway, glad you’re talking to Oscar again. He was getting mopey.” he coos, and you wave him away.

“Please don’t. You’ll give me a headache.” you bark, and he blinks, slightly surprised.

“Why’d you say yes if you don’t want to see him?” he asks, quietly. It’s serious, and you don’t like it.

“I do want to see him. I’ve been busy.” you reply back quickly.

“I’m sick of your bullshit. Look, Oscar means a lot to me. You’re messing with his head. And you're messing with mine. And clearly, your own. He came to me, fuckin’ like, distraught. Saying he felt so guilty, that you were so impacted by all the rumours and shit, and that you had to leave him alone. And I had to sit there and tell him you’d come around, and you’d work it out. That he should follow his gut. And he just looked like someone had died the whole time.” he explains quickly, and you pause awkwardly.

“Well, I did need space. It wasn’t his fault.” you respond, shrugging.

“What happens next time? When you get that close again, and then you get scared. Scared to admit you’re not over it? Scared of being rejected? Scared of finding out that maybe it’s fucking one sided? You’re both scared. You’re gonna keep hurting each other if you do this. So either cancel, or confess.” he stated loudly, his tone unnecessarily harsh.

“Lando, you keep overstepping. You need to get the fuck out of my business. I’m not a teenager anymore. I can deal with this. I did what I needed to do.”

“Here! Exactly that. Defensive shit. Because you love him just as much now as you did WHEN you were a teenager. Please, just say it.” he pleads, but you stare at him adamantly.

“You asked him, didn’t you? You asked him the same thing. And he said no, too. And you’re clinging to delusions and preying on vulnerability to make whatever the fuck you’ve got in your head a reality. We had our chance. We had our entire childhood. I told him, and maybe it was too late, but he left anyway. Why reopen that wound? It helps neither of us.” You respond aggressively, but he shakes his head.

“You said no, and you were lying. He’s doing the same.” rambled Lando, and you want him to just fall through a menacing crack in the floor.

“You’re a dickhead, you know that? He said no, ‘cause he doesn't love me. He never did. Not in the way I did. He said it back, in the same way he said it to his sisters. I heard it, I knew it. It was a rejection, and it was a kind one. And that’s all I needed- a rejection. I’m not going through that again for feelings I’m not even sure are there.” you admit, letting your words hang in the air.

Lando sighs. “He didn’t know.”

“What?”

“I asked him, if you two were ever together. A long time ago. He said no, that you’d never even entertained the notion. And once you told me about that night, at the airport, I asked about it. Like, in general. If he regretted anything. He said he would’ve liked to tell you something, but that he chickened out. He thought it would be best to leave it unspoken, leave it as a ‘what if?’” he explains.

“I don’t understa-”

“He thought you were letting him go. Saying goodbye. He didn’t know.”

***

Oscar was punctual. Not late, not early. On time. So as you accidentally arrive at your aforementioned dinner way earlier than you were meant to, you’re surprised to see Piastri sitting there already.

“You look nice.” you say thoughtfully, sitting down opposite him, and he smiles ruefully.

“Thanks.” he replies, scanning the menu.

“So, race weekend. Are you excited?” you ask awkwardly, like it’s not a stupid question. It’s like you’re on a pathetic first date, not someone you used to sit next to in Chemistry.

“Of course. Are you, coming, maybe?” he questions hopefully, and you purse your lips.

“Um, I don’t know. Probably not, with the launch soon. I’m sorry, if Lando was a dick to you, or something.” you mumble, and he grins appreciatively.

“No, he was fine. Just worried. I don’t think anyone other than Lissie has ever seen us argue- it’s not a common occurrence.” he jokes, but it’s sad.

“Hey, we didn't argue. I’m sorry, how abrupt I was. I was just overwhelmed.” you respond, but he just nods.

There’s silence again, and it's that offputting kind, that you’ve never really associated with him.

“This is so weird. What happened to us?” he asks quietly, and it’s so genuine and so full of hurt that you want to cry.

“We stopped being kids a while back, if that's what you mean.”

“You were living with me two months ago. And now we’re sitting here pretending we have things to talk about, like we don’t know everything about each other.” he mumbles, and you don’t know what to do, because he's right. And you feel like it's your fault.

“Nah, you don’t know everything.” you reply snarkily, and he looks up.

“I don’t? Everything from before I left, surely?” he suggests, but you shake your head.

“Nope, not quite. Do you remember my first ever sketchbook?” you mutter, trying to ignore the anxiousness in your chest.

“Yep, pink. Of course! You guarded that with your life.” he laughs, and you watch carefully as his cheeks flush.

“It was because you were in it. Sketches of you, of us, all over. Pages and pages of it. And when Lissie saw, she called me by your last name for weeks. So much, I used to scribble it down near the drawings, to see if I liked it. And she explained we’d have to be married, and I didn't understand that, so I just went with it.” you confess quietly, watching him try to suppress an evident smile.

“Well, what if I told you I had the exact same thing? Do you remember when my cousin came from Australia? The old one, with his girlfriend? He said he was going to marry her, and I asked him what that meant. And he said it was just making sure the person you loved the most was stuck with you, forever, basically. So I marched around declaring I’d marry you so we’d be friends forever.” he responds, his voice breaking slightly, and it's your turn to try not to laugh.

“Wow, we were hopeless.”

“We were.”

Then the silence is back, and it's warm, and familiar, and you feel that gravitational pull back into Oscar Piastri again. And for some reason, that emboldens you. Just enough to say something small. A few, insignificant words, that weren’t insignificant at all.

“You never said anything.”

“We were what, six? Of course I didn’t. I didn’t understand it.”

“Was that it, though? Did it really go away, just like that?”

“No. Did it go away for you?”

“No, but you knew that.”

You wait for another quick response, wait for him to prove Lando wrong. But his slow blinking, his confusion, makes your heart soar and your stomach churn.

“I didn’t know that. How was I meant to know that?”

“I told you, I said I love you. What else did you want me to say?” you ask, your heartbeat accelerating.

“Oh come on, that's not fair. You used to say, ‘thanks, love you’ practically every day. I bought you a croissant once, and you acted like I’d just proposed. I couldn’t ever tell what you felt about me, ever. I just assumed you said ‘I love you’, like because you did. Like family. We were that close.”

“Right, so shaky hands and tears in my eyes was no accurate indication. You’re an idiot.”

“Oh. Then. I am. That is fair, although, when I said it back, you just reminded me that I had to go.”

“Yeah, because YOU said it back so normally. I practically felt you shrug while you said it. I could hear the reflexiveness of the response, genuinely.” you mumble, and he laughs.

“That also makes you an idiot.”

***

Lando never leaves you on read. He always made an effort to not do that, because he hated being left on read himself. So watching him ignore a message he definitely should not have ignored is concerning.

You’re not concerned for very long though, because suddenly a cluster of limbs and pink hair crash into your studio, disturbing your calculated mess.

Lissie and Clara babble over eachother, flinging themselves at you, with a flurry of words that seem to be ‘congratulations’ and ‘condolences’ simultaneously.

“Guys, please relax. Me being in love with Oscar is not a new concept.” you joke, but you’re obviously overwhelmed. And it’s scary, admitting something you’ve been hiding for so long. Fighting for so long. But you were tired, and you were beat. And before you realised, you were crying. Just a little bit.

‘We were hopeless.’

You were. And you realised what you’d felt in that silence, every time. That warmth, that comfort, it was love. It was you both saying how much you loved eachother, because you couldn’t actually make a sound about it. And you really did feel like a fucking idiot. A true, silly, hopeless, idiot, teenager

But you didn’t have to be that again, did you?

You feel hugs and ‘it’s okay, let it out’ whispers, and you let yourself have this moment of vulnerability. You let yourself mourn what could’ve been, and you hoped he was doing the same.

“So, let’s talk about this, yeah? What do you want to do?” asks Lissie, and Clara nods enthusiastically. And you think about Lando and wonder how on earth he’s managed to make her fall in love with him. So you look at them both, and pause.

“What would you do?”

The question is heavy, and serious, and you watch them stiffen.

“I would go for it,” and “I’d let him go,” are their simultaneous answers, and you groan.

“Great, thanks. Super helpful.”

Lissie speaks first. “Look, I watched you go through this before. I know how deep this runs. It’s in your very nature. If you don’t do this, you’ll regret it. More than you already do.” she warns, and you know she’s right.

“You could get over it. For real this time, if you tried. It’s clearly taken so much from you already, and maybe if it was meant to be, it would’ve been by now. If you just left, focused on your clothes and stuff, idk. You’ll let yourself love someone else, and it will be okay,” advises Clara, and you pause at her words. Because somehow, she’s right too.

And you’re so torn, you don’t know what to do. Because you’re so disgustingly horribly obsessed with Oscar Piastri, and you have been for over a decade. You could conjure him perfectly in your mind, every freckle in place. Imagine his voice, his smell, immediately. Your heart almost explodes when you think too hard about him.

Your phone dings, a loud, ugly noise, and you sigh, assuming a range of messages from Lando.

You pack up your stuff, gesturing wildly to the girls beside you. “I’m going to see him, like now.” you reveal, biting your lip again.

“So, what are you going to do then? What are you going to tell him?” Clara asks carefully, and you smile. It’s small, and subtle, but it’s there. The only sign she needed to know you made the right choice, whatever that choice was.

“I’ll let you know how it goes.”

***

You arrive, slightly flushed, at his door, and he opens before you can knock.

“You came!” He announces, like he’s surprised.

“Uh, yeah. Obviously. What did you want to talk about?” You ask, even though you both know the answer.

“We made it a joke earlier, but is it? Is it a joke?” He replies sullenly, and you shake your head.

“No, it’s not a joke to me. I was like, head over heels, insanely in love with you. And I just don’t know how to cope with the idea of what we lost without even knowing we were losing it.” You admit honestly, and he sighs.

“You’re right. I feel the same way. And this might sound pathetic but I want to make up for it. I mean, it can’t feel much different to how we already are, sur-“ and you laugh. A horrible explosive outburst of giggles.

His face collapses, like you’ve just ripped out his heart and jumped on it.

“-I’m sorry, obviously that was back then. If you’re over it now, or whatever else, or the media and so on, that’s totally fine.” He mumbles sadly, clearly reeling from your cackles.

“Oh, Oscar, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just, ridiculous. After all this. You’re not pathetic, not now. You were back then. So was I.”

“We were scared.”

“We didn’t have to be.” You mutter, and he smiles knowingly.

“No, we didn’t have to be. But we were.” He steps towards you, slowly, bringing his hands gently to your face.

He pauses, then says, “Look, you were my best friend. Still are.”

“I was scared to touch your face, in case you flinched.” He murmurs, brushing the hair from your eyes. “I could barely even hold eye contact sometimes. You’d look at me like I was saving you from drowning, when I was actually the one drowning. I used to forget how to breathe when you’d pull my blazer collar down. When our knees brushed in the car. When you’d press your arms against mine and scribble down numbers. I was so scared of you.”

You can feel him breathing on you now, as you study each other’s faces, daring the other person to find something new, something they haven’t seen before. But that’s an impossible task, because you know every mole, and he knows every smile line. You know exactly what his teeth look like, and he can imagine the small scar on your forehead even though he can’t see it.

And there it is again. That silence that screams words louder than your voice ever could. You can hear it in the silence. You are in love, it says. He is in love.

“Are you scared now?” You ask tentatively, and he grins.

“No.”

And that’s when it all comes crashing down, and you throw away any doubt you had about soulmates, because yours is right here. And he’s kissing you so gently, his lips so soft against yours, that you can’t help but sigh. It’s alien and familiar at the same time and you wrap your arms around him subconsciously, carefully playing with the back of his hair.

His cheeks are flushed when you both breathe, and you press your forehead against his.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Are you my girlfriend now?”

“That’s a rubbish way to ask. But yeah, I am.”

He beams, like he’s finally found something precious that he had spent eternity looking for.

“Okay. Nice. Cool. Okay.”

“Are you freaking out a bit right now, baby?” You tease, and he laughs.

“Yeah, a bit. Can you tell?”

“I can. Now, are you going to tell Lando or should I?”

***

yourusername

yourusername hi everyoneee! sorry, it’s been a while again. Anyway. Here’s some news! Took us a while to announce this, because we wanted some time to ourselves, but I’m sure this isn’t a massive surprise to anyone. oscarpiastri

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user46 DONT PLAY RN

user12 wowwow

user23 i KNEW IT

↳ user46 we all knew it??

landonorris lame Oscars post was better

↳ yourusername only saying that cause ur in it bruh

claranelson yay, so so happy for you

lissiematthews oscarpiastri adoptive brother to actual brother soon?

↳ yourusername bit early for that maybe

↳ oscarpiastri is it really too early?

You switch off your phone, and flip it over to admire the new Polaroid hidden in your phonecase. Identical to the other, truly, but older and newer at the same time. The love in your eyes is the same, but your face is matured, and the frame cleaner.

And you open your sketchbook and you doodle it, lingering on his features that you could draw blind.

[illubean]

F*ck Girl Code!

In which your shitty "best" friend keeps stealing the guys you like; now its your turn

Characters: Toji Fushiguro Type: Oneshot, Fem!Reader, NSFW

I don't condone cheating or any of the toxic behaviors exhibited in this fic; it is fiction after all :^) also i lowk don’t like how this came out but YOLO

Warnings: NSFW reader discretion advised, unprotected p in v, fatshaming? idk it's one comment, mentions of cheating (neither reader nor toji)

First rule in the girl code handbook: never date your friend's ex.

Everyone knew of this rule, even those who weren't girls. That's just how important the rule is, requiring the same type of loyalty boys expect when they say 'bros before hoes'. You are yet to personally meet any girl who has broken this rule, but there is another rule that isn't talked about as much.

Second rule in the girl code handbook: never date your friend's crush. Even if he likes you.

And your so called "best friend' has broken this rule on several occasions. It didn't matter who it was. Any time you'd ever expressed being remotely interested in a guy, she was with him a week later like clockwork.

And you were getting sick of it.

You learned your lesson, never speaking about your feelings to her and making sure she never sees you interacting with the opposite sex. And things cooled down a little when she got an actual boyfriend of her own; Toji Fushiguro. Toji was this big, beefcake of a man and happened to be the captain of the school hockey team. He'd attracted the attention of many girls, and though you see the appeal, you didn't care too much for the frat type.

That is until he broke up with you friend.

About a month or so after they started dating, your friend came knocking on your door, bawling her eyes out. All she had said was that she got totally dumped, leaving out any other details as to why.

Without her saying anything though, you could come up with several reasons. But you settled on the conclusion that Toji was just that type of guy; someone who doesn't take relationships that seriously.

A little detail about your friend is she's only nice to you when she needs something. Any other time, she's a total bitch. She always made an effort to verbally berate you and drag you around like some ragdoll that would be tossed away once she found her next boytoy. But tonight was the perfect opportunity to get back at her for what felt like centuries of mistreatment.

There was some party being hosted by Toji's frat, which your friend suggested going to so she could "make him totally jealous" by flirting with his other frat mates.

You feigned innocence, agreeing to go as 'moral support', but really you were plotting on how to get into Toji Fushiguro's bed. It's been a while since you've done something crazy like hookup with someone, he was hot and most importantly, it would piss off your friend. Triple win for you.

So, getting ready for the party, you dolled yourself up and slipped into the sluttiest outfit you owned. After receiving a text, you strutted your way outside to your friend's car.

You sat down in the passenger seat, clicking your seatbelt and fixing your hair a little bit just to see her scowl from the corner of your eye.

"What?"

"That dress makes you look fat. Oh well, no time to change or we'll be late."

You scoffed at her comment, choosing to look out of the window and ignore her as she drove to the frat house. Shortly, you pulled up to the house and made your way inside, immediately greeted by the smell of alcohol and flashing, colorful lights.

"Wow, he's cute," you fib, grabbing your friend by the arm and pointing to some random dude in the crowd. You can see her eyes light up with mischief, a sinister smirk creeping across her face.

"Who, the one with the glasses? He doesn't even look like he should be here!"

"Oh but he's sooo cute! Maybe I can convince him to dance later."

"Pfft, don't even bother. There's no way a loser like that would stay conscious long enough to even answer!"

"Yeah maybe you're right," you sigh. "I'm gonna get a drink."

You let go of your friend and made your way towards the kitchen, ignoring her demands that you bring her one back as well. You wore a smug expression.

Phase one of get back at bitchface: show fake interest in another guy; Complete!

Pushing past people, you made it to the kitchen and looked around. Two familiar faces were seen leaning against the kitchen island. The rowdier of the two was pouring shots of god knows what, while his more laid back companion was watching the chaos unfold. There were a few others surrounding them, presumably waiting for their shots.

"Hey, Gojo!" you chime, squeezing your way into the circle that was formed around him. His blue eyes peeked over his sun glasses, the same smirk he always wore stretched across his lips.

"Never thought I'd see you at one of these parties."

You met Gojo back in your first year of college, sharing a couple of classes with him. Despite his reputation of some rowdy playboy, he wasn't all that bad to talk to. Hence how he is somewhat of an acquaintance, but not quite yet a friend.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Gimme a shot, I'm gonna need it if I'm going to make it through tonight!"

"Say no more!"

Without question or hesitation, Gojo pours you a shot. Thanking him, you toss the alcohol back just to scrunch your face in disgust.

You've never been a huge fan of alcohol.

Phase two: gain some liquid courage; Complete!

Shaking it off, you looked around for the burly man that was bound to be here. You spot him off to the edges of the room, not seeming to interested in the party at all. And on the opposite end of the room was your friend, flirting with the poor guy you pointed out upon your arrival.

Go figure.

Taking a deep breath, you slap yourself a couple times as encouragement before forcing your way through a sea of sweaty, dancing bodies. Once free, you let out a puff of air before approaching Toji. Unbeknownst to you, he was watching you the entire time. He knew exactly who you were, and it wasn't like you were being subtle with your newfound interest in him. He saw you lock your eyes onto him like a target before approaching from across the room. Toji just rolled his eyes in annoyance. You were probably just trying to mess with him for dumping your friend.

“Hey,” you say, finally standing in front of him. His eyes traced you up and down before blinking slowly. His expression never changed from the nonchalant pout that he wore normally, but god did his gaze do something to you.

You leaned your back against the wall, now standing next to the large man while looking out at the sea of people before you. Toji crosses his arms, keeping his gaze ahead of him as he spoke.

"What the hell do you want from me?"

"Can't a girl just start small talk at a party?" you huff playfully.

"We both know that's not why you're here."

"Fine, fine, I'll cut to the chase." Pushing yourself up from the wall, you maneuver in front of him and look him in the eye while telling him exactly what it is you want.

"You dumped my friend not too long ago and I wanna fuck."

Toji's eyes widened as he raised a brow at you. It wasn't often that girls were so straightforward with what they wanted. Lowkey, he was into it.

"Isn't that against your vow of sisterhood or whatever you call it?"

"Girl code, but trust me, she deserves the betrayal. She's a total bitch."

Toji chuckled before pushing himself off the wall as well. He leaned down to your height, one of his large hands coming up to caress your cheek.

"Did she tell you she cheated on me?"

"No, but that's even more of a reason for us to get back at her!"

"Fine then. Let's fuck."

Phase three: get Toji to agree; Complete!

With the way Toji was drilling into you right now, you almost forgot that this was all part of an elaborate revenge plot. Any thoughts you had prior to this moment were all thrown out the window the minute Toji got you up to his room, hiking your slutty party dress all the way up and folding you into a mean mating press.

"Shit, ma- relax f'me!"

Your legs were tossed over his broad shoulders, hips twitching and cunt clenching in response to his harsh thrusts. Your face was flushed, mouth hanging open as whimpers and whines escaped your parted lips. You tried to relax into his mattress, you really did. But he was just so damn big!

Getting over the initial stretch was already a feat, but you could feel every ridge and vein along his meaty cock as it bullied it's way in and out of you. His heavy balls swung back and forth, punctuating each thrust with a lewd 'PLAP!' Toji held on to one of your thighs with an iron grip, attempting to keep you still while the other hand reached down to rub circles around your puffy clit.

"Ah, wait! 's sensitive-" you protest, hand flying down to grip his wrist but to no avail. Toji continued his assault on your weeping pussy, a smirk making its way onto his face while he watched you break beneath him. Your moans died in the back of your throat, coming out as staggered breaths, back arching as you came for the first time that night.

With a low chuckle, Toji pulled away from you momentarily, flipping you onto your front before plunging himself back into you from behind. He wrapped his arms around your hips and beneath your pelvis, pinning you down with his chest pressed flush against your back. Your face felt hot, pressed into the pillows while you clawed at Toji's black bedsheets. The man licked a stripe up the side of your neck, stopping once he made it to the base of your ear as you felt his warm breath fan against you.

"I'll take care of you, sweets. Just enjoy it, mkay?"

His words went straight to your pussy, spreading throughout your body as a burning heat that settled just beneath your skin. You were so lost in the feeling of Toji on top of you that you barely even registered the sound of your phone going off, haphazardly tossed somewhere on his bedside table. Toji pulled away from your back, not once stopping his thrusts as he grabbed your phone and checked the message ID before handing it to you.

"'s from yer 'friend'."

You could care less what she had to say to you right now. With your face still resting against Toji's pillows, you lazily opened your phone to read her messages.

'you gotta find your own way home tonight' '[image attatchment]' 'you were right, this guy is pretty cute ;)'

You let out a snort at the picture she sent. It was of half ov her face, and over her shoulder you saw the guy you pointed out hours ago shirtless and laying beneath her blankets. Toji was reading over your shoulder, and laughed along with you.

"Why don't we send her a picture of our own," Toji suggests. You could practically hear the mischievous smirk that was probably on his handsome face. A smug smile made its way across your lips as you opened the camera app.

You made sure to get half your face in the photo just like she did. Your eyes were lidded and you threw up a mocking peace sign while Toji smirked, flipping off the camera. His other hand rested in the curve of your back, his shirtless torso on full display.

‘[image attatchment]’

‘don’t worry about me, I’m set for tonight :))’

Almost immediately, your phone started pinging non-stop with an influx of angry messages. She even tried calling you, only for you to decline it with a breathy laugh and shut your ringer off. Your laughter quickly turned into soft mewls and moans now that your attention could be fully on Toji once again. Your body rocked against the mattress with each trust, his swolen tip kissing your G-spot over and over. Toji laid back down against you, resting his chin on your shoulder and pressing searing hot kisses into the side of your neck.

“You sound so pretty, ma. Why don’t we send that bitch a recording too?”

Phase four: get laid and get revenge; Complete!

[mariasont]

maria, i have an ideaaa!!

bimbo!assistant!reader goes on a date with a really shitty guy. and she sneaks away to the back door and calls hotch in the alley to come and save her (it’s also raining). she’s all wet and her makeup’s all ruined when hotch comes.

he then takes her back to his place and takes care of her… and… mushy soft fluffiness happens… and maybe feelings are confessed… and maybe a kiss or 2 happens…🥰💖

TALK ABOUT A BAD DATE - A.H

a/n: genius, genius, you are an absolute genius!!!!!!!!!!! this was probably my fav bimbo!reader fic to write <3 thank you sm for requesting

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: um the rain takes out reader's shirt, so she does kinda flash him for a hot sec, hotch also blatantly checks out her ass, cuties being sickeningly cute, cuties kiss in 4k

wc: 2k

A perfect, flawless, stunning, never-been-done before outfit wasted on a loser of a guy. Your makeup had taken an hour alone, your hair — well, you didn't even want to think about it because you were certain you were starting to break out in hives.

You steadied yourself against the brick wall, the uneven asphalt beneath your heels threatening to take you down as you fished your phone from the depths of your purse.

You dialed the first number you could think of — Hotch's. His was also the only one you had memorized. The battery icon flashed a warning of five percent as you hunched beneath the alleyway's awning, trying to shield yourself from the rain. You desperately hoped he'd pick up.

There was frankly no plan B if he didn't. Go back inside and ask you so-called date for a ride? That was not an option. The moment he pulled up in one of those big trucks, with its deafening music and roaring engine, you regretted not driving yourself. After all, you were well aware what men were compensating for with a big truck.

"Hotchner."

His voice was gruff, the sound slightly distorted by the speaker. You imagined he had just walked through his door, despite the time being eight o'clock on a Friday night. He was presumably preparing to pour his routine glass of scotch.

"Sir, it's me," you said, attempting to ignore the relentless raindrops assaulting your makeup — a battle they seemed intent on winning. Clearly, the concept of setting spray was foreign to them. "Can I ask you for a favor? If you say yes, I pinky promise I'll stop rearranging your desk. I know you have a system, but it just looks so bland sometimes."

"I'm going to overlook that desk comment," he stated, his sigh audible through the phone. You could picture the pensive frown that came with it. "What do you need?"

You drew your lips into a tight line, looking down to watch the rain mock the effort you had put into your outfit.

"Can you come pick me up? Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"Pick you up? From where? Are you okay?"

You shivered slightly, your free hand instinctively rubbing warmth into your arm. You should've brought a jacket. The thought of sharing this evening's failings with your boss did not sound appealing, so you avoided most of his questions.

"I'll text you the location, okay?"

"Okay, yes, I'll be there. Just stay put."

You thanked him and followed that by a double promise to stay put (he didn't believe you the first time). You also told him you'd wait inside, which was less than truthful. The thought of getting drenched was far more attractive than the prospect of bumping in that women-hating boy again.

You didn't have to wait long, thankfully, spotting Hotch's car turn into the alley, the headlights flaring up like spotlights against your face. You used a manicured hand to shield your eyes, narrowing them against the glare. The distinct sound of a door opening and closing signaled his arrival, and soon, Hotch was striding towards you.

"Christ, get in the car," Hotch insisted, more a command than a suggestion.

He was by your side in an instant, his arm on yours as he opened your door and helped you in. Then, unexpectedly, he reached over you to fasten the seatbelt. You giggled, his hand pausing just above your thigh.

"What?"

The rain gently streamed over his perfect skin, his hair now saturated and plastered to his brow, his blue dress shirt bearing the brunt of the downpour.

"You don't trust me to buckle my own seatbelt?"

"I don't trust you with a lot of things." Completely false. "For instance, your choice of men." Completely true.

He clicked the seatbelt into place and swung the door shut, cutting off any chance of a response, then moved around the car to the driver's side.

You couldn't help but pout, even as your eyes traced the line of his jaw. "How'd you know?"

Any trace of annoyance vanished as quickly as it came as he placed a hand behind you, giving you an even better view of his profile while he reversed the car. Your focus shifted to the ripple of muscles under his shirt.

"I'm trained to know when someone is in distress and you practically spelled it out. The restaurant, the clothes..." His voice tapered off, disguising his pause with a cough while his gaze flickered over your outfit, his cheeks tinged with a fleck of red. "I've got a spare sweatshirt in the back if you need it."

You traced his line of sight to your chest. Emitting a small squeak, you quickly shielded yourself with your arms, realizing that your white top had become completely see through.

"Totally not embarassing," you say, pursing your lips as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

"It's fine," Hotch insists, but you don't miss how his eyes are now careful not to drift from the road. "Put your seatbelt back on."

"I can't reach the sweatshirt."

You shift to face the back, knees planted on your seat as you lean over to grab just the thing you were looking for. In the rearview mirror you catch the brief moment his eyes do stray, discreetly (or so he thought) sweeping over your ass.

A self-satisfied smile crept across you face as you slid back into your seat, slipping on the sweatshirt. It smelled like him — an intoxicating blend of aged leather and pine. You liked it. A lot.

"So do you wanna talk about it?"

You really didn't. With a sigh, you dug through your purse for your lip gloss. Flipping down the passenger mirror, you froze, confronting your reflection.

"Hotch, didn't you think to mention my face is all... smudgy?"

Your mascara (and setting spray) had betrayed you, leaving dark trails down your cheeks and a slightly unhinged look.

"Your face is perfect," Hotch remarks dryly, like he was tired of you, he undoubtedly was. You were a handful after all. "Why are you avoiding my question?"

You let out a delighted gasp.

"Did you just say my face is perfect?" Leaning over the console, you tap his nose with your finger. "You're just the sweetest."

The look Hotch gives you is flat, expectant as if he knows just what you were trying to do.

"Okay, okay, fine, it was just a terrible date. Like, Hotch, I'm talking disaster-level bad. He made fun of my job, ate like a toddler, and his truck? He wouldn't shut up about it." Your hands are now shuffling through the contents of your purse in a panic. "And now, I can't find my keys."

"Your house keys?"

A breath of frustration flows from you, fingers pulling through your hair as you nod. "Dang it."

You felt a slight unraveling in your usual poise, and the panicking that came with it. Hotch's hand landed on your shoulder, his thumb grazing across your collarbone.

"Hey, it's fine. It's late, and you're upset. You can stay at my place tonight, I'll crash on the couch, and we'll find your keys in the morning."

He made everything seem so simple.

"I'm not upset," you insist, lips pursing as you angle your body just enough to feel his touch more fully.

His hands felt right on you.

He chuckled quietly, his thumb tracing a path from your shoulder to brush away the solitary tear beneath your eye that you hadn't noticed before.

"Must be a raindrop," you shrug. Hotch's soft laugh tells you he doesn't quite buy it. "Are you sure you don't mind me staying over?"

"I'm certain."

"Okay."

"So why did your date make fun of your job?"

"Because," you start, your fingertip lazily sketching doodles on the misted car window, "when I was telling him about being an assistant and working for you, he implied that the only reason you hired me was so you had something pretty to look at."

"Well, he's not entirely wrong."

You let out a surprised giggle. "Hotch!"

You reach over the console, pinching his arm which he just laughed off, pulling into what you assumed was his driveway. You had never been to his house. It was nice. Really nice, the kind you'd find in movies — not imposing, but inviting, with its brick walls and stout brown pillars framing the porch.

You were even more surprised when you entered the house. The image you had of Hotch's house one of meticulous order, a place where you could hear the tick of a clock from rooms away. But this... this was a home. There were throw blankets casually draped over the couch, books overflowing, armchairs worn in just the right places.

You lean down, intent on stripping off the torturous heels, but a wobble has you teetering. Hotch is quick to step in.

"Here," he offers, lifting each foot in turn to his knee, skillfully undoing the straps and easing them off you.

Standing flat-footed, you suddenly feel much shorter, and you wonder if Hotch has ever seen you without them.

You look up at him, smiling cheekily. "My very own prince charming."

He ignored you and moved through the living room. "Do you want a pair of sweatpants?"

"Sharing clothes now, are we? I bet there's a clause against this in the employee handbook."

Hotch raises an eyebrow, "I don't think I need to remind you of the numerous times I've overlooked your creative interpretations of the handbook rules."

"So you're admitting to showing me favoritism?"

You plucked the sweatpants from his hands, not giving him an option to respond as you shuttled yourself into his bathroom. You changed quickly, trading your sopping wet clothes for Hotch's dry, warm ones.

You reentered the living room to find Hotch reclining on the couch with an ease that was new to your eyes. He, too, had slipped into something more comfortable — sweats and a form fitting grey long sleeve that threatened to distract you completely.

You dropped your purse onto the coffee table and settled next to him, maybe a little closer than you should have.

He let out a sound that was more a breath than a laugh, a sound that all the same made your heart flutter unexpectedly. "You've still got some, uh, makeup under your eyes."

He reached up to wipe it away with his thumb.

"It won't come off that way," you said, grabbing his wrist with a soft smile. "I have makeup wipes in my purse."

But he didn't hand you your bag like you would've thought, instead he dug through it, pulling out the wipes and starting to dab at your face. The softness of his touch felt disarmingly intimate, so gentle it coaxed your eyes to flutter more slowly, eyelids becoming more heavy.

Your head tilted downward and Hotch used his free hand to tilt it back up. "Stay still, or I'm going to poke your eye out."

"You're making me sleepy," you murmur, your voice a soft, drowsy hum, but then he moved the wipe to your lips and suddenly you were anything but.

He was even more gentle with your lips, if that was possible, wiping away the gloss like you were made of glass.

Your eyes snapped open, and you found yourself gazing into his warm, brown-sugared eyes, your heart thundering in your chest. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. How did you get so close? You weren't sure, but he was there, noses almost touching.

He pulled away the wipe, using his thumb to clean up left over gloss though you were sure there wasn't any. His hand paused there, resting on your lower lip like it was meant to be there. You felt every fiber of your being stand on high alert. You wondered what he was thinking.

Did he want to kiss you as much as you wanted to kiss him?

"Are you going to kiss me?" You asked, half-hopeful, half-daring, giving a microphone to your inner monologue.

He took a moment, eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes then back down again. "Yes."

It was certain. Like there was no doubt about it, but he didn't move.

"Okay, I'm ready," you breathed out, pulse roaring in your ears.

Hotch's laughter was a low and warm sound. You had heard it a lot tonight.

"You kill me," he said, and it wasn't patronizing — it was affectionate and genuine, and it made your whole body turn to mush.

Then his lips were on yours, and you were both laughing, the sound muffled by lips. It was tentative at first but it quickly morphed into something sweet and soft and perfect.

"Aren't you glad my date went terribly?" you mumbled into his soft skin.

"Devastatingly glad."

One thing was clear — Hotch was not going to end up sleeping on the couch tonight.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @averyhotchner @everythinglizzy @sky2nd

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[kurooh]

☆ ， SATIVA ! — takami keigo, todoroki toya

⊹₊˚. a simple sesh with your two closest friends in the league of villains—hawks & dabi—quickly turns into something else once you start smoking too.

word count ★ 4.4k

warnings ★ 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, smoking weed, mfm threesome, very subtle dabihawks, unprotected sex, oral [f&m giving/receiving], creampies, hawks has a crush on you, wing play, spitroast, squirting, hawks is a lil submissive

xoxo, juno ★ created because of this ask! i had so much fun writing & i spent forever trying to do this idea justice and i seriously hope i did. first ever ‘long’ fic so i pray this doesn’t flop hahaha please give me some feedback and rb/comment if you liked it <33

the sun sinks low in the sky, peeking over the horizon and casting orange rays of light through the torn curtains hanging over the hallway windows. finally being off the clock and done with patrols is always rewarding in its own way, but this is different — you’ve been invited to hang out in one of the more private rooms in the villa.

dabi and hawks had always proved to be an interesting duo: one a hero, the other a villain. as if their positions in society weren’t enough to stop them from becoming friends of some kind, they shared very different interests, tastes, and quirks.

however, the only thing they could seem to agree on was you — the three of you were inseparable, spending time together often, despite having very opposite personalities.

“hawks?” your voice is hushed, awkward as you push open a dusty door, unsure of its location. “dabi? you guys are in here, right? you better not be fucking with—”

“oh relax.”

“we’re right here, dove,” hawks’ sugary sweet voice draws a loud gag from dabi, mustered from the very depths of his soul.

you huff, stepping in and slamming the door.

“it stinks in here, what the hell is that?”

“lock the door,” dabi vaguely gestures behind you, lifting one of his legs over the other as he leans against the bottom of the beat up couch. in his lap sits a copy of the hardcover hawks can’t seem to stop reading, the meta liberation army book. his darkened fingers carefully sprinkle a smelly substance into a rolling paper, and his eyebrows furrow as he focuses.

hawks sees the confusion on your face. “dabi’s making magic over there.”

“you owe me, hawks. damn fiend.”

“i am not a fiend!” the blonde snaps his head to the side, crossing his legs tightly. “you suggested it and i agreed. i’ll chip in for your efforts, though.”

dabi cackles, sealing his creation with a delicate swipe of his tongue against the paper. vermillion wings ruffle in shameless interest, gold eyes locked onto dabi’s hands. not wanting to be the only one standing, you take a seat on the old couch, both of them on either side on the floor below you.

with no encouragement necessary, dabi pushes what looks like a thick cigarette between his lips and lifts a finger to light it.

“what is that?” you ask curiously, gesturing towards his lips.

“‘s a joint,” he mumbles in reply, lighting the end of it with a small blue flame.

“don’t disintegrate it now, dabi.”

“fuck off, bird brain. as if i can’t control my quirk.”

dabi inhales deeply, taking a long drag on the joint before pulling it from his lips and passing it to the man on the other side of you. curiously, you watch as hawks takes a small inhale, then hands it back to dabi.

“pacing yourself this time? that’s new for you.” dabi remarks, sharp teeth gleaming as he smiles. hawks scoffs, staying quiet although he looks away awkwardly.

“you know what weed does?” dabi rolls the joint back and forth between his lips, looking up at you from his spot on the floor.

“i-i’m not sure, i’ve never tried it before,” your voice falters and you clear your throat, fidgeting with your fingers. “what does it do?”

“it’ll get you high,” hawks offers simply.

“it does way more than that,“ dabi shoots him a glare and shakes his head. “it’s relaxing. it’ll make you feel different, in a good way.”

he turns to the side and exhales smoke, then offers you the joint. “come on, princess,” you’re watching the wisps of smoke dissipate in the air behind him before your attention snaps back to dabi. “i, for one, think you’ll come to like it.”

“aw, don’t pressure her, dabi.” hawks takes the joint from dabi with a mild glare, and shakes his head as he slips it between his lips. crimson wings flutter as he takes a deep, long hit and fills his lungs with smoke. dabi watches with a smirk, unable to hold in his laughter when his body trembles and he starts to cough, spewing smoke from his nose and mouth.

“you’re only talking like that cause you’re not all that experienced either,” he scoffs, reaching to the side to grab a bottle of water, then tosses it to the other side of the couch.

tears from the intense coughing cascade down hawks’ flushed face as he sucks down the water, clearly embarrassed. truthfully, he’d been trying to show off a little, as well as unwind from a long day.

you take the joint from hawks before he drops it onto the carpet, then you hand it back to dabi, who shrugs. “if you really don’t want to, that’s fine, doll.”

you’re nervous, heart racing at the prospect of smoking with them. drinking liquor was always rare for you, and even when you did, you didn’t get anything more than tipsy. oftentimes you’d be wrangling hawks out of the sky and reminding him that smashing into a building while flying drunk would be a very bad look for him as a hero. he never seemed to care, though, and dabi didn’t either; he’d be equally drunk but less stupid, standing behind you and just laughing.

what if you took too much? what would you say? more importantly, what would you do?

dabi’s husky voice snaps you out of your thoughts. he offers you a smile full of faux sympathy, eyes pink and just a little shiny from the high.

“you’re just missing out.”

missing out? something about his words makes you squirm, thighs clenching. if you were to say no and leave, you’d miss seeing these two high. drunk was one thing, but high was another; you’d heard a few stories, here and there, about what weed could do. in most cases, people tend to stay the same as they usually are, although they may become a little more giggly. occasionally, weed could cause serious arousal. not to mention the date for the paranormal liberation war: it’s coming up, and hawks’ fate has been weighing heavily on your mind.

the definition of magnetic, you weren’t the first to gravitate to him; but you definitely ended up being one of the only people he actually spent the most time with. well, and dabi. closer than most friends, neither of you could even think about pulling away: what if this was one of the last times you could spend time together?

part of you feels like you’ll regret this, but you bite the bullet anyway, stammering, “uh, okay. yeah, i’ll try it.”

proudly, dabi scoots closer and hands you the joint. the smell is strong, and your nose crinkles as you lift it to your lips.

“be careful, you have to inhale a certain way—”hawks starts to say, seemingly recovered from his coughing fit, but dabi rolls his eyes at the hero’s concern. he fake gags once again, then sets his rough palm on your knee, which doesn’t go unnoticed by the hero.

“i’ll show you how, doll. i taught this dumbass but clearly he does indeed have a bird brain.”

“fuck off,” hawks grunts, leaning over to hit him lightly with a wing before slouching back to watch, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.

“bring it to your lips—right, just like that. so, you’ll need to inhale slowly because the smoke can be a bit overwhelming at first..”

you follow dabi’s instructions, closing your eyes as you take the smoke into your mouth, letting it pass through your windpipe and coil in your lungs for a moment.

“wait a second, then slowly blow it out through your mouth.”

your eyes open, and you look at the tendrils dissipating in front of you. beside you, hawks offers the half full bottle of water.

“good girl,” dabi chuckles, leaning his head back against the edge of the couch. dark, spiky hair sticks out in all directions, and hooded turquoise eyes observe you thoughtfully. “you’ll want to repeat that a few more times, alright? make sure you stop when you’re feeling it, it kicks in pretty quickly. don’t wanna overdo it, you’ll end up puking. i’m sure hawks can tell you all about that, huh?”

“dabi, seriously!” the vomiter in question whines, feathers puffing out as his blush darkens. “she doesn’t need to know about all that shit.”

it starts as a giggle, slips from your lips before you can stop it. then it’s a few, all at once. before you know it, you’re curling up and laughing so hard tears run down your face. from the corner of your eye, you notice hawks’ bewildered stare, which only makes you laugh harder.

“she’s definitely high,” dabi clicks his tongue, finding it difficult not to join in with you. hawks continues to stare, shifting in his spot on the floor as he takes in your laughter and smiling face.

maybe it’s the haze that’s taken over your brain, or the fog that’s settled in every corner of your body, but you find yourself slowly coming down from all the laughter, sliding down to the floor between them, joint between your fingers.

“you alright?” dabi pulls the joint from your grasp, sticks it into a nearby ashtray.

“my throat’s a little dry,” you rasp, overwhelmed by all the new sensations.

again, hawks hands you the water bottle, but this time he presses it into your hand. rather abruptly, you twist to the side and lean in, kissing dabi.

he makes absolutely no effort to stop you, parting his lips and letting your impatient tongue into his mouth while his rough hands wander beneath the hem of your shirt, palms dragging against your skin and only moving higher.

by the time you’re pulling away to breathe, he’s panting, eyes cast downwards at the carpet; just before his eyes meet yours, he remembers that the two of you aren’t alone.

heavy wings rustle behind you, the noise likely unintentional. when you turn back, hawks is watching, still cross-legged but now shamelessly pitching a tent in his pants.

”hawks,” you pant, body burning hot. eagerly, you beckon him over; there’s no hesitation crossing over his face when he slides towards you, squishing you between himself and dabi.

dabi watches quietly as you pull the hero into a kiss by the chin, insistent and everything but gentle. you’ve got him breathless against your lips, his wheezes pitched and clearly overwhelmed.

“alright, princess,” dabi scoffs, tugging you off the hero by your shirt and into his lap. “that’s not fair.”

he feels like he’s melting a little when your face falls, your expression becoming pathetic and sad in a way that’s utterly filthy.

“but, i-i want both of you.”

the two men look towards each other, sharing an unreadable look. hawks swallows nervously, “at the same time?”

“same hole?” dabi jokes, eyebrows shooting up when you nod to both of their questions. “well, shit. you heard her, bird brain.”

“on the couch,” hawks murmurs, patting a worn out cushion. on trembling legs, you stand and take a seat.

“nuh uh, on your knees,” dabi grunts, pushing you into position and settling behind your clothed ass.

meanwhile, hawks sits in front of you and pulls his clothes off, stripping down to his boxers. the outline of his thick cock is obvious, as is the shift of his hips as he awaits your touch.

saliva pools inside your mouth at the thought of having his cock down your throat, stretching it out and filling it up.

“off,” one simple word and his whole lower half is already fully naked.

“suck him off,” dabi’s arms wrap around your waist as he unbuttons your shorts and yanks them down to your knees. “and don’t you dare stop, or i will too.”

hawks guides his cock into your mouth, rising to his knees and cupping the back of your head. his face crumbles in pleasure, and he’s only pushing past your lips. “oh my god— fuck, your mouth’s perfect.”

his wings spread out behind him, crimson feathers quivering out of his control. “show off,” dabi mutters, pulling your panties down next. he watches your cunt closely, glossy strings of wetness stretching as your panties slide down your thighs.

“so fucking pretty, christ.” your pussy clenches from his words, his hot breath fanning over you and only adding to your anticipation. hawks stares, gold eyes honing in on rough hands and the way they grasp your plush skin.

“deeper,” hawks murmurs, head falling back as he pushes your head down further.

at the same time, dabi experimentally licks a long stripe down your pussy, the tip of his tongue dipping between your folds. the light stimulation combined with the sight and sound of hawks’ pleasure has your hips thrashing, bucking backwards for more.

“she’s real needy, huh?” dabi spits onto your cunt, a glob trailing down and dripping a little from your clit.

“looks like it,” hawks chuckles, lips moving into a pleased smile at the needy sounds you can’t stop making on his cock.

the air in the room is hot, thick with the scent of smoked weed and sex, heavy with shameless arousal. your head is cloudy, only full of thoughts of hawks and dabi. it’s like being shocked with electricity when your face is pressed into thick thighs, hawks’ cock pushing deep and causing you to choke. he grunts and starts to fuck your mouth, his thrusts carelessly deep. as if that wasn’t enough, dabi’s fingers push inside you and he attaches his lips to your clit.

“mmm,” he groans deeply, roughly tugging you backwards and into his face for more.

“does she taste good?” hawks huffs, his chest heaving. against your tongue, his cock throbs.

dabi smacks his lips behind you, then gifts your ass with a harsh slap. the sudden sting makes you moan, and he smirks.

“oh yeah. she’s so fuckin’ sweet, hawks.”

“tell me about it,” the hero gulps, his lower lip wobbling as he only grows closer to the bliss he’s been dreaming about.

“well, she’s real tight inside. sucked my fingers right in, didn’t you, princess?” to prove his point, dabi nudges two other fingers against your dripping entrance and you clench, greedy pussy begging to be stuffed full.

hawks nods, waiting for more.

“oh my god, i couldn’t even describe the taste,” dabi curls his fingers inside you, rubs your clit in methodic circles with the pad of his thumb. “‘s sweet, for sure. definitely a little sour.”

turquoise meets gold, and dabi watches hawks’ eyes roll back, wings spreading out and straining behind him, like an angel.

“you’ll have to taste it yourself, bird brain. i’m sure she’s more than willing.”

that’s all it takes to push the both of you over the edge — with a choked moan, hawks spills into your mouth, hips stuttering but still jerking forward sporadically. dabi pays close attention to the way you shake, pushing towards him for more but practically running away the second he touches your swollen clit.

dabi blames the heat in his cheeks on the weed.

“o-oh,” hawks fights back a whimper as he pulls his cock from your mouth, too sensitive to even speak.

“it’s so hot in here,” you whine, sitting up to pull your shirt and bra off. the bounce of your tits and perkiness of your nipples has dabi groaning, painfully hard.

“get the hell back on your knees.”

hawks sits and observes dabi, eyes focused on the way his fingertips run down your back and pause at your asscheeks, gripping the skin in an effort to ground himself.

he races to take his pants off, tossing them and his boxers to the floor in a hurry. he’s shaking when he lines his cock up with your entrance and shoves in, falling against your back with a loud hiss.

“holy shit,” he gasps, startled when he feels like cumming already. in a flash, hawks is in front of you again, stroking his fingers over the nape of your neck and shushing your pathetic whining.

hawks would be lying if he said he wouldn’t fuck you harder and make you sob.

“you can take it,” dabi grunts, clearing his throat to keep his voice from faltering. “it’s not you’ll be getting any breaks, doll.”

“that’s mean,” hawks says with a pout, fully hard and waiting for attention.

“shut it, bird brain. fuck her mouth again, why don’t you?”

“you heard him,” hawks shrugs, seemingly apologetic although he definitely isn’t. “open up, dove.”

his wings rustle and he groans as he pushes his cock into your mouth once again. dabi’s pace doesn’t falter, and he tugs you up a little to fuck his cock deeper.

“dabi!” you sob, his name muffled but still audible to both men, “right there, pleasepleaseplease—”

heavy balls smack into your clit with each thrust that you can feel in your lungs. even as dabi pulls you impossibly closer, it still isn’t enough to be fully satiating — what if you all shared each other like this on the regular?

“g-gonna cum soon,” you whimper, a few tears rolling down your face and forcefully falling from your jaw with every hard shove of hawks’ cock into your mouth.

electricity races through your entire body, shooting through your veins in stinging shocks as the pressure in your pelvis increases. then you feel rough skin and hot breath at the nape of your neck, along with a strong hand wrapping around your throat.

“what’s that, princess? you’re gonna cum?”

“yes, y-yes, ‘m gonna—”

“greedy, aren’t you? go ahead and wait for us.”

“i-i can’t,” you moan, eyes rolling back when dabi’s fingers dig into the sides of your neck, “i’m so fucking close, dabi, please—”

he pulls back, but before he returns to fucking you as he did before, he shoves your head down hard, only letting go once he hears you choke.

the room fills with needy groans and the hushed whimpers you keep letting out as you struggle to do as he’d asked. it’s as though hawks is facing the same predicament, a nervous hand tangled deep in blonde strands and tugging to keep himself grounded.

after what feels like an eternity, dabi finally keels over with a drawn out groan. “shit, i’m gonna cum,” the pace of his hips starts to falter and you’re less than a moment away from cumming yourself. “i’m gonna fucking—”

he cuts himself off by biting into your shoulder hard, just before you feel him gushing inside you, filling you to the brim. hawks pulls out of your mouth to take in the scene, and commit every detail to memory.

you fall over the edge with a mewl, gummy walls squeezing dabi’s cock and absolutely draining him. all you can do is moan beneath him, trembling from the strength of your second orgasm of the night.

it’s frustrating that he’s throbbing against your cervix and then pulling out immediately after, beckoning for hawks to come over. entirely spent, you collapse onto your belly, heart racing and breath coming in heavy puffs.

“god,” hawks all but groans at the sight of the mess between your legs — cum pouring from your cunt and smeared around your clit thanks to dabi. then, almost as though he’s hungry, “looks so fucking good.”

“hey now, turn over.” dabi offers you the half full bottle of water from earlier and chuckles at how quickly you open it and begin to chug. it’s gone in seconds, and the bottle falls to the ground with a crinkling sound. you sigh, exhausted and still high as hell — for a moment, you close your eyes.

“round three,” is all you hear before your legs are being spread open. your hole flutters at the prospect of some more, and you’re startled that you’re even considering it.

“i just came twice, hawks,” you cry, lower lip wobbling. a third round will most certainly break you.

with the pad of his thumb, dabi sweeps away a stray tear on your face. “let him fuck you once, yeah? god knows how damn long he’s been wanting to.”

“dabi,” the blonde whines, flushing pink. “stop it.”

with a sigh, he lifts his arms and pulls his shirt off for this final round, exposing the rest of his body. his nipples are a light pink, and he’s got a defined chest and abs with lines that look sharp enough to cut stone. he wiggles his eyebrows, eyes creasing at the corners once he notices you checking him out.

“like what you see?”

behind you, dabi rolls his eyes, but you spread your legs wider with a playful expression. “absolutely.”

thoughts of nothing besides fucking you full of his cum and making you his flare in his mind as he gathers dabi’s cum on the tip of his cock and pushes it inside you.

“o-oh,” hawks gulps down a whimper once he pushes inside, leaning forward and meeting your lips in a bruising kiss. as he pulls back, lips dragging against your cheek, you swear you hear him say something like feels better than i could’ve ever imagined.

“want me to mess around with your tits or use your mouth?” dabi rasps, cupping your chin and tilting your head to make you look up at him.

“do what you’d like to me,” your back arches off the couch after an experimentally deep thrust from the hero, your tits bouncing nicely from the movement. he takes one into his hands, squeezing the soft flesh but mostly focusing on the pebbled nipples.

with a tinkling sound, hawks’ gold chain bounces wildly at his neck. noticing your distraction, dabi slips his fingers beneath your chin and turns your head to face him.

“how’s it feel to be fucked like a slut?” he questions, pinching your nipple harshly; you moan loudly, tilting your head to the side, tongue lolling out of your mouth. dabi thinks the twisted expression of bliss on your face is so fucking hot.

“f-feels so fucking good—” you cut yourself off with a needy, pitched moan, bucking towards hawks and wrapping your legs around his waist. “fill me up, please, i need it.”

the hero chews on his lower lip, closing his eyes and choosing to lose himself in this perfect moment. behind his eyes, he feels the hot prickle of tears; is he really about to cry right now? out of bliss and in front of dabi? but the thought is whisked away the second he focuses on the sound of his balls smacking into your swollen clit.

it’s a mess between your spread legs, cum and spit and slick smeared across your skin and dripping onto the couch.

“fuck, you’ve got no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this,” he grits his teeth, wings spreading out and beating the air hard, sending icy wind straight into your face and dabi’s. “b-been waiting to make you fall apart on my cock.”

“not to interrupt, but you’re blowing the mood out like a candle,” dabi bites, rising from his spot on the couch and stepping around crimson wings.

“don’t fucking start— dabi,” he gasps when he feels hot hands pulling his wings back into their usual resting position at his back. they tremble in his grip, stray feathers falling to the floor.

“sensitive there?” he roughly prods a finger between the feathers.

hawks ignores him although the answer is definitely yes, bending forward to wrap his arms around you and pull you as close as he can. the gold chain bumps against your sternum, and hawks buries his face in your shoulder with an embarrassing moan.

“i-i’m so close— dabi, rub her clit for me,” it takes a lot of strength not to stutter when his brain’s melting like this.

with a grunt of acknowledgement, dabi’s hand slips between your sweaty bodies, fingers pushing through your pubic hair as he searches for your clit.

“right here, doll?” he pinches the swollen bud and rolls it between two fingers.

“fuck yes,” you moan, hips jolting towards him.

he’s got a hand wrist deep in feathers, scratching lightly at the skin beneath, and the other sandwiched between you and hawks as he rubs your clit furiously.

“just like that,” you whimper, eyes meeting dabi’s, whose pupils are blown. against your neck, hawks chants your name like a prayer, lips dragging against your cheek when he pulls away for a moment.

“i’m gonna—” he groans loudly, eyes rolling back and hips stuttering against your own, “take it, take it all, fuck..” his voice nearly cracks as he finally lets go, pushing deep and shooting ropes of cum from his swollen cock.

hawks shudders, wings fanning out and pushing against dabi, who groans as he takes in the whole scene.

“cum hard for me, doll,” dabi urges, his sticky fingers maintaining the rough pace he’s had this whole time; a unique tightness swells in your pelvis, begging to be released. despite having been fucked dumb, you manage to register that something big is about to happen.

“dabi, d-dabi,” you sob, legs trembling and heels pushing hawks closer. “‘s coming, ‘s coming..”

dabi’s hand slips into blonde hair, and he yanks hard, pulling hawks’ head up so he can watch you fall apart.

it happens fast; you clench down on hawks’ cock, squeezing out a moan from deep within his chest. liquid sprays from your spasming cunt, soaking hawks’ pelvis and dabi’s fingers.

“‘s too much,” you cry out, a tear racing down your cheek when you feel dabi’s fingers dragging against your overly sensitive clit again.

“why don’t we see how fucking sloppy she is?” he groans, watching closely as hawks pulls out.

you can only whimper when cum gushes from your swollen cunt and someone’s fingers push it back in. you watch as the two men rise to their feet, still on your back and panting.

“t-this was perfect,” hawks tries to catch his breath, choking when his back is slapped. “minus you ripping my hair out and slapping me just now, damn it.”

“all for good reason,” dabi snickers, helping you to sit up. “you alright? that was a lot, heh.”

“i need to take a shower so bad.”

“let’s just relax before anyone leaves,” hawks says with a sigh, plopping down beside you.

“don’t tell me you get all soft after sex,” dabi stretches and pops his neck before he sits down on the other side of you.

“better than being hard,” he mutters in reply, gesturing to dabi’s boner.

the comment only makes him spread his legs and wrap an unbothered arm around you, knuckles brushing against hawks’ face.

“gotta do this again sometime,” you say, eyelids feeling heavy. “just like earlier, both of you at the same time.”

“same hole?” they both ask at once, more serious than they’d been before.

you wink at them, not so tired anymore.

“most definitely.”

[empresskylo]

     ‎｡･ﾟﾟ･ captain john price x gn!reader (pet name "doll" used)

short fic of price comforting reader with a much needed bear-hug.

cod masterlist

You threw your hand of cards down on the poker table in defeat, laughing as you stood. "Anyone want anything to drink?" you asked the boys still engaged in the round. Soap mumbled a request as he stared Ghost down, trying to get a read if the lieutenant was bluffing or not. "All in," Ghost added, making Soap's eye twitch. Gaz laughed from beside Soap, leaning over to try and get a quick glimpse of his hand.

You shook your head with a ghost of a smile on your lips as you left to the adjacent room to grab some drinks from the fridge. A wash of unease took over your body when you no longer had to keep face in front of the men. You stared at the glowing shelves in the refrigerator, the light bulb flickering, counting your breaths. The anxiety rushed into you at full force, and you suddenly were struggling to breathe. Footsteps sounded behind you and you quickly moved to grab a bottle.

You knew it was Price before he even got close, smelling his musky cologne when he entered the room. You put a forced smile on your face, ready to spin around to face him. When you shut the fridge's door, your movement a bit shaky, Price's arms wrapped around you, engulfing you in a bear-hug. You made a small noise in the back of your throat in surprise, your shoulders hunching, almost like you were uncomfortable with his touch.

"Y'okay, doll?" Price questioned, noticing the way your body tensed.

"Of course," you mumbled.

Price stood silently with you in his arms and you worried what he might be thinking. You went to open your mouth, but he was faster. He spun you to face him, his hands resting across your back to keep you close. "What's the matter, love?" he asked quietly. His voice was rich and deep, but the way he lowered his tone raised gooseflesh along your skin.

Your bottom lip wavered, unable to hold back. Perhaps if Price hadn't caught you when you were in the process of letting your guard down. Perhaps if he didn't hug you as you tried to push down those rising feelings. Perhaps if he didn't ask you what was wrong--twice--knowing you were lying. Perhaps then you wouldn't have sobbed. But Price did just those things, and you couldn't contain it any longer.

Tears rushed down your cheeks and Price's eyes danced between your own before tugging you back into a warm hug, his arms wrapped snugly around your shoulders. You buried your face in his chest, wrapping your own arms around him, locking your hands behind his back.

"You're okay," he said into your hair.

Your breathing stuttered as you let your body release the cries, shoving your face deeper into his shirt. "Tighter," you mumbled against him.

His arms tightened around you immediately. The pressure calmed you, let your heart beat return to its normal rhythm. He brushed his hand through your hair, his other sprawled over your back, trapping you close to him. You must have stood like that for several minutes in silence. You had closed your eyes, your breathing steadying, the hug and pressure keeping you at ease. And knowing it was Price who comforted you--who put in the effort to try and bring you back, to steal you from the dark confines of your mind--made you feel safe.

You finally pulled back and Price raised his hand to caress your cheek, his thumb stroking across your skin. He didn't speak, but you knew he was asking if you were okay. You nodded and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"Did y'wanna go back?" he asked, his arms hanging around you loosely now.

You gave a weak smile. "Yes." You wondered what he might have done if you said no. But you did want to go back. Especially with Price now at your side.

He escorted you back into the room and you were so thankful when none of the men commented on the fact that you were gone for quite some time. Price sat beside you, his arm around your lower waist in comfort, his fingers squeezing your hip.

You finally felt like you could breathe again.

[headdinthewall]

ITS STUCK ── a.frederick ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : in which you prank arthur that your tampon got stuck a/n : just a short one tonight lovies <3 i’ve been a bit more inactive than i’d like to be recently, but i have also been posting on wattpad too for my johnny kavanagh fic so i’m trying to shuffle both accounts! content : established relationship ,, period talk ,, arthur stressing

─────── A POPULAR TREND you’d seen floating around recently was girls pranking their boyfriends that their tampons had gotten stuck and they needed help getting it out. Your boyfriend — Arthur — had never been one to shy away from the topic of periods, nor did he feel the need to embarrass you or become disgusted if the sheets or your underwear needed a wash after a mid-night leak.

Now was the perfect time to do this as you were on your period and he knew it, having stocked up the pantry with the only food you were in the mood for when on your period.

You scuttled off into the bathroom, Arthur not questioning it.

You set your phone up on top of the toilet, masking it behind some toilet roll so the camera would still catch the scene.

“Arthur!” You shouted, using your fake panicked voice.

“Yeah?” His voice was heard from behind the door.

“Please can you come in?” You pleaded, “The doors unlocked.”

It creaked open and he stepped inside, observing your ‘stressed’ state.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s stuck.” You whispered, “My tampon’s stuck.”

His eyes widened a fraction of an amount, “S-Sorry?”

“I tried pulling it out but the string snapped off and I can’t get it out.” You lied, nibbling your bottom lip for extra effect.

“What do you normally do in this situation?”

“I don’t now, Arthur! I’ve never had one stuck before! I don’t wanna get toxic shock syndrome!” You fake being stressed.

“Okay, okay, you won’t. Maybe calm down first, just … what do you want to do?” Arthur reassured you, placing his hands on your hips.

“I … Can you get it out for me?”

He blinked blankly at you, stunned for a moment before whispering like it was a crime to ask his question, “What do I need to do?”

“Just … pull it out, I think.”

He exhaled heavily and nodded rapidly, “Okay. Okay, that’s fine. Just … with my fingers, yeah?”

You snorted as he seemed to be mentally preparing himself, bringing a hand up to your face to smother your laughter.

“W-Why are you laughing?”

“It’s— a— prank—“ You got out through giggles, taking your phone out from behind the fortress of toilet rolls.

“Wait … So your tampon isn’t stuck?”

“No.”

“Oh, thank God!” He let out a loud huff, “I thought I was gonna have to strap my phone to my head for a flashlight like a cave diver! Good God, never scare me like that again!”

You laughed, panning the camera up to his face, “So you wouldn’t have done it if it was real?”

“You know full well I would’ve gone in there like a flipping gynaecologist if you needed me too.” He tutted, feigning an unimpressed demeanour as he walked out the bathroom.

Later on, after posting the video and letting the likes and comments roll in, you decided to cut up some watermelon into little star shapes as your sign of gratitude to Arthur for being such a good sport and willing to do that for you.

“For my DIY gynaecologist.” You snorted, handing him the plate, “My superstar.”

“Har har, very funny.” He rolled his eyes, taking the plate and wrapping his arms around your shoulders once you had taken your spot beside him. “What are the fans saying?”

You shrugged, opening your phone and checking the video.

userone arthur serving 👁️👄👁️ at the start

usertwo ‘like a cave diver’ IS INSANE WORK

userthree arthur taking ‘happy wife happy life’ too seriously by being ready to get her period blood all over his hands’

↳ arthurtv i feel as though it should be the bare minimum to help your girlfriend/ wife out when she’s struggling???

userfour get her an acting role🏆

userfive ‘what do i need to do?’ PLEASE WHY IS HE WHISPERING LIKE HES SHIPPING DRUGS☠️☠️

usersix ‘with my fingers?’ no arthur with kitchen utensils. ????

↳ arthurtv pliers?

↳ chrismd.official that’s disgusting.

italianbach period queen! slay the boots house down💋💋💋

↳ userseven i cant tell if this is liv or bach

↳ georgeclarkeey bach.

↳ arthurtv bach.

↳ yourusername bach.

usereight this is so beautiful cabin crew scarlett johansson