#neon x oscar

[brokentrafficknight]

[giuseppe-yuki]

ice water

oscar piastri x duck shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 1.2k

warnings: a singular curse word- other that that, none

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: mclaren hospitality somehow runs out of cold water; you have to get creative.

picture credits from pinterest :)

the weather at the miami circuit was, simply, hot as fuck. as soon as you climbed out of the oscar’s mclaren, clutching your miu miu handbag, you felt a wave of hot and humid florida air wash over you. oscar, ever the gentleman, clocks your discomfort immediately and leads you toward the paddock entrance. keeping one hand on your back protectively, he scans his badge and guides you towards mclaren hospitality.

being able to shapeshift into a duck at will definitely had its perks, but that also meant you gained some of the more negative aspects too. because ducks didn’t have sweat glands, you overheated really easily in extreme heat. 

“oscar!!” “over here!” “please sign my hat!!!”

before you and oscar could reach the motorhome, a crowd of fans spotted the mclaren driver. they surge forward, pens at the ready and cameras turned on. he turns, apologies at the tip of his tongue and mind running fast to think of a quick excuse so he doesn’t need to stay outside a second longer. before he can say anything, you turn to him.

“its okay baby, you can sign their hats and do whatever you need to- i can find some water by myself!" you smile at him reassuringly, then give him a peck on the cheek. those fans probably paid an insane amount of money in order to access the paddock, and it wasn’t every day you saw the insanely talented mclaren driver, oscar piastri, strolling around. to be honest, it still shocked you sometimes, having the privilege to wake up to his adorable sleepy face in the morning. (even though he does get mad at you for leaving your feathers everywhere on the bed)

“alright.” oscar says hesitantly. he then smiles that polite cat smile that he always does, wraps his arms around you, and gives you a kiss on the top of your head. “don’t get lost!” he quips, before he reaches toward a fan’s open sharpie. 

you roll your eyes and head into the team motorhome. 

as you step inside, you immediately bump violently into lando. its actually a wonder that you didn’t notice him, as he is dressed in his bright papaya hoodie and obnoxiously neon yellow bucket hat with his signature black patterns. he looks irritated, although his annoyed look immediately disappears once he notices it’s you. 

“oops- sorry,” you splutter out, “you okay?” 

“yeah i’m fine,” he says, flashing you a smile. the annoyed expression comes back though, and he adds, “except for the fact that its fucking 40 degrees celcius outside and there is not a single drop of cold water in this entire building!” 

“oh!” you exclaim. “that’s actually why i came in here- i really need water because of my…condition.” lando was one of the few people that actually knew of your ability to shapeshift (it involved a long story involving an animal trafficking accusation, bad timing, and a ton of feathers that you had shed), and he often helped cover for you and oscar when people got a little too close to discovering your secret.

a frown crosses lando’s face, but it is soon replaced by a devilish smirk. “why don’t we go over to the red bull motorhome to ask for some water?” he suggests.

“dressed like this?” you exclaim, gesturing at both your orange colored two-piece dress and lando’s brightly colored outfit. “mark my words, if you take a single step in that direction, skysports is going to notice, and is going to have ‘mclaren driver lando norris sneaks into red bull motorhome to steal important strategy documents’ pasted on every headline online!”

“umm…first of all,” lando says haughtily, “i can win a race by myself without needing to steal any red bull documents. second of all, i’m not going into redbull, you are…” he leans forward, and whispers, “...in duck form.”

you glare at him.

as if sensing a problem, oscar appears behind you. “what’s going on?” he questions, running a hand through his hair and wipes a little bit of sweat off of his reddened face. he turns to you for a response, but you’ve slotted yourself behind his back, using him as a barrier from lando. 

“your dumb teammate wants me to turn so i can go over to redbull and beg for water since mclaren ran out of ice water!” you exclaim. "can you believe it?"

20 dollars, persistent begging, and ten minutes later, you left the mclaren motorhome in duck form in oscar’s arms. the fans from earlier, with their newly signed merch and camera roll full of pictures of your boyfriend, again, rush towards oscar. instead of their attention being on him this time though, they all fawn over you, not even asking why in the world oscar jack piastri is holding a duck in front of the mclaren motorhome before the miami gp. you ruffle your feathers and snap your beak at the fans, playing it up and hoping they give you water. you stop to pant a little bit- the heat was really getting to you. luckily, a fan notices, and pushes forward with a cup of ice water.

“oscar, may i give your duck some ice water? i’ve seen clips on tiktok where this lady feeds her duck ice water and she seemed to really like it! your duck is looking mighty parched too.” 

oscar quickly nods his head. “go ahead!”

you dip your beak into the water, and snap up as much water as you could. the water tasted crisp and refreshing, and felt oh-so-good going down your throat, cooling down your internal body temperature. 

oscar thanks the fan, then excuses himself from the horde of people. “erm…i’m kind of have to go-” he gestures vaguely towards the redbull motorhome, “ that way… so er yeah, bye!” 

you got your sip of water, so it was time to steal get some for oscar and lando. you hop out of oscar’s arms, flapping your wings as you land gently on the ground. waddling, you enter the redbull hospitality. Immediately, you almost collide a second time with someone. lo and behold, it was none other than checo perez.

“why,” he says pointedly, “is there a duck in here?” 

not stopping to apologize, you run towards the fridge, quacking wildly and tapping your beak against the smooth metal. 

as if he understood you perfectly, he opens the door to the fridge, and pulls out a water bottle. he poors the water into a plastic cup and puts it on the floor in front of you. he gives you a few pats on your back (oscar probably would have strangled checo if he saw him touching you, albeit in duck form) and walks away. quickly, you grab the cup and hop/waddle your way back outside to oscar and lando, handing them the water.

the team garages bustled with energy, as there was around an hour left until the start of the miami grand prix. everyone seemed to have a job- adjusting cameras, typing on computers, and pulling on race suits- except you. slowly, you walk out of the mclaren garage onto the pavement  in front, straightening your orange skirt and top and smoothing down your hair. out of the corner of your eye, you see checo heading your way. you turn a little pale from fear- why was he coming your way? he waves to you, and starts some small talk. 

“hey you know, funny story- you’ll never believe me, but there was a duck in the red bull motorhome earlier today!”

a/n: my first ever fanfic story! i hope y'all liked it :)

[miirohs]

no body, no crime [o.p.s]

pairing: Mob Boss!Oscar Piastri x GN!Reader wc: 1.8k cw: reader shoots someone, poor hurt/comfort an: this one is dedicated to the local piastri lover em because that Danny Ric fic is never leaving the editing stage,,, had to change it up a bit tho bc the beginning was hampering the rest of it, but anyways I’m continuing the 2 am shitposting tradition 💀

The clock ticked softly in the background, a cold breeze filtering through the room as you curled further into the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to drown out the noise. The nightlights shone through the thin curtains, the light of the bright neon billboards cast onto the floor.

Oscar wasn’t home again, leaving you to your lonesome in his penthouse in London, something about an emergency meeting at eleven in the night.

You weren’t worried much about the call time, but you couldn’t help the pit that formed in your stomach as your head rested on his shoulder, still too tired to make out what he murmured in a low voice on the phone.

Whatever it was sounded important but he didn’t let you hear anything, herding you back to the bedroom with the promise that he’d be back sooner if not later. You held onto his hand, eyes shutting for good as the warmth of his hand slipped away once again.

With that, you fell into a fretful sleep, waking up at odd times for no explainable reason.

You felt dreadful as your eyes opened again, apartment eerily quiet, vision blurring as you read the clock.

2:45 A.M. It read.

You crawled to the end of the bed, letting your legs dangle off the bed as you reached out for your phone. Not a single notification on the screen and you sighed, opening up the messages app.

As you opened Oscars contact, something outside clicked faintly, making you jump. You slid off the bed, feet padding against the wooden flooring as you wandered into the hall.

You didn’t see any guards posted, even as you called out names you could barely remember hoarsely, getting no response back even as your voice bounced around the hall. It was slowly starting to freak you out, but you figured it was just the lack of sleep getting to you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this paranoid, and it wasn’t just for nothing.

The lights were off in the living room and kitchen, and you turned on the flashlight on your phone, your free hand pressed to the glass window. Your hands trembled slightly as you returned to tapping against the screen, typing up a message to send to Oscar.

where are you rn? heard something outside, can’t see guards anywhere.

The screen lit up, speech bubbles popping up for a couple moments before diapering entirely.

lmk when you’re on your way.

You sent the message, sliding onto a chair and hunching over the granite countertop. The phone rang only moments later, and you snapped out of your stupor, looking at the caller id.

[Osc].

You swiped, sliding off the chair and walking into the kitchen.

“Y/n? Is that you, baby?”

“Mmm, it is,” You mumbled sleepily, fingers running along the countertops as you reached to open the cabinet, "Where are you?"

"I'm on my way back," Oscar replied, tone relieved. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

“No, I thought i heard something,” You paused, anxiety thrumming under the surface of your skin as something clicked again, “And the guards aren’t here, they-”

“What do you mean not there?” You held the phone away, eyes widening as he cussed softly. The shock and fear in his voice sent a chill down your spine.

"I don't know," you stammered, glancing around the dark kitchen, "I called out for them, but no one answered. I thought it was just me being paranoid but…"

"Lock yourself in the bedroom. Now. I'm almost there, and if anyone breaks through, there's a gun in my nightchest. Don’t use it, just scare them if you have to." He instructed, voice panicked. You paused as he rambled further, eyes landing on a glass half full sitting on the countertop next to the sink.

“What the…”

Your head was slammed into the counter, blinding white pain licking across your temple as you dropped the phone.

The glass shattered as you flailed, crumpling onto the floor. Your world spun, something wet staining your hand as you clutched your head.

Oscar was now frantically shouting through the phone, and your vision blurred as you scanned the floor for the bright light. The sound of your phone cracking made you scramble back, trying to stand up as the world spun under your feet.

You could barely see the assailant in the darkness of the apartment, barely illuminated by the lights of the city.

They lunged for you, barely missing as you scrambled to the side, back hitting a wall. It was barely seconds before they came for you, pressing you up against the wall with their gun, cutting off your circulation.

The cold metal dug into your neck, and you clawed at their clothed arms, aimlessly flailing. Your kicking paid off, as the intruder gasped in pain as you landed a kick to the crotch, gasping for air as you slid down. Despite the throbbing pain, you dogged again when something flew at your head, crawling to the living room and pulling yourself up against the coffee table.

The intruder closed in once again, swearing loudly as they limped towards you. Grasping blindly, your fingers closed around a metal vase, swinging it in their direction. It connected with a resounding thud and you got up, shoving past them in the direction of your shared bedroom.

You’d stunned them, but you weren’t sure how long it’d last, locking the door behind you as you fell to your knees, crawling over to his side of the bed, slumped against the bed as you opened the drawer.

Your fingers closed around the cold metal of the gun Oscar had mentioned, hand tensing and untensing as you stared down the shiny silver. Suddenly, the door banged again, and you froze.

The rush of blood drowned out the taunts, positioning yourself in a far corner of the room, eyes straining in the dark as the doorknob jiggled.

That didn’t last wrong, the wood of the door splintering and cracking. "Come out, you-" the intruder's voice was cut off by another loud bang on the door, hand reaching down to the handle through a crack in the door.

There was nothing but the bed between you now, the door finally giving way, allowing them to stumble into a room with a malevolent look.

Panic surged through you and you raised the gun as threateningly as you could.

He grabbed your wrist, wrenching the gun from your grasp and throwing it to the side. You struggled, kicking and clawing your way out of his grip, diving for the gun. They tackled you once again, and you both tumbled to the ground.

In the struggle, your finger dug into the trigger, losing circulation as he pinned you down, gun shaking uncontrollably.

A shot rang out, followed by an intense ringing in your ears, the grip on your hands loosening. Something warm splattered against your face, blood pooling at your sides and you could only stare in horror.

There was nothing but a ringing in your ear, staring into the darkness as if expecting something else. The door burst open and Oscar rushed in, his eyes wild with fear. It was the first time you’d seen him so unkempt, eyes widening in shock as he connected the dots between the smoking gun in your hand and the body on the floor.

You couldn’t make out what he was saying, only as he pulled you closer to him, feeling the vibrations in his chest.

You couldn’t really make out what he was saying, slumping down against him as tears escaped your eyes.

You weren’t sure how much time passed till you could hear him again, blanking out for a couple of moments before you could remember again, sitting on the bed once again.

You could hear Oscar shouting in the other room, probably on the phone again. Something had gone terribly wrong for his composed self to be shattered.

He had Lando sitting in the room with you, monitoring you as your legs dangled off of the edge of the bed, staring down at hands crusted with blood.

Both of you didn’t say much, only nodding to any questions he asked, not even listening entirely.

“Is she doing okay?” You turned at the sound of Oscar's voice, opening then closing your mouth as Lando shrugged noncommittally, murmuring something about how he hadn’t heard a peep in the hour he’d been there.

You phased out again, only coming back to your senses as he gripped your hand, kneeling in front of you.

"Hey," Oscar said softly, high contrast to the way he had been yelling earlier. "Can you look at me baby?"

You blinked, slowly focusing on his face. The tears were coming back, and you swallowed them down again, digging your nails into his hands instead.

He didn’t complain, running a soothing thumb over your knuckles. "You don’t have to if you don’t want to," He continued, "You're safe now. Everything's going to be okay."

Even when you didn’t answer and stared blankly, he continued, listing things aimlessly to catch your attention.

“We’re going to increase security detail for you by the way. I won’t be leaving you on your own for a while…” He paused in his explanation, tilting his head at you. “Please talk to me, baby, I’m worried.”

You swallowed hard, feelings like a mess of strings as you opened your mouth. "I don't know what happened," You shuddered, voice barely above a whisper, "I just... I had to… I just killed someone. Oh god, I'm a killer."

Oscar's expression softened further in contrast to the steely tone he used as he gripped your hand tighter. “No, you didn’t. If anyone questions you, I was the one who did it. Not you, me. Don’t blame yourself for what happens to scum like that.”

“But then- then you’ll get in trouble,” You whispered, haunted by the thought, “they’ll arrest you.”

He smirked, reaching up to brush the hair out of your face as if he was contemplating something.

“Osc baby, what-“

“Whoever sent them,” He spoke with slight disgust, although you could tell that wasn’t at all the full gist of what he was feeling, “Started this trouble first. They can’t arrest me if there’s no body to be found. No body, no crime baby.”

You could only stare at him, heart aching slightly as he pulled your hands to him, allowing you to run your fingers through his messed up hair.

“You’re…” You didn’t finish the sentence, allowing him to stand up and hover over you.

“It’s going to be alright,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he wiped your unshed tears. “You’re strong, we all know that.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You sniffled, hands looping around his own as he cradled your face.

“You’ll never have to find out,” he replied, leaning down to kiss your forehead, arms holding you down almost possessively, “Never when I’m here.”

[loganlermanstanaccount]

PLEASE! I BEG THAT YOU WRITE AN MIGUEL O’HARA FICTION! IM BEGGING!! PLEASEE!!!! (Sorry if I come off harsh)

Ask and you shall receive!! A quick thing I wrote (not proofread), thanks for the ask <3

Touch

Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel misbehaves. You teach him a lesson. part one maybe?? idk y'all let me know if u want a pt 2. (Part 2 is out!)

warnings: pwp!! light f-dom, angry (ish??) sex, grinding, slight m-sub, (m) begging. mostly just filth. I am soooo desperate for any character played by Oscar Isaac. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: I apologise in advance, native Spanish speakers. Me and reverso tried our best. 

wc: 1.4k

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

A great crash from the workshop has you running from all the way in the kitchen, apron still on. 

He looks tired, hunched over his desk. Great hulking shoulders hang, tense in the dim light of a single lamp.

"Miguel?" It's soft, in the metallic hum of lights. "Everything okay?" 

He shifts, looking over his shoulder at you. "M'sorry for the noise mi sol, just tired." 

"...maybe it's time to call it a night, baby."

He waves you off with a flick of the wrist.   "Give me ten minutes, I'll come to bed."

"That's what you said half an hour ago, Miggy." It's under your breath but loud enough that his super senses pick it up.Your voice is fraught, frustrated - no doubt at the nights he'd spent away from you. Whether coming back late from tinkering in his workshop, or on the streets; he'd meet you fast asleep in bed, and wake up to an early morning rush. Either way, he seemed like a stranger in your own home; consumed with his work. It was taking its toll. 

You pad back, returning to the kitchen in silence. You clean up the remnants of a dinner Miguel had picked at, sighing. You loved him, and you knew he loved you; but he lived in his own world sometimes. Sure, the world needed him; but what about you? After everything you had given each other, how could he discard you so easily? 

It's only after a while Miguel realises the noises of you clearing up have long subsided, that he heads into the kitchen to investigate. It's meticulously clean, your apron hanging up on its peg by the door. On the counter, the remainder of his dinner boxed up in tupperware, with a post-it-note on the lid. 'For Miggy <;3' , it reads. 

His heart aches as he walks towards your room. You're dressed in nothing but his t-shirt, knees drawn and curled up into yourself. He slides into bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

"Mi vida?" He mumbles. "Mi vida, I know you're awake." 

You respond with an unceremonious grunt, back still turned. You're mad at him, and he deserves it. 

"I'm sorry." He says, listening to the rise and fall of your chest in the dark. He sits up. Sighing, he cradles your arm, tracing circles into the flesh. Gentle, and oh so soft. "I'm an idiot, you know that. I fucked up. Couldn't see how much you were hurting."

You stir, turning to face him. In the neon lights that stream into your room, his face falls. He brings a hesitant hand to cup at your cheek. 

"Say something. Please." Imperciptably, he watches your eyes fall to his lips. 

You kiss him, passionate and hot and angry. He can barely breathe when you envelope your plush lips around his, snaking your hand towards his back. You claw at his shirt, raking a hand into his hair. When you separate, it's obscene; a sliver of saliva still connecting his lips to yours. His scarlet eyes are low as he licks his lips; chasing your taste. You both sit up. 

"You haven't touched me in weeks, Miguel." Your voice is dangerously low, hand wrapped around his neck.

He wraps strong hands around your waist, guiding you to straddle him. For once, he's grateful for the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt - thin around the apex of your pebbled nipples. He paws at your hips, hands trailing towards your bare thighs. Just as they come to rest towards their crook, you snatch his hands away. 

"Let me make it up to you," He hisses at the contact, leaning into your touch. "Por favor, sólo una probadita, just a taste, my love."

"No touching." Dramatic, he protests, cursing in Spanish before you bring a thumb to his mouth to silence him. 

"No. Touching."

Eyes lidded, looking up at you, it takes everything not to break; you fight the urge to kiss the tip of his nose and whisper praise into the crook of his neck. Instead, you coax your thumb into his mouth; as he swirls his tongue around it, like he would on your clit. Miguel savors it like the sweetest honey, grateful you'll even touch him considering how he's been acting. 

He swells in his pants, hard as the crotch of his sweats graze your bare pussy. Beautiful tits pressed against his chest,  you draw small circles with your waist against the seat of his crotch. Precum spills as his hips jump up to meet you, desperate for contact. 

Immediately, you stop. With a pop, you pull your thumb from his mouth and Miguel moans at the loss. 

"Mierda. Baby, please-"

"No. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to use you to get off. You're gonna watch, if you're lucky. And then I'm…" You swirl your hips, causing him to groan. "... going to bed." 

"¿Entiendes?" You croon, spiteful in the slow sway of your hips. "Do you understand, Miguel?" 

"-f-fuck, ok, ok-" Desperately nodding, he grips the sheets by his side. Closing his eyes to steady himself, he slumps his head on your shoulder. God, he's trying so, so hard not to cum right there; turned on by the lull of your sweet voice. He likes it when you get angry and treat him like a toy - painfully hard at the way you light him on fire. Everything about you; your scent, the way you taste, the grip you have in his hair; turns his senses up to eleven. 

You grind on his crotch, steadying yourself with your other hand on his shoulder. Plush lip tucked under your teeth, it takes all his willpower not to capture you in another kiss: hungry and consuming and overpowering. He can tell you're serious; everytime he grinds his crotch into yours, you will yourself to stop and tighten your grip. 

"Miguel…" You warn, moaning softly into his ear. "I m-meant what I said…"

When his hips snap up the third time; you growl, frustrated. Both your hands move to his chest, pushing him down onto the mattress so he's on his back. He looks good like this; at your mercy and putty under your hands. You push up the lip of his shirt to expose his midsection and pull down his sweats. A happy trail snakes down to his neatly trimmed cock; its deliciously curved tip springing free. Precum covers his cock, so when you slide him between the lips of your pussy it glides like he was made for you. You bite down on your lip so hard, it almost bleeds. 

With this new angle, you plant your hands by his head; grinding your clit onto his dick desperately. The slick sounds drive Miguel crazy, and when his hands fly to your waist to help you along, you don't move them. 

"You're s-so pretty, mi vida… prettiest thing I've ever seen. Need it. Need you. Use me, please, hump my cock like I'm your toy, p-please, please…"

He knows your body better than you do. You're close, dangerously near the edge. With the way your thigh shakes and the spasms that slow your rhythm, he knows. You don't break eye contact with him under you, moaning as you slide on his cock. Desperate, you chase that sweet spot, electric when he angles your hips just so… 

"M'gonna cum, fuck, Miggy-" You writhe desperately. He's close, too, shamelessly humping your pussy like a feral animal. He can taste it; white hot at the tip of his tongue. Finally, you cum: a leg shaking, biting orgasm that rips through you. You clench around nothing, but it's not enough for him. So, so close; and it's ripped away from him when you come down, in the aftermath. 

Unceremoniously, you pant and roll off of him; spread-eagle atop the sheets. Miggy curses softly at his ruined orgasm - still rock hard. He's glad you feel good, but he knows he can make you feel better, broad hands pawing at your hips. You slap them off, and turn your back pointedly. The slope and curve of your ass taunts him. 

"Fuck off, Miguel."

"Baby, I'm sor-" 

"Fuck. Off."

Sighing, he takes the hint. Grabbing the pillow, he pads off to the sofa in your living room, adjusting his hard on. He'd give you your space, tonight, and begin to win you back tomorrow morning. He needs you, more than you'd ever know. 

_

_

_

[adventuringblind]

The Thrill of It (1.8K Words)

LandOscar x Reader

Genre: Street Racer AU, Smut

Summary: Sometimes the boys come back from races a little riled up, it doesn't help tonight that they get a bit possessive when someone lays a hand on what's theirs.

Warnings: PinV sex, unprotected sex, public sex, exhibitionist Lando, Sub reader, Dom Oscar, Oral, face-fucking, Hair pulling (?), minor degradation, Oscar being stressed after because AFTERCARE IS IMPORTANT OKAY

Notes: I'm back! Did you miss me? I think this is the most lewd smut I've ever done... But reminder that comments and filling my inbox with nice things motivates me to write!!

Side Note: MINORS AVERT YOUR EYES!! ADULT CONTENT AHEAD!!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

The lights amongst the crowd flitted about in shades of neon. The people are rowdy tonight on the sides of the street. All of them handing off their cash to each other to bet on which driver they think will win. 

It’s a dangerous game with no medic on scene. She supposes that’s the thrill of it. Knowing there may be no return once they put their foot on the pedal.

Lando and Oscar are practically swimming in the cash now. While she isn’t in the spotlight, they certainly are. These are their streets. They know Woking like the back of their hands now. 

Lando says he drives by feeling where Oscar has a map of the turns memorized. It speaks volumes about their character.  

You’d think these idiots would stop betting so much on other drivers. She’s been here enough times to know they never learn. Always lured into a false sense of hope. She doesn’t mind it, simply finds it funny. 

She finds herself entranced by the sounds of the engines, the people chanting their names. She sees other people oggle the two, hands becoming a bit more than friendly as the night progresses and alcohol is consumed.

A car pulls below her hiding spot. The second car driven, a truck she can sit in the bed of when things get overwhelming and the people too much. 

Those friendly hands tend to slip when they see a pretty stranger. Boundary lines are crossed. Another thing they should know by now: Oscar and Lando are the kings of these streets and it’s best not to mess with their queen. 

The bed of the truck shakes as they climb in with her. Their faces are half hidden in the dark. The other is illuminated by intermittent flashing lights. 

 Lando looks all too happy about the stunt he just pulled. A dangerous thing that could have killed him if not done right. The adrenaline has his pupils dilated. “Don’t think he’ll be coming back again. Gave him a run for his money… Liturgy!” 

“Literally-” 

“Yes, that’s what I meant - Literally!” 

She tilts her head back and laughs. Drunk off the atmosphere of the night and maybe the fumes of whatever people have been smoking all night. “Scared him off then?” 

“You know it baby!” Lando latches right onto her exposed neck with his teeth for all of two seconds before Oscar is dragging him off. It leaves them both whining. “Osc! I’m doing things!” 

“You’re doing our things.” The dehumanizing language should not have her this hot and bothered, in Woking, in October. She’s wearing a skirt with nothing aside from panties underneath and one of Oscar’s zip-ups with a tank top. Not the best choice of clothing all things considered, but she could care less. Not when it gives them easy access when they are all riled up like this.

Oscar drags her into his lap. The feeling of strong thighs underneath her in almost the right spot has her whimpering. “Didn’t realize you’re already so needy for us darling. Forgot how much seeing us drive turns you on.” 

She nearly cries when Oscar pulls her underwear to the side and slips a finger through her slit. “Look at this Lan! She’s a mess already!” Oscar’s free hand grips Lando by the collar and pulls him closer; nearly choking him out in the process. When his fingers are pulling obscene sounds from her, he brings them away. Up towards Lando’s mouth which unlatches to suck on them eagerly. 

The Brits eyes roll back as Oscar jams four fingers down the back of his throat just for the sake of it. “S’pose you’ve earned it tonight, Lan. You’re already a mess anyhow and I think you’ve been leaking since you got out of the car.” 

Lando mumbles something around Oscar’s fingers. It’s unintelligible - or she’s too lost in her haze to comprehend anything. Having slotted down on Oscar’s thigh to get some kind of friction. 

The sound of Lando’s belt buckle coming undone becomes louder than the engines. Then the wet sound of lips clashing together. The hand Oscar previously had in Lando’s mouth is now around his neck. 

The same story time and time again. Lando goes by feel where Oscar exudes superiority in how he has them memorized. 

She clocks the hand on her waist moving to the back of her head. Oscar switches to kiss her instead. The filthy kind - all tongue and teeth. It keeps her occupied long enough for Lando to shimmy his boxers just far enough down. 

“I knew you were leaking.” Lando makes a weak noise at that. Oscar’s words seem to have that effect on him. Both of them - really. “I bet you like showing off for all these people, huh? The possibility of us being caught like this. You get off on the thrill.”

The boys help her reposition her boy. Oscar gets two of his fingers in her, hovering just above Lando’s cock. Which - to Oscar’s credit - He’s not wrong. Lando is leaking like a faucet that has a consistent drip. It is mesmerizing and should be illegal. 

Oscar gets a third in her, dutifully stretching her open despite having to support her weight. Lando thrusts into the air out of impatience which earns a lovely smack to the side of his ass. “You should know better, Love, that all good things come with time.”

She feels empty for all of two seconds before her body is plunging down onto Lando’s cock. She can feel him twitching behind her - trying to remain still until given the go-ahead to move. His hands paw at the slope of her back and curve of her ass. 

In front of her, Oscar is undoing his own belt. She should’ve realized sooner how he had positioned them. How the truck bed is conveniently long enough to let Lando work out his residual energy by thrusting into her while Oscar makes use of her mouth. 

He’s always three moves ahead of them. 

She leans down, ready for him without him even having to ask. “Spit,” He commands. She does it without hesitation. 

Oscar makes use of the makeshift lube and gives himself a few strokes before motioning her forward. She unhinges her jaw and relaxes her throat and still - she gags. 

“See Lando, patience works wonders.” 

“Please Osc, please - I’m dying over here-” 

“Go ahead baby, you’ve earned it.” Oscar chuckles. 

They find a rhythm. When one is going in, the other is going out. She’s drooling all down the exposed skin Oscar is showing. 

“Best. Fucking. Reward. Ever~” Lando punctuates each word with a particularly hard thrust. The sounds are ridiculous and they are lucky that the sound of engines revving is drowning them out. If anyone is watching - well - they are certainly getting a show. 

Oscar’s voice cracks. “Fucking hell, you two look so good.” She concludes the walls of his resolve are starting to crumble. That the grip she has on his waist to ground herself is enough to make him snap and throw him over the edge. 

“You like the show, Osc.” 

“You could say that.” 

Lando likes to be seen and Oscar likes to watch. She likes everything in-between that. To be the object of their affections and an element of desire. Something they covet enough to lose themselves like this. 

Everything gets messier - if that was even possible. Oscar snaps his head back and grips the back of her head so he can hold her stead and fuck her throat. Lando grips her hips and sets an unrelenting pace. Each movement is sloppier than the last. Each moan is more pitched. 

She swallows. Her throat constricts enough for Oscar to growl from somewhere deep and sum without any warning. The tears are streaming down her face as she gags on the new and sudden change of consistency. 

He drags her off and gives her no time to recover. Simply lunging forward and nearly sending her crashing backwards onto Lando. His hand goes back to the Brits throat while his tongue goes so deep into her mouth that there is no way he can’t taste himself. 

Lando is a mess of high pitched whines. “Please - please I’m close-” 

She inhales desperately as Oscar unlatches from her mouth only to find the sensitive spot on her exposed collarbone. “Osc-” 

“I could keep you two like this forever. Desperate and whiny. Leaking with the thought of how good it would feel to cum.” They are both letting out desperate sounds. “I bet that guy from earlier would have stayed away then. So consumed by us that he could smell it on you.” 

“Yesyesyes - please-” She’s going to lose her mind. Lando might be closer than she is and yet he won’t slow down. There is nothing but this until Oscar tells them yes. Because it feels better waiting for it. 

And Lando will always go by feel.

“You’ve earned it Lando, fill our girl up yeah? Make her cry harder.” 

Oscar has to cover her mouth as everything goes white. Her ears are ringing - swimming in the sounds of their voices and nothing else. It’s white hot blissful nothing. No thoughts or anxieties, no worries about some guy making passes at her. 

Here she knows the two men who want nothing but to see her smile and cry for their cocks. Which is a stark contrast considering - but she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Oscar recovers the quickest. Swiftly jumping out of the truck bed to grab their extra blanket and hoodies. “I can’t really clean you two up yet, but will this do for now?” He shifts his weight between feet. Normally more prepared, ready to meet the needs of physical pains and emotional needs that come with the aftermath. 

They both nod and excitedly wait for him to climb back up. “That… was amazing,” she laughs. Her voice broken and hoarse from her throat being used. 

Oscar winces. “I need to get you some water.” 

“Osc-”

“Yeah.” 

“Relax! It felt good! It was great and we’re okay.” Lando gestures to the two who can barely move. Bodies still twitching from the overwhelming sensations. “Now we shall bask in the glory that is the ridiculous amount of cash we made tonight!”

“What are you gonna spend it on?” 

“You, of course!” Oscar leans her into his side as Lando throws an arm around her shoulders for good measure. 

Cars begin to drive past. Leaving for the night either to wherever they are staying or another race. They wave off some of the familiar faces and flip off the annoying ones. Yeah - she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[vagabond-umlaut]

summer collapsed into fall

summary: gojo satoru has no favourite colour. he feels no need nor interest to have one, either. pairing: gojo satoru x reader [unspecified gender] tags: slight undertones of teacher-student relationship BUT there is NO ACTUAL romance between them; can this be called pining? idk; character study like fic of our sweetest satoru *cries* he deserves sm better; fluff but with a mild serving of angst; wc 0.8k notes: fic title inspired by a quote by oscar wilde; fic inspired by this lovely post i saw on pinterest; jjk isn't mine; loosely related to 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate'; tumblr hates me using dividers hence the new fic format ^_^

satoru doesn't really have a favourite colour.

it's never quite crossed his mind. and even if it has, he has never seen it to be important enough to allow it be anything more than a passing thought, a meaningless thought---it is not like his life will be impeded should he not have a favourite colour, nor is anyone ever going to ask him what it is, so why bother?

but now, as you peer up at him expectantly, having already listed your top five favourite colours and why you love them so, satoru wishes he did bother back then.

he decides to feign confusion.

"what?"

"what what?" you shoot back, eager gaze not wavering one bit, "i just told you my favourite colours; aren't you gonna tell me yours? it's fine even if you have just one, sensei."

but is it fine if he has none?

throwing his watch a quick glance, he turns back to you. then exhales a quiet sigh, tired but the farthest from annoyed, when he sees you're still waiting for his reply... shutting the bus window beside, he turns to lean against it, shifting to face you properly.

and sighs, decidedly noisier this time, "this isn't the type of questions one asks their teacher, y'know? they are too casual, meant more for a friend than for a teacher."

"you got to be the last guy to lecture me about etiquette, sensei," you retort without missing a beat, huffing a quiet, amused laugh.

"and after the time i had to bring you to ieiri-san after you passed out from drinking a bit too much: i guess we're a bit more than a teacher and a student, aren't we, sensei?"

not really... no.

while satoru believes your first point to be a debatable topic, he does not think the two of you are anything but a teacher and a student, no matter how much help you extended to him or will in the future---it's not like he isn't grateful, though. he is; he really, really is---it's just his belief that few acts of kindness do not necessarily cause a friendship between people, and he intends to tell you this very clearly---

but finds he cannot. he simply cannot.

not when you say, still so eager but with an undercurrent so achingly soft that even the strongest wonders if he can handle its weight: "i'm not that bad a friend, y'know---you can ask others if you want; they'll tell you i'm a good friend, not the best but a decent one---"

"why don't you guess what's my favourite colour?"

rude, yes, horribly so. satoru knows, he knows this very, very well. but what can a man do but divert when he's being unsettled by words like the ones you addressed to him, by the tenor you employed for him---

although now that he observes you consider his suggestion, the man wonders if diversion was the right tactic or not.

he could have just lied and told you any random color. he could have chosen to be honest and told you he has no favourite colour like you and probably the rest of the world have.

but no, he doesn't.

satoru does not opt either of the above two painfully simple, painfully easy options. choosing instead to ask you to guess what his favourite colour is... satoru never really anticipates he'll end up being this much more unsettled, thanks to his decision of diversion:

if there was a subtext of a haunting softness in your manners before, the sorcerer reckons it is the text now, typed out in bold letters then underlined and highlighted in neon---you too shift to face him, even moving the bag kept in between to your lap and shifting a bit closer, but still a respectable distance away---only to punctuate your effort with a keen stare, much too gentle, at him.

it's scary, he thinks. yeah, undoubtedly scary. but somewhere in the back of his mind, something says it's also comforting.

many eyes look at satoru throughout the day. they gape, they gawk, they study the man and every small aspect of his person with many different kinds of reasons behind them. but before today, there has never been anyone who has regarded him with this much care, that too for a nonsensical cause like yours...

he wonders, just what are you seeing in him?

just who are you seeing in him?

"it's orange, isn't it?" you exclaim abruptly, leaning a touch forwards with a snap of your pointer and thumb. voice too loud. smile too big. eyes too bright, way too bright---

satoru takes not even one whole second to decide:

he now has one favourite colour.

[supernaturalistthings]

Years

Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Summary: How Dean Winchester would finally admit his feelings to you after hiding them from you for years.

Warnings: soft core smut (heavy kissing and touching)

You were the human embodiment of the stars and moon that helped Dean focus on the roads on late nights. You had a fire that would roar to life like his beloved car while having a softness and comfort to you like the well loved leather seats. Every dream girl Dean had ever imagined paled in comparison to you. You were incredible in every way to him, mesmerizing.

He had for years longed to feel the softness of your face in his calloused hands. To feel your heartbeat directly against his. To run his long fingers through your beautiful hair. To finally feel what it would be like to be kissed by you. He could picture it, but he couldn't even begin to imagine what your gentle lips would feel like moving against his undeserving own.

On nights where he had a room to himself he would think of how soft your thighs must feel. How it would feel to run his hand from ankle to hip. How it would feel to hold you in his hands. To fit with each other like puzzle pieces. How you would look at him while he did it. You would look at him with that smile of yours, beaming eyes of adoration and warmth like he'd never felt before, and he would melt. Not even knowing what to do next, even though he had done this countless times with others. It would be different with you though, you were different. Not like anyone or anything he had ever encountered before. You were the love of Dean Winchester's life.

It pained him to not tell you, to keep something so big from you when he shared everything with you. He knew you'd be upset at knowing that he kept anything from you but, he couldn't bring himself to do it no matter how hard he had tried. It's like his breath was taken away every time he tried to utter the words to you. Everytime he was around you.

Yet here you guys sat on an old worn out motel couch, a movie roaring, green and pink neon lights streaming through the cracks in the curtains. He knew nothing about him had ever been close to perfect, until he met you. This was perfect.

You were sitting next to him, his arm slung lazily over the back of the couch almost as if he had his arm around you. You were focused intently on the screen, but he was more interested in the way you reacted to the movie rather than the movie itself. The way you'd jump a bit at some random scene, and blush at the couple making out in the next was Oscar worthy to Dean in itself. Best picture, by far.

“So what'd you think?” you say breaking him from his thoughts.

He looked at you, mind racing but all he could say was “it was alright” with a smile

“Oh c'mon you know you liked it” you would say with a smirk getting up and leaving the warmth of your presence behind to grab a beer from the fridge. You close it behind you and turn back around to see Dean deep in thought.

“Where's your head at?” you'd say cocking your head slightly to examine his contemplative state.

He stared ahead.

“Dean?” you'd say trying to gather his attention, which didn't work so you leave the bottle on the counter and slowly make your way over to him. You rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. He slowly starts to turn his head to look at you. You can see from his eyes that his mind is racing. He's almost breathless.

“You okay?”

“Not really” he’d huff out and shake his head as he turned his attention to the floor. This was it. Now or never. He couldn't stand the thought of never. He stands and meets your eyes once again and puts his hands on the curve of your waist while he slowly leans in keeping eye contact the whole time until the space between your lips closes. Both of your eyes flutter closed and you savor the new sensation of each other for a second before he pulls back looking at you questioningly. Awaiting some kind of reaction. He hoped that everything or even just some of what he was feeling was communicated.

You were speechless, breathless even. You were sure he could feel your heart racing. Never in a million years did you think that your feelings for Dean Winchester would be returned. That you could finally share the love you harbored for him, with him.

“Im sorry” he breaks the silence and continues, “i had to do that, even if it was just once” he says, slowly and tenderly lifting his hand to brush a strand of hair out of your face while searching your eyes for any sign of reciprocation. Anything that told him there was a chance his dreams could be real, that there was a chance. He had never felt so desperate for anyone or anything than he did in this moment. He was looking at you longingly when you finally broke yourself out of the shock. ,

“it doesn’t have to be just once…” you’d say looking into his green eyes trying to convey the desire you had to be his and only his that you’d had for years. You place your hand on his toned chest and run it up to the short hairs on the back of his head. Gripping and pulling him into a second kiss. Both of your eyes flutter shut once again and you start to slowly move your lips against each other. Feeling and breathing each other in.

Everything you needed to hear was painted beautifully from his lips onto yours as they moved in perfect synchronicity together. Both of your heads were racing with the memories of moments they thought they had read the other wrong and slowly realizing and accepting each other's feelings. No more “almosts”. Dean's hands traced from your waist up to the sides of your face, his hands rough against your smooth cheeks just like he had imagined and could now actually feel. He tenderly cupped your face in his hands, his arms flexed against the black t-shirt covering his broad chest. He held you there like he needed you to breathe, and in this moment he couldn't help but feel like he did.

“This is all i've wanted for so long” he breathes out against your lips and then unable to help himself keeps kissing you.

“You have no idea” You'd say in a whisper back and feel him smile into the kiss. Your lips were needy against each other, finally feeling what they had been desperately searching for. The weight of unspoken desires was lifted. With every touch came a new depth of connection and love. The silence filled with breathy kisses and the sound of clothes ruffling against each other's hands as you lightly caressed over each other, holding each other in all the different ways that had been desired by the both of you for years.

You were lost in each other, in a place where time had no meaning and no one else existed. You both savored each kiss, touch, and minute as if it were eternity itself. Any shadow of a doubt was gone.

You pulled back smiling, beaming at him. He looked at you like every girl wants to be looked at. You needed him. He had opened the floodgates by kissing you and you couldn't think of anything else you wanted more right now than to be one with him.

Your smile drops slightly as you slowly and you silently bring your hands to the hem of your shirt to lift it off yourself. Dean's hands reach gently to stop you, eyes dark looking into yours with concern. He takes your hands into his and looks seriously at you and says, “I don't want to rush things..” You look at him and tilt your head, smiling, taking the sides of his face into your hands.

“I've wanted this for years now Dean, I don't feel rushed at all.” you say breathlessly and filled with hope when you continue, “Do you?”

His face softens and he looks at you deeply, fully absorbing what you said when he realizes you're right. This isn't rushed, this is the perfect moment. A culmination of years of words unsaid, of touches missed, of glances held a few seconds too long.

“Not even a little” he says looking deep into your eyes with a soft smile and gently brushing your cheek, pulling you in once more. Sealing the space between the two of you once again. You leaned on your toes and gripped his toned upper arms while he slithered his arms around your waist and held you close. He slowly and affectionately moved his hands down your back and over your soft rear leaning over slightly to rub over the tops of your thighs, while you needily ran your hands through his short hair. The kiss was never broken even as he started shuffling your bodies nearer the bed on the other side of the motel room.

[delulujuls]

silent carnival | ln4, op81

i will just leave this here without any particular comment. im glad that the las vegas is over and im even more glad that lando is okay. anyway, please enjoy it as always!

summary: lando crashed and went to the hospital, y/n and oscar coming to the rescue

warnings: nothing i think

pairing: lando norris x fem!mclarendriver x oscar piastri

The prevailing silence in the car was almost deafening, even the radio didn't dare to hum songs. The only audible sound was the quiet engine working at full throttle, ready to reach the destination as quickly as possible.

Y/N and Oscar sat next to each other in the back seat, gazing at the night landscapes illuminated by fiercely glowing neon lights. Neither of them was in the mood for conversation. The atmosphere was truly worse than gloomy.

Las Vegas was way much more than intense. The city pulsated with nightlife, decidedly more than any other place where Formula 1 had the pleasure to visit. That's why the silence that surrounded the McLaren drivers was quite shocking. However, this silence was entirely justified. It emerged when the orange car with number four on it submerged in sparks and concluded its disastrous ride in the barriers. Right then, all of Las Vegas froze; right then, the entire McLaren garage held its breath.

When the taxi parked at the hospital driveway, the pair quickly stepped outside and headed towards the entrance. After talking to the woman in the reception point and facing temporary difficulties finding the right room, they humbly sat on chairs in front of it. They had to wait until the tests were completed and the doctors left the room, allowing them to come in.

Seeing Y/N nervous, Oscar wordlessly embraced her, providing comfort. She closed her eyes and leaned on his shoulder, knowing well that she wouldn't calm down until she saw Lando with her own eyes.

After some time, when two doctors and a nurse left, the couple entered the room. Lando was genuinely surprised to see his friends, but he smiled seeing them.

The girl quickly approached the bed, ready to hug him, but she hesitated and lowered her outstretched arms, not wanting to cause him unnecessary pain. However, Lando pulled himself up a bit, reaching out to her and allowing the embrace. Oscar exchanged a reassuring look with his friend, smiling at him encouragingly. He sat on the bed and also hugged Lando, soothingly patting his back.

"You gave us quite a scare," Y/N murmured, still holding him tightly.

"It looked worse than the actual outcome it brought," he replied.

After some time, she pulled away and sat beside him, scrutinizing him carefully. Fortunately, there were no signs of serious injuries, just a few bruises and bumps.

"Thank goodness you're okay," Oscar said, glancing at him. However, Lando didn't seem overly comforted.

"Maybe I'm fine, but I completely fucked the car. I'd rather something happened to me than—" "Don't even say that," Y/N quickly interrupted him, scolding him with her gaze.

"Our cars have been total crap for a few races now, so I think you did a favor to the factory people," Oscar remarked with a reassuring smile, lifting Lando's spirits a bit, although he still shook his head.

"Total massacre. At least you fought for our honor," Norris said, looking at the aussie.

"Fought is an understatement. Oscar was ready to throw hands," the girl laughed at his comment.

"Maybe it's for the best, considering how much of a disaster the track was. And you just crashed and hopped into the warm and comfy ambulance without giving a fuck—lots of space, delicious, perfectly chilled water, phew," Piastri joked, maintaining a serious demeanor.

Lando chuckled, nodding in agreement. "I'm glad this race is behind us," Norris admitted with a sigh, wincing as he adjusted himself on the bed. "It's just a shame about the outcome."

"It doesn't matter," Y/N said, resting her head on his shoulder. "The most important thing is that you're okay."

"Since I'm fine, you shouldn't waste time here," Lando said, looking at his friends. "This is our last night in Vegas; I'd go for a wild party if I were you."

"Oh c'mon, fuck Vegas," Oscar cut in, shaking his head.

"I can't wait to leave this place," Y/N admitted, taking out her phone "I'll order us some champagne, what do you think? We need to toast to this cursed city."

"I'm a hundred percent in," Oscar nodded.

"I hope no one will be mad at us for a little party here," Y/N said, dialing a number.

"It's an open party, the McLaren house is open to everyone," Oscar added.

And as they said, so they did. Shortly after, three bottles of champagne appeared in the hospital room and each of the trio could swear that the shared evening was better than any party.

At some point, Lando stopped thinking about the past race and the unfortunate crash. His thoughts departed from that incident; he didn't even feel the pain of his bruised body as he held a perfectly chilled bottle of champagne in his hand. He couldn't also contain his smile as his friends danced in the middle of the hospital room, singing a song in his honor. At that moment, Lando was genuinely happy and understood that to feel this way, all he needed was the company of these two, who would do anything for him.

[bark-anon]

(rules) (nominees) (polls)

to nominate!

send an ask (anon or not) choosing your nominees! must fit under the categories

— in this case, must be a scaramouche x reader smau

can be whatever genre if the writer is uncomfortable with participating in the oscars, the nomination will be deleted respectfully!

current nominees for the scaramouche smau oscars!

— behind the lens! (completed) — @ventismacchiato

— how haters are born (ongoing) — @zoropookie

— darling, starling (ongoing) — @kararisa

— sherlock holmes (ongoing) — @dittodon

— HOW YOU GET THE GIRL ! (completed) — @kazumist

— keep my heart (ongoing) — @aestherin

— what’s so good about him?! (ongoing) — @luvkuvi

— my heart beats for you (ongoing) — @sl-vega

— Lights, Camera, Action! (completed) — @offbrandkyoya

— omg | they keep on asking me, “who is he?” (ongoing) — @vinecradle

— JEALOUSY (ongoing) — @lovelysspace

— just a hater (ongoing) — @anrieee

— Of all people… (completed) — @jasmyluv

— just playing the part! (completed) — @ventismacchiato

— CONFLICTING ATTRACTIONS (ongoing) — @lovemari

— then teach me (discontinued) — @intothekuni

— not you again (ongoing) — @simonisferal

— WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP ME? (discontinued) — @lunarfied

— aperture [ ◉¯] ✧˖° (ongoing) — @ttalgi

— ☆.｡.:* cruel summer (ongoing) — @casualheizouenjoyers

— fake it till we make it (completed) — @kazumist

—★彡Parfum d’étoile (ongoing) — @mixvyu

— back to december ! (ongoing) — @shanieveh

— 𝑺𝑨𝑪𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑬 𝑴𝑬𝑳𝑶𝑫𝑰𝑬𝑺 (ongoing) — @mwahkazu

— NEON GUTS (ongoing) — @kunimix

— KEEP US HIDDEN (ongoing) — @lovemari

— LOSER = LOVER (ongoing) — @apteryxparvus

— ethereal paintings (ongoing) — @dreamsofminnie

— MANDELA (ongoing/discontinued?) — @pokidot

— serendipity (ongoing) — @starglitterz

— ٠ ࣪⭑ KARMA (ongoing) — @bellsxwriting

— MAKE YOU MINE (ongoing) — @hoonfication

— Teammates? Friends?! (ongoing) — @divinalu

— FIRST LOVE FOR A SECOND TIME (ongoing) — @sl-vega

— Fuchsia Tricksters (ongoing) — @eutopiastar

— Reverence (ongoing) — @kitsuvil

— sweet melody (ongoing) — @zoropookie

— stuck with you (ongoing) — @ventismacchiato

— first time chatter (ongoing) — @neruro

— hidden secrets and shared feelings (ongoing) — @lovinggstar

— RAINY TAPESTRY (ongoing) — @kana-de

to vote!

unfortunately, the nominations have still not ended for those looking to vote. voting will end a week after the last nomination (4/29/24) or the limit of 40 is reached! (41/40) during the voting session, anons will not be allowed!

— please vote for the proper categories! (list)

2024 bark anon

[im-a-writer-sometimes]

Thank You, Doctor (Miguel O’Hara - Part 1/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Description: After being snagged from your own universe and put to work in the med bay in the midst of spider society, you catch the notice of one Miguel O’Hara.

Warnings: blood, probably language, ignoring the ATSV worldbuilding for the sake of my silly little plot

A/N: Are there plot holes? Yes. Do I care? Yes, so please don’t bring them up, I might cry. There’s an occasional Spanish interjection from Miguel, but I am not at all a fluent Spanish speaker, so feel free to correct me on anything if so inclined! Translations are at the end. Also, it includes a roundabout ode to my dearest love, Oscar Isaac. If you know, you know.

🕷

Not every anomaly was kept in a cage. Some, like yourself, had made use of your idle hands, hands that for one reason or another, could never again touch your own universe. It had taken some convincing, but after Lyla had heard enough of your requests from the neon red confines of your prison and carried them to whatever faceless spider person led this operation, you’d been let out. Your cage hadn’t disappeared per se, but it had widened a little. If your return to your own reality would cause its inevitable collapse—as you had repeatedly assured it would—then this was more than you could ask.

You made use of your figuratively-shackled hands in the med bay. You’d been a medical student when you’d been stolen from your universe, and you knew enough to patch up the wounds that came through your work station with ease most of the time—sometimes, after skimming a medical textbook and winging it. So far, no one had died on your watch, and you called that a success.

But your confidence, it seemed, may have been overinflated.

When a group of spiders rushed into the med bay with a large, tattered body strung between them, you felt profoundly out of your depth for the first time. But they couldn’t know that, lest you ended up caged once again.

“Put him on the bed,” you instructed. “Stomach down.” They heaved the body onto the bed, and you could make out the navy and red lines of a shredded suit, as well as a mess of brown hair, matted with blood you were hoping wasn’t his own. “Do you know exactly where he’s wounded?” you asked, running hands over the expanses of skin you could see, trying to make out where the various bloodstains were coming from.

“He was sliced along the back,” answered a breathless spider. “Stabbed twice in the abdomen as well.”

“Help me turn him on his side,” you said, to no one in particular, but there were suddenly several sets of hands helping you turn the man over. “You,” you continued, nodding to the spider standing across from you. “Grab a towel and keep pressure on the wounds on his abdomen.”

You conducted as thorough an examination as you could with your heart fluttering like a hummingbird in your throat, so many eyes trained on your shaking hands. The man had a few other shallow cuts and bruises, but as the spider had said—the biggest concerns were the slice along his back and the two stab wounds in his stomach.

Several of the spiders lingered as you worked, offering tools and towels and anything you needed to speed up the process. And then, in a half hour that felt like a handful of seconds, your work was done. If you had been asked to recount your actions movement for movement, you’d only be able to offer up a breathless blur of adrenaline and then the sudden empty stillness in the room after you'd managed to stabilize him. 

He was laid face up on a bed, covered by a blanket since you’d had to cut portions of his suit off of him. He couldn’t quite put a pin on his age, but he was handsome. You’d done your best to wash the blood out of his hair, and it fell in half-dry curls over his forehead. The angles of his face were severe, but they were soft, even kind somehow. At least in his sleep.

And then, to your great misfortune, he woke up.

At first it was a fluttering of eyelids, and you stood sharply from your chair, trying to look busy, as if you hadn’t just been sitting there staring at him. And then it was a few quiet groans as he tried to readjust himself. 

“Don’t sit up,” you said at the sight of him trying to push himself into a seated position. “You’ll rip out your stitches.”

He just blinked at you. “Who are you?”

“The person who saved your life,” you said, bristled by the gruff, mumbled annoyance in his tone.

He shook his head. “I have enhanced healing, I don’t need anyone to—” He was cut off by his own sharp gasp as he tried to haul himself off the bed. He went still and then avoided your eyes as he slowly lowered himself back down onto the mattress.

“You were saying?” you said, a smile curling your lips. You turned to the counter behind you, pulling a roll of gauze and medical tape from one of the cabinets. “You had a severe laceration on your back. You’re lucky it missed your spinal cord.” You turned towards him, gauze in hand, as you sat and scooted your stool towards the edge of your bed. “And that’s not even mentioning the two stab wounds.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, scooting away at your sudden closeness. 

“Your stab wounds were still bleeding when I finished, so the gauze likely needs changed,” you said. He lifted the blanket from his torso, peeling aside what was left of his suit to find two bandaged wounds, with—as you’d predicted—red-drenched gauze. He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t protest as you reached out and began to peel back the tape. After a minute or so of quietly working, he finally spoke again.

“You’re human,” he said.

You smiled down at his abdomen, not pausing your work. “Are enhanced deduction skills part of the wide cache of spider abilities? Because you are remarkably observant.”

You could feel his eyes on your profile, but you didn’t turn to face him, not even when he quietly finished his thought. “You’re the anomaly.”

“I was under the impression there were more than one,” you said, pressing down the last stretch of tape and pulling the blankets back over him.

“You’re the anomaly I let out,” he clarified.

“Ah,” you said, standing and walking to the sink to wash your hands. “So you must be the big man in charge. The one who ordered me to be stolen from my bed.”

“There is much more—”

“I know,” you said, turning back towards him, hands braced behind you on the counter. “It has been explained to me plenty. My father was from another dimension and never should have jumped into mine and knocked up my mom, and I never should have been born.” He watched you as you spoke, scanning your face for any sort of malice, but you merely shrugged. “Wish I could have told my mom that’s why he flaked.”

“You’re not upset?” he asked.

“And who would I be upset at besides him? You?”

The man simply blinked at you, hand mindlessly reaching to brush his abdomen, the expanse of skin you’d just bandaged. The carefully stitched wounds answered the question of any lingering resentment towards your captors.

“It would be natural to hate—your circumstances,” he said eventually.

You turned back towards the counter, quietly putting away your supplies. “You should rest until the end of the week.”

“That’s not—”

“In bed for the next two days, and no missions until the stitches come out.”

“But I have en—”

“Enhanced healing. Believe me, I’ve heard it a thousand times,” you said, finally tuning to face him. “But like it or not, you’re still just as human as I am.”

“I’m only half as human as you are,” he said, and it was the clearest he’d spoken since he’d woken up. At the slight flash of fangs with the lift of his lips, you understood why.

🕷

The next morning, you found him fast asleep where you’d left him. It was more instinct than choice, your gut churning with curiosity, that led you to slowly reach out your hand and pull up the right side of his lip, confirming you hadn’t in fact been hallucinating. He had fangs. Before you could pull away, his hand shot up and caged your wrist before his face as his eyes waned open.

“I have to ask,” you started.

“No, I’m not a vampire,” he said, keeping your wrist in his grip, his voice deadpan, as if he’d answered this question a million times before.

“What are you then?” you asked, pulling your hand from his.

“Half spider.”

You lifted your eyebrows. “A spider bite made you half spider?” you asked, but he simply stared. You could tell by the low drop of his brow that he’d already told you more than he would have liked, so you simply turned away, prepping your space for whatever spiders might come through your station that day.

It turned out to be a slow day. Only two spiders came through, both needing minimal attention, and you sent them on their way about as quickly as they’d turned up. And the whole time, you felt a set of red, half-lidded eyes watching you. You would occasionally slip over to his bed to redress his wounds, answering negative to his questions of leaving. “Bed rest until the end of the day,” you said after the second spider had left. “And then I’ll fit you with some crutches and help you to your room.”

“I don’t need crutches.”

“What you don’t need is that attitude,” you said, lifting your eyes to his. “Or else I’ll send you home without a sucker.”

He tilted his head, entertaining your humor but never cracking a smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n. Y/l/n.”

He blinked at you as if he was familiar with the name, but all he said was, “Not Doctor Y/n Y/l/n?”

You clicked your tongue. “I was two years from being Dr. Y/l/n.”

He nodded down at his bandaged abdomen. “You seem like a doctor to me.”

“And you don’t seem half spider,” you said. “Appearances can be deceiving, Mister…”

“O’Hara. Miguel O’Hara.”

You nodded and turned back towards your station, beginning to slowly clean up for the day.

“I’m sorry,” he said, making you go still. “That you can’t be in your own universe.”

You turned back to look at him, offering a wry tilt of your lips. Not quite a smile. “That’s alright. I imagine you're similarly displaced for the sake of your noble mission. You just had the luxury of choice.”

“Would you have chosen to stay?” he asked, a sudden sharpness in his voice that made his fangs flash from behind his lips. “Knowing your universe was collapsing?”

“I didn’t say that,” you said, eyes narrowing at the sudden malice. You turned back towards your station, tucking supplies back into cabinets. “I guess I should thank you for letting me work in the med bay. I was losing my mind in that cell.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” he said. “Just makes me feel worse.”

You turned back towards him with a smile and a sucker held between your fingers. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

🕷

An hour or so later, when a spider with basic first aid training—a.k.a. the only kind of medic they’d had before you—came to relieve your shift, you helped Miguel out of bed and onto a set of crutches, carrying an armful of medical supplies behind him as he trudged to his room. If people stared at the sight of him limping, sucker in his mouth, they received a look from the man. You couldn’t see said look from behind him, but you could see the way it had people turning—occasionally running—away. 

Once you got to his room, he seemed annoyed at the way you slipped in behind him, but he said nothing as you laid out medical supplies on his nightstand. 

“You’ll want one of these in the morning and one with dinner for the pain,” you said, jingling the orange bottle you set down.

“Don’t need it,” he gruffed out.

“Alright, well then I imagine you don’t need help getting into bed,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

He leaned the crutches against the wall. “Now you’re catching on.”

You gestured to the bed beside you, stepping away so he had enough room to climb up onto it. It was slow, sliced up by the occasional grunt or half-swallowed gasp of pain, but he got up there, tugging the covers over himself.

“Bet you’re regretting that decision,” you said, and he only huffed. You took that moment of silence to look around the room. It was all black and gray angles, not a touch of personality anywhere. Not a picture frame or flower vase, no posters or art.

“You know, having some kind of general joy or cheer in your room might speed up your recovery,” you said, walking over to the window to peer out at the street below.

“Now you’re giving interior design advice?” he said, face half buried in the pillow. He was likely still groggy from the pain medicine you’d given him before.

“I’m just saying, maybe try getting a hobby or two,” you said, pulling the curtains on his window closed.

“My hobby is saving the multiverse,” he huffed out. You turned slowly from the window, eyebrows raised as you met his eyes.

“Was that—a joke?”

He huffed, turning over onto his side. “Good night.”

You started towards the door. “Oh, of course, you’re welcome, Mr. O’Hara. I was so happy to patch up your bloody wounds and gently tug you from the precipice of death. Saving such grateful spider people like yourself is truly my calling in life.”

You stopped before the door, hand lingering on the knob as you glanced back at his figure, curled away from you on the bed. He gruffed out something inaudible and you stepped closer.

“What was that?”

“Mujer implacable,¹” he cursed, before turning over just enough to meet your eyes. “Thank you, Doctor. Now get out of my room.”

You smiled and reached for the door. “Good night to you too, Miguel.”

🕷

It was midnight when Miguel woke up again. The dull buzz of the pain meds had worn off, and the sharp ache of his limbs pulled him sharply from sleep. And then, shortly after, the rumbling of his stomach had his feet hitting the floor.

He told himself he’d simply go to the cafeteria and grab something to eat, but it proved to be easier said than done. With a few curses muttered in Spanish, he sunk against the set of crutches you’d provided, letting out a breath at the sudden lack of pressure on his wounds.

When he made it to the cafeteria, he found it not empty, as he had been hoping. A singular figure was sitting in the corner of the room, the tray before her stacked neatly with various food. Of course. Of all the people to witness his shameful hobble into the cafeteria, it had to be you.

You glanced up as he entered, eyes going wide for a moment.

“You look like someone who didn’t take their pain meds,” you said, lips curling into a smile at the grunt he offered in response. You watched him fumbling with a vending machine around the awkward angle of his crutches and stood, crossing the room to come up beside him.

You didn’t wait for him to ask for help, you simply gestured before you, silently asking what he was trying to reach. He stared at you for a moment before nodding towards a pack of flamin’ hot cheetos. You fetched it for him with ease, before carrying it away from him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching as you sat back down at your seat and set his cheetos at the spot across from you. You didn’t respond, you simply watched him with raised brows, waiting. Eventually, he grunted out something in Spanish and joined you, grabbing a bottle of water on the way.

“What does mujer implacable mean?” you asked.

“What?”

“That’s what you called me.”

He ripped open his cheetos and sat back in his chair, watching you as he took the first bite. “Relentless woman.”

“Hm,” you said, smiling. He watched as you stood up and grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the counter, eyes narrowing as you sat back down and offered them to him.

“What are those for?”

“They keep you from getting cheeto dust on your fingers,” you said, smile growing as his eyes widened.

“Mujer brillante,²” he breathed, taking the chopsticks and ripping them open. Something adjacent to a pleased smile overtook his features as he sat back, chopsticks in hand. And then he seemed to remember who was talking to, and his smile flattened out.

“Why are you awake?” he asked.

“Oh, I was just crushed by the weight of endless, multiversal knowledge trying to fit within a mind only equipped to handle the existence of one, pondering the meaning of my birth without a clear place in a singular universe and a purpose only carved out by my own inability to accept my multiversal irrelevance.”

He blinked.

“Also, I’m an insomniac,” you said, and he shoveled another cheeto into his mouth. 

“I don’t think anomaly equals irrelevance,” he said, and he wasn’t quite sure if he believed it. You didn’t seem irrelevant though, and he was going off of that.

“Then what does it mean?” you asked, and there was no humor in your voice. No malice either. Just a sharp curiosity.

“It means that the universe is delicately balanced, and you, mujer implacable, are a wrecking ball.”

“So I’m relevant, just not in any of the good ways.”

He shook his head. “In your old life, maybe. But you can be whatever you like here. Relevant. Irrelevant. Whatever suits you.”

“I think I’d like a healthy middle,” you said.

“Midrelevant,” he said, almost smiling.

“Exactly.”

The conversation was sparse as you both ate, but something soft opened up before you within Miguel. You’d already seen him at his weakest, so he had no reason to hide from you. And as you helped him back to his room, he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

🕷

Part 2

(1) “Relentless woman”

(2) “Brilliant woman”

[dewdropdinosaur]

I Guess I Fall Hard

HUSK X READER X ANGEL [Poly] Summary: The events leading up to my fic, 'Cocoa, Not Chanel' as requested by @little-bloodied-angel Warnings: Cusing, Allusions to abuse, hypersexuality, and spice. Rating: PG-13

Day 1: 

Angel Dust leaned against the bar, sipping a martini as the music of the club throbbed around him. His pole dancing show had just ended, and he was basking in the afterglow of the applause and whistles from the crowd. The bar was packed tonight, filled with demons of all shapes and sizes looking to forget their troubles in the smoky haze and neon lights.

Y/N sat at the bar, nursing a drink and trying to blend in. They were new to Hell, still trying to navigate the chaos and find their place. The bar was an escape, a place to observe and maybe, just maybe, find a connection. Angel noticed Y/N immediately during his earlier dance routine. Their presence was different, not as jaded or hardened as the usual patrons and most noticeably, had owl like features with plumage puffung out of their chest. He sauntered over, his characteristic smirk firmly in place.

"Hey there, sweetheart," he drawled, leaning on the bar next to them. "Enjoy the show?"

Y/N looked up, meeting his eyes with a shy smile. "Yeah, it was amazing. You're really talented."

Angel preened under the compliment, tossing his fluffy hair back. "Thanks, doll. Name's Angel Dust. What's yours?"

"Y/N," they replied, feeling a bit more at ease. “I”…uhh..am kinda new here.”

"Well, Y/N, welcome to Hell," Angel said with a wink. "It's a real shithole, but it has its moments."

Y/N chuckled, and Angel found himself liking the sound. They talked for a while, the conversation flowing easily. Y/N told Angel about their life before Hell, and Angel shared some of his own wild stories. They laughed together, the connection growing with each passing minute.As the night wore on, Angel found himself feeling something he hadn't felt in a long time: genuine warmth. Y/N's presence was comforting, a light in the darkness of his world. He hadn't expected to make a friend tonight, but there they were, sharing drinks and stories like they'd known each other for years.

"Hey, wanna get outta here?" Angel suggested after a while. "I know a quieter place where we can talk without all this noise.”

“Oh…I am not really looking for that kinda—“

“No doll face, I ain’t asking you for that kinda favor…tonight atleast~”

Y/N evntually agreed after making sure no funny business was afoot, and they left the bar together, stepping into the cool night air. Angel led them to a small, hidden park—a rare quiet spot in the chaos of Hell. They sat on a bench, the sounds of the city distant and muffled.

"You know, it's nice to have someone to talk to," Angel admitted, his usual bravado softened. "Most people just see me as the dancer, the entertainer. It's rare to find someone who actually listens."

Y/N smiled, touched by his honesty. "I'm glad we met, Angel. You’re more than just a performer. You’re... a new friend."

Angel felt a warmth spread through his chest at the word. "Yeah, a friend. I like that."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the dim stars in Hell's sky.

Day 25: 

The sun was setting over Pentagram City, casting long shadows through the windows of the Hazbin Hotel's library. Y/N and Husk were nestled in one of the cozier corners of the room, surrounded by stacks of old books. The smell of aged paper and leather filled the air, a comforting scent that spoke of countless stories and secrets waiting to be discovered.

Y/N carefully turned the page of a worn, hardcover book, the title embossed in faded gold: "The Picture of Dorian Gray." They glanced over at Husk, who with curous eyes, was attempting to the read the title of the novel. Holding it up to him, Husk gave what could have been considered a soft smile; one full of memory. 

Y/N smiled at him, their fingers tracing the delicate pages. "Oscar Wilde has always been a favorite of mine. His wit and the way he captures human nature... it's timeless."

Husk nodded in agreement, setting his book aside. "Wilde's got a way with words, that's for sure. 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' is one of those books that sticks with you. The whole idea of beauty and corruption, it hits home."

Y/N’s eyes lit up with excitement. "Exactly! And his plays, too. 'The Importance of Being Earnest' always makes me laugh."

Husk chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. "That one’s a classic. Wilde knew how to poke fun at society's pretensions. Sometimes I think if he were alive today, he'd fit right in here."

They shared a laugh, the bond between them strengthening over their shared love of literature. Husk leaned back in his chair, taking a sip from his ever-present flask. "You know, it's nice to have someone to talk to about this stuff. Most folks around here aren't exactly the reading type."

They continued to talk, sharing their favorite passages and discussing the deeper meanings behind Wilde's works. Husk found himself opening up more than he had in years, the walls he usually kept so firmly in place gradually coming down.

As the night wore on and the library grew darker, Y/N reached for another book. "You know, we should do this more often. It’s nice to escape the madness of Hell and just... be."

Husk looked at them, a genuine smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I’d like that."

Day 70: 

Angel Dust and Y/N strolled down the bustling streets of Pentagram City, their laughter cutting through the chaotic noise of Hell. Today was a rare day off, and they decided to spend it shopping, a favorite pastime of both. 

"Husk, hurry up!" Angel called back to their reluctant feline companion, who was lagging behind, arms laden with clothes.

Husk grumbled, shifting the pile to get a better grip. “I “swear…no you get back here…fuck this shiny glitter!”

Y/N giggled and turned to Angel. "You think he secretly loves it?"

Angel smirked. "Oh, definitely. He wouldn’t be here otherwise."

They entered a nearby store, the racks filled with an array of clothing to suit anyone’s interest. Angel’s eyes lit up, and he immediately began rifling through the racks, holding up various items for Y/N to see.

"Look at this!" he exclaimed, showing off a spink parkly jacket. "This would look killer on you."

Y/N took the jacket, admiring the fabric. "I love it! And check this out," they said, holding up a pair of silver sequined pants. "Totally your style."

Angel’s eyes widened with excitement. "Oh my God, yes! We’re definitely getting these."

Husk trailed behind, dutifully adding the new items to his growing pile. He watched the two with a mixture of exasperation and fondness, their enthusiasm infectious despite his gruff exterior.

Angel and Y/N continued to explore the store, trying on different outfits and showing them off to each other. They discovered they had a remarkably similar fashion sense, both gravitating toward bold, flashy pieces that made a statement.

"Great minds think alike, huh?" Y/N said, twirling in front of a mirror in a shimmering dress.

Angel nodded, adjusting the feathered boa around his neck. "You know it, babe. We’re a match made in Hell."

Husk rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. Despite his grumbling, he enjoyed seeing his friends so happy. It was a rare sight, and he found himself appreciating the moment more than he cared to admit. After a few hours of shopping and countless outfit changes, they finally made their way to the checkout, Husk still carrying the mountain of clothes. 

"Thanks for being our pack mule, Husk," Angel teased, patting him on the shoulder.

Husk grumbled again, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make a habit of it."

Y/N gave him a grateful smile. "Seriously, Husk, we appreciate it."

As they left the store, bags in hand and Husk trailing behind with the last of the load, Angel slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. "We gotta do this more often. It’s been a blast."

Y/N nodded in agreement. "Definitely. And next time, Husk, we’ll treat you to something special for putting up with us."

Husk snorted, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "I’ll hold you to that."

Day 132:

The pulsating beat of the club music reverberated through the walls, and the dance floor was a sea of moving bodies. Neon lights flickered in rhythm with the music, casting colorful glows over the crowd. Angel Dust, Y/N, and Husk had decided to hit one of the hottest clubs in Pentagram City for a night of fun and letting loose. Angel and Y/N were in their element, moving fluidly to the music. They danced close, their bodies swaying in perfect sync, exuding a magnetic, sensual energy that turned heads all around them. Angel’s lithe form glittered under the lights, his moves confident and alluring. Y/N matched his energy, their movements fluid and captivating. It helped that they were of similar height, at least Husk thought, for them to be so in sync with each other

Husk leaned against the bar, nursing a drink and watching the pair with a mix of amusement and admiration. He was used to Angel’s antics and charisma, but seeing Y/N keep up with him so effortlessly was something else. Despite his usual gruff demeanor, Husk couldn’t help but feel a pang of something deeper as he watched them—something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. As the song shifted to a more seductive beat, Angel spun Y/N around, their laughter ringing out above the music. They were clearly enjoying themselves, lost in the moment, winks, hands touching lightly, it was a flirt fest of anyone had ever seen one. Husk found himself smiling, genuinely happy for his friends. Yet, the sight of them together stirred a desire within him to be part of that closeness.

With a deep breath and a resolve he didn’t quite understand, Husk finished his drink and made his way to the dance floor. As he approached, Angel noticed him and flashed a mischievous grin.

"Hey, Husky! Decided to join the fun?" Angel teased, twirling around Y/N.

Y/N turned to Husk, their eyes bright with excitement. "Come on, Husk! Dance with us!"

Husk hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Why the hell not?"

He stepped into the circle with them, and Angel pulled him in closer, their bodies moving together to the rhythm. Husk’s initial awkwardness melted away as he got into the groove, the energy between the three of them electric. Angel’s hands brushed against Husk’s shoulders, guiding him, while Y/N’s laughter and enthusiasm were infectious.

They danced together, the world outside the dance floor fading away. There was something special about the way they moved, a connection that went beyond friendship. As the music built to a crescendo, Husk felt a surge of courage.

When the song ended, and they found themselves catching their breath, Husk looked at Angel and Y/N, his usual gruffness softened by a rare vulnerability.

"Hey, I’ve been thinking," Husk began, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "How about the three of us go out sometime? Like, a real date?"

Angel’s eyes sparkled with surprise and delight. "A date, huh? I never pegged you for the romantic type, Husk."

Y/N beamed, their eyes shining with excitement. "I’d love that, Husk. I think it’d be fun."

Husk relaxed, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Alright then, it’s a date. Let’s make it a night to remember."

Day 175:

The warm, sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies filled the hotel kitchen, mingling with the scent of chocolate and vanilla. Y/N hummed softly to themselves, their large wings fully extended as they mixed flour and butter, the feathers shimmering in the soft light. It was a rare sight, one they reserved for the privacy of the hotel kitchen, away from the bustling streets of Hell. Today marked nearly the one month anniversary of Y/N and their partner’s relationship, and being the lover of baked goods that they were, cookies were in order.

Angel Dust and Husk, having spent the afternoon lounging together, decided to check on Y/N. Following the heavenly smell, they walked into the kitchen, laughing and chatting, but their conversation halted abruptly at the sight before them.

“Whoa,” Angel breathed, his eyes wide with awe. “Toots, your wings… they’re beautiful.”

Y/N turned, a bit startled, their cheeks flushing. “Oh, hey guys. I didn’t expect you in here. I, um, usually keep these hidden.”

Husk’s usual gruff expression softened, a rare look of tenderness in his eyes. “You don’t need to hide them from us. They’re incredible.”

Angel approached first, his fingers gently brushing against the feathers. “So soft,” he murmured, his admiration clear. “Why don’t you show them off more?”

Y/N shrugged, a shy smile playing on their lips. “They’re just… big. Its a hassle to wear clothes and be around Hell.”

Husk stepped closer, his hand joining Angel’s in touching Y/N’s wings. “You should never feel like you have to hide who you are. You’re amazing just the way you are.”

The three of them stood close, the intimacy of the moment enveloping them. Angel’s gaze shifted to Husk, noticing a flicker of insecurity in his eyes.

“You know, Husk,” Angel said softly, “your wings are pretty amazing too. I bet you and Y/N could match sometimes, with all the accessories that they own.”

Husk’s wings, though smaller and more rugged, were a point of self-consciousness for him. He rarely showed them, preferring to keep them hidden under his trench coat.

“Yeah, right,” Husk muttered, looking away.

“No, seriously,” Y/N said, reaching out to touch Husk’s arm gently. “Kit, you’re perfect just the way you are, wings and all. And trust me, I have tons~ of wing jewelry to spare.”

Angel wrapped an arm around Husk’s shoulders, his voice earnest. “We like you, Husky. Every part of you.”

Y/N joined in, wrapping their wings around the three of them in a protective, loving embrace. “”

Husk felt a warmth spread through him, their words melting away the insecurities he’d held onto for so long. In this moment, surrounded by the two people he loved most, he felt a sense of belonging and acceptance that he hadn’t felt in years.

“Thanks, guys,” Husk said, his voice thick with emotion.

Day 203:

The cozy warmth of the hotel’s lounge enveloped Y/N, Husk, and Angel as they settled on the plush sofa. The soft glow of the lamp cast a comforting light, creating a serene atmosphere. Y/N and Husk had sensed something weighing on Angel’s mind for a while now, and they knew it was time to address it with love and understanding.

“Starlight, dear…we need to talk” Y/N spoke softly towards Angel.

Angel leaned back, a playful smirk on his lips, though his eyes betrayed a hint of uncertainty. “So, what’s the occasion, guys?” he joked, trying to mask his nervousness.

Y/N smiled gently, reaching out to take Angel’s hand. “We just wanted to talk, Angel. We’ve noticed some things, and we want you to know that we love you no matter what.”

Husk nodded, his usual gruffness softened by concern. “Yeah, Angel. You don’t have to put on a show for us. We see you, the real you, and we care about you.”

Angel’s smirk faltered, and he glanced between them. “What do you mean?”

Y/N took a deep breath, squeezing Angel’s hand reassuringly. “We’ve noticed how you use your hypersexuality to get validation from others. It’s like you feel you need to be that way to be loved or accepted.”

Husk chimed in, his voice gentle. “But the thing is, Angel, you don’t need to do that with us. We love you for who you are, not for any performance or act.”

Angel’s eyes softened, a mixture of relief and vulnerability washing over him. “It’s just… It’s what people expect from me. It’s who I…am”

Y/N moved closer, wrapping an arm around Angel’s shoulders. “We understand, Angel. But you’re so much more than that. You’re funny, caring, and incredibly talented. You don’t need to prove anything to us.”

Husk reached out, placing a comforting hand on Angel’s knee. “We love you, Angel, every part of you. You don’t need to change or hide behind an act to be worthy of love.”

Angel’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and he leaned into Y/N’s embrace.

Day 205:

A few days later, after remising on their conversation, Angel looked up, his eyes meeting Y/N’s in their shared bedroom. “You know, you guys help me feel more like myself. And, Y/N, you should know that you’re amazing just the way you are too.”

Y/N’s bird-like features, usually hidden behind a composed exterior and glitzy clothing, softened as they looked at Angel. “I’ve always felt a bit…off, you know? It’s hard to accept myself sometimes. especially with the shit show of a private area I was given. Like couldn't have when I died been given the right fucking genitalia?@”

Husk nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. “We all have our insecurities. Hell, I am a fucking cat. But you’re incredible, Y/N. Your uniqueness makes you special, and I don't care about what's under your pants. Your personality, strength, and beauty are just things we love about you.”

Angel smiled, wiping away a tear. “Yeah, Y/N. You’re beautiful just the way you are. Those owl-like features? They’re part of what makes you you, and we wouldn’t change a thing.”

Y/N felt a warmth spread through them, their heart swelling with the love and acceptance from their partners. “Thank you, both of you. I’m so grateful to have you in my life.”

Husk pulled both of them into a tight hug, the three of them finding comfort and strength in each other’s presence. In the quiet of the lounge, they found a moment of pure, unfiltered connection, a reminder that they were loved and accepted for exactly who they were.

As the night wore on, they stayed close, talking and laughing, their bond growing stronger with every shared word and touch. In a world that often felt chaotic and unforgiving, they had found a sanctuary in each other, a place where they could be their true selves and be loved unconditionally.

[josephquinnswhore]

could you do a little fluff of pedro (or any of his characters) x plus!size reader where reader buys new lingerie for his birthday and he's like lemme take a picture and he takes a polaroid pic and sticks it in his wallet and then they go out with friends and one of his friends for shits and giggles takes his wallet and sees the picture and they're like "👁️🫦👁️ wow she's hot" and he gets jelly

ilysm kisses 🫶🏾

Polaroid - pedro pascal x female reader

Summary: an image meant for Pedro’s eyes only, ends up being seen by curious eyes who make inappropriate comments.

Word Count: 2.2k

Content Warning: lewd language, Pedro being horny as fuck, taking nudes, Pedro swearing/getting jealous. Slight smut but not really, unprotected p in v but no actual sex.

Note: THANK YOU FOR THIS REQUEST. I’m a plus size person myself so I’ll divulge into this so hard. 🫶🏼

Through the years you’d always put a lot of thought into Pedro’s gifts, whether it be a sentimental gift, such as the hand painted family portrait of him and his sisters you’d gifted last year for his 47th birthday. Or something he needed but would never tell you he needed. He didn’t need to tell you, because you always listened and figured out simply by listening; such as a new laptop during covid lockdown so he could do interviews via Skype and Zoom call.

This year, you were stumped. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask Oscar to help you with what to gift Pedro. You FaceTimed him, his warm smile is the first thing you’re met with, his messy mop of dark curls fell onto his forehead, some grey hairs visible through the bad lighting. “Hey Osc, I’ve got a favour to ask.” His eyebrows shot up In curiosity. “Go on.” He encourages.

“I don’t know what to gift Pedro for his birthday, he’s made it entirely impossible this year. No hints, no nothing.” Oscar raises an eyebrow, “you, the best gift giver doesn’t know what to give her boyfriend for his birthday?” You bit your lip, embarrassed as you walk around throwing some pieces of rubbish in the bin, trying to keep your mind busy as you stress about this present, with only 7 days until his 48th birthday, you felt your blood pressure rising as the days came closer and you still hadn’t gotten him anything.

“I know, I know. Can you help me or not?” A mischievous smirk crawls onto his lips, something that had your suspicion spiking. “What are you smirking at Oscar? Tell me what you’re thinking.” He shrugs casually, “get some lingerie for him, do a sexy photoshoot or something.” You bite your lip in uncertainty, “are you sure it’ll be good enough?” The older man huffs, “you’re joking right? Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

You hum, deep in thought as you realise Oscar’s right, Pedro does love your body, your curves and perfectly natural breasts, the cellulite on your rounded ass cheeks. The way he can grab handfuls of your thighs and how they feel wrapped around the back of his head as he dives face first into your cunt, he even loves the way your soft tummy slightly hangs over your pubic bone.

“Hey, you still with me?” Oscars voice snaps you out of your trance, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to try something new, if Pedro didn’t like it, which was unlikely, you’d know for next year, and bonus, you’d have a new set of lingerie. “Uh yeah, thanks Oscar I gotta go, bye!” You quickly hang up before he has the chance to say his farewells. Lingerie, it’s gotta be sexy, accentuate your curves and be the best gift he’s ever received. You pull your hair up into a messy bun before making a beeline straight for your car, keys in hand, jingling as you speed walk, eager to get to the shops.

The lingerie shops ambiance is unmatched, the pink neon sign drew you in, once you were in you didn’t want to leave, the golden hue of the light was soft on your eyes, the faint scent of rose water had been spritzed into the air with the fan circulating air around the small store, the quiet hum of a SZA song played from the small portable radio that sat on the wall shelf behind the counter.

There were so many options, too many colours and plus sized inclusive sizes. The shop attendant approaches you with a smile, “can I help you at all?” You smile nervously, “yes please! I’m wanting a new set, for my boyfriends birthday. Has to be super sexy. It also has to be purple, that’s his favourite colour.” You explain meekly, your cheeks reddening at the fact you’re telling all of this to a stranger, she leads you to a section of purple garments, all stunning in their own right. “He’s one lucky man. Do you need help with the sizing?” You tell her your size, she flicks through and finds all purple items in your size, stacking them on the front desk. “You can flick through them or feel free to try them on.”

You pick up the first set and hum uncertainly, feeling like it was not what you wanted, the material certainly wouldn’t cover much at all, you wanted something with more coverage. The second set was nicer, but still not something that wowed you, the small silver studs were definitely too much in your opinion. The third set you picked up you gasped, the colour was beautiful, rich and thick in the back of the bra, it had 5 clasps which would offer more support, it had harnesses that would look sexy with some stockings clipped to the harness. It had a stunning chest piece that would expose your cleavage and make it look sexy, the lacey material would would look beautiful on your skin.

“Can I try this on?” The lady smiles, “please! Go for it. Our dressing rooms are just to the left here.”

You underestimated how good you would look in this piece of lingerie, it made your hips look bigger, your curves softened and your breasts looked incredible, not to mention how nice your assed looked. The purple on your skin tone was like it was made for you, you felt sexy and knew this was the one.

“I’ll take this one, thank you.” As you return to the counter and set the lingerie down as she scans it, you pay the $120 on card and smile as she puts it into a paper bag with the store name on it. “I know he’s going to love it. Good luck!” The lady farewells and you thank her for her help before sitting in the car, all these scenarios running through your head about how Pedro will react.

“Happy birthday baby!” You cheer as Pedro steps into your apartment, the house smelt delicious, you’d cooked his favourite meal, the food simmering and getting to be plated. The room was littered with purple and silver balloons, red rose petals led down the hall to the bedroom, the scent of just blown out bubblegum candles lingers as the wick starts to smoke. “Thank you baby. Look at this, it’s incredible.” You pull him into a hug, squeezing your arms around him as his scent swirls up your nose and makes you inhale. “This isn’t the gift baby, it’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it for you.” You offer, rushing to the bedroom and know you need to move quickly, you’d practised a few times over the past couple days knowing you had a time frame of a few minutes before Pedro got impatient.

You pull your nice dress off and throw it into the hamper, setting up the balloons nicely and the love heart shaped rose petals on the bed, setting the candles alight, you slip your heels on and open the cupboard draw to set up the Polaroid camera so it was facing you. “Baby, you okay?” Your heart races, you need to finish up, now. You take your hair out and let it fall down, sitting up as you lean your weight on one hand behind you, setting one knee up on the bed, you let the other fall flat. “Actually baby I could use some help if you don’t mind.”

Your heart is in your mouth as you hear his footsteps near the bedroom, the squeak of the bedroom door is deafening as he opens it. His mouth drops when he sees you, the purple lingerie that covers your body is looking incredible on your body and you know it. Pedro’s dark orbs are scanning your body, groaning as he sees the Polaroid camera, shuffling in the spot as his cock grows hard and awfully uncomfortable in the confines of his jeans. “Fuck baby you’re gunna kill me.” You hum and look at him through your lashes, something you know drives him crazy. “Looking so fucking perfect for me, this is all for me hm baby?” You nod, “all for you Pedro.”

He picks up the white Polaroid camera and steps back, snapping the image of you posing, capturing the decorum of the room, “I love you so much.” He moans, his fingers gripping the image as it prints out, he was quick to snap an up close photo of you smiling, eyes closed teeth baring, he knew this would be his favourite.

“Let me see those perfect tits baby.” You lie down on the bed, your back being itched by the rose petals. He snaps a few pictures. “On your knees, honey.” You obey him and stretch your arms out toward the pillows, arching your back and raising your ass in the air, a grunt leaves Pedro’s lips as he smacks your ass, your gasp turns into a moan as he smacks your other asscheek, pushing yourself further back towards him. The camera snaps a few pictures, the redness of his handprint visible on your asscheeks. “So fucking perfect.” His thick fingers play with the small amount of fabric, getting a good look at your weeping cunt that’s soaked for him. “Fuck baby you’re dripping, roll back over.” You roll into your back, your hair sprawled onto the bed underneath you. Pedro, with one hand unbuckles his belt with a groan, undoing his jeans to relieve the tightness that caged his hardness.

He pulls your lingerie covering your cunt to the side, getting a perfect look at you. He palms himself roughly before pulling his underwear off entirely. Pulling his shirt underneath his chin. He slides his thick cock into you, your body squirming at the feeling, “fuck-so fucking big Pedro.” He groans, only pushing himself half way into you, before wrapping one large hand around your neck and takes a photo with the other hand, of his cock inside your cunt, hand wrapped around your neck and your perfect body clad in this purple lingerie.

“What about dinner?” You whimper, hearing the whir of the camera printing the obscene image. Pedro tosses the image along with the others onto the bed beside you, along with the camera. “Dinner can wait baby, I gotta have you. So fucking perfect. This is the best birthday gift ever.”

You would have to thank Oscar for the advise.

Two days later on the weekend was when everyone was out at a bar celebrating Pedro’s birthday, they had all insisted on spending time with him, Oscar had rallied some old and new friends of his, the bar jam packed and booked to yourselves thanks to Oscar.

The music was loud and you were having a great time, catching up with some old friends. “Hey honey, can I get you another drink?” You finish your beverage, the alcohol making you a little lightheaded, your bladder begging for release. “Sure baby. Just gotta duck to the toilet. I’ll be back.” You kiss him on the lips, missing his warmth and taste as soon as you pull away, shimmying through the crowd of drunk friends.

“Hey man, I’ll just get another beer and a cocktail.” Pedro leans against the bar, knee bent as he pulls his card from his wallet, paying for the drinks. “Hey man. Whoa, I gotta see this.” Oscar snatches Pedro’s wallet, Charlie Hunnam steps behind him, “dude no way.” Pedro leaves the drinks on the bar, “Oscar, give it back man.” Charlie huffs, “you get to have that all to yourself, so unfair, she’s so sexy.” They pull the Polaroid of you out half way trying to get a better look, Pedro’s hand is wrapped around your throat and thankfully they don’t pull it out entirely, the thought of his friends seeing him inside of you was too much. He didn’t need them seeing you like that, exposed and taking him perfectly, he didn’t want them thinking of you like that, or getting any ideas.

Pedro snatches the wallet back, pushing the Polaroid back into his wallet and shoving it into his Jean pocket. “Don’t ever touch that again, you hear me?” Pedro growls, his jealous getting the best of him as he turns around to pick up the drinks, they throw their hands up in surrender, “we’re cool man, alright.” You walk up to the bar and press a tipsy kiss to Pedro’s lips, he hands you the drink and you sip, groaning at how perfect it was made. Pedro’s free hand grips your ass and gives it a tight squeeze.

“Oh, hey guys!” You didn’t notice the two men standing there at first, they were watching Pedro claim you, his possessiveness shining through even though he knew you’d never do anything to make him worry. You were just incredibly sexy and that image wasn’t for their eyes, you were his and only his.

You turn back to Pedro and a drunk smile sits crookedly on your lips. “Happy birthday baby.” You whisper. Pedro pulls you into him and he kisses you, he moans into the kiss as if it were just you two, as if the bar wasn’t full of his family and friends. You hook your finger into the belt loop of his jeans. Throwing the glass back before licking your lips seductively, “what do you say we go home handsome?”

Pedro only nods, giving his friends a lazy smirk and a wink as his hand rests on your ass on the way out of the bar.

[art-missy]

Overwhelmed (Gekko x Reader)

Part. 1 Part. 3

Part. 2

Sorry in advance for my terrible English. I'm actually more of an English reader and listener than an actual speaker or writer. I also apologize for the dull writing style that could seem quite childish. I just wanted to test something by posting this.

If a few months ago somebody had told you that you would be spotted by a secret organization whose job is to protect your world against the threat of agents from another dimension, you would have laughed so hard that your guts would have spitted out. If that ‘somebody’ had continued with the fact that this organization would contact you in some way to recruit you just because you maybe took down a K-SEC facility by yourself and also because your skills interested them, you would have told them to sell their idea to a filmmaker. If that ‘somebody’ had then insisted that you would spend one of your days off with a few other agents of that organization by watching Disney movies and hearing them sing their guts out, you would have told them to stop.

Well, look at you now, exchanging astounded glances with Iso as Neon reached a note so terrifying that you were pretty sure she could have won the Oscar of the best scream in a horror movie. You were slightly worried about the state of her vocal cords. 

“And she’s not even drunk.” Muttered Yoru when he saw your dumbfounded expression as he finished his can of soda. Phoenix let out a booming laugh and nudged your and Iso’s arms playfully.

What the hell were you doing here ? You were so at peace in your hideout. How did Valorant find you ? Oh yeah. Cypher. No one can hide from the Moroccan sentinel and you understood it quite quickly when he appeared in each of your hideouts everytime you tried to run away. Hard to hide from someone whose eyes are literally everywhere. It has been quite hard for him too to convince you that the intentions of Valorant were noble when he appeared each time in the middle of the night like a sleep paralysis demon. The process of convincing you had been long and hard but Cypher was patient and quite stubborn. Especially when it came to visiting each of your hideouts (even the one under the Mediterranean Sea) and finishing all your different packs of tea. Well, at least you had now Big Brother as a mentor.

You jolted a little, startled when Raze and Killjoy suddenly stood up to start a duet while waltzing around the room. The level of love and affection in their eyes made you wonder if they weren't from a Disney movie themselves. You could literally see their eyes changing form to turn into hearts as their souls were screaming ‘I love you’ in their respective languages. And you found it adorable despite your exhaustion.

Jett playfully threw some popcorn at the couple, telling them to get a room. You’re pretty sure she didn't notice the few candy and crumbs of snacks in her ponytail. 

Clove were jumping on the different bean bag chairs, singing as if their life depended on it while Wingman cheered at their antics.

And you, you let out a small sigh as you took a sip of your bubbletea. All this chaos because of Frozen.

You swore that if you heard the songs ‘Love is an open door’ or ‘Let it go’ again, you would go apeshit.

You maybe should have join Deadlock for a reading session in her quarters instead of accepting Gekko’s invitation. Or just listening to music in your room. Or maybe drawing. You were certain that it would have been more peaceful and less mentally draining than this Disney night. And when you shared another glance with Iso, you knew he thought the same thing. It was visibly way too much for your introverted asses.

“Hey,” Gekko put a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay ?”

You shot him a tired look. 

You sometimes miss your old life. You missed your different hideouts where you could see the sunset over the mountains, the sea creatures under the Mediterranean Sea, the snow in the Siberian desert or the rain falling on the trees of a random forest. Where you didn't have to interact with people every single day of the week.

You loved the Valorant protocol and you got along with the people you met there. But sometimes it was too much. You took down this K-SEC facility because you knew how shady the experimentations they were running were, not because you wanted to attract the attention of a secret organization. You sometimes resented Cypher for finding you, for stealing you from these calm moments, even though you knew that you accepted to be an agent of Valorant of your own free will and for a good cause. 

“Hey,” Repeated Gekko. “Are you okay ?”

You gently pushed his hand off your shoulder and stood up from your bean bag chair.

“Sorry.” You muttered.

And you rushed out of the room as Gekko called for you, his tone full of worry. You speed-walked towards the garden of the base, putting your headphones on your ears and slightly relaxing when the music reached your brain. You took a deep breath and the wind caressed your skin as you finally walked into the gardens. You took off your shoes and let the grass tickle your bare feet. The night sky watched over you as you finally took a seat on a bench.

Better.

You felt better. You breathed better. You lived better. The music in your ears relaxed your muscles, and the wind murmured on your skin, bringing the fragrance of the different flowers of the garden. You definitely had to compliment Sky and Sage. 

Your phone suddenly vibrated and you noticed that Iso sent you a link to a playlist. 

⟨Here. To relax your nerves.⟩

You internally smiled and sent a text message to the Chinese duelist to thank him. You started the playlist and relaxed even more when the first note of the first song reached your ears. Iso really did have good taste in music.

You were about to close your eyes when you suddenly felt a finger patting your shoulder. You jolted a little and turned your head to the side to see Cypher’s blue lenses staring back at you. You pulled your headphones down and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Big Brother is watching me ?” 

The sentinel let out a small chuckle and sat down beside you, a trap wire traveling on his knuckles.

“Overwhelmed ?”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“I thought I was Big Brother.”

You rolled your eyes but a small smile tugged the corners of your lips. You leaned on the backrest of the bench and let out a deep sigh.

“I’m not in the mood for a game of chess, Cypher.” 

The masked man nodded and hummed softly.

“I suspected it.”

“Then why are you here, Optimus Prime ?” You groaned, stretching your arms over your head.

Cypher’s head tilted slightly and by his body language you suspected a smirk to be present under his mask.

“To check on you, dear.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow and your eyes squinted slightly.

“Right. And may I ask why, dear ?” You scoffed as you rolled your eyes again. “Wait. Let me guess. You saw me walking away from the common room through these cute little cameras of yours, got curious when you couldn't see me then came here.” You interrupted yourself then shook your head. “Nope. There are also cameras in the garden. Then why did you come here ?”

Cypher let out another small chuckle and patted your head with an odd but paternal affection. 

“Look who’s playing Sherlock, now.” 

You let out an annoyed groan as you tried to push his hand away from your head but Cypher’s mood stayed playful.

“What kind of mentor would I be if I didn't worry about my protégé ?”

You snorted but nodded with a sarcastic smile.“More of a stalker than a mentor.” 

“A stalker who is worried about you, then.”

You couldn't see it but you heard the soft smile in his voice. He leaned a bit more towards you, the brim of his long hat hid you from the night sky and the usual faint glow of his blue lenses looked like two little will-o’-the-wisps in the obscurity of the garden. It reminded you of the first time you met each other, a few days after you took down this K-SEC facility. It was in a dark alleyway and the first thing you saw was these blue lenses before you could make out his long and slender figure. But because of his long hat and the darkness of the alleyway, you had almost taken him for a mutated palm tree. Even today you facepalmed yourself when you remembered those thoughts as your eyes stared into his lenses.

“Who eats alone, chokes alone.” He finally whispered with a conspiratorial tone. Something was telling you that he winked under his mask.

“What ?” You facepalmed.

“It’s an Arabic proverb.” He leaned back and his head tilted again. “Loneliness is neither your ally, nor your enemy. It is impartial. In your case, you use it to recharge yourself, but it can also drain you without you noticing, making you depend on it. Use your loneliness but don’t be alone.” His voice dropped a few octaves lower and you felt his eyes sinking deeply into yours. “Use your balance.”

Something was telling you that he was speaking from experience. A slight twitch in his body language maybe. Or a tiny heaviness in his already thick accent, indication of the unusual emotions in his voice. And you realized just now how little you knew about your mentor.

Cypher nodded, as if satisfied by your visible confusion, stood up from the bench and started to walk away.

“Wait a minute, Darth Vader !” You exclaimed, pointing a frustrated finger at him. “I don't speak proverbial shit and neither does google translate. Come back here or I’ll tell Sky you put cameras in the garden !”

Cypher kept walking away, humming a soft tune.

“Speaking of balance…”

“I don’t understand the proverbial shit, you cheap Cyberpunk shit !”

“Have a good night, dear.” He turned towards you briefly. “Oh, and your strawberry teas are delicious.”

This fucker.

He kept walking away until going back inside and you suddenly heard hurried footsteps. You turned your head and saw Gekko and Wingman running in your direction before stopping in front of you. 

How did you know it was Gekko with the lack of light ? First of all, Wingman. Second of all, his hair.

Gekko was catching his breath with his hands on his knees while Wingman jumped on your lap, making a few garbling sounds. You raised an eyebrow and looked at them, confused.

“Are you dying ?” You asked Gekko and your eyes widened slightly when he started to wheeze. “Gekko ?”

“Dios !” He exclaimed as he finally caught his breath. “I looked for you throughout the whole base !”

“Did you have to run a marathon for that ?” 

Despite your dry tone, your eyes only showed concern for him. You patted the space beside you on the bench and he gladly sat down. He then looked at you and despite the obscurity, you were certain his brows furrowed in worry.

“Are you okay ?”

You shot him a deadpanned look.

“You put your legs through a nocturnal torture by running like a possessed fool throughout the whole base, found me here relaxing in the garden while the soft fragrance of flowers and the night sky kept me company, and ended up wheezing like a dying man about to spew his lungs out and you are asking me if I’m okay ?” 

You looked at his figure from head to toe as he chuckled at your small outburst. He was still a bit out of breath from his little run but he seemed quite fine.

“Damn ! Your descriptions are always so…special. Clove would definitely love you to be the Dungeon Master of their next DnD game.” His laugh calmed down and he nervously cleared his throat. “Anyway. I wanted to check on you. You didn't seem fine in the common room. Are you feeling a bit better now ?”

You shot him a bored look and let a deep sigh out of your lungs. Wingman made a few high chirped noises indicating his worry.

“You really love wasting your time, don’t you ?” Your eyes wandered on the night sky. “Aren't you missing the end of the movie ? Shouldn't you be inside with your friends ?”

Gekko frowned and looked at you funny.

“You’re my friend too.”

You let out a small snort that only deepened his frown.

“I’m serious.” He insisted. “We’re maybe not as close as you are with Cypher or Deadlock or… Iso, but I see you as my friend and I will always have your back.”

You looked back at him and even though you couldn't see him clearly because of the obscurity, you felt his eyes looking at you with a fierce determination.

“Plus,” he continued, “you always have my back on the field, fighting like a total badass against the enemies. Remember our last mission in Lotus ? I would have been dead meat if you weren't there.”

Wingman (who had gotten comfy on your lap) nodded with vehemence, agreeing with Gekko’s words.

“I’m not quite sure if you can be ‘dead meat’ when someone like Sage is around.” You said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Gekko made a noise between an amused chuckle and a sigh of frustration. You couldn't figure out what was on his mind, which is quite surprising since he was usually so expressive. He then suddenly got closer to you on the bench, grabbed your shoulders and leaned a bit more towards you.

“My point is : you got my back and I got yours. You're my friend and I won’t leave you alone.” His fingers gently squeezed your shoulders. “And I’m sorry.”

It was now your turn to frown as you did not understand why he was apologizing for.

“I invited you to this movie night so I could have an occasion to get to know you better, so we could get to know each other and bond on something that is not mission related.” He explained. “But you clearly weren't at ease. I thought you were about to have a panic attack, back there.”

You felt his thumbs caressing your shoulders as his hands squeezed you a bit more tightly.

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head and let out another sigh. “Don’t apologize. Your intentions were innocent and sweet.”

You couldn't see the blush on his cheeks but you noticed the slight twitch in his body language.

“Everything's fine.” You insisted. “I’m perfectly fine. Plus, with the new playlist Iso sent me, I can just relax and enjoy the quietude of the garden.”

“Oh.” He said simply.

His voice showed disappointment, sadness even. You vaguely felt his grip on your shoulder faltering a little while Wingman made a few sad garbling sounds.

“Gekko ?”

You couldn't see his face, but his body language showed a slight dispiritedness that didn't match his usual playful and confident personality.

“You and Iso are really close, huh.” He said with an uncharacteristically neutral tone.

His shoulders were now slightly slumped.

“Well, we had heard about each other before we joined Valorant. It was funny to finally meet the infamous ‘Dead Lilac’ in this secret organization.” You chuckled a little, finding the circumstances of your first meeting with the Chinese duelist quite embarrassing. You remembered knocking your head so hard against his chest that it spinned a little.

“That’s…uhm…kinda cute, I guess.”

You wondered what was on the mind of the piece of sweet-woman-heartthrob-trope that Gekko was.

“Well I don't know if it’s cute, but we’ve been exchanging playlists and book recommendations since.” You shrugged and Gekko’s hands slided down your arms at your action. “He’s cool. He has a sweet ‘older sibling’ vibe that put me at ease.”

The young initiator seemed to perk at your words and so was his radivore critter.

“‘Older sibling’ vibe ?” He repeated. “What do you mean ?”

“Well, you see how siblings sometimes banter with each other but always have each other's back ?” You started to explain and you saw his figure tilting his head. “Well that's our relationship with Iso. You probably know what I’m talking about. I noticed that you had quite the same thing with Neon.” You shrugged again.

His whole demeanor seemed to relax when he let out a laugh filled with relief. You frowned a little, not understanding this sudden outburst of joy.

“You alright ?” You raised a worried eyebrow and squinted your eyes a little. “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

It was at this moment that the moon finally decided to come out of behind the clouds, illuminating both of your faces. You both looked at each other, admiring your features. Your eyes wandered on his freckles without noticing his lovestruck gaze on you. 

“Maybe I'm a bit tired.” He whispered with a lost tone, as if he didn't understand what he just said.

“Hm.” You looked down on your lap to notice Wingman shrinking and hopping towards Gekko’s shoulder. “Wanna go back inside ?”

“You’re going back inside ?” Gekko asked.

“No.”

“Then I’ll stay with you.” He got more comfortable on the bench and you felt him lean a bit more towards you. “Unless my presence is overwhelming.”

You shook your head and leaned against the backrest of the bench. 

“No. You’re fine.”

“Cool.” He nodded and let out a small sigh of relief.

A comfortable silence settled between you, slightly disturbed by the faint music from your headphones. Your eyes wandered on the night sky, unaware of Gekko’s longing glances in your direction. You were completely oblivious to his poor heart beating so fast and so loud that he feared you could hear it. You did not notice. You never did. Ever since you set your foot into the base for the first time, his eyes were always on you. At first it was curiosity. Curious about the agent recommended by the mysterious man that was Cypher. Then it was admiration for the fierce fighter that you turned into once on the field. And finally, it bloomed to be a small crush that never ceased to grow. Your charisma hypnotized him. His feelings for you were so obvious that his friends never stopped to tease him. Even Reyna said that he looked like a lost puppy everytime you were around and Harbor often asked him to focus when you were in his field of view. And of course, he was jealous of how close Iso was with you. The duelist could talk to you without any problem, he could receive your smiles, your laughs, your friendly fist-bumps while the only times Gekko could have a proper interaction with you was during missions or briefings. Even during training you stayed in your corner, avoiding interactions.

But right now, he felt so happy. This was the longest interaction you’ve ever had with each other and he couldn't help but smile.

He turned his head in your direction and softly called you.

“Yeah ?”

“I heard that you love to draw.” He nervously rubbed his neck but kept his eyes on yours. “We could someday, you know, draw together while chilling in my room. If it’s okay with you of course.”

You shot him an indescribable glance and he suddenly felt so stupid for not using drawing as a way to bond with you sooner instead of the movie night. But he relaxed a little when you ended up shrugging.

“Why not.”

It was a start. He will not confess his feelings for now. It was way too soon. But he will certainly enjoy these moments with you. He will enjoy bonding with you and get to know you better.

Anecdote : the Arabic proverb mentioned by Cypher is something the father of a friend once told me when I was a kid. It's stuck in my mind, ever since.

I'm not proud of the ending ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ But it's fine. It is just a test, after all.

I don't know if I'll post the part. 2. I'll most probably keep it in my drafts.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I wish you a lovely day/night.

[fernandopiastri28]

first serve 🎾 ~ oscar piastri x logan sargeant

-> part 2 <-

Oscar looks up at his face, noticing that he’s been ogling at the patch of exposed skin on the boy for a few moments too long. He still has that hat over his head, but now it's turned backwards, a few stray hairs escaping just over the backstrap. “Oscar,” He extends his arm again, just like he had with Alex, and this time it’s not rejected. “Logan,” His grip is sturdy, but not painfully tight around the other boy’s hand. His lips twist into a smile, his crows-feet deepening as the expression reaches his eyes, which are a deep, pale blue. Oscar focuses on them, feeling a lack of embarrassment as Logan’s doing the exact same stare to him in return.

wc: 5,112 || no warnings

“Do you reckon we have to go?” Oscar leans back in his seat, his position giving him a picturesque view of the outstretching tennis court- the bright blue ground decorated with neon green tennis balls and white sneakers. 

Lando, in the seat next to him, snorts, “Of course we do, Oscar,” Osc-uh. Drives him mad how he pronounces his name like that- he puts more emphasis on it when he is in a mood like now. “We've paid- we rented rackets and paid a whole lot to even get into this club,” He takes a long drink of his glass of milk he’d managed to convince the waiter to bring over despite it not being on the menu. Oscar visibly cringes at the sight.

“We didn’t pay a cent mate- perks of working here,” Oscar scoffs, grabbing his white cap off the glass table and squashing it over his head, blocking the piercing sunlight from hitting straight into his eyes. 

“Yeah well, what’s the point of working at a country club where you’re pretty much allowed to play tennis whenever you want to if you’re never gonna take the opportunity by its balls?” Lando wipes a line of milk that’s gathered on his top lip, squinting at his friend and watching as his face turns into an even more hardened scowl under the brim of his cap.

“I don’t know, money?” He shrugs, tilting his head to crack his neck, the muscles flexing at the action. “Because, I don’t know if you know this, but not everyone can be crazy rich like the Norris’ and only be working because their parents are convinced they’re gonna blow all your money the second they move out if they never have to work for it?” Oscar cocks an eyebrow, shifting his attention to look at his colleague who had an offended glare painted across his face.

“No need to bring my spending habits into our civil conversation,” He huffs, grinding his teeth. For being a whole year above Oscar at school and almost 18 months older- Lando is surprisingly immature. “But I actually do know that. Obviously, I know you,” He smirks, turning it back onto the younger man.

“Nice one,” The Aussie clicks his tongue, checking the time on his watch, having to hit the plastic screen to get it working- the downside of still using the watch he got 7 years ago for his 10th birthday. “When are we heading on to play?” Through where the sun hits into the cracks of the cover and reflects back into his eyes- he can just barely see the watch hands hovering over the time 1.43. 

“Three?” Lando kicks his legs up onto a chair he’s dragged in front of him, slumping back down and tucking his arms behind his relax. A long sigh escapes his mouth, acting as if he’s had a massive day- when in reality he froths up milk and pours it into ginormous cups to be served around to guests by Oscar, and if the younger boy isn’t busy serving customers- he's in the back cleaning. 

“About the ‘crazy rich boy’ thing, you know who’s an even better example of that than me?” Lando drops his head back against the head of his metal chair. Oscar blows bubbles down his straw into his coke, nodding along as his eyes meet Lando’s in a sun-avoiding squint. “The fucking Sargeant family,” He barks out a laugh.

Oscar drains the last of his drink, setting the glass down on the table again before humming in response. “Yeah, they are pretty well off,” In reality, Oscar hardly knows the guy. He’s heard of the Sargeants- his mate back in Australia, Caio, somehow knows the older Sargeant brother, Dalton. Apparently he’s pretty nice and certainly very wealthy.

There’s another son, who he knows is his age, a few months older but also a junior- just at some way richer school, likely the same as Lando. He doesn’t know what his name is though- something like Liam. Given his lack of knowledge about the family, Oscar doesn’t see himself as the kind of person to make a judgement on someone’s financial situation- unless that someone is the spoiled brat of Lando Norris.

Not only does Oscar just not have a particularly extroverted personality, which doesn;t help with getting to know people, he also only moved to the UK a year before to start year 10. And now halfway through year 11- he’s still struggling with people at school’s names- let alone people outside of it. He knows of a few of Lando’s friends, but that’s the extent of his reach out of a friend group. He knows George who’s very polished and almost aggressively British, Alex is very tall and smiley, Max is sarcastic and almost Lando’s carbon copy- just a bit more serious at times, and finally, Carlos who speaks with a thick spanish accent and Lando seemingly has a bit of a crush on.

Oscar would say he and Lando are ‘friends’ to an extent, but he doesn’t think they’re quite at the point that they’d discuss their dating lives yet. So beyond how Lando will take any opportunity to bring up the dark haired Spaniard, Oscar has no further reason to believe the curly haired man isn’t straight. 

He doesn’t even know Lando’s views on that, it’s not something that’s come up in conversation yet. Oscar knows he isn’t fully straight himself, but it’s not something he goes around telling absolutely everyone. It’s not a shame thing, more so protecting himself from a potential bad reaction. So when there’s the occasional time where Lando points out a girl and asks if she’s pretty to Oscar, he hums out a noncommittal yes and leaves it at that. 

“Lando!,” A familiar voice shouts out from directly below the ledge where their table is situated. “Is your ass ready for tennis yet?” Both boys crane their necks, looking down at the person who’s yelling at them. Standing below with a tennis racket in one hand and adorned in a grey sports shirt, his tan skin and recovering bleached hair is Alex Albon. “Hey guys!” He perks up seeing Oscar, waving his arm dramatically at the younger boy. Oscar waves back politely, greeting him in response.

“Alex is here?” Oscar looks at Lando in slight surprise as they make their way over to the stairs that lead down to the court. The brit nods, combing his fingers through a clump of tangled curls. There’s another figure next to Alex, a boy who’s not as tall but certainly broader. His head is facing the floor, a fitted black hat over his head, only revealing locks of naturally blond hair on the back of his neck. 

“I think he brought a friend too, we can do doubles now,” He pats Oscar on the back, insinuating for him to walk faster. He picks up his pace, tugging down on his shirt as it rides up slightly. They reach Alex who is now alone, the other guy seemingly gone to do something. “Albonoooo,” Lando embraces his friend, wrapping his arms around him. “You remember Piastri, yeah?”

Oscar cringes at the use of his last name rather than his first. It’s very typical private school-rich kid stuff, which is right up Lando’s alley. In terms of wealth, the Norris’ are known for being rich, the Russells too. The Albon’s are well off too, the Sainz’s have a lot of money in investing and all that shit. Where the Sargeant’s money comes from, Oscar hasn’t had the chance to ask yet- or more so, Lando hasn’t randomly just dumped that information on him yet. 

The Piastris aren’t a household name in terms of their affluence, nor would they be regardless. Oscar has three younger sisters which means his parent’s salaries go towards splitting evenly for a family of six unlike most around the area for three or four. It also doesn’t help that they only moved just under two years ago- so they haven’t had a major chance to build up their net worth, disparate to the families who have been in the area for decades and are living off of the prior generation’s profit.

Oscar extends a hand to Alex to shake, which is ignored in lieu of, “Of course I remember my favourite Australian,” a tight embrace, the strong sandalwood smell of his cologne slamming his senses. He hugs him back tentatively, giving him a few awkward pats on the back before he’s finally released.

“Ha, do you even know another one?” He grins, wiping off a line of sweat that’s already appeared just where his cap hits his hairline. Alex shrugs, murmuring out a ‘fair point’ with a wide grin still plastered across his face as his chest continues to rise and fall from enervation of clearly a few games done already.

“Shit,” Lando clasps a hand over the vibrating phone in his pocket, digging it out and checking caller ID. “Carlos is calling, I’ll be right back,” He hurries off, leaving the two boys who hardly know each other to interact. Just in Oscar’s luck, the boy who was with Alex before returns. He has his shirt hitched up, wiping sweat off his face. When he pulls it back down, it doesn’t cover his stomach fully- instead snagging up on his abdomen, showing off some of his defined torso. 

Oscar looks up at his face, noticing that he’s been ogling at the patch of exposed skin on the boy for a few moments too long. He still has that hat over his head, but now it's turned backwards, a few stray hairs escaping just over the backstrap. “Oscar,” He extends his arm again, just like he had with Alex, and this time it’s not rejected. 

“Logan,” His grip is sturdy, but not painfully tight around the other boy’s hand. His lips twist into a smile, his crows-feet deepening as the expression reaches his eyes, which are a deep, pale blue. Oscar focuses on them, feeling a lack of embarrassment as Logan’s doing the exact same stare to him in return.

“So!” A loud clap sounds next to them, Alex stands with his hands clasped together and the handle of his racket leaning against his shin. “You guys will be partners?” He raises his eyebrows at Logan, and then at Oscar. They look at each other, the question showing up in both of their expressions. They both nod and head off to an empty court while they leave the brit to wait for Lando.

Logan extracts a ball from his pocket as Oscar goes and grabs a racket, feeling around with it to make sure it feels comfortable enough. He’s not really a tennis guy- more into cricket growing up in Australia, but it’s not as if he doesn’t have any experience with hitting a ball. “So,” He sighs, walking towards the net where Logan is standing with his hip brushing against. “How long have you been playing tennis for?” He regrets the question almost immediately, realising it would’ve been a safer question to ask if he even played it in the first place.

Luckily, his worry about how dumb he sounds dissolves as Logan replies, “Ah,” He scratches at a patch of almost invisible stubble on his chin. “So long,” He laughs, “I’d say since I was about… five?” He bounces a ball against the ground, repeating the motion a few more times before taking a few steps back. “You?” 

Oscar only notices when he speaks then the American accent that lays heavy over his words. It’s pretty uncommon in the UK- a lot of proper British accents with the occasional Australian one like his own- but not many like Logan’s. Logan serves the ball, sending it flying over the net with a thwack. Oscar makes a desperate attempt to hit it back but ends with just hitting himself in the chest. 

A winded laugh escapes Oscar’s mouth, “Nah, never played.” Logan raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes widening in effect. “Could you tell?” He grins. The other boy has a sympathetic look on his face paired with a slight grimace. Ah, He’s already disappointed. 

“All good,” He shakes his head, “Wanna try it again?” Oscar nods awkwardly, shifting his weight back and forth from the balls of his feet to the heels. This time when the blond serves, Oscar tries to whack it as hard as possible, sending it soaring a mere few inches over the other boy's head, who ducks instinctively. 

The younger of the two goes dark red as the other remains crouching on the floor for a few moments after, his blue eyes huge and almost scared. They look at each other in silence for a few moments, fear on both of their faces. That is until the American bursts out laughing, a strange comfort to the other. He stands up, quickly stretching his legs out before walking towards the net separating them.

“I can teach you how to hit?” Logan drops his racquet, the plastic head hitting the ground with a dull thud. The Australian nods, watching as he jumps the net, slipping into place behind Oscar. “Okay, you hold your racquet like-” Two sturdy hands rest on the backs of Oscar’s, guiding his fingers on how to hold the handle properly. “this,” His breath is hot against the other’s boy's neck, almost unnoticed given how warm the rest of his body feels. 

“This is forehand,” He positions Oscar’s arms to be out by his side, letting one drop down to the side so it’s only his right hand to be around the racquet, “And this is backhand,” He does the same, but his right arm is now crossed over his side, “Which is considerably easier,” He smiles when he sees the brunet relaxing with the position.

“Alright,” Oscar nods, going through the notion of swinging it infront of him, hitting an imaginary ball. “Good?” He looks over his shoulder where Logan has taken a step back, watching the other boy in a look of almost awe.

“Fantastic- you’re a natural,” He grins, a pat to the back of the Aussie’s back- a well done, definitely not just another reason to touch him. “You wanna try forehand?” Oscar shugs, going back into his initial position and swinging, noticeably not with as much ease- but good enough. “I think you’re ready to rally,”

Oscar cocks his head, an eyebrow raising in unison. “Isn’t rallying like driving cars?” It’s the American’s turn then to look confused, tucking his bottom lip under his teeth. “Like, driving a really fast car on dirt roads?” He scratches the hair that peeks out from under his hat. 

“Uh, no.” Logan purses his lips. “Well, yeah, I mean I guess it’s also that,” He breaks back into a smile, comforting Oscar’s worries about sounding like an idiot again. “I don’t really know racing or anything, but rallying is essentially just a series of successful hits made by players,” 

“Ahhh,” Oscar leans back a bit, flexing the hand that was previously gripping around the taped handle. Logan walks back around to the other side of the net and picks his discarded racquet back up. “Gotcha,” He kicks a tennis ball to the side, watching it roll over to where Alex is still standing waiting for Lando to return from his surprisingly long phone call with Carlos. 

Alex has a wide grin on his face, one hand firmly planted onto the net pole closest to the pair, his other hand on his hip as he leans awkwardly. “You guys are getting on well,” he teases. Oscar rolls his eyes, looking to where Logan is unphased and almost looking a bit out of it as he waits for the other boy to speak. 

“Right,” The brunet tries to wipe what feels like a hot flush off his face with his palm, hoping if he is red, it just looks like a sunburn. “You serve?” He itches his neck, his nails digging into his skin as an attempt to focus on the forming stinging pain rather than how Logan looks from his spot across from him where the sun is hitting perfectly against him. 

“I can,” Logan grins, extracting a ball from his pocket and bouncing it against the ground a few times. Oscar makes note of it, remembers that he needs to do that when it comes his time to serve so he can impress Logan. He remains light on his feet, able to move around to hit the ball so he doesn’t make a mess of himself again. “Please don’t try to take my head off with this one,” He teases.

“I can’t make any promises but I can try,” he rolls his eyes, waiting patiently for the ball to cross into his side of the court. When it does, he drags his racquet back just slightly, lining up to the ball so it taps right into the centre of the gridded wires. It bounces back off it, hitting into the floor over the other side. He doesn’t let himself celebrate, too busy focusing as the ball comes straight back towards him. 

He uses a bit more force this time, hopeful to send it past Logan and get a point, being somewhat impressive while still not hitting him again. It doesn’t hit him, that's for sure, but instead Logan controls the ball perfectly in retaliation, sending it straight back across in a line that slips straight past Oscar. “One-love,” The American uses his foot to nudge a ball closer to himself as the other boy’s already big brown eyes grow wider. 

“Huh?” His top lip twists upward, a confused guise painting across his pale skin. He swings his racquet in practice, his eyebrows tensing in question of what that means. Logan doesn’t notice the confusion on his face, dipping down to pick up the ball under his shoe. 

“Love- means zero basically,” Alex calls out from next to them, that same cheeky grin still spread across his mouth. “It means you’re losing mate,” He jeers lightheartedly. Oscar scoffs, ignoring him as he gets ready for another ‘rally’. This time, Oscar manages to hit it just past Logan, securing himself a point. 

As time stretches on and Lando remains elsewhere, the three boys get further into chatting- discussing school, where Oscar learns that Alex and Logan are in the same school year, along with Lando at some posh private school the Australian can’t quite pronounce. Alex has a girlfriend who’s actually in the year above Oscar and at the same school, a girl called Lily who plays golf for their school’s representative team. 

After a while, they get back onto the topic of tennis, which Oscar is slightly distracted from given how Logan’s hat has been tossed to the floor, allowing his messy and tangled blond hair to shine bright in the sun, a few strands reaching downwards towards his bright blue eyes. He wants to ask if Logan also has a girlfriend like Alex does, but since they’re off that topic- it feels weird to bring it back up.

Instead, he decides to reinvolve himself in the topic at hand. “Why did you start playing tennis anyways?” His question is directed at the American, unknowingly cutting off the conversation the other pair were having. Alex and him look at each other knowingly, a quiet laugh escaping the dark haired thai. He nudges the blond, his mouth moving to say ‘he doesn’t know?’

Oscar furrows his eyebrows again, looking in between them to try and figure out firstly, what’s so funny, and secondly, what is it that he doesn't know. “I’m, ah, how do I say this casually,” Logan grits his teeth, a pause. “I’m Logan Sargeant,” 

Oscar somehow feels even more confused by this. Alright, yeah, it’s an aggressively American name, sure, but does it mean anything to Oscar? Not at all. Why him reintroducing himself has anything to do with tennis is incomprehensible to the Australian. The last name is slightly familiar if anything, but not enough to spark any recognition. “Okay,” He nods his head once, looking to Alex for more context that he doesn;t think he’ll find in his tennis partner.

“Logan Sargeant, son of Daniel Sargeant-” He continues. Oscar wants to interrupt and let him know that he’s not good with names, so that really doesn’t mean anything to him- but he doesn’t have to, because someone else does it for him. 

“The Daniel Sargeant who owns this country club.” Oh shit. Super rich Logan Sargeant, the wealthy family Lando had been talking about less than an hour ago. The voice who interrupts is the previously missing member of their group, his jaw tight and his phone shoved haphazardly into his pocket in a way where most of it still hangs out. 

“Logan Sargeant, the Sargeant’s who own Bayside Hills Country Club?,” Oscar’s voice is a mix of surprise and taken aback. Alex laughs awkwardly, seemingly his response to everything. The American nods, looking shameful that he didn’t have the opportunity to even tell his new mate before Lando jumped the gun.

“Fuck,” He clicks his tongue, his eyes still wide as he looks down at his shoes. In comparison to Logan, his outfit is scruffy and inexpensive. His shoes are beaten up and muddy, while the other boys are pristine white- clearly new. His shirt is baggy in all the wrong places, stretched from too many wears, while Logan’s clings to his body like it was made for him. “You’re like… rich,” He cringes as he says it, reminding himself that he shouldn’t be making a comment on someone else’s financial situation.

“Why are you here?” Lando is straight to the point interrogating the unexpected member of their tennis group, raking his hand through his curls, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently as if he wasn’t the one who left the other’s to go answer a call. “You know Piastri?”

He shakes his head, “Alex- only just met Oscar,” He corrects, looking at brunet rather fondly. “Where’d you go off to?” Logan queries, checking his watch, which Oscar notices how nice it is- a clear representation of his status that he’d managed to not notice until now. “It’s been over an hour

Lando’s lip straighten into a tight line, almost embarrassed, “Sainz needed to talk,” He murmurs, dragging the back of his shoe up to gather some of the peeling ground up off the floor. The way his cheeks turn rosy is enough of an indication that Oscar’s theory about him and Carlos were right. “Now, are we gonna play or what?” He looks expectant, confused as to why they’re still standing around and talking. 

Logan looks at the Australian, his lips curling into a look of disinterest. “You wanna?” He mouths, his eyes roaming over the sweat coating the brunet's face and his clear expression of exhaustion. He receives a mouthed ‘not at all’ in reply. “Nah, you guys can though,” Logan gestures between the two other boys as Logan and Oscar pick up their racquets and walk off. 

Lando hurls a few exasperated half-arsed insults at the pair, before eventually giving up and settling for playing with Alex. Oscar removes his hat, shaking his sweaty hair out before raking his finger through it- not caring too much about how it looks. That is until he sees in his peripheral, Logan staring deep into his soul. “You have nice hair,” His accent is thick and low, his mouth barely opening as he says it. 

Oscar tilts his head, his eyes looking up to the mop of somehow perfectly done golden hair belonging to the American. “You too,” He grins, looking back ahead at the stairs they’re beginning to go back up.

“I have like uh, a room here,” Logan blurts out, catching the eyes of Oscar who has far too many thoughts spinning through his head at that sentence. “I was thinking we could hang out there? I have a tv and couch- we could play fifa or… mario carts- if that’s your thing?” He exhales nervously. The aussie accepts graciously, a tinge of red appearing under his eyes.

They wander around just talking and laughing for the next hours, discussing the club, their respective schools, sports, friends, families, everything. Oscar learns that Logan’s been learning to play tennis since he was so young because even back in the states (where he lived up until 5 years ago) and tennis was the main appeal and aspect of the club. He in fact has a brother called Dalton who moved to Australia for university the year prior and they learn that he and Oscar’s mate Caio are roommates. 

Despite his family’s wealth, he has a job at the club doing tennis coaching- which always happens early morning during the holidays, which is why they’ve never ran into each other as Oscar works late afternoons. Lando is in his year at school and dislikes him as he believes he’s a pretentious asshole- despite never bothering to get to know him. Confirming Oscar’s previous unasked question- he doesn’t have a girlfriend.

Oscar tries not to smile too hard at that.

They sit down at one of the club’s restaurants as it nears toward 6pm, the prior hours they’ve been talking for seeming far shorter then its actually been. They share a pizza and far too many fries, drinking milkshakes until they feel completely ill. By the end, they decide to finally go back to Logan’s ‘place’ at the club to take up the suggestion of playing games.

As they walk over, they remain pretty silent, both clearly feeling the same way about each other but equally as oblivious that it’s requited in any way. They arrive at a thin brown door down the hall of the management office where Oscar often has to retreat to when someone asks for his manager when being difficult. There’s a small gold plating drilled into just above the door handle, ‘Logan’ it reads, branding his ‘room’. Logan presses a keycard to a sensor on the right of himself, pushing down on the handle as it clicks open. “My place,” He gestures inside, stepping aside to let the other boy in. 

It opens up into the living room, surprisingly big in comparison to management next door. It has floor to ceiling windows, looking out of the golf field that opposes the tennis courts, separated by a fifty metre pool. “Shit,” Oscar looks out at the view, an impressed painted on him. “This is nice,” He murmurs, turning to look back at his friend. 

“Thirsty?” He somehow has two bottles of water in his hands, extending one hand out to Oscar as he pressed the spout of the other one to his own lips. Oscar accepts graciously, guzzling it down greedily from dehydration from the previous hour. When Logan finishes drinking, Oscar can’t help but stare at how the water has left his lips with a wet and glossy sheen over them. Think Oscar, he repeats to himself mentally, say something. 

“Mario,” His voice cracks, ignoring it from exhaustion and gratefulness that he even managed to speak at all. They adjourn to the couch, slumping down into the plush and squishy cushions. “Who do you play as?” Strained, his throat aching with forcing words out. 

“Bowser,” He tosses a controller into the brunet's chest, turning the tv on and selecting Mario Karts, multiplayer and then looking at Oscar expectantly. 

“Not ideal how heavy he is, weighs down the car. Any extra weight makes you slower” God, how dorky, snapping back into talking about karting once again. Logan smiles regardless, moving ever so slightly closer that it's almost unnoticeable. 

“That’s okay, I’m strong,” The corner of his mouth twists upward, eyeing Oscar rather intensely. “Who do you play as?” He rests his free, non-remote wielding arm on the back of the couch, his hand just behind the other boy’s head. 

“Yoshi,” He selects him, trying to keep his burning gaze off of the american. The back of his neck is scalding hot now, desperate with the wanting to be touched. Logan’s eyebrows flicker upward, almost inquisitive. “I think he’s cute,” He explains, a stupid tight smile on his face.

“Ahh, fitting for you Piastri,” Weirdly, him using last name to address, Oscar doesn’t mind it too much. On the other hand, he’s hardly focused on that because he’s thinking about what he meant by that, was he calling him cute? 

“Why’s that?” He challenges, his body heating up even harder as he feels two fingertips toying with the hair on the back of his neck, goosebumps forming all over his skin. Eyes are rolled at the question, ‘isn’t it obvious?’ Logan wants to ask.

“You’re cute,” He murmurs, his eyes focusing down at Oscar’s pale pink lips. Following suit, he admires Logan’s thinner and darker pink, almost red, ones- still wet and glossy. “Very fucking cute,” His hand settles on the back of Oscar’s neck fully at this point, his body shifting to readjust so he’s face and body onto him. 

Blue eyes meet brown, pink grazes red, blonde brushes against brunet. Logan takes initiative, his bottom lip slotting in between Oscar’s pale ones. They both close their eyes, their breathing getting heavier and louder as they lose themselves in the moment. Oscar’s kissed a girl before, a few at that. Kissing a boy is different though. Slightly harsher, more chapped, a thousand times more nerve wracking. His hand releases the controller and presses down on one of the other’s thighs. 

“More,” Logan grants his wish, licking into his mouth rather tentatively, taking his time to not pressure him or make him uncomfy. Taking his time also allows him to enjoy the sheer moment of pure bliss. It’s all he’s wanted for hours now, the second he saw Oscar, heard his voice- he just wanted to feel his arms around him and his lips on him. 

He just had to make the first move, first serve.

[wanderingblindly]

Could I request a snippet of WAG Fest AU? Please and thank you ☺️

of course you may!! I unfortunately withdrew from the WAG Fest @f1wagaufest due to health issues, but!! I hope to finish it one of these days! And definitely make sure to check out the fics when they go live, it's gonna be banger after fucking BANGER

The general concept is Actor!Lando x F1!Oscar, with the underlying plot of like... fake dating as a means to clean up their bad-but-in-different-ways public image.

Lengthy snip below, sorry about that :)

"Can smell you from here," Oscar says when Lando moves to his mark, standing next to the gorgeous McLaren Senna in the pitlane. Well, gorgeous is a word for it; Lando takes in the vibrant orange, somehow still reflecting neon despite the cloud cover. Bit heinous if you ask him, but clearly no one in McLaren's entire marketing and design department agreed.

"Dior Sauvage," Lando replies, plastering on his media smile and looking over at Oscar with just the right amount of playful crinkle in his nose. "Among other things. Hard to pick just one, y'know?"

Oscar's eyes trace up his body slowly, as if he's cataloguing every thing he can pick apart. "I was gonna say Jägermeister."

The word almost makes Lando gag, visceral and nostalgic. Memories of aniseed and cough medicine burn his nose, stab his brain. "Oh fuck off," He scoffs, blasé. "Think that's all I can afford?"

The photographer's flitting around them, capturing some candid promo shots before they move on. Lando takes care to keep his face pleasant, to keep the acidity in his esophagus away from the end-result.

"Don't have high hopes for your…" He trails off, moving to place his hand on the car – changing his underwhelming pose for the camera. Lando follows suit, leaning against the side casually, arms crossed and head tilted.

"My what?"

Oscar seems to change the subject. Lando can't find any trace of the last sentence on his face, in his posture. Hard to read. "Better not get sick in this thing."

He hardly resists rolling his eyes, instead choosing to look directly at the camera with a sunny smile – excited. "I'm a professional actor, man, I'll be fine."

"You can call yourself an actor all you want, yeah." Oscar stands up, straightening his race suit collar with practiced hands. Nimble fingers, not shaking. Confident. Their eyes meet, almost challenging. "But professional's a bit of a stretch."

(original post)

[romanarose]

Fic Recs

I'll admit I've been slacking. A lot. It was a high anxiety summer as you know, and I've finally been able to pretty much cut ties with an abusive friend who was causing a LOT of those anxiety and panic attacks. BUT I want to rec some of my fav writers and fav stories.

To keep the presure low on myself I am only linking ONE story per writer, whatever story that speaks to me. I do hope if you like the story you'll check out more from them!

Please remember to reblog their stories if you read them, and if you feel inclinded, leave a kind comment! Big comments are fantastic but even a short "Great story!" Means the world!

Dead Dove Do Not Eat and all dark fics will be in red. Might make a whole other dddne tag list on my dark blog on of these days lmfao

Moon Knight

Fractured Moon by @melodygatesauthor : DDDNE Yandere Moon boys x reader, non con, extreme violence but such good interpretations of the boys

Friendly Favors by @runa-falls best friend steven, friends with benefits??? friends to lovers??? yes plzzz

Rydal Keener

Oxford Comma by @whatthefishh : Collage AU, Rydall is cunty, serves cunt, and eats cunt. What can I say.

TLOU (Most of what I'm reading rn if im being honest)

Linger On by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin : Pre-outbreak!Joel, angst, yummy smut, ft. my boyfriend, Tommy (Angela said I can be Tommy's gf)

Caught by @toxicanonymity : Inspired Keep Cry'n, Joel catches you when you try to run, masterbates onto your face. part 2 has TOMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Maintainence Man series by @gracieispunk : Joel is a, well, Maintenace man in our building! He is married but that doesn't stop him from fucking you

Hungry Hearts @atinylittlepain : If ya'll know me, you know I love Bruce Springsteen. I have 2 fics named after springsteen songs, one joel one javi/santi/reader. I've fallen behind on the series but loved it enough to make fan art! terrible fan art but still! Pre-outbreak, takes place in two timelines- college age and then the 2000'. Joel has Sarah, reader is ellies mom which I think is fun.

Exit Wounds by @strang3lov3 : No fic masterlist so I tagged the main masterlist. Now listen. I love Tommy Y'all know I love tommy... but cheating on tommy? Im so sorry baby. But ur also an asshole lol. Had it coming.

Creep by @theywhowriteandknowthings : I- ugh just read it. darkish but nothing insane like the wrong way lmfao. pretty mild comparatively but use discression but THAT TWISTTTTTTTT

Only Daddy That'll Walk the Line by @millerscoffee Yellow istead of red bc its not like. dark but Joel's pretty mean

Not A Survialist Girl by @tightjeansjavi again yellow bc joel's a dick lol but THE DIRTY TALK?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Miguel O'Hara

Halo by @missdictatorme : Miguel O'Hara goes full Nathan Bateman and fucks his ai. Whore.

Only You Only Me by @astroboots : so im behind on this one too. What about it! Im terrible I know but like Hungry Hearts above I may be a slow reader but I didn't forget and also did stupid fan art of this great fic too. lol. Anyway plz read this, I cant give a great summary bc im only a few chapters in but if youre in the oscar fandon you know cici writes only bangers

No One But Me by @koshkamartell : You try to break things off with Joel and begin spending time with the hot librrian in Jackson. Joel does not like thi

Triple Frontier

Under Neon Lights by @campingwiththecharmings : sexy drunk sex with my baby boi, santi <3

Through the Scope by @ssuperficialspacecadett : Reader works for Benny and falls for frankie. Great relationships with all the boys, reader has sexual trauma so you knoooooooow i eat these fics up!!!! lovely to see all them be appriciated with special focus on FRANKIE my precious lol guy

Shared Breathes by @frenchiereading : DAD FRANKIE x teacher reader. Triple frontier may have forgotten Frankie has a baby (he deserved the money for her) BUT WE DID NOT!!!!!

The Story of Us by @pimosworld : You served in the military with the boys but they made a deal not to sleep with you. Years later after helping you escape abuse, one by one they begin to waver aka you fuck them all. FishBen as a bonus!!

Goddamn have I really only been reading TLOU XD lmfao makes sense bc thats mostly what Im writing. That and the Javier pena x reader x santi and then the will fic but im soooooooooo much of a TLOU whore rn its insane.

Im sure ill remeber some more amazing TF fics soon but for now here we are!

Gonna plug real quick my latest one shot tho bc it's a holiday and I can self promo if I want! Shana Tova, moon boys x non jewish!reader where the moon boys share a part of their jewish identity with you!

THANK YOU TO ALL WRITERS FOR YOUR HARD WORK, I APPRICIATE YOU!

If you ever seen my like and not reblog know its just bc I forgot and im sorry. If you ever tagged me in a tag game and i never responded its bc I forgot and again IM SORRY

If I didnt tag anyone and you think i didt think your fic was worthy THATS NOT IT im simply overwhelmed with how much ive read and how this summer was and i just havnt organized it all. Im sorry!!