#jack is just happy to be here honestly

[arrow-gt-ace]

carry tiny friend around by sharing outerwear with them

[mc-tummy-blur]

Got a headcanon where Jack, when he’s not on his joy, bites his thumb in irritation. Mainly used as a reference to the Shakespeare meaning of biting one’s thumb (either flipping someone off or challenging them to a fight), with him being an actor and all. Also could be a way for him to stim, both ideas can coexist

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[quietwingsinthesky]

went into the notes of that poll going around about if people want more seasons of supernatural and was immediately slapped in the face with how different my priorities are in this fandom from. a lot of it. what are you talking about ‘destiel endgame’. girl the show has bigger problems to fix than that if it ever had more seasons. they taught a three year old that the best way to be loved was to continuously try to kill himself and then they made him god.

[fox-mulder-gets-pegged]

The funny thing about owning a cat with severe anxiety and (suspected) brain damage is sometimes things that were ok yesterday are now far far far too scary today.

Case in point, yesterday the wet food dish was bringer of Food and Yum, today it's so so so so scary too scary can't go near it please feed me with a different bowl or I'll cry and cry and cry.

[savethepinecones]

sorry for being overdramatic every time i somehow hurt myself being obnoxious distracts me from the pain

[mad-hunts]

things had gotten quiet again and in all honestly, jack thought that maybe giving his father some space might be best. he didn't know the full story behind how barton and nico had met in the first place... but there was a tension there that was hard to explain. so, even though jack wanted to learn more about nico, a thought had come to mind that they could probably use some private time to talk. being deprived of touch for so long and suddenly getting it, too, by having barton hug him back? it felt nice to the point where all jack wanted to do that day was stay like that. for, the touch itself might've shocked him, but that soon faded into a feeling like he was real again.

albeit for only as long as the hug lasted. jack found himself pulling down his left sleeve, then, because he was now afforded a moment alone. though unlike barton who seemed to simultaneously revel and loathe being left to his own devices by others; jack, like a true extrovert, drew energy from interacting with others. and although he didn't mind being alone sometimes, being quote unquote 'good company to yourself' wasn't always easy. the long and jagged scar on the inside of his left arm was not something he liked to look at, as a rule. but jack had been thinking about julien a lot lately since he died in september.

as he let out a soft puff of air, he approached a cabinet on the wall that held all sorts of things within it. jack was looking for one thing in particular though. he let out a soft 'yes' in victory as he found what he wanted (a pack of tarot cards) and smiled for a moment. at least, up until jack heard the faint sound of someone tossing and turning. it turned out to be jervis which concerned him. maybe instead of waking him up, jack could make him some of that yuzu cha tea he'd brought along with him. he'd purchased it back when his boyfriend was sick a little shy of a month ago and it seemed to help him a lot. thus, jack reasoned that maybe it could do the same for his father.

quietly, he set down the deck of cards on the table before trudging to the kitchen. jack was about to proceed into the main room of the warehouse but halted at the corner when he heard barton and nico were talking to each other. now, he didn't necessarily mean to be nosy, but the instant he heard something like, 'you know that i expect for things between us to be settled after this, right?' from nico's side? jack couldn't help but want to listen. he just barely peeked over the corner of the kitchen, to try to hear them better. barton seemed to go completely silent at that before raising an eyebrow. ❝ uhh, yeah, why wouldn't i know that? and i'd say that you preventing me from a possible death is the perfect recompense for what i did for you. ❞

recompense. didn't that mean to pay off a debt? jack knitted his eyebrows in confusion at this, wondering what the hell his father could be referring to. but it seemed he just needed to wait to get his answer, ❝ yeah, well, its not like i wanted to kill mikhail. it was an accident. i just wanted to spook him into leaving my sister alone. he was an insane stalker who she broke up with for a reason. and yet, the damn cops wouldn't do anything about him, so i had to do something before he killed her. or worse. ❞ barton held both his hands up at this and let out a mix between an incredulous scoff as well as chuckle.

❝ ahh, i mean, i get it. you don't need to defend yourself to me. your sister has been your guardian for years and she's also your best friend — right? though i, personally, would've been happy to kill this guy if he was stalking my daughter or something. i suppose that's one of the many ways in which we differ. ❞ barton wiggled both of his eyebrows once before raising both of his arms up in a shrug-like gesture. ❝ but your uncle is still someone i consider a friend, so when i got the call about how you contacted him in a panic about accidentally killing someone... and that he called me because i was the only person he could trust to get rid of all the evidence? i have to admit, my ego was stroked. ❞

barton smirked around the water he lifted up to his lips before he took a quick swig of it, ❝ and i never like to pass up an opportunity to have someone owe me a favor. ❞ jack quickly moved back to the corner of the kitchen right when he saw that his father's eyes were moving towards him. so, nico wasn't really here of his own free will, but because he owed barton a favor? his eyes darted across the floor as jack tried to plaster on his best smile and crept out of the kitchen. his father rose both of his eyebrows at his sudden appearance, ❝ oh, hi, son. how is jervis doing? ❞ jack nearly stumbled as he picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulders. ❝ ahh, he's fine. the guy is still dead to the world though. ❞

he took out the jar of yuzu cha he had in his backpack, before looking at barton, who simply nodded. nico looked up from the floor then, ❝ mm. just to let you know, if your father is still okay by the morning, then i'm out of here. ❞ jack saluted at this before sauntering into the kitchen. but once he reached it, he let out a deep breath and just stood there to try to calm his nerves. it seemed he was right on time to catch jervis waking up. placing the yuzu down on the table near the bed, jack only rose a hand in a wave towards the other before speaking just above a whisper. ❝ hey. ahh, you're awake... that's awesome. how are you feeling? ❞

Blackness. Cold, frigid blackness, swallowing him whole. No bottom, no edges. Time bends, stretches, snaps, like threads pulled too taut. Memories flicker, stutter, unravel like reels of old film catching fire mid-playback. Jervis floats somewhere in it, the void pressing in, pulling him under, as his body remains slumped against the cold floor. But in his mind, he's somewhere else. Everywhere else.

He blinks, and he’s suddenly younger, much younger. The world around him smells of damp wood and copper, the air heavy with salt. His parents are there, their faces blurry and featureless, standing by the shore. A storm looms in the distance, its howl drowning out his calls to them. He can taste the brine, feel the cold slap of rain on his cheeks. “Mum! Dad!” But his voice comes out small; swallowed by the wind. His hands — so small now — reach out, fingers straining to touch, but they slip through like smoke. And then they're gone, swept away by the tide…

The blackness recedes into cold, sterile light. Arkham's damp walls closing in. White coats loomed over him, their faces shadowed. The cold metal of the restraints bit into his wrists, sweat trickling down his temples. Tick-tick-tick went the clock, just above his head. The tick-tick-tick became the rattle of pills in a small, plastic bottle. White pills. Green pills. Pink pills.

The needles dig deep. Medication floods his veins—no, not medication, poison. The kind that silences the mind, dulls the edge, but never quite kills the thoughts. They still buzz, frantic, scratching at the walls of his brain. Reality and memory bleed together in front of him, like ink on wet paper, smearing and distorting. He could barely tell which was which.

The room was spinning. Everything. Spinning.

Fifteen minutes. Enough time for billions of cells to generate. But not enough to save her. Sylvie's face appeared, pale and lifeless, framed by dark hair like a broken doll. The hospital room swam in and out of focus. The beeping of machines, the cold, sterile air. Where was Alice? The baby. Where was she?

His hands flailed, desperate to touch something solid, anything real. He found nothing but empty space. And then—wet streets of Gotham under dim streetlights. He was running, slipping on the rain-slicked pavement. Chasing someone. Or was he running from something?

“…and have you fret, picking your cuticles bloody…” Now it was his uncle’s voice cutting through the haze, thick with the smell of tobacco and vanilla. Once comforting, now suffocating. “I warned you, didn’t I?” Stephen’s hazel eyes glinted, hard and cold behind his glasses. “Walls, kit. You built them so high you can’t even see over them.”

Walls. Brick, steel, iron bars. Arkham, again. He laughed, or maybe he tried to. The sound splintered, jagged, snapping like bones.

Sylvie. Alice. Gone.

“You forgot.” Sylvie’s voice now, silk-soft, brushing past his ear. “You forgot to take your meds.”

STOP IT!

Light exploded into his vision, searing, blinding. His pulse pounded, his breath ragged. The Bat-symbol loomed before him, casting a long, jagged shadow.

“You belong in Arkham.” It wasn’t Sylvie’s voice. Not Stephen’s. Not even his own. But it echoed, reverberating inside him. His chest seized, breath caught in a cold vice. Was it fear? Or the shadow gripping tighter, squeezing out the last of the air? The Bat-symbol grew larger, swallowing the world whole.

Flicker. Jump. Alice’s laughter, bright and clear, breaks through the fog. She’s laughing because she doesn’t know—doesn’t know what the world is, what it does to people like him. She trusts him. How can she trust him? He can’t even trust himself.

No. Not laughter. Crying. No. Screaming. Her face warped, twisted, blurred.

The iron scent of blood. Flashes of hands—his hands—shaking, slick with red. His? Someone else’s? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to remember. He’s tumbling now, spiraling through the dark, limbs heavy, body collapsing on itself. Everything bends. Folds. Chess pieces scatter across a board, his fingers trembling, knocking them over one by one. He tries to pick them up but they slip through his grasp, the board tilting, falling away.

Another hospital room? No. Too still, too silent. No warmth. Not a hospital. Pitch-black. Arkham, yet again. The isolation tank. 10 inches of lukewarm water that matches his skin temperature. Sylvie’s body was rigid, waxen, chestnut hair tangled and tickling his skin as she floated next to him. “Jervis, love,” her voice drifted from somewhere far off, behind the static hum of his mind, “you never did know when to let go, did you?” A chuckle followed, soft and cold. Not hers. Not really. Sylvie was gone, gone, gone.

Jervis' heart thundered in his ears, loud, uneven. His hands twitched, searching for something to ground him. A surface, a texture, anything. His fingers closed around... nothing. Then, the tank vanished. He was weightless. Falling again. The voice—his voice—screamed something incoherent, something desperate.

“Jervis. Jervis, wake up.”

It was Stephen again, calling to him from somewhere far away, his voice low and warm, a lifeline thrown into the swirling abyss. Jervis clung to it, his mind thrashing in the dark, his body heavy and limp on the cold warehouse floor. But Stephen wasn’t here.

He knew it, even as the voice grew louder.

The darkness peeled back like tar, choking him, wrapping tight around his throat. The warehouse floor beneath him — solid, cool, gritty — replaced by a somewhat lumpy mattress. He wasn’t swimming. Jervis' eyes fluttered open. His joints were like jelly, his lungs burned, heart still racing. Barton. Matilda. His body felt detached, a stranger’s. But slowly, awareness crept in. The dream, the memories, they all slipped away like ash seeping through his fingers. He wasn’t falling anymore. But the past—the blood, the voices, the walls—they hadn’t left him. Not really.

Somewhere deep, a whisper curled into his mind: You’re still running.

[3motionally3xhausted]

Redesigning the Fentons!!

Hi yes this is for yet another Danny Phantom AU of mine it has nothing to do with the Apprenticeship AUs but unlike that batch I actually wanna turn this AU into a fic eventually once I get through a few other big projects I have *sobs*

Anyway individual files for each character under the cut along with my obligatory rambling about all the choices I made ;)

Jazz! Honestly, when I was a kid, I always thought she was 18 not 16 so it was kind of a shock when I started rewatching the show about a yr ago and heard that. Anyway, she's 17 in this AU but already moved out to college on a scholarship bc living in FentonWorks is kind of hell and she has that Older Sibling Guilt for leaving Danny there. For her clothes, I wanted it to be a mix of tactical and preppy.

Danny! (Fenton) The effects of FentonWorks hell is much more visible on Danny than Jazz because she got out of there as soon as she could. Because of that though, a lot of the chores in the lab got pushed onto Danny, without passing on many safety tips, like replacing the ecto-filtrator, cleaning contaminated tools, organizing ecto-weapons, etc. And because he doesn't know any better when it comes to safety, he has many symptoms of radiation poisoning: visually, this comes through in the discoloration/scarring on his skin (Jazz has some slight scarring on her face and hands as well), the cataract on his left eye, as well as burst blood vessels in that eye. For his clothes, I wanted them to look a bit ragged and worn through ripped seams, tears in the jeans, & duct tape around his shoe.

Danny! (Phantom) I don't actually have a lot to SAY about my choics, but I am really happy with it. There are still a few things. I wanted his hair as Fenton & Phantom to be different but still reminiscent of the simplistic rendering of the original show: Fenton is kind of timid so his hair falls over his face, & Phantom is more active/aggressive so his hair is pushed upward. The only other thing I want to comment on is his skin: it's kind of about how I usually stylize Phantom (and I mentioned this when I redesigned Dani a while back) but a "healthy" Phantom in my style would have more bright cyan skin and an unhealthy Phantom has a more dull/zombie green. And lastly, as a ghost, the radiation poisoning kind of cleans up into more neat scarring rather than the muddy/bleeding look as Fenton.

Maddie! Now, I'm gonna be honest, real vulnerable here,... I hate Maddie's canon haircut. It's ugly, I'm not sorry. But I can modify it, so it's fine: now it's curlier, a bit darker, and has a few grey streaks bc she's a genius and constantly pulling long working hours. And, it didn't come across as much as I wanted, but she's got some biceps, strong lady. Now, I'm not really sure why, but I wanted to shift the color of her and Jack's jumpsuit, making hers much more desaturated.

Jack! Big guy. I don't have many thoughts about him either, but I did give him glasses and some stubble for a little bit more dad energy (?) I mainly changed the color of his jumpsuit bc Orange is an extremely hard color for me to render for some reason, so now it's the classic Hazard Yellow. Finally, the most notable difference is the coat I put on him for a bit more scientist energy but my main reasoning for it is the potential visual of him being an absolute tank jumping from overhead with the ghost gauntlets and his coat flapping behind him. Also, I generally like the idea of him presenting himself as a big, dumb teddy-bear, always smiling, but completely unhinged below that facade: dropping the smile or not while towering over you in shadow. Wild imagery.

FINAL THOUGHTS: Do not count on any actual steps towards creating this fic in the near future, it's just on my mind right now, but I NEED to finish my other projects first 🙏🙏🙏 That said, I will (eventually) get around to a handful more character redesigns for this AU including: Vlad, Sam, Tucker, Valerie, Paulina, and maybe Lancer & Dash

[pomefioredove]

may I please request Headcanon of the overblot gang + Adeuce when a reader that’s normally very sweet and shy goes absolutely apeshit and TEARS INTO some bully, absolutely roasting the hell out of them please? Thank you :3

of course anon!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ going apeshit!!!!

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, ace, deuce, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

being the magicless newcomer makes you a favorite target for some of Night Raven College's less kindly students.

your loved ones know this, too, so when a group of brutish first years approach, they're ready to defend you. except...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Riddle had seen them coming towards you and already had his hand on his magical pen

how stupid of them to pick on you in his presence

a week or two without their heads would serve them well

but before he can even step between you and the ruffians (very gallantly, I might add; he had it all planned out in his head),

you just...

...oh

even he blushes at the profanity you spew

he didn't even get to scold them

...then you turn back to him with that same sweet smile as if nothing had happened

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ace had actually been the first student to get an earful from you

once at the beginning of the year, and never again

now, he takes great pleasure in watching you verbally eviscerate the other students

it's a... guilty pleasure, we'll say

and Deuce knows not to intervene

he tried... once

after all, he's been in your place before

nothing's better than the feeling of putting some snob in his place

BUT OF COURSE, that's the old Deuce

...he just lets you go on because he knows he can't stop you

...not because he's enjoying it. obviously

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

and here Leona was, thinking you were some helpless little herbivore...

but can you blame him?

you're always so... cute

skipping around Savanaclaw, all happy to be helping out Ruggie and Jack after practice...

you were bound to run into trouble, looking like an easy meal

he almost feels... bad for you...

but before he can step in and tell the freshies to buzz off, you...

damn, you've got a mouth on you

you switch up real quick on them, and they scamper off to go lick their wounds

color him impressed...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul was on his way back to the dorm when he heard you shout

you sounded... upset

and as much as he would like to, he can't just walk by and let you get bullied

damn sympathy...

so, he follows the sound of your voice, ready to intervene... on...

...nothing

a group of embarrassed freshman run past him, scattering in the opposite direction

he steps around the corner

and there you are, perfectly fine, if not a little winded

...of course

and he didn't even get to be your hero... tch

"Always full of surprises, aren't you? Just don't give Floyd any of those new words to use,"

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

it's none of his business... it's none of his business...

until it is his business

Jamil wouldn't have come running to your rescue like some prince

but he is in the middle of a civil conversation with you!

how insulting! honestly!

those freshmen must take him for some kind of witless fool

just this once, he'll teach them not to disrespect him...

of course, he doesn't even get a word in

he's never seen anyone so...

so...

...brutal

your insults are poignant, your tone sharp and dangerous, your usage of puns perfect...

you're like a work of art

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil has no problem with putting others in their place

and he has a particular dislike of the brutish, arrogant students at NRC

he can actually sense their unwashed presence in the hall before he sees them

one little snide comment and...

...oh...

oh, my

you verbally tear them to shreds, insulting everything from their shoes to their posture, their cowardice, even their own insults

...goodness

he's going to have to have a talk with you about your language later

but, for now...

...he's enjoying this little performance of yours

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Idia starts the most heated discourse over his faves and biases online, but this is different

this is real life

and the second he can feel a shift in the atmosphere, he's hiding behind you

you can handle it yourself, right? you've done it before!

honestly, he has no clue how you deal with the normies at this school

delusion, probably

he'd die if anyone talked to him the way they talk to...

...NEVER MIND!

you're using words he hasn't even heard in real life

even he is freaked out

you can get real scary when you want to, huh?

...maybe he'll just stick with you for now...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

poor Malleus

he actually kinda sorta wanted to defend your honor...

he could be your fairytale prince!!! he could!!

it's the gentlemanly thing to do, anyway

and, better yet, he wouldn't even have to say anything! just one glare from him and the perpetrators would run screaming

...the one benefit to his reputation

but, of course,

you are not as innocent and weak as you seem

and he can't help but feel... impressed? with your ability to defend yourself

after this is all over, he'll have to joke that you should join his guard

[alaia777]

hiii!!! i read your "a boy whos jacked and kind" fic and it was amazing!!!!! could you (possibly) do a pt2 with chigiri, reo, sae, and nagi? (or any other characters you want) ty!!!!

omggg thank u, of course !! 🩷🩷

jacked and kind? — p2

ೃ༄ chigiri;

“alright, princess. if you drop me or make me look stupid, i’m cutting your hair.”

“i’ll cut my own hair before i drop you.”

“you’re such a liar.”

you both start laughing as you wait for the music to begin. you’d both wanted to try this trend for a while, but you’d been hesitant, mostly because you were worried he’d hurt his leg. every time you work out together, or even just watch him at practice, your heart beats a little harder, anxious that something might happen to him. he always reassures you that he’s fine—but still.

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

when he places his hands around you to hoist you onto his shoulder, he makes sure you’re smiling. he just wants to see you happy. but as you glance down at him, you notice the grimace on his face.

“oh my god, are you alright?”

“yeah, yeah,” he mutters, trying to hold back a wince. “it’s just… you’re sitting on my hair.”

ೃ༄ reo;

“why is it taking you so long to put your hair in a ponytail?”

“can you just be patient?”

you were spending the afternoon at your boyfriend’s place, and honestly, there were so many things you could do in his enormous house. but the only thing you wanted was to try the trend your friend shared with you. it wasn’t hard to convince reo—he’d rather count every grain of sand on every beach in the world than do work for his parent’s company. he was bored and wanted to try something new, and you had just the solution.

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

you couldn’t help but laugh when you felt him lift you onto his shoulder. for some reason, the mix of his concentrated facial expression and how intently he was staring at his reflection was the funniest thing you’d seen all day.

“what’s so funny?” reo asked, looking up at you.

you just kept smiling, and in response, he dropped you into his arms, princess style, twirling you around effortlessly.

ೃ༄ sae;

“can you smile a little? you look like you hate your girlfriend.”

“you want me to do this or not?”

you wanted to roll your eyes so bad, but the last thing you needed was a snarky comment from sae. after what felt like an eternity, you finally convinced your boyfriend to do this trend with you—despite him repeatedly telling you how stupid it was. it took some careful planning: making sure he was in a good mood, giving him salted kombucha in the morning, getting him some salty seaweed tea, and putting on taxi driver right before he came home. he knew what you were up to, but honestly, he just wanted to get it over with.

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

you watched as he grabbed you by the hips and hoisted you onto his shoulder. he wanted to roll his eyes, but when he saw you smiling so stupidly, a small smirk tugged at his lips. you weren’t sure if he was smiling with you or at you, but the only thing that mattered was that your boyfriend was playing along—for you.

“well, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” you said, playfully petting his hair.

“you’re pushing it.” he muttered, and without warning, he set you down on the floor.

ೃ༄ nagi;

“this is so bothersome.”

“you know what is going to be bothersome? me making your cactus into soup.”

were you threatening your boyfriend to do this trend with you? maybe. were you actually going to hurt his precious choki? never. and he knew that. yet here he was, watching you move things around the room to prop your phone up and film this video. nagi was tall, sure, but he was also incredibly lazy when he wasn’t on the football field. honestly, you weren’t sure if he’d put any real energy into this.

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

you waited for him to do something, but when you glanced at him, he was just staring off into the distance like usual. you turned around and waited for him to say something, but it was like he didn’t even notice you were looking at him.

then, out of nowhere, he grabbed you by the legs and hoisted you onto his shoulder. you yelped, completely caught off guard.

“are we done?”

“… i suppose.”

he left the room with you still draped over his shoulder, heading straight for the bedroom. he dropped you onto the bed and flopped down next to you.

“time for sleep now,” he mumbled, already pulling you closer.

ೃ༄ i hope you like it !!!

[pomegranatesarchive]

and they were roommates | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x youtuber!reader

summary: you and oscar are trying to keep your relationship a secret, so when you move in together you tell everyone your just roommates, it isn’t as believable as you thought it would be.

liked by oscarpiastri, and 210,838 others!

yourusername: new city? new roommate!

view comments below!

user1: y/n in her monaco era ???

user2: i did NOT see this coming

user3: wait but i’ll miss your old roommate

user4: RIGHT ??? she was so funny 😭

user5: oscar in the likes ???

user6: what is oscar doing on a y/n post 😨

user7: what if HES the new roommate…

user8: reaching 😭

user9: oscar this oscar that WHENS THE BEW VIDEO ??? ITS BEEN WEEKS

user10: roommate? you’re a like gazillionaire why do you need a roommate ??

user11: why do you need a roommate ?? you’re rich ???

user12: hmmm something’s off

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris, and 726,028 others!

yourusername; new video with my new roommate! enjoy :)))

view comments below!

user13: roommate???? not with the way he looks at you

user14: AHHH NEW VIDEO

user14: OMG I LOVED IT

user14: IT WAS SO FUNNY ????

user14: YOU AND OSCAR ARE HILARIOUS TOGETHER

user15: are you SURE youre just roommates ???

user16: roommates don’t look at roommates that way 😾

user17: i watched the video, and i honestly think you guys should just order out from now on…

user18: why is oscar looking at y/n like shes the beautiful girl on planet earth

user19: because she is ??? 🙄

user20: these two are DEFINITELY not just roommates

user21: i don’t think i’ve ever seen roommates who look like they are restraining themselves from kissing every second of the day ??

user22: no yall are definitely dating….

user23: RIGHT ??? because this whole ‘roommate’ DOESNT MAKE SENSE!!!!

user23: LIKE THEY ARE BOTH RICH, WHY DO THEY NEED TO HAVE A ROOMMATE???

user24; the way they both so polite cat coded

user25: if you aren’t already dating, i’m going to need you both to start IMMEDIATELY.

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, and 835,017 others!

yourusername; why do i always pick rock? anyways guys yes i am dating oscar jack paistri, and he’s keeping me hostage.

view comments below!

user26: HELLOOO?????

user27: the feet pic ???

yourusername: yeah oscar’s really into feet ☹️

oscarpiastri: NO IM NOT????

user28: oh i love this…

user29: omg the love letter…

user30: clap if you’re suprised!!

user31: dead silence

user32: it’s kinda easy to tell you’re dating when you look at each other the way you do

landonorris: I KNEW IT!!!

yourusername: yeah we told you last year…

landonorris: exactly? I KNEW IT.

user33: omg he writes you LOVE LETTERS ??? @/user33boyfriend do better.

user34: wow i’m so lonely

user35: i have no idea who this people are, but instagram showed me this literally 20 minutes after my bf broke up with me

user36: so😭happy😭for😭you😭

user37: WHEN IS IT MY TURRN

liked by, landonorris, yourusername, and 924,104 others!

oscarpiastri; she always picks rock. yes im dating THEE y/n l/n

view comments below!

yourusername; never beating the foot lover allegations i fear…

oscarpiastri: YOU STARTED THOSE ALLEGATIONS

yourusername: AND YOURE NOT BEATING THEM

user38: omg the locket 🥹🥹

user39: how long do you think they’ve been dating

user40: twitter detectives are SPECULATING 3 years or so ??

user41: how did they keep this a secret for SO long

user42: you like feet don’t you oscar…

user43: THIS IS SO CUTE IM HYPERVENTILATING

user44: THE LOCKET, THE MATCHING SLIPPERS, THE CUTE SOCKS?? LITERALLY SO CUTEYEYDJDKSS

user45: “she always picks rock” “why do i always pick rock?” i feel left out and i DONT LIKE IT

. . .

notes; the streets are saying oscar has officially moved to monaco ?? so here’s this:

[pucked-bunnie]

un-offical ⎜j.hughes

pairings: jack hughes x reader genre: romance ⎜situationship to lovers ⎜christmas special ⎜ warnings: readers ex being a jerk ⎜ jack being a doberman boyfriend ⎜ this is honestly just short and sweet synopsis: things with jack are complicated at the best of times - but they're about to get even worse when he meets your ex boyfriend at your families annual christmas party word count: 3.9k authors note:  this was a combination of two requests i thought went really well together - I hope you all enjoy!! Happy Christmas season!

(unedited)

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“Hon, there is someone at the door for you.” Your mum calls through the house, her voice casual yet carrying that sing-song lilt she used when she knew something was about to stir up excitement. You shoot to your feet, the soft rustle of your dress swishing against your ankles as you jog to the front door. You give her a quick nod of thanks as she drifts away, leaving you alone to handle the unexpected arrival. Standing in front of the door, you take a steadying breath, smoothing your dress and running a hand through your hair to make yourself look a bit more composed. Then, with a slight smile, you pull it open.

“Hey, didn’t think you’d make it,” you greet, the words sliding off your tongue with practiced ease. It’s a lie, of course. You’d been tracking his location on Find My Friends only minutes ago, and the little dot marking his presence had been slowly inching closer to your house, sending a flutter of nerves through your chest. But the moment Jack steps into view, all of those feelings morph into a warm kind of familiarity. There he stands, a neatly wrapped present in his hands, his white button-down pristine and tucked into tailored black slacks. His hair, as always, has that perfectly messy charm, and his grin is enough to light up even the frostiest winter night.

“Come in, come in, it’s freezing out there,” you say, stepping aside to usher him into the entryway. The air outside bites at your skin, a stark contrast to the cozy warmth of your home, but Jack’s presence brings an added heat—an unspoken connection that’s been brewing for months.

“I managed to squeeze it into my schedule,” Jack jokes, his tone light but his eyes sincere. That, too, is a lie. You know it, and he knows it. The moment you had mentioned your family’s annual Christmas party weeks ago, he had cleared his calendar without a second thought. The idea of being here, of being with you in a space so intimate and familial, was something he couldn’t resist. “I…um, got this for you.” Jack says softly, handing over the small present. 

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the air from the living room. “Is that Jack?” your younger cousin, Emily, calls out, poking her head around the corner. Her face lights up the moment she sees him, and Jack waves, his easy charm working its magic as always. You roll your eyes playfully but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“It’s Jack,” you confirm, and she’s gone as quickly as she appeared, probably to alert the rest of the family of his arrival. Your stomach flips slightly at the thought. Having Jack here is already complicated enough, given the undefined nature of your relationship. Your family, however, has an uncanny way of reading between lines that don’t even exist yet.

"They're expecting a lot of photos tonight." You say with a chuckle - your hand reaching out to slip into his. “Don't say I didn't warn you,” you tease, leading him into the living room. The scent of pine, cinnamon, and freshly baked cookies fills the air, wrapping around the two of you like a comforting blanket. Jack’s eyes wander, taking in the twinkling lights on the tree, the garlands strung along the bannisters, and the small army of cousins bustling around in various stages of sugar highs.

Just as Jack is about to say something, the sound of the doorbell echoes through the house, cutting through the festive chatter like a needle scraping across a record. You freeze. For a moment, you think about ignoring it, but your mum’s voice rings out again. “Hon, could you get that?” she calls, and your stomach twists with a sense of foreboding.

You glance at Jack, who raises an eyebrow in curiosity but stays silent. With a sigh, you make your way back to the front door. The moment you open it, the air seems to drain from your lungs. Standing there, a crooked grin on his face and a bottle of wine in hand, is your ex-boyfriend.

“Surprise,” he says, his voice tinged with that familiar cocky confidence that used to charm you but now only makes your pulse quicken for all the wrong reasons. You’re too stunned to respond, your brain scrambling to understand why he’s here.

“Tyler? What are you doing here?” you manage to ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

He shrugs, his grin widening. “Your mum invited me. Said it’d be nice to catch up.”

“Of course she did,” you mutter under your breath, stepping aside to let him in. He’s barely in the entryway when Jack appears, his presence filling the space and immediately shifting the dynamic. His warm smile fades slightly as his eyes dart from you to the man now standing too close for comfort.

“Jack, this is, uh…this is Tyler,” you say, the awkwardness of the introduction making your cheeks flush. “Tyler this is Jack.” Tyler extends a hand, his expression unreadable. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says, though his tone suggests the opposite. Jack hesitates for only a fraction of a second before shaking his hand firmly, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

“Likewise,” Jack replies, his voice calm but his eyes sharp. The tension between them is palpable, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. You’re not sure whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of the situation.

“Do I know you from somewhere? You look so familiar,” Tyler says, his grin returning as he doesn’t wait for Jack to respond, immediately greeted by the rest of your family as he steps further into the house, leaving you and Jack standing by the door. Jack’s gaze lingers on Tyler’s retreating figure before he turns to you, his expression softening slightly.

“Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it, does it?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“Welcome to my life,” you reply, your tone half-joking but your heart pounding as you realise the evening is only just beginning.

Jack doesn’t say anything as the two of you move back toward the living room, but you can feel the shift in his energy. His easy-going demeanour has been replaced by a quiet alertness, his jaw tight, his hands slipping into his pockets as if to ground himself. You can’t blame him. Tyler has always had a way of commanding attention, whether or not it’s welcome.

And Jack? Well, Jack isn’t the type to back down from a challenge—even one that hasn’t been fully issued yet.

When you re-enter the living room, Tyler’s already making himself at home. He’s perched on the edge of the couch, chatting animatedly with your dad about some mutual interest in sports, the bottle of wine he brought resting on the coffee table like a trophy. The room buzzes with holiday cheer, but for you, the atmosphere is anything but jolly.

Jack hangs back slightly, his gaze fixed on Tyler. The subtle scrutiny in his eyes makes your stomach twist. You know Jack well enough to know he’s piecing things together, every detail adding fuel to the silent fire building between them.

You’re about to steer Jack toward the other side of the room when Tyler’s voice cuts through the conversation.

“Hold on a second,” he says, leaning back on the couch and pointing a finger in Jack’s direction. “Now I know where I’ve seen you before.”

The room goes quiet, all eyes flicking between the two men. Jack, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. He merely raises an eyebrow, his posture calm but commanding.

“You’re Jack Hughes,” Tyler says, a slow grin spreading across his face as if he’s just uncovered some great secret

“New Jersey Devils, right? My buddies and I are huge fans.”

Jack offers a polite nod, his expression unreadable. “That’s me.”

Tyler lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head in mock amazement. “Wow. Didn’t think I’d run into an NHL star at a Christmas party. Small world, huh?”

You feel Jack’s gaze flicker toward you for a moment, as if seeking reassurance. But before you can say anything, Tyler leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“So, how do you two know each other?” he asks, his tone casual but his eyes alight with something more probing.

You open your mouth to answer, but Jack beats you to it.

“We met through mutual friends,” he says smoothly, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Been close ever since.”

There’s something in the way he says it—something deliberate—that makes your heart skip a beat. Tyler catches it too, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second before he recovers.

“Close, huh?” Tyler repeats, leaning back again. His gaze slides to you, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s not the type to let things go easily, especially when it comes to you.

“Yup,” you say quickly, trying to defuse the tension. “Jack’s been a great friend.”

Jack’s eyes dart to you, and for a brief moment, you swear you see a flicker of something unspoken there—something that contradicts the word friend.

“Friend,” Tyler echoes, his tone light but with an edge that makes your skin crawl. He looks back at Jack, his smile widening. “Well, I guess that makes you one of the lucky ones. This family’s not exactly easy to crack into.”

Jack chuckles, the sound low and deliberate. “I guess I’ve got a knack for that.”

The subtle back-and-forth isn’t lost on anyone in the room. Your dad clears his throat and starts up a conversation with your aunt to break the tension, while your cousins exchange wide-eyed glances, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama.

You, on the other hand, feel like you’re standing on a tightrope, one wrong step away from sending the whole evening spiralling out of control.

As the night progresses, Tyler continues to insert himself into every interaction, his charm dialled up to maximum.

But Jack doesn’t back down. He’s there, steady and unshaken, his quiet confidence cutting through Tyler’s bravado in ways you’re sure only the two of them fully understand.

At one point, Tyler corners you in the kitchen under the guise of catching up. “So,” he says, his voice low as he leans casually against the counter. “Hughes seems…interesting. You two really just friends?”

You glare at him, your patience wearing thin. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Tyler says with a shrug, but the smirk tugging at his lips says otherwise. “Just curious. Guy like that, I’m sure he’s got plenty of options.”

You roll your eyes, refusing to take the bait. “Jack’s not like that.”

Tyler chuckles, his eyes narrowing slightly. “If you say so.” 

“Why are you even here, Tyler? What made you think it was a good idea to come to your ex-girlfriend’s families christmas party.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead lightly. 

“I told you, you’re mum invi—” 

“Forget the fucking invitation… A normal person would’ve said no.” You hiss, slapping his hand away as he reaches out to place it on your thigh. 

“Maybe I wanted to see if we could fix things - I miss you, baby.” Before you can respond, Jack appears in the doorway, his presence filling the small kitchen like a protective shield.

“Everything okay in here?” he asks, his tone light but his eyes locked on Tyler. The word ‘baby’ echoing around his head as his eyebrows furrow. You let out another long sigh, slapping at Tylers hand again as he tries to reach for you. 

“Peachy,” Tyler says, pushing off the counter and brushing past Jack with a pointed pat on the shoulder. “We’ll finish this later,” he adds, throwing the comment over his shoulder as he disappears back into the living room.

Jack watches him go, his jaw tight. Then he turns to you, his expression softening. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you say, though your voice wavers slightly. “He’s just…Tyler.” Jack doesn’t press further, but the look in his eyes tells you he’s not about to let Tyler ruin the night—or whatever it is the two of you have been carefully building.

As the evening winds down, the tension between Jack and Tyler remains unspoken but undeniable. And its as jack follows you around the kitchen helping place the dishes in the dishwasher at the end of the night, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of relief—like you’ve made it through a storm together.

“Thanks for coming,” you say softly, your breath visible in the cold night air.

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Jack replies, his voice warm and steady. For a moment, neither of you moves, the world around you falling away. Then, with a small smile, Jack leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering just a second longer than they need to.

The night stretched on, the warmth of the party doing little to ease the nerves that Tyler’s presence had stirred up. He seemed determined to inject himself into every conversation, his charm dialled up for your family’s sake, but every so often, you’d catch his eyes lingering on you, his smirk creeping back like an unwanted shadow.

Jack, on the other hand, was the epitome of steady confidence. He stayed close but never possessive, moving easily among your family members, cracking jokes with your cousins, and even helping your mum carry dessert platters from the kitchen. But his watchful gaze never strayed far from you, especially when Tyler was nearby.

You did your best to avoid being caught alone with Tyler, but the tension was wearing you thin. By the time dessert had been served, you needed a moment to yourself. Slipping out the back door, you welcomed the sharp bite of the winter air, hoping it would clear your head.

The backyard was quiet, the snow glistening under the faint glow of the string lights your dad had hung along the patio railing. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the cold biting through your sweater, when a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Figured I’d find you out here,” Tyler said, his tone smooth as he stepped outside, shutting the door behind him.

You sighed, your breath fogging in the cold. “What do you want, Tyler?”

“To talk,” he said, moving closer. “Just you and me. Like old times.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you replied sharply, backing away slightly. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

“Come on, babe,” he said, his grin widening. “You can’t tell me you don’t miss it. Us. The way we used to be.”

Your patience snapped. “You mean the way you used to lie and manipulate me? No, Tyler, I don’t miss that.”

His grin faltered, his eyes narrowing. “You’re being dramatic. You’re seriously going to let some hockey star replace me?” You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, Tyler took another step closer, his voice dropping.

“I still love you. You know that, right? We could fix this. Just say the word.”

You froze, disgust bubbling up in your chest. “No, Tyler. There’s nothing to fix.”

He reached out, his hand brushing your arm, and you flinched away. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped.

“Everything okay out here?” Jack’s voice cut through the tension like a knife - for the second time that night. You turned to see him standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on Tyler with a sharp, unreadable intensity.

Tyler dropped his hand, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just catching up,” he said casually, his tone dripping with false innocence.

Jack stepped down onto the patio, his calm demeanour doing nothing to hide the tension radiating from him. “Didn’t look like that to me.”

“Relax,” Tyler said, straightening. “We’re just talking. No need to get all territorial.”

Jack’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to you. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your voice wavered. “Tyler was just leaving.”

Tyler chuckled, shaking his head. “Wow, really? You’re gonna let him speak for you now?”

Jack took another step forward, his posture unwavering. “She doesn’t need to explain herself to you. You heard her. Leave.”

The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, and for a moment, you thought Tyler might actually swing.

But then he scoffed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I’m out,” he said, brushing past Jack and bumping his shoulder in the process. “But don’t think this is over.”

As Tyler disappeared back inside, Jack turned to you, his concern evident. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, but the knot in your chest tightened as frustration bubbled to the surface. “Why did you bother stepping in, Jack? I could’ve handled it.”

Jack frowned, his expression hardening. “Because he wasn’t listening to you, and I wasn’t about to stand there and let him intimidate you.”

“I didn’t need you to play the hero,” you snapped, the adrenaline making your voice sharper than you intended. “It’s not like I’m your girlfriend or anything.”

Jack froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression shifting from surprise to something deeper—something hurt.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice steady but tinged with something raw. “You’re not. But I care about you. And I wasn’t going to let him treat you like that.”

The sincerity in his words made your chest ache, but your frustration hadn’t fully burned out. “I didn’t ask you to care, Jack. This was my problem to deal with.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “Maybe you didn’t ask, but I’m here anyway. Because I want to be. Because you deserve better than him.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the icy wind biting at your skin. Finally, you sighed, your shoulders slumping.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just…tired of all this.”

Jack’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing your arm lightly. “I get it,” he said gently. “But you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

His words settled over you like a warm blanket, and for the first time that night, the tension in your chest began to ease. You looked up at him, your breath hitching as you met his gaze.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Jack offered a small smile, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment longer before he pulled back. “Come on,” he said, his voice lightening. “Let’s get back inside before your mum starts sending out search parties.” You laughed softly, nodding as you followed him back toward the house. The warmth of the party enveloped you as you stepped inside, but the real comfort was the steady presence of the man beside you.

As the night wound down, the atmosphere in the house gradually shifted back to the cozy warmth you had hoped for. Tyler had left not long after his confrontation with Jack, throwing a half-hearted goodbye to the room before disappearing out the front door. His absence was a relief, like a storm cloud finally clearing, leaving the air lighter and easier to breathe.

Jack, ever the charmer, stayed grounded and helpful, seamlessly blending into the group. He helped your dad carry a stack of empty trays to the kitchen, indulged your youngest cousin in a surprisingly competitive game of charades, and even won over your aunt with a discussion about her favourite holiday baking show. But no matter how relaxed he seemed, his presence remained tethered to you, as though he was silently letting you know he was there, ready to step in if needed.

The evening began to quiet as guests filtered out, hugs and cheerful goodbyes exchanged at the front door. Your cousins had retreated upstairs to play video games, your parents were tidying up in the kitchen, and the glow of the fireplace bathed the living room in a soft, flickering light.

Jack stood near the mantle, inspecting one of the framed family photos with an amused smile. You watched him for a moment, your heart softening as the warmth of his presence settled over you.

“You’re really good with them, you know,” you said as you approached, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.

He turned to you, tilting his head slightly. “With who?”

“My family,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I think my aunt is ready to adopt you. And my cousins… I haven’t seen them this hyped about charades in years.”

Jack chuckled, leaning casually against the mantle. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

A comfortable silence fell between you again, the crackle of the fire filling the space. You glanced around the room, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingering in the air. Your gaze landed on a small sprig of mistletoe hanging above the archway leading into the foyer.

Jack followed your line of sight, his eyes landing on the mistletoe as well. A soft chuckle escaped him, and he looked back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Really? You’re the one who leaves mistletoe up?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Blame my mum. She’s the one who insists on the ‘holiday charm.’”

Jack took a slow step forward, closing the small distance between you. His expression softened, the teasing edge giving way to something more sincere. “Holiday charm, huh?” You felt your pulse quicken as he stopped just a step away, the warmth of him radiating in the cool room. The mistletoe loomed above, a quiet reminder of the tradition it carried.

“It’s silly,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

“Maybe,” Jack said softly, his eyes locked on yours. “But I don’t think I mind.”

His gaze flickered briefly to your lips, and your breath hitched, the world around you fading into the background. The glow of the fire, the faint hum of holiday music from the other room—it all blurred into nothing as Jack leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you a chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both gentle and electric, a perfect blend of warmth and tenderness. Your hands found their way to his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt grounding you as the kiss deepened ever so slightly.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, a small smile curving his lips.

“If you call me your friend one more time I might throw myself off the roof,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You laughed softly, your cheeks flushing as you shook your head. “We’re not friends?.”

“Not even close.” Jack’s grin widened, and he leaned in to press another soft kiss to your lips before pulling back completely.

The sound of your mum’s voice carried from the kitchen, breaking the spell. “Hon, is Jack staying for hot chocolate before he leaves?” You exchanged a glance with Jack, both of you smiling as the moment settled between you like a secret.

“I think I’ve got time for a cup,” Jack said, his voice warm as he took your hand, leading you back toward the living room.

The night had been a whirlwind, full of tension and unexpected twists, but as you sat beside Jack on the couch, sipping hot chocolate and stealing glances at him, you couldn’t help but feel like it had all led to this—something new and quietly wonderful blossoming between you.

[clairenatural]

Dean doesn't like the word "boyfriend." He decides this the second time Cas says it–the first time it was new, shiny, exciting. The second time, he fights the urge to cringe.

It's not the "boy" part. It's not. It would have been, for a long time, but he's dug all that shit up and unpacked all the suitcases. They hold hands in public. They kiss goodbye in front of his coworkers at the garage.

It's just–not enough. Not nearly. Jack comes home from hanging out with his friends and fills Dean on the gossip and his boyfriend and her girlfriend and–that's not them. "Boyfriend" feels like a cheap mockery. Like how demons used to tease.

He's heard "partner." He's heard it from Sam, to Eileen, but he doesn't know how he can stomach it. He's said that word too many times. I'm Agent Tyler and this is my partner, Agent Perry. This is my partner, Agent Page. My partner, Agent Stills. All lies. Sam says he likes it, that he's making it mean something real. Besides, Eileen loves it.

Good for them, Dean thinks. It makes his skin crawl.

So he sticks with “boyfriend” and he shrugs off the funny urge to protest every time Cas says it. It makes him happy, and honestly, it’s not like he has an alternative.

It’s a Sunday when he realizes that somehow, Cas does. They’re at the farmer’s market, like Cas is every weekend, but Dean had picked up weekend shifts and missed the past few. Cas is excited the whole way there, telling Dean about how he’d manage to befriend the local honey vendor in his absence, how she’d invited him to a beginner’s apiarist group she helps run. They beeline (heh) to the honey booth as soon as they get there, and the woman--Judith? Janice?--smiles up at them both, hands Cas a jar of honey like she’d been expecting him, and says “Oh, this must be the husband! I’ve heard so much about you.”

Dean stares at Cas. Cas stares at the honey. Judith/Janice stares at both of them, smile fading as the silence goes on a beat too long. 

Dean clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. The husband, that’s me! Ha ha.” Beside him, Cas relaxes, just barely. In front of him, the woman breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Sorry,” Dean shifts. “Just didn’t, um. Realize I was such a hot topic.” 

The smile he gets is almost sympathetic. “Oh, only good things. Here,” she hands him a business card. “You should also come out to our meeting on Wednesday. Lots of people bring their partners.” She leans in, almost conspiratorial. “Beekeeping can be wonderful for couples.”

It’s at this point that Cas clears his throat and finally looks up from the honey in his hand, evidently giving up hope on escaping this conversation. “Thank you, Janet.” (oh. Janet.) “Dean works late on Wednesdays, but I’m very excited to see you all.” He’s pulling out money as he says this, apparently deciding to just go ahead and end the entire interaction. He hands her the bills, grabs Dean’s hand, and is already moving away from the booth by the time Janet calls “See you Wednesday!” after them.

Cas drags him all the way back to the car without stopping for tomatoes, or Sam's carrots, or the free-range eggs that are way too expensive but Cas buys anyway because you can taste when the hen is well cared-for, Dean (whatever that means). They slide into the car, still not talking, and sit in silence for several long seconds. Dean stares at Cas, who stares out the windshield at the parking lot.

"I can explain," Cas speaks, finally, right as Dean was about to open his mouth and say anything to break the silence.

Dean pauses. Can you? Cause I feel like I missed a few chapters, he thinks.

"I don't work late on Wednesdays," he says instead.

"Oh." Now it's Cas staring at Dean, and Dean staring out at the asphalt.

He turns the keys. He drives them home.

Later, making dinner, Dean rolls the word around in his head. Husband. He's making his husband pasta (It's missing the tomatoes. He's made more with less).

Husband doesn't feel like a costume, like an ill-fitting suit and scratchy tie. It doesn't feel like high school gossip, or a monster trying to hit him where it hurts. It settles in warm in his chest.

It's just the two of them that night, and they're eating in the comfortable silence of the bunker until Dean clears his throat and brings it up. "Why does Janet at the farmer's market think we're married?"

Cas pauses, fork of pasta halfway to his mouth. He puts the fork down and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad," Dean hurries to clarify. "It's just that there's usually, uh. Steps, you know. Like a whole....thing."

"I'm aware." Cas sighs. "She assumed, seeing us around - the first time I spoke to her without you, she asked where my husband was. And I..."

"You didn't correct her?"

"...No. I, um." Cas is looking down at his plate again. He picks up the fork, still half-full of pasta, then puts it back down again. "I didn't want to?" He says the end of the sentence like a question but looks back up at Dean and squints just a bit, and Dean knows he's watching for a reaction.

"Uh huh."

"It felt trivial."

"To tell her we're not married?"

"To call you my boyfriend." For the first time, he stumbles over the word.

Dean blinks. "You--" he stops, brain processing too much information to finish that sentence. "Okay." He leans back in his chair. Sighs. Rubs a hand across his eyes and lets it drag down his face. "Okay, listen. I don't like boyfriend either, but we gotta...talk about it."

"We are talking about it. You don't like it either?" Cas leans forward as Dean slumps back, following him across the table.

Dean snorts. "No, man." He shakes his head. "It's been a decade. I've seen you die." Six times. But who's counting.

"I agree." Cas pauses, and then, as if it's the most natural conclusion in the world, "Will you marry me?"

Dean actually laughs at this. "You're asking me that now?"

Cas quirks an eyebrow at him. "I've grown quite fond of calling you my husband at the farmer's market. I'd like to continue."

Dean stares at him in disbelief. It's not how he'd pictured it going, but he also can't think of it going any other way. Slowly, he nods. "Yeah, okay. Let's be husbands."

Across the table, Cas grins at him.

"But we're getting rings," Dean points a finger at him, because something about this is going to be normal.

"If you'd like. Although I already told Janet that you can't wear a ring because of your work at the garage, and I don't wear mine in solidarity."

"Rings," Dean insists, and decides to overlook the rest of that sentence. For now. He stabs his fork into a pile of the pasta. "And let me stop for the damn tomatoes next time."

They get rings and wear them on chains around their necks. Cas puts a beehive on the hill, and there's a small ceremony in the summer - a "vow renewal" to Cas' beekeeping group, who all receive invites attached to little jars of honey. Janet gets the nicest one.

[ribbonskiss]

THE LEANOVER → OP81

Part 2 of 2. Read Part 1 here.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: You come home on uni break to find your brother’s best friend, Oscar, is visiting. You both fall back into old habits, but some things are not the same.

Tags: brother’s best friend, friends to lovers, slow burn, SMUT (18+), masturbation, Jack Doohan is from Melbourne in this one for logistical reasons, not proofread at all hah

A/N: finally!!! The end of The Leanover!!!! Sorry for the extended deadline, this one turned out chunkier than I expected and honestly I don’t know if I’m quite satisfied with it but it is what it is. Anyway, enjoy!

Oscar is a handsome boy. This is a fact you find to be so uncontroversial it may as well be accepted as a universal truth. There has never been a time where girls did not whisper amongst themselves when he would enter a room, where the mothers of his friends would not rave with great emphasis to his about how strong and handsome he’d become, where his presence at a function did not brighten up the place, because not only is he handsome, he is beautiful. Beautiful people are magnetic, you think; their beauty lies in their nature, their fundamental quality of supernatural grace, a gift bestowed by the forces that be towards the lucky few.

You recall his last year of high school. You were sixteen, still growing into your body and learning how to use a felt-tip eyeliner pen. Teenagers are fascistic about social hierarchy; they are greatly cognisant of their standings in the high school pecking order, intensely anal about preserving the rigidity of the structure, and thus you had long accepted your status as the forgotten sibling. Oscar and your brother were athletes, students with clout attached to their names; you were awkward, unaware of your own intensity, intimidating to a fault, but more than happy to lay low. Two individuals of such different standings in the social order should never interact—but for the first (and only) time you were now going to the same house parties and birthday bashes, and here was the greatest display of Oscar’s beauty. You can never forget that image: the figure of him standing on the other side of the room, so broad-shouldered and trim, freckles of sun damage littered over his skin all the way down his neck like constellations, his head turned away from you to reveal his chiselled jaw as he speaks to someone while holding a can of Reschs. And suddenly his eyes would meet yours, catching you in the act, and he’d give you a gentle smile.

You were always so grateful for this. So grateful he would look your way and beam so brightly, a glimpse of his inner calmness, his quiet gentle bliss. You were never under the impression you were the only one to be so blessed by his grace; you were just happy to be around him. Sometimes when he would come over, sprawl himself over your couch or lay on the floor, pissing himself laughing at your brother’s antics into the late hours of the night, you’d ask yourself whether you should feel guilty for being the only witness to this part of his life. This secret of his: that Oscar is so much more beautiful than most people will ever know. Not his fans, not his colleagues, not the majority of the world. This is between you and him.

And now you have him all to yourself. A bit greedy, isn’t it? The past week you’ve spent together has been nothing short of lovely. You find out that he’s strangely disciplined. Oscar’s a dutiful housemate, doing the chores you even forget about without the need to be prompted, unlike most guys his age. He likes to hum to himself when he’s got the vacuum going and he thinks you can’t hear him butcher the tune of “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel. He’s a good cook who prefers careful measurement over eyeballing. He doesn’t read books like you do, but he’s happy to lie on the couch all day and watch a show with you on the telly. And he’s surprisingly touchy—he seems most pleased when you’re both on the couch, your legs crossed and stretched out, resting on top of his, his hand on your foot, thumb rubbing circles into your skin. You don’t speak during these moments. Nothing needs to be said; things just sort themselves out.

At some point in the afternoon you get tired, yawning to yourself, and without even needing to look at you Oscar reaches over, tugs at your arm to tell you wordlessly to turn around. You oblige; your head against his chest, his fingers trail up your forearm to your shoulders and, eventually, the back of your neck, smoothing over the soft, fine hairs that reside there. You’re too tired to mind the goosebumps the feeling of his fingertips on your skin gives you, or the increasing thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat underneath you. You shift in his arms, folding your legs up in a way that makes the hem of your shorts ride up, exposing the curve of your thighs all the way up towards the swell of your—well… It would be so uncouth for him to look there.

It never occurs to either of you that the hardest part of the process is done. The feeling returns: the feeling that arises in you when he looked at you from across the room at those parties all those years ago. The feeling of knowing that person so incredibly well. Of sharing a secret together, and letting that secret grow bigger and bigger until it takes on a life of its own. Of sharing that life together. These things do just sort themselves out, but you would never know until you speak of it.

You are growing increasingly needy. There’s no other way to put it. You’re fucking dying. The heat of the dry, punishing Australian summer is starting to get to you, even with how skimpy your attire has gotten, and having him around twenty-four seven is starting to feel more like divine punishment than intervention. You were wrong all along: Oscar is not an angel, but a demon sent to terrorise you all your life until you give in and the Devil can steal your soul for all of eternity.

He works out every other day. That’s at least three days where he’ll disappear into another room in the afternoon for hours, slips right out just to slip into the bathroom, and then waltz back into the living room as if nothing has happened. But something has happened.

Oscar has a very basic wardrobe at home. He likes his soft, mild colours—dark greys and soft whites, beige tones, navy and olives… It’s very on brand for him, yes. And here he is again, today, emerging from the bathroom, a cloud of steam following him out the door as he runs a hand through his slightly damp hair. He’s wearing a crisp heather grey t-shirt, fresh from the pile of laundry you’d folded yesterday. The sleeves can barely withstand the size of his biceps; he’s just gotten new dumbbells in. And god, the smell of his skin, the musk of him mixed with the soft clean scent of soap still radiating off of him. It’s like crisp hot white bedsheets, fresh out the dryer, already crumpling under the weight of two lovers, bodies sticky from tangling into each other; like soft detergent left out in the garden, where the grass is freshly cut, and the warm sun hits your skin.

This is as close to a primal urge as it will ever get for you. The first few times you could just tell yourself to look away, but now the smell of him is unavoidable, overwhelms your senses, and lights your entire body on fire. You stick your nose into your book the entire time and pray he goes away. Oscar retreats into the kitchen and wonders if your book is really so good that you’d be that engrossed by it. He’ll have to start reading again soon.

“The worst thing a woman can do,” you say, hand in the air with great feeling, “is be cut down in her prime by a man.”

Three beers in and you’re starting up your great tirade already. Oscar watches with an amused smile as he sits on the grass, green Peroni bottle in hand. “I know it sounds so pathetic and untrue, but it is true,” you continue, pacing back and forth with a giggle. “It’s true! I’m so much better off now. No offence, Osc, you’re one of the good ones.”

“I’m very flattered.”

“You should be,” you nod.

He reaches over and grabs a fresh beer from the esky, flicks the cap off with the belt he’s taken off, and hands it to you. You thank him; “just trying to stay in your good graces, missy,” he chuckles.

You sigh, taking a swig of it as you look up to the sky. “Frankly, I’m glad that part of my life is over already,” you say. “I’m not happy to admit it, but for a long time, I had just thought of myself as undesirable. Invisible.”

Oscar furrows his eyebrows with great concern, an ocean tide of emotion threatening to wash over him. “Impossible.”

“Possible,” you nod, with a bitter smile that’s less regretful than accepting of your past. “You know. Surely you remember.”

Of course he does. He remembers every little thing, because they’re not little to him. He remembers it all, how he’d scare off sleazy, drunken boys from approaching you at parties. Even after he graduated, the threat remained: you mess with her, you mess with Oscar Piastri, the F1 big shot. Boys never looked your way because of that; he used to hold you by the end of the party, sitting on the porch of whatever house you’re at, you latching onto him in your drunken half-slumber, both of you silently wallowing in your desires. Drowning, suffocating in each other’s warmth. Then he’d stay over at your house and wait until your brother fell asleep to press his ear against the wall, listening to your muffled sobbing. You were always too eager to suffer alone, to make a martyr of yourself and accept the cards you had been dealt.

But you stand tall now, a soft smile on your face suggesting a great deal of growth. It’s what he’s always found so beautiful in you. Beauty, he thinks, lies in the spirit, an ability to have infinite love and bliss in the face of the frustrations of one’s life. You are a complete soul, whole in ways he may never be, capable of learning to love over and over again and of light-heartedness in the face of turmoil. He knows he cannot truly achieve this because you are his Achilles’ heal. He cannot bear to think of you off on your own without him, doing things with other slimy ratty boys, going places he may never know of. Having a life without him in it. Oscar frowns; had he been too selfish in denying you all your opportunities? You had graduated high school without losing your virginity, without ever being in a relationship, and he wasn’t sure your first kiss would even count as a kiss. He can’t imagine how much that must’ve crushed you—and he was away, far away on his stupid little racing circuits instead of being at home, comforting you, as he should’ve been.

You wave it all off, as if you could hear his thoughts. “Well, I’ve done all of it now anyway, and I’m happy to report that it’s not for me.”

He cocks up an eyebrow. “And what exactly is ‘it,’ Tiny?”

“The hookup thing,” you shrug.

Oscar’s chest feels like it could explode; cold flashes wash all over him. “Oh?”

You playfully shush him. “Don’t tell my family, okay?” you chuckle. “But, yes. I tried it. It was good, until it wasn’t. Very quickly I realised I’m kinda, like, spiritually forty. I need to stretch in the mornings and tuck in by eleven.”

“And kick-ons aren’t until at least one,” he tuts. “You’re always been a sleepy girl.”

“That is true,” you nod, taking another sip of your Peroni. “Anyway, it was worth it, at the very least just to get it all out of my system. I’m very comfortably single now.”

The sky is darker than it should be. The sun has already tucked itself away, and it’s not even evening time yet. “You know, it’s so cliché,” you continue. “That Sally Rooney quote, it’s just like that. I went to uni and got pretty. And all of a sudden men saw me—I mean, I was pretty much invisible before. Before in school, when you and my brother were still around, guys used to do this stupid, horrible thing where they wouldn’t speak to me, they’d just speak to you instead. Even when the topic was about me. Well, no one knows I grew up with Oscar Piastri when I’m at ANU. I’m just me, and I’ve got a nice haircut and a decent rack of tits. And they see me, they see me now and I realise now that they’re all just sort of stupid. I’m very sorry, Oscar, but boys are stupid.”

“No need to apologise,” he snickers softly. It makes you smile a little wider. “But surely they were not all so bad?”

“No, I really don’t know how to pick ‘em. They really were all that bad,” you chuckle, eyes creasing as your cheeks push up in laughter. “Think the best one might’ve been the guy I lost my virginity to.”

Oscar’s eyes widen. He hums, pretends to be normal about it. “Tell me more,” he says.

You nod and oblige. “It was early in the school year. I went on four dates with him,” you start. “He seemed right on paper. Double major, worked for a diplomat, spoke two languages and was well-travelled. Maybe a bit pedestrian in his taste in music and films, but it didn’t bother me so much. We talked okay. He knew what to do, how to be courteous, held doors open and shit—I didn’t know what the whole dating thing was meant to be like, and I was easily impressed. He took me back to his after the fourth date and we listened to his vinyls: corny 70s Greatest Hit compilations and his favourite Kanye albums.”

You take a break, pulling out a thing of lip balm and unscrewing the cap before squeezing it out. “He told me he used to take ballroom lessons for some weird high school thing he did, and he twirled me in his arms, and it made me feel so light and small and girlish that I felt like I was floating.” Your finger spreads the balm over your lips, the feeling cool and tingly on your skin. “He told me I was funny. He kissed me, and his stubble was so sharp and gritty against my skin that it gave me traction acne the day after. He held my hand the whole time. He was an awful kisser. Just kept jamming his tongue in. But it was sweet enough. No one’s first time is good, anyway.”

Oscar tries to swallows down the lump stuck in his throat. His fingers and toes are tingling, chest tight and contracting still. You take another swig. “I’ve had too many of these,” you say.

“You’ve had three, Tiny.”

“That’s more than enough for me,” you shrug, yawning as you set the bottle down on the wooden table outside in your garden. “I think I’d better fuck off to bed now. Sleep tight, Osc.”

He doesn’t sleep in your brother’s bed that night. No, he takes out the spare mattress again and drapes the spare velvet blanket over himself, because he could never forgive himself if he jerked off in his best friend’s bed to the thought of his best friend’s sister. No, there would be no good excuse for that, but tonight is one of those nights where a man simply cannot hold himself back anymore. The alcohol is still burning in his stomach; when Oscar shuts his eyes, all he can see is these elaborate images crafted by his mind’s eye of you, placed in all the scenarios you’d described to him, only replacing that dirty fucker was him, being so gentle and delicate and loving, just how you deserve it. It should have been him there instead to do it all right; it is true that losing one’s virginity is often an awkward affair, his own experience was no less lousy, but if anyone were to have a perfect instance of it it should be you. Oscar can see it all now, how he’d go about it. Holding onto your soft curves as he pushes himself in slowly, the little gasps that would escape your honey-sweet mouth, so warm and wet on his lips. He would die happy, he thinks to himself, as his hand roughly palms his length, hair dampening from sweat in the blistering summer night heat. Cicadas sing outside his window; he heaves wildly, chest rising and falling dramatically as his hand gets slicker with each stroke. He had no idea he could even leak that much.

Thank god you’re sound asleep. He grips tightly onto the soft blanket, balling it in his fist as his eyes shut again tightly, the guttural noise he lets out much louder than he intended. Then Oscar collapses; his limbs go slack, heart beating out of his chest still as he lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, hand now sticky with his spent. The mattress is damp with his sweat. If he wasn’t before, he’s royally fucked now.

Your parents called; they’ll be home on Christmas Eve, but only in the afternoon, and they’re picking your brother up as well. Which means the two of you have some shopping to do; the house should be looking festive in time for their arrival. Oscar pushes the shopping cart, following you deep into the maze that is Kmart. He helps you haul the Christmas tree box in and out of his car. And he watches as you pull its branches down, giving it shape before littering it with baubles and tinsel. And when it comes time to finish the tree, you look him with bright eyes. He smiled at you, takes the Angel Gabriel out of your hands and places it on top of the tree carefully. You put on your silly little Santa hats and poorly bake gingerbread men.

You never end up throwing the rager Oscar jokingly suggested, but you do hold a small get-together after running into some old schoolmates at the shops. So it turns out that a few girls you used to do drama class with are in town, and of course anyone Oscar invites is going to show up—he’s Oscar fucking Piastri—so here you are, with a decent turnout of people currently congregated in the back garden and the living room. You’re thankful enough of them showed up on such short notice, with Christmas Eve only a few days away, and you’re thankful everyone seems to have gotten more civil and mature since you’ve left school.

The doorbell rings more than once, and you peel yourself off of the couch to go answer it, Balter tinnie in hand now that you’re all out of Peronis. Your eyes widen once you fling the door open, revealing a familiar face, standing with a smile on his face and a couple guys behind him.

“Surprise,” Jack chuckles.

“Doohan in the flesh,” you quip with a smile. “You cheeky boy. Since when were you in town?”

“Since yesterday,” he shrugs, and the guys behind him file past you into the house at the sight of some of their mates. “Heard you were throwing a thing with Big Shot Oscar. Hope you don’t mind that I’m crashing—I come bearing gifts.”

You shake your head. “Of course not, no, I’m glad to see you,” you say, though you sigh at the sight of the twelve-pack he’s got in his hands. “Mate, Strong Zero? It’s not that kind of party.”

“Some of us can handle our liquor,” Jack laughs, putting the pack in your arms before smoothing his hair back. “Don’t spoil the fun for the rest of us.”

You roll your eyes, turning your back to him as you walk down the hallway back to the kitchen. “Congratulations, by the way,” I say. “I’m glad to see two of our finest graduates succeeding.”

“I can tell. You’re beaming, clearly,” he jokes, following you in. “It was never in doubt for Oscar, anyway, so I think I deserve a bigger congratulations for making it, no?”

You peel apart the drink packaging, the tins of drink coming loose on the kitchen counter. “Let me get this straight: you want me to be more proud of you for being a worse driver than Oscar?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I’m just repeating your words, Jack-Jack.”

“Never said I was a worse driver,” he snickers, shaking his head as he folds his arms over his chest. “You snuck that in yourself. But I always knew you were biased, so I won’t take offence to that, Tiny.”

You turn over your shoulder, glaring at him. Dramatically, he throws his hands up in a display of surrender, but your conversation is cut short.

“Well, well, well,” Oscar grins, strolling into the kitchen and approaching Jack with wide arms. “Fancy seeing you here, F1 driver.”

“Fancy seeing you here, F1 driver,” Doohan beams, dapping Oscar up before pulling him into a hug. “How you been, mate, good?”

“Nah, yeah,” Oscar chuckles, glancing back to you with a smile. “It’s been a splendid break for me. You been good? Didn’t realise you were back.”

“Yeah, just landed yesterday,” Jack nods, a hand on the back of his neck. “Heard you two were doing a thing, thought I’d be jet lagged out of my mind but nah. Wouldn’t miss this.”

You notice Jack’s a little taller than Oscar, who’s having to tilt his head up a little. “Appreciate you showing up, mate,” the older one says. “I’m gonna go catch up with some of your mates, but stick around, yeah?”

“Absolutely, man,” the younger one says with a smile. “Good seeing you again.”

Then Oscar leaves, fingers gliding over the skin of your cheek in passing, a gentle action of tenderness, as if to say goodbye wordlessly. Doohan wiggles his eyebrows. “What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” you exclaim, eyes avoiding his gaze as you snatch a Strong Zero for yourself.

“That,” he presses on, finger extended now to point to where Oscar had put his hand on your cheek. “The little hand-cheek-look thing. The fuck? Do you have something to tell me, pal?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Please mate, just be normal—”

“Don’t gaslight me,” Jack says, as stern as he can be.

“He’s been living in my home!” you gasp. “Of course we’re a little close!”

“Living in your home—”

“Not by choice,” you roll your eyes. “Just—my family’s all out of town right now. He’s kind of all I have at the moment.”

“Agh!” Jack groans, smacking himself on the forehead. “Genius move. Fuck, I should’ve locked you two in a room myself years ago—”

You put the tin back onto the counter and slowly turn to face him. “Excuse me?”

He frowns. “Oh, man,” he pouts. “You don’t mean to tell me you two are still doing the thing?”

“What thing?” you furrow your eyebrows.

“You know, the thing,” he says, eyes innocent and wide as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “The weird game you two play. I thought you guys would have gotten over it already.”

Your breath hitches in your chest, making you stammer and go red in the face as your confusion worsens. Jack notices this. “What, you really don’t know?”

“No, Jack, I do not,” you manage to breathe out. “Please, enlighten me.”

He shakes his head, lets out a strange chuckle as he leans back against the wall, having taken a tinnie off the counter. “This would be funny if it weren’t so tragic,” he starts, grimacing. “Oscar used to push guys on the soccer team around for talking about you. He’d go silent whenever you were around and get clammy in the hands. He got weird whenever he’d even hear your name. And I’m sure I don’t have to list out your incriminating actions.”

Needless to say you’re taken aback by this. Eyes wide and blank, you look at him with shock as your mind oscillates between delight and horror, hand resting on your chest as if your heart needs the help. Jack sighs, and after a moment of tense silence he speaks again. “I take it that’s enough proof for you.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“We thought you knew,” he shrugs. “And it wouldn’t have been my place to meddle, and also, it was kind of amusing to watch.”

You scoff bitterly. “Amusing.”

“Well, not so much now,” Doohan nods.

Silence fills the kitchen again, the chatter outside quiet against the deafening quietness inside. “You do like him, don’t you?” he asks earnestly.

You don’t answer, but all he has to do is look at your solemn face and see the emotions threatening to spill out of you. He comes closer, puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey. Just take your time, mate.”

You nod, but you hear Oscar’s distinct timbre in the distance, speaking rapidly to someone. You turn your head and see him standing in the living room near the couch, and then—like magnets—he seems to feel your eyes raking over his figure, and meets your gaze as his head turns a little. Suddenly you’re sixteen again. He’s smiling at you like he used to, so fondly and sweetly, all the way from another room. Everything has changed but this feeling is the same. Oscar nods his head gently, as if to tell you ‘I’m doing okay over here, and I hope you are too,’ and you realise he’s dropped out of his conversation now just to look at you. He has always done this.

The hard part is over, but you didn’t know until it was spoken of.

You sweep the crushed cans off the table and into the garbage bag, back starting to hurt from all the cleanup you’ve had to do. Thank the lord they all left early; you haven’t been able to enjoy yourself fully since that talk with Doohan. Since then his words have just been eating away at you the whole night, but you can speak to Oscar just fine, you think. You’re trying your best, at least.

“Jesus, have the lights always been this bright?” he says, and by the way he’s stumbling onto the couch and slurring his words a little, he’s probably more tipsy than he’d like to admit.

You shake your head, turning around to face him. The cans inside the bag you’re holding clank against one another. “Fun night?”

“Not particularly,” he says, eyes shutting as he throws an arm over his face, lying down flat on the couch. “Just, those fucking Strong Zeroes, man.”

“I told Doohan he shouldn’t have!”

“He really shouldn’t have.” Oscar groans, eyes shutting tighter as he tries to push his face into the couch, and you chuckle before going back to cleaning up, moving towards the pile of cans on the kitchen island.

“Don’t leave,” you hear him say behind you.

You turn around, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What?” you say. “I’m not. I’m just going into the kitch—”

“No,” he whines quietly, muffled by the fabric of the couch. “That’s too far. Stay.”

You stand still, still holding the bag in your hand, visibly confused.

“We should always be in the same room,” he continues. “I don’t want to be away from you.”

You flush at his words. You’re not sure if he quite grasps the implications of what he’s saying, but you chalk it all up to his current state—surely he’s just a clingy drunk. You put the garbage bag down against the wall, approaching the couch as he pulls his legs back to make room for you.

You sit down. “Are you feeling alright, Osc?”

“No,” he replies, too quickly for your liking. Oscar shuffles back onto his back, eyes still shut as his tone is reduced to grumbling. “I had this really awful thought the other day that we’re so far apart. I’m off doing my races and now you’re off at uni doing whatever.”

You cock your head to the side, clearly about to protest, but he starts up again. “I just want to know what you’re doing all the time,” he admits. “And how you’re feeling. I miss you all the time, and I wanna know you’re okay.”

“Oscar,” you frown, putting a hand on his arm tenderly. “If you want to stay in touch more, of course we can—”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t want to stay in touch. I wanna be with you.”

You pull your arm back. He winces, missing your touch. “Tiny, this must sound so crazy.”

“No,” you assure him, though you’re struggling to comprehend his words. “I just don’t know what you me—”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your blood runs cold even as your stomach shatters and explodes into a million butterflies that feel hot like lava inside of your body. “I know it must sound so crazy,” Oscar chuckles bitterly. “I know it must be so crazy…”

“No,” you shake your head. “I don’t think it’s crazy. I just, I wonder how you’ll feel in the morning.”

“It’s not the alcohol.”

He opens his eyes only to look at you, pupils darting around slowly to find you, the only soothing sight when the lights are still killing him. Oscar smiles a little at your familiar face. “I spoke to Doohan,” he explains.

“Ah,” you mumble, flushing. Of course he did.

He pauses a bit, tries to find the courage to speak again. He finds it in how your eyes seem to shine a little brighter where you’re sitting, mesmerised by how beautiful you are tonight. “He’s right, you know. I feel a bit silly, or stupid rather, like I don’t know how to explain myself.”

“Well,” you chuckle timidly, looking down at your hands. “I would have some explaining to do myself, too.”

Oscar smiles to himself. He takes a moment to catch his breath; he didn’t even realise he’d been holding it in this whole time. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that.”

At his words, you look up to meet his eyes again, to see how he’s smiling now, and it makes your chest expand with warmth, heart pumping fast. “I’ll feel the same in the morning,” he says, sitting up clumsily now just to look at your face better. He doesn’t want to look away ever again. “I promise you that. I’ve felt this way since forever—I just didn’t know the word for it yet.”

Your eyes widen just a little more at his words; you don’t recognise the inexplicable feeling that’s captured your body, but you think this is what he means. The thing he didn’t know the word for. But you know the word for it now.

“I think I love you too,” you say.

Oscar lets out a quiet noise of relief. He finds your hand in your lap, takes it in his, and just holds it. You look at each other for a long while, taking in the details of one another’s faces. “You don’t look a day over seven,” you chuckle, and it makes him grin softly.

“That’s alright. Did you feel then how you feel about me now?” he asks.

“I think you sealed the deal when you helped me get up on my feet after falling off the slide,” you quip with a smile, and he squeezes your hand a little approvingly.

“You remember that.”

“The little things aren’t little to me, either,” you say, and his heart soars at your words. Oscar can’t resist it anymore; he tugs on your hand a little and pulls you into his arms, hands latching onto your waist as he holds you tightly. You fall into each other like magnets. It just feels right, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but nothing in this world is truly given this way. You had been working for it your entire life, but you’re only knowing this now.

His lips hover over your cheek, and it makes you shiver, but it shouldn’t be like this. “I don’t want our first kiss to be when you’re drunk,” you tell him, pulling away from his flushed face. “It’s… You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. It just has to be right.”

Oscar swallows dryly, but he nods. “You’re right,” he says, with a gentle smile that tells you he’s being sincere. “You’re right. Not like this.”

He pulls you in again, holding you even tighter this time. You feel his heart beating out of his chest against yours, his warm breath against your skin, the warm his arms keep contracting as if he’s afraid to let you go. A warm waft of air filters through the window, left ajar, and swirls around the two of you, bodies now entangled. Neither of you can find a reason to leave, so you don’t. You never end up cleaning the kitchen that night.

The sun’s starting to filter through your blinds now, and you know you have no excuse to stay in bed anymore, but you don’t have the heart to wake him up. Your brother’s bedroom is probably collecting dust already; ever since that night, Oscar’s been sleeping in your bed now, and you both sleep so much better with a cuddle buddy by your side. He likes to be big spoon, but he’s happy to hold you face to face as well, duh! Why would he upset with getting to see your face, eyes shut so peacefully in slumber? He likes to wake up before you because of this, just so he can catch a glimpse of you so soft and pliable in his arms, comfortably happily asleep, but today you’re the one who wakes up first, stirred awake by the birds chirping outside your window.

You try to slip out of his grasp, but he just tightens his arms around you, furrowing his eyebrows in his sleep. You try again and he does it again, this time with a grumbling noise that makes you chuckle.

“Oscar,” you smile, press a gentle kiss onto his forehead. “They come home today.”

“So?” he grumbles back, eyes still shut as he pulls you in, tucking your head under his chin. “What’s it got to do with us?”

“We’ve got to make them brekky, babe,” you chuckle. You press a kiss to his neck now, before deciding you can’t really resist littering them all over his skin. “They’ll be starving by the time they get here.”

Oscar makes a strange, hushed noise. “Well, doing that certainly won’t get me out of bed.”

You’re confused, but then you realise something’s been pressing up against your thigh, worsened by how he keeps pulling you back into his arms. “Oh my god, Osc,” you yelp. “Just from a few kisses?”

“And maybe a very good dream,” he mumbles back. If he were awake, he’d surely be laughing, pleased with himself.

“You dirty, dirty pervert,” you snicker, but you’re tutting at him in a way that sends a tingle down his spine, and your fingers inching down the trail on his stomach is making him shiver. “You’re shameless.”

“Yeah, but something tells me you like it,” he says, but he can barely finish the sentence before you tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, shimmying them down. His length springs free; your eyes beam a little too brightly at the sight of it, making him laugh.

“Someone’s eager.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been dreaming about riding you into the bed for actual years,” you chuckle, long fingers wrapping around him. “You look delicious in the morning, you know that? All sleepy and dishevelled. It’s very sexy, Osc.”

“Ah?” he says, a moan disguised as a word. Your hand starts to move and he can barely hold himself back. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your mouth is hovering over his cock now, warm breath making him shiver before your tongue makes contact with his tip, swirling all around the head in a way that makes his eyes roll back. “Holy shit,” you hear him mutter to himself, and you smile as you drag your tongue all over the length of him.

“Babe, I love the teasing,” he breathes out. “But I don’t think I can quite take it this morning.”

You hum to yourself, biting back a cheeky smile as a thought pops up in your head. “You know, you’re right,” you say. “We’re running on a tight schedule. And we could use something that saves time, so… if you’re getting head, you could give it too, no?”

Oscar’s face lights up at your words. “You wanna sit on my face? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I mean, if you’re offering.”

“Fuckin’ hell, any day of the week, missy.”

With that, he puts his hands on your head and pulls you up for a kiss that deepens into a little more. His lips are soft, mouth hot and wet; you feel yourself dampen a little against the cotton of your panties, something he feels too as his hands travel all the way down to your ass, fingers reaching past the fabric of your shorts inside to find the wet patch growing at your cunt. Your fingers hook into the waistband of both layers, tugging them off eagerly as he steadies his hands on your hips again. You turn around, and now Oscar’s got your pussy hovering right over his face. He think he’s salivating at the sight of it. Is that too crude? Jesus christ, it’s just so much fucking better than he could have ever imagined, waking up with you by his side, having the girl of all of his dreams with him now, eating your pussy first thing in the morning.

“You’re not so tiny anymore, hey? You’re a big girl now.”

You flush at his words. “Just get to it, Piastri.”

He needs no further encouragement, hands on your hips pulling you down to his face, tongue flicking a long stripe all the way down your cunt. You cry out at the sudden contact, and you realise very soon that he is very good at what he is doing, soft wet tongue sliding between your folds carefully, lips wrapping gently around your sensitive clit, hands gripping onto the meat of your ass, an action that signifies a clinginess you’d never know from how soft-spoken he is. He eats you out like a hungry man, lapping up the wetness that soaked your panties before eagerly. When you wrap your lips around his cock, taking all of him in until he hits the back of your throat, it makes him groan against your pussy, and it feels so strangely good that you keep throating him just like that every once in a while, just to feel him shift underneath you and thrust into your mouth a little. He wants to be gentle with you so badly, and he is, but he just can’t resist it when you’re doing that.

“Fuck, babe,” Oscar gasps out, pulling away as his fingers continue to rub at your clit. “If you keep doing that thing, I won’t last very long.”

You can tell by his tone he’s slightly embarrassed about taking such little time to get there. “We’ll get there together, I promise,” you say. “Just—ah!—keep using your fingers.”

He smiles, happy to oblige. This time he dips a finger inside you, tongue now swirling around your clit as his finger curls, finding that cushiony spot inside you that makes your back arch a little. There it is. He slips another finger in, tongue flicking fast against you, fingers pumping at a steady pace as you suck his cock sloppily, drool pooling at the base, fingers still wrapped around his length, lazily moving up and down. It’s all too much for the both of you, both moaning and whimpering against one another as your bodies start to get more and more sensitive, responding to each motion with a little more volume. Your back arches, his hips thrust; you know you’re both getting to that climax.

“Babe, fuck—”

“I know,” you gasp, a long mewl drawing out of you as his fingers, soaked in your slick now, keep thrusting in and out of you. “I’m—hah—almost there, too.”

He nods his head eagerly and latches his wet mouth back onto you, eating you out desperately as his hips start to move on their own, filling your mouth and muffling your increasing cries of pleasure as your eyes shut and roll back.

“I can’t take it,” he moans loudly. “Babe, I—oh my god!”

Just as Oscar starts to flood your mouth, you collapse onto him as your orgasm washes over you, leaving you breathless, body slack and limp. “Jesus,” you heave out, flipping onto your back off of him, swallowing all of his load down your throat. The sight of it makes him whimper. You take a good look at him; he’s got your slick all over his face, glistening from his lips down to his chin.

“Christ, I made a mess of you,” you chuckle, embarrassed, but he seems proud of himself.

“A souvenir, yeah?” He jokes, and you push his chest, rolling your eyes, but he pulls you into his arms. “God, that was fuckin’ amazing. You’re fuckin’ amazing.”

You pull the duvet back up over the both of you as you lie down once again, resting your head on his chest now as you look up at him with a smile. You wipe at his mouth with your hand. “There.”

“Aw,” he frowns playfully. “I quite liked it.”

“You fuckin’ pervert,” you say, going to push his chest again but he catches your arm with his hand.

“Don’t get feisty,” Oscar chuckles, shaking his head before pecking you on the forehead. “Let’s just lay here for a bit. And you know, I’ve been thinking.”

Your finger traces shapes on the freckled skin of his bare chest. “About what?”

“About you, coming to see me,” he says. “You know… I was thinking, maybe you could schedule your classes with me in my mind? You know, money’s not an issue. Transport, accommodation, passes, I can take care of all of that. I just need to know you can see me. Not for every race, obviously. But some of them. It’d mean so much to me, Tiny.”

You look up at him now, smiling. “Of course I can,” you nod gently. “It’d mean everything to me too, Osc.”

His face blooms into a smile, eyes raking over the details of your face, savouring it as if he hasn’t a million times before. “Then it’s done,” he says, bringing your hand up to kiss it. “You can’t escape me now.”

“Like I’d ever want to,” you roll your eyes.

Before Oscar can counter with a snarky remark, the door flies open.

“Piastri—seriously? My fucking sister?”

That’s the end! Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Leave em all in my askbox, and again, thank you so much for reading!

[solaireverie]

op81 | best he'll ever write

summary: [ author!oscar piastri x f!driver!reader — social media au ] being the partner and muse of a celebrated author means that fans start connecting the dots sooner rather than later

faceclaim: gracie abrams

author’s note: i'm secretly a ya romcom book girlie and i feel like that shows SO MUCH in this fic 🙈 delusional for life!

[ masterlist / guidelines / lola's masterlist / series masterlist ]

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, liakblock and 534,230 others

geotag: melbourne, australia

yourusername short break down under 🐨

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user great race at the australian gp y/n!

↪ user first points of the season let's goooo

↪ yourusername and hopefully many more to come 🙌

logansargeant STRAYAAA 🦘🇦🇺🦘🇦🇺

↪ yourusername VEGEMITE ON TOAST 🤤

↪ user sometimes i forget that logan and y/n are both gen z 😂

user the puppy is so adorable 🥺

↪ user i wonder whose it is 👀 y/n's said that her schedule doesn't allow for pets

oscarpiastri not my birthday cake...

↪ yourusername sorry not sorry 😉

↪ user who the hell is oscar piastri and why is y/n replying to his comment 😭

↪ user don't you talk about my favourite best-selling author like that 🤺

oscarpiastri has added to their story

seen by yourusername, logansargeant, jennyhan and 124,203 others

you replied to oscarpiastri's story

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris and 3,393,210 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername can't believe that little kid is now a 3-time nyt best-selling author 🥹 so proud of you oscarpiastri 💗 i haven't been able to put eighty-one seconds down 📖 available in bookstores near you!

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user i love how y/n always supports and promotes oscar's books 🥺

↪ user they're so adorable together my heart can't take it

oscarpiastri Thanks for the encouragement. Couldn't have done it without you 👍

↪ yourusername damn right you couldn't have 😤

user okay but who took the photo of y/n 👀

↪ user i'm betting it was oscar 😜

↪ user hello what 😳😳😳

↪ user oh my sweet summer child...

liked by yourusername, hachetteaus, johngreenwritesbooks and 293,192 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri Thank you to everyone who's been on this journey with me. Eighty-One Seconds is finally yours and we can't be more happy to share it with you. As many of you have guessed, it is my homage to Y/N and all the time we have spent together. My wife, my love, my heart. I'm grateful that you're in my life. Forgive me for re-using my words, but here's to eighty-one more years together.

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user hold on a damn second 🤚 his WIFE??? when was this a thing 🧐

↪ yourusername 🤭

↪ user give us answers please 🙏 i haven't had peace since oscar posted this

yourusername i love you too, oscar jack piastri 🤍

↪ user oh he literally named his mc after himself 😭

↪ user GOODBYE??? JACK AS IN HIS MIDDLE NAME??? oh my god they really weren't subtle

williamsracing signed copy when 😏

↪ hachetteaus already on its way 🫡

user honestly i'm surprised they managed to hide their relationship for this long 💀

↪ user oh they did NOT we were just blind

↪ logansargeant I didn't find out until I got the wedding invitation in the mail 🤝

↪ landonorris i think that's just cause you're oblivious mate 😂

↪ logansargeant what???

↪ landonorris they literally make out all the time in williams hospitality

↪ yourusername lando... 😒

user if your man isn't writing a book professing his love for you, what's he doing with his life?

↪ user oscar's set the standard 😌

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @scenesofobx @vellicora @boiohboii @julesbabey @flannelforthetoads @misartymis @c-losur3

[minswriting]

SPENCER REID NSFW ALPHABET

A = Aftercare

spencer is so good at aftercare!! after any session, he’s holding you, giving you kisses, or you’re doing that to him. he’ll see if you need anything while giving you the softest of smiles. he just loves you! and wants you to be taken care of!

B = Body Part

spencer’s favorite body part on himself are his hands and fingers. he loves to finger you, making you cum with nothing more than just his hands. however, on you, he loves your waist. he likes to grip it during sex or to just pull you to him by your waist while you’re walking down the street together.

C = Cum

when spencer cums, he cums a lot. and it has everything to do with the fact that he doesn’t have a lot of time to jerk off. so he really only ever has release when he’s with you. he will literally paint your whole entire body with his cum and then use it as lube to fuck you.

D = Dirty Secret

spencer is a switch (it’s not the secret) and would love for you to tie him up and blindfold him while you’re riding his cock. it’s the idea of being at your mercy every once in a while that really gets him going. but being who he is, he’s just too shy to mention it.

E = Experience

i don’t think spencer has a lot of experience at all. but due to his intelligence level, he’s a fast learner and loses his virginity with the knowledge of already knowing how to make you cum. once the two of you are comfortable with one another, it’s literally the best sex ever.

F = Favorite Position

spencer’s favorite positions definitely are missionary, riding, and one where you’re on your stomach lying down and his front is pressed against your back while he’s fucking you. it’s just so sensual and deep and just feels oh so good.

G = Goofy

depending on the mood, i think spencer can be a bit goofy. but it’s not like being funny. it’s just things to lighten the mood like a little giggle here and there or a comment about how beautiful you look while he has the softest smile on his face.

H = Hair

spencer most certainly had a happy trail and is actually very well groomed down there. he likes to maintain it simply because he likes to look clean. on you, however, he doesn’t care. so even if you have a bush, he’s eating you out like a starved man.

I = Intimacy

he’s very intimate when you guys have time to take your time. he’s maintaining eye contact with you, holding you close to him while he’s fucking you or you’re riding him, and regardless, he’s telling you how much he loves you and how beautiful you are. intimacy is like the norm for him when it comes to sex.

J = Jack Off

it’s very rare for spencer to jerk off but when he does it’s when he’s in the shower and he’s pumping his cock hard and fast in order to get some sort of release. this usually happens when he’s on long cases and he’s unable to stop thinking about you and your cunt.

K = Kink

okay so he’s got quite a few. when he’s feeling more subby, he’s lowkey got a mommy kink. but when he’s in his dominant mood, he wants you to call him sir. i feel like spencer is also very huge in body worship. he’s got a huge praise kink (giving and receiving) and a huge degradation kink (giving and receiving). also lowkey he’s into somnophilia.

L = Location

he prefers to have sex in the comfort of your bedrooms. however, you guys have definitely fucked in the restroom at the bureau. and at a few bars. and in the car. and in the kitchen. and in the living room. honestly you guys have fucked in every room in your apartments.

M = Motivation

you. just simply you. he’ll take one glance at you while you’re working on something and he would start imagining you on your knees in front of him. or him on his knees eating you out while you’re doing your work. he just wants you wholeheartedly.

N = No

this definitely stems from the trauma of his profession but anything that hurts you or is a risk to your life in any way, shape, or form is a big no for him. he can do choking but not enough for you to actually lose your breath.

O = Oral

HE LOVES IT!! spencer is such a munch. he will eat you out for ours and make you cum at least twice on his tongue before he does anything else. he is also big on receiving it too. 69 all the way baby 😏😏

P = Pace

definitely depends on the mood. when he’s stressed and just needs release, you guys are fucking hard and fast. but if you both just want to feel close to one another, you guys are fucking slowly and sensually, clinging to one another for dear life.

Q = Quickie

loves them. especially early in the morning right before he has to get ready for work. you wake him up by riding his cock and he’s whining beneath you. god it’s his favorite thing. he also loves bending you over the counter and taking you from behind.

R = Risk

spencer likes to think he’s modest and would not take any risks. but he’s lowkey an exhibitionist and gets off on the idea of being caught at some point. so he’ll fuck you in places like the bathroom or fitting rooms.

S = Stamina

depends on the day but usually he has enough stamina to do two rounds. when he’s exhausted though, he can only do one.

T = Toys

loves them! especially when he’s away, he wants to call you while you’re fucking yourself with a dildo, imagining his cock inside of you. he absolutely adores using vibrators on you to tease the hell out of you too.

U = Unfair

dom spence can be so unfair. he loves to overstimulate you and do orgasm denial. but he also loves it when you do the same to him. deny his orgasm until he can’t help but cum without your permission. or overstimulate him until he’s got nothing left.

V = Volume

he’s very vocal. he’s a whiner, a whimperer, a moaner, a groaner. he’ll praise you, talk dirty to you, talk you through it. and he loves it when you reciprocate it. he’s not afraid to make noise with you.

W = Wild Card

spencer loves getting pegged.

X = X-Ray

i think spencer is just above average. he’s about seven or eight inches but his cock is skinny, not girthy. especially due to his thin and lean build. but he knows what to do with it. and regardless, you’ll be cumming on his cock.

Y = Yearning

i think he’s someone with a high sex drive but with immense self control. he wants you 24/7. but he knows to control himself because sex isn’t as big of a priority as is making sure you’re both happy and thriving.

Z = ZZZ

depends on the day but spencer will always do aftercare before falling asleep. so i would say he would fall asleep at least a half an hour after sex.

[misctf]

Welcome to the Crew: Home for the Holidays

Hey everyone! Here is an indirect sequel to Welcome to the Crew to celebrate American Thanksgiving. Please reach out if you ever want to borrow any concepts to include in your own stories. Always happy to collaborate.

“They’re going to love you.” Sarah reassured, “Don’t worry.”

Jack nodded and smiled warmly at his girlfriend as they approached the front door to her parent’s home. The two college juniors had been dating for a little over a year now, and Jack was still madly in love. He never met a girl quite like Sarah. They had been friends since their first year of college, and their chemistry was instantaneous. She was everything he could want- smart, funny, adventurous, and absolutely stunning. He imagined he would ask her to marry him one day.

“I’m not, honestly.” He said, adjusting his collar, “I’m just happy I get to meet your family. They sound like incredible people.” Sarah smiled, “And I brought a secret weapon.” He said nodding to the Pyrex in his hand, “No one can resist my mom’s mashed potatoes.” He flashed her a confident grin- clearly proud of himself, “I mean, I’m not sure how good they’ll be. First time I ever made ‘em.” He laughed.

“You’re such a dork.” Sarah replied, rolling her eyes.

She knocked on the door and was greeted soon by her mother, who quickly pulled them into a firm hug.

“Oh Jack, we’re so happy to finally meet you!” She said, “My little Sarah wasn’t lying, you’re so handsome.”

Jack blushed as she continued to sing him praises. Sarah was right- he didn’t need to worry. Her mother already loved him. She beckoned them indoors and they followed her into the kitchen. Jack felt himself salivating at the smell of the cooking Thanksgiving meal.

“Oh you brought a dish?” Sarah’s mom said, “What a kind thing to do.”

“Yeah of course. What kind of guest would I be if I showed up empty handed?” Jack smiled, “Do you need any...”

The sound of boisterous cheering and a cacophony of ‘let’s go!’ and ‘fuck yeahs!’ filled the air. Sarah’s mom groaned in embarrassment.

“They sure love their football.” she said, shaking her head, “And don’t you worry dear, I think we’ll be okay in here. Sarah’s aunt has been helping me out plenty.” She turned to Sarah, “You might as well introduce him to the boys.”

“It’s just down the hallway.” Sarah said, beckoning her boyfriend to follow.

“Oh Jack, you’re such a sweet young man. My Sarah is so lucky.” She gave him another hug.

Jack followed Sarah down the hall, where the sound of boisterous cheers became more audible. The young man remembered that Sarah had two older brothers, both of whom worked with their dad in some construction job. He just hoped they’d be as accepting of him as her mother.

“Don’t let them scare you.” Sarah said as they opened the door to the man cave.

“Oh shit, its Sarah!”

Her two brothers jumped up from the couch, nearly spilling their beers. Their massive beer guts jiggling as they stood, barely contained by their too tight t-shirts. They pulled Sarah into a tight hug, and Jack was afraid that these massive men might snap her in two. But when their drunken eyes landed on Jack, their smiles faded.

“Who’s this little guy?” One asked.

“This is Jack, my boyfriend.” Sarah replied.

“Looks kinda small.”

“Oh leave the boy alone.” Sarah’s dad said, still sitting on the couch, sipping his beer, “You like football?”

“I watch it from time to time.” Jack replied. He could see her brothers roll their eyes.

“Take a seat. Game is just getting good.” He continued.

Jack turned to Sarah, who rolled her eyes but gave him a nod. The young man smiled slightly and made his way over to the couch, where he was squeezed between Sarah’s dad and her two brothers.

“Tony, Al be nice.” Sarah warned, “That goes for you too, dad.”

The older man let out a deep chuckle that caused his massive gut to shake. He looked over at her and smiled, taking a sip of his beer. Jack watched as Sarah left and shut the door, leaving him trapped in the man cave. The young man shifting uncomfortably between the larger men, the smell of their B.O. and beers invading his nostrils.

“So, you’re dating our sister?” Tony asked, “You treating her well?”

“Of course.” Jack replied, “I...”

“You’re a bit smaller than her last boyfriend.” Al butted in, “God, Colin’s fuckin’ hilarious, you remember that guy?”

“Of course I do. I still go fishing with him.” Tony replied.

“Best pong player ever.” Al laughed, “Could outdrink all of us too, which is not easy.”

“He’s a hard worker.” Sarah’s dad contributed, “Glad I hired him.”

Tony nudged Jack, “You much of a drinker?”

“Not really.” Jack replied, trying his best to ignore their comments about Colin.

In fact, Jack never even tried alcohol. He never saw the appeal and Sarah seemed overjoyed to hear that he didn’t drink too. Seemed like a win-win to him. As for Colin, Sarah told him all he needed to know. He was an asshole- loud, boisterous, and immature. Someone he figured her brothers and father would enjoy.

“Not really? Aw come on, little guy.” Tony said, “Pops, grab him a beer.”

Jack tried to politely decline, but Sarah’s dad fished a beer from the cooler and tossed it to him. He caught it and inspected it closely. It was brown- the color of a football. Some guy in old football gear was on the front. But instead of holding a football, there was a can of Gridiron brew in his hands.

“I think I’m good...”

“Drink it.” Her dad said firmly.

Jack didn’t want to make a bad impression. And if drinking some stupid beer would win them over, then so be it.

“Just a sip.” He thought.

He opened the can and placed it to his lips. He could feel the cold liquid fill his stomach as he drank it. The taste nothing special, if anything, it tasted cheap.

“Oh shit dude, he just chugged it!” Tony laughed, “Let’s go!”

“Did I really?” Jack mumbled, realizing the can was empty, “I burrrppppppppppp.” Jack’s eyes widened and his face flushed with embarrassment, “Ugh I burrrrrrrrrppppppppppppp.”

“Fuck, nice one dude.” Al patted him on the back.

“Yeah, let that shit out.” Tony continued.

But Jack’s eyes were wide with terror. He felt like his entire body was heating up, sweat starting to drip down his face. His mind racing- he drank beer before and never had a reaction like this.

“I think I might be allerg... burrrppppppppppp.”

He could hear Tony and Al’s laughter fill the air. Sarah’s dad continued to stare at the game ahead of him, seemingly unbothered. Jack was hyperventilating now. And despite knowing he shouldn’t, he undid the buttons on his shirt and threw it aside, desperately hoping to cool down.

“Yeah, take it off bro!”

The button down wasn’t enough and Jack peeled off his sweat-soaked undershirt, revealing his lean, firm musculature from years of swimming. He let out a gasp as he watched his taut abs vibrating and his stomach churning, his youthful skin glistening with sweat.

“Please, I need help...” He gasped, closing his eyes tightly as his stomach churned.

He placed a hand to his abs, but instead of their normal firmness, he felt his hand sink into soft flesh. His eyes shot open and he looked down at the pudge that now hid his abs. Feeling the new softness, he let out a gasp as his stomach pushed out again. And again. And again. The growing mass that was once his hard-earned six-pack hung over his waistline, jiggling with each small movement. Jack’s eyes were wide as he pushed against it, almost as if he was willing it to retract.

“Oh my god...” He grunted, realizing as he looked over at Sarah’s brothers that his gut matched theirs, “No, no, no buurrppppppp.”

This time, his lean pecs plumped up with fat, sagging and resting comfortably on his new gut. He winced as adipose rapidly expanded in his legs, arms, and ass- covering his lean musculature in a healthy padding of thick fat proportional to his midsection. Even his once angular and handsome face puffed up with chub, rounding out his previously strong jawline.

“Lookin’ good beanpole.” Al laughed, poking at Jack’s new gut.

“Not much of a beanpole anymore.” Tony replied.

Jack looked back and forth between them, tears stinging his eyes, “Please... please stop this... I’ll do anythaaahhhhhhh.”

Jack scratched desperately at his chest and belly as a rush of testosterone was ravaged his body. His well groomed, light chest hairs darkened and sprouted into a matted, sweaty, curly bush. His dick hairs were not spared as they sprouted into an untamed, musky mess that quickly ascended his entire belly and joined his chest hairs. Jack flung his head back as hairs sprouted from his now round face, forming a messy beard. The young man groaned again as his skin sagged a bit more with age, growing more leathery with each passing second. He placed a hand on his hairy abdomen as he breathed heavily. In and out. In and out. Slowly, Jack opened his eyes, the horror of his ordeal being painfully confirmed.

“What....”

He had so many questions, so many horrifying thoughts. But then he saw it. On the TV screen. He watched as one of the players expertly maneuvered around the defense. Running down the field. The announcers freaking out, growing more excited. And when that player scored a touchdown, Jack jumped up from his seat.

“Fuck yeah, bros! Did you just fuckin’ see that!?” His boisterous yell shook the house and he fist-bumped Tony and Al, “Now that’s what I’m fuckin’ talkin’ about!” He collapsed back onto the chair and grinned, “I did the same shit in high school when I played, ya know.” He continued, “Could’ve gone pro too if I wanted.”

Memories of track and college quickly shifted to fit Jack’s new reality. His eyes dulling as years of education vanished and his IQ dropped considerably. The previously well-mannered young man vanishing into a sea of burps, sports, and lost dreams.

“Sure big guy.” Tony said, sipping his beer.

“No for real, dude. I...” His brain paused as he tried to remember details of his life, “Whatever, you’ll just have to believe me.”

The door to the man cave suddenly swung open, revealing the women of the house. Sarah in particular looked livid, her face morphing into a look of horror as she gazed upon the unfamiliar man sitting between her brothers.

“Jack?” Her eyes widened as she gazed upon her boyfriend, “Oh my god, Jack? Is that you?”

“What’s up?” Jack chuckled, “Grab me a beer, would ya babe?”

“Dad, you didn’t!” She shouted, “This is just like Colin.” She stormed away, tears stinging her eyes.

“Geez what’s wrong with her? Women, am I right?” Jack let out another burp, and fist bumped his bros as he stood and grabbed another can of his new favorite brew.  

Sarah’s mom and aunt quickly went to go comfort Sarah. Meanwhile, the boys continued shouting at the TV screen, their burps and cheers echoing through the house- Jack remaining blissfully oblivious to the life he once lived. And as the game wound down, Sarah’s dad turned to him.

“So boy, you want a job workin’ for me?”

Jack was more than happy to accept.