#rpf

[princessmisery666]

Yay 🥳 your back!! I missed you so much 💜

Best Con Ever

Summary: It’s all fun and games until the truth is revealed.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, drinking, silly stuff, Jared being an annoyingly good friend (seriously, he wouldn't shut up!). 

W/C: 2,381.

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Alexander Calvert, Richard Richard Speight Jr.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x fem!Reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Challenge/Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Prompt/Square Filled: Making fun of one another 

Notes: Jensen is a single pringle for this one! 

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes are mine.

Graphics: dividers - @talesmaniac89 / picture in title card - @lemondropsonice - they were kind enough to grant permission to use when I asked.

Master Lists: Dean Winchester / Main

The special fan event is going so well. The intro includes party games, such as Pin the Wings on the Angel and Bowling with the Devil. The pins have pictures of demons from each season taped to them. There’s also a drinking game with “apple juice” because Jensen and Jared keep insisting “Jack” - Alex - isn’t old enough to drink yet. You’re a little buzzed, but it helps ease your nerves. 

“Ah, you said Supernatural!” Alex exclaims, pointing at Jared, and the audience collectively yells, “DRINK!”

Shots of apple juice that smell suspiciously like whiskey this time get passed around until the four of you have one, and then, as one, you shoot them back.

“Woo,” Jensen yells, sucking his teeth as he turns his back to the audience and looks at you. “Don’t let me fall over.”

“Only if you do the same for me,” you laugh. 

“I got you.” He turns to the audience again but puts his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. 

Of course, the audience immediately awws and gasps. “Oh shhh, you lot,” Jensen playfully scolds, “I’m just holding her up.”

“Wouldn’t want her falling now, would we?” Jared says. “Unless it's for you. Ba-dum-tss.”

He gets nothing from the band. The drummer shakes his head.

“Oh, come on!” He complains. “That was good!”

This is your first event since joining the show at the end of season eleven, but it is not the first time a potential off-screen romance has been mentioned. You have seen videos of panels where fans have asked the question, and you and Jensen have each been approached by fans on the street. With Jensen’s arm wrapped firmly around you, you are sure you can get through it without making a fool of yourself.

Jensen has been a wonderful source of support from the beginning. You had been nervous about how the fans would react because you replaced the wonderful Megalyn Echikunwoke as Cassie Robinson, Dean’s love interest from way back in season one. The inconsistencies in appearance had been loosely explained, and it was somewhat plausible in the world of Supernatural, but that didn’t bother you so much. Being Dean’s love interest was what worried you the most. The fans are so protective, and rightfully so.

“They’re going to love you,” Jensen had said when you aired your concerns. “Just like I…we do.”

He was right. The reception to the reintroduction of Cassie couldn’t have gone better. The fans loved it and accepted you and Cassie Robinson with open arms. You’d read some comments, heard second-hand from producers, and when the fans started an online petition - for fun - to get you and Jensen to date in real life after seeing behind-the-scenes footage, Jared dubbed himself the President of the “Jensen and Y/N should be a couple IRL” club.

You and Jensen played along with it. It helped ratings, and it wasn’t a chore to have Mr Ackles’ undivided attention at parties and dinners to play up to the rumors. But that's all it is: rumors. The two of you are close, on and off set, but whereas Cassie and Dean are super hot, you and Jensen are lukewarm. Hugging Jensen - though it happens often - unfortunately doesn’t lead to sex like it would with Cassie and Dean.

Richard announces it's time for the fan questions and asks those selected to form an orderly queue behind the microphone. Though the questions have been pre-approved, you get a wave of anxiety as you don’t know what they will be, and you hope this portion of the event goes as well as the rest of the day. A fan asks how your first meeting with the cast went, and you look sheepishly at Jensen. 

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes but sighs in defeat. “Fine, you can tell it.”

“Better yet, reenact it!” Jared suggests. 

Your eyes light up with something akin to glee, and Jensen raises his brow and doesn’t need to ask the question in his eyes, ‘Really?’. You pout, bottom lip sticking out as far as it will go. “Please,” you draw out.

Reluctantly, making a show of it, and very slowly, Jensen gets to his feet, leaning closer to pretend to nip at your protruding lip. 

Jared shakes his arms out as he stands up, “I’ll play Y/N.” 

“The hell you will,” Jensen says, playfully pushing him out of the way. “Y/N will play herself.”

Jared comically falls over his chair to the ground as if Jensen’s push was twice the pressure it had actually been. 

You stand up in front of Jensen and wait for the laughing audience to quiet down. Jared stands straight and holds his microphone close to his mouth. “It was a bright winter morning, not a cloud in the sky,” he narrates in a poor impression of David Attenborough’s voice. “The beautiful and elusive beast, Jensen Ackles, notices a radiant creature across the lot. Slowly, he approaches…”

Jensen shakes his head at the crowd and rolls his whole head along with his eyes but obliges the narrator. He walks the few steps and shakes your hand with way too much enthusiasm. “Hi, I’m Batman. Dean. Ackles. I mean …” he groans, trying to dismiss his embarrassment, then blushes and says, “Hi.”

You laugh again, as does everyone else. Jensen grimaces just as he did on the day. “I’m going to walk into the sun now, sorry.” he strides around you to the end of the stage, and Jared steps up to take his place. 

Jared shakes your hand like a normal person. “Translation, that’s Jensen, for I think I just fell in love with you.” 

Jensen, with his back to the two of you, throws a thumbs-up over his head. “It went exactly like that!” Jensen confirms, nodding and shrugging as he makes his way back to his seat. “And now that we’ve all relived my embarrassment, let's move on.”

The microphone gets passed to the next person, and they ask, “Jared and Jensen are known for their pranks. Have they played any on you, Y/N?” 

“Oh yes!” you answer as Jensen takes his seat beside you and squeezes your knee. “I’m hanging like twenty feet in the air,” you begin.

“That’s like three Jared’s,” Richard adds, pointing to Jared on his left.

“Exactly,” you laugh, spreading your arms and legs out in a star to show the position you were in. “I’m full on Mission Impossible Tom Cruise-ing it, three Jared’s high off the ground, and the camera breaks.” 

The audience reacts with grimaces and chuckles. 

“They tell us it will be like ten minutes, and being the awesome trooper she is,” Jensen continues, flashing you a sweet smile. “She agrees to stay up there while they fix it.”

“Of course, it takes longer than ten minutes, so Jensen and I get bored!” Jared laughs, evilly rubbing his hands together.

“First of all, they decide to rub salt in the wound,” you shake your head, laughing at the memory. “They start doing lunges and star jumps, bragging about how comfortable and free they are.”

Jared and Jensen reenact their exercises, doing over-exaggerated lunges and squats, to laughter and catcalls.

“Stop it,” you say, around almost uncontrollable laughter. “You’ll split your pants.”

“Hey, watch it,” Jensen warns, pointing a finger, “my ass is not that big!” 

“Your ass is just fine,” you smirk, the audience agreeing with whoops and hollers.

“You're not so bad yourself,” Jensen counters, winking.

“Hey, hey,” Richard chides, shouting over the raucous audience. “This is a family show.”

“ANYWAY,” Jared says loudly. “Then we used her as target practice, trying to throw Skittles in her mouth.” 

“Let me tell you, at speed, those things are like bullets.” You explain, “I swear they chipped a tooth!”

“I’ll pay for any dental work,” Jensen confirms with a slight nod. “And to answer the question, Jared and I messed with the camera. We knew she’d get stuck up there.”

You shove his shoulder, and he teeters to one side before purposely overcorrecting himself so he’s lying across your lap. 

“We still need to get him back for that one,” Alex reminds you.

Jensen scoffs, rising to sit up again. “You tried and failed. Give it up.”

You and Alex simultaneously declare, “Never!” 

“Alex and I decided to team up and get them back,” you explain to the audience.

“They tried to get me,” Jensen says, “but Jared caught them, and he told me so it didn’t work. But they managed to get Jared,” Jensen begins laughing, unable to continue the story.

“All Y/N’s idea,” Alex insists, pretending to edge away from Jared.

Jared shakes his head, tongue sitting in the pocket of his cheek while he tries to look disgruntled but can’t hide the smile he tries to contain.

“It was genius,” Jensen manages around huffs of laughter. 

“We got the wardrobe department to take in his shirts and shorten his pants a little each day for a month,” Alex says. “But it only took two weeks before he started complaining about gaining weight and growing taller.”

Jensen’s laughter stops, his demeanor turning completely serious. “I cannot tell you how annoying he was about it!”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Jared protests. 

“Dude, you were bad!” Jensen counters, “You were googling if you could have a growth spurt after thirty. It’s all you talked about for two weeks. It was so annoying!” 

“That’s me, Jared Annoying Padalecki,” he says. Then has a lightbulb moment, or perhaps a whiskey-inspired one, and jumps off the stage. Everyone laughs as they watch him cheekily shove to the front of the question queue, dropping to his knees. 

“Hi, I’m Gen from Texas, and this is for Jensen,” he says in a higher pitched voice than anyone would expect could come out of the giant of a man. “I would like to know what your favorite scene to film was from the last season. And why is it the sex scene with Y/N from episode three?”

Jensen closes his eyes, face scrunched and lips pursed in mock annoyance as he flips Jared off.

“What a great question, Gen,” you chuckle, turning to stare at Jensen. “It was definitely one of my favorite scenes to film.”

“It was a fun day,” Jensen agrees. “Usually, sex scenes are super awkward and embarrassing, but it wasn’t. I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend a day in the back of Baby with all this,” he gestures toward Y/N, “on top of you.”

Jared gets to his feet, using a fan's shoulder to hoist himself up, and then bends to reach the microphone. “Follow-up question,” Jared begins, “this time for Y/N. Are you free for dinner tonight? Asking for a friend.” 

“Oh, for a friend,” you say, leaning to look around Jensen and at Alex. “Well, in that case, I’m free anytime, Mr Calvert.” you wink. 

Jensen leans forward, pointing a warning finger at him, “No!” 

“Urgh, Alex,” Jared groans, using a long leg to step back onto the stage, “you’re such a troublemaker!”

The next fan is given the microphone. “So it’s been twelve seasons; what mementos have you taken from the set?”

“Funny you should mention that,” Jared answers immediately, then sings, “Jensen’s in trouble. He stole the infamous demon Dean's red shirt.” 

Jensen throws his hands up, shaking his head. “I did not! I don't know who did, but it wasn't me.” 

Jared rolls his eyes. “So some ghost took it out of your trailer?” 

“Maybe,” Jensen shrugs. “This is Supernatural.” 

The drummer immediately punctuates his response, the hiss of the snare still echoing as Jared stands up in protest. But the audience is too quick, and they yell, “DRINK!” 

“You lot are a bad influence,” Jensen tells them as you all make your way to the drinks table at the back of the stage.

You hold your microphone down while Richard pours the shots. Leaning closer to Jensen, you ask, “Are you really in trouble because of it?”

Jensen scoffs, “No, of course not. But they need it for a photo shoot, and they want to auction it off for charity. They’ve been on my ass for weeks.”

“Oh.” 

“Oh?” Jensen asks, very much channeling Dean in his expression. “Do you know something about it?” 

You wince, trying to feign innocence, but it's no good. You know you’ve been caught out, and you’ll have to give it back. “I took it,” you confess.

“What? Why?” 

You can’t think of a lie quick enough. So with a nonchalant shrug, that's all for show because you don’t feel it at all, you admit, “I like it. It's a nice shirt to sleep in, and it smells like you.”

“If you want something that smells like me, you can have me!” Jensen blurts out loud enough that the mics lowered at your sides pick it up.

The fans erupt, screaming and shouting. They get to their feet and clap. Alex and Jared talk over each other, but it all becomes white noise as you stare at Jensen, who stares back. 

“Screw it,” he says, and you're the only one who hears it. But everyone sees him take a small step into your space and place a gentle kiss on your lips. He pulls back enough to look at you for any reaction, and when you lightly smile, he slips a hand down your cheek and draws you in closer for a deeper kiss this time. 

The crowd goes wild. Your ears will be ringing for days.

Jensen keeps the kiss PG13, but you go as far as wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. It ends too soon, but you remind yourself that you are being watched. He leans back, smiling happily. “Sorry if that was out of line.”

“The only thing that was out of line was how long it took you to do that.” 

He shrugs one shoulder, tongue sitting behind his teeth. “Sorry.”

Jared tries to get control of the audience, but it doesn’t work. Jensen walks to the edge of the stage and holds up a hand, silencing them with the simple gesture. 

Once it's quiet enough, he smiles, boyish and wide. “Best. Con. Ever.”

Master Lists: Dean Winchester / Main

Tags Info

Tag List: @alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 / @jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl / @shanimallina87 / @stoneyggirl2 / @waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @Pank0w / @kmc1989 / @deans-spinster-witch / @spnbaby-67 / @roseblue373

[jellybell92]

Dad Schlatt & Period Comfort

Word count: 2.2k

This fic is catered towards afab readers/ fem identifying readers. There's graphic descriptions of blood, women's hygiene and period sex. You have been warned!! 18+ and MDNI!!

“Why isn't mommy here?” Your daughter asks quietly, glancing up from the Dr. Seuss book with her big brown eyes. Jay shuts the book and places it on the nightstand, turning to face her. He runs his hand through her hair and smiles tenderly. “Mommy's not feeling well, sweetheart. I promise she'll get well soon for your big day, okay?” He kisses the top of her head and tucks her small frame into the bedsheets. She smiles up at him, gripping her stuffed bear and snuggling into the blankets. “Can you tell Mommy I want a chocolate cake tomorrow? And can -- can mr. bear eat cake with us?” Jay chuckles softly and brushes her hair back from her face. “Yes, I'll tell her you want chocolate. And of course Mr. Bear can join us. The more the merrier.” He leans down and kisses her head once more. “Sleep tight, baby girl.”

“I love you Daddy.” she coos, smiling and hugging Mr. Bear tighter.

“Love you too, honey.”

It's her 6th birthday tomorrow. You and Jay had planned the perfect day for her—homemade cake and all, the whole nine yards. But then your period decided to show up this morning, throwing everything off track. Now, you're stuck in bed, feeling miserable. The cramps won't let up, and you feel like your head might explode. It's almost as bad as the contractions you had during your pregnancy.

Your daughter's already half-asleep. Jay watches silently as her breath evens out and her little hands relax on the pillow. He chuckles to himself and opens the door slowly, whispering, “I love you” and carefully slipping out of the room. He pads down the hallway to your shared bedroom, opening the door to find you curled up under the blankets.

“Hi, hubby.” You mumble, creaking your eyes open to see Schlatt squatting down and staring at you. His palm grazes your cheek and you let out a long sigh, relieved that he's finally here.

“How are you feeling, love?” He asks as he takes in your sour expression.

“Not great.” You hold out your trembling hand for him to hold.

He squeezes it and asks, “Did you take any medicine lately?”

You shake your head. Your cramps were at an all-time high and they were only getting worse. You tried to take a nap earlier but it was just no use.

Jay studied your face intensely. You close your eyes and groan, feeling another wave of cramps pulse through your abdomen and making you wanna scream. Jay tisks and rises up on his feet, leaving you momentarily and coming back with a glass of water and pain meds.

Earlier tonight, your husband sent you to bed before dinner even started. You barely had enough energy to make dinner, let alone eat it. You force a smile for your daughter, but Jay sees right through it. The look in your eyes and the way your shoulders hunch tell him this is going to be a tough period.

He decided that it was Daddy's turn for bedtime tonight and shooed you off, letting your little one know that you needed to be alone.

You open your eyes again and look up at your husband hovering over you. He hands you the water and sits down next to you, helping you sit up. You down the water and swallow the pills, wincing at the cool liquid sliding down your throat. Jay rubs circles onto your back and kisses your temple.

You gulp a mouthful of water again and look up at him with a weak smile, sighing as your headache finally lets up.

“How was our girl tonight?” You ask. “Hopefully she wasn't too upset that I didn't put her to bed.” You sniff and lean into Jay's soothing hands against your back, his fingers massaging the soft skin under your shirt.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “She was an angel tonight. She stayed quite the whole time I read to her. Afterwards she told me she wants you to get better so we can make a chocolate cake tomorrow.” His lips curl in a smile. “And she insisted on bringing Mr. Bear with her.”

I laugh softly, leaning up against Jay's chest. “She's so funny. Must've gotten your sense of humor.”

Jay nods and sighs, his chest rising and falling against your head. “Well, she's got your patience and understanding, toots.”

He tilts your chin up and presses his lips against yours in a soft, tender kiss.

“I'm gonna go start the shower. You just sit tight, beautiful.” You nod and he scurries off into the bathroom. You hear a rush of water hit the tile and sigh, slumping back down against the pillows. It took all your strength just to sit up. How were you gonna take a shower in this condition?

You rub your eyelids and look up to see Schlatt standing in front of you again, his hand extended out to you. “Showers ready. Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?”

He was always so caring and gentle. You smile and take his hand, feeling your body lighten as he lifts you by your arms. He guides you to the bathroom and supports your wobbly frame with a hand on your lower back.

He helps you get undressed, being careful not to hurt you.

“Thanks, Jay.” You chuckle and steady yourself on his chest as he pulls down your pants. Your underwear drops to the floor and he notices a small string dangling from you.

He smiles and gently places a cool hand on your stomach. “Want me to get that?”

You nod and press your face into the crook of his neck. You wince and moan softly as he slides the full tampon from you, throwing it away and leaning back to take his shirt off.

He flicks his head towards the shower, throwing his shirt onto the floor with your clothes. “Go ahead and hop in. I've got this, babe.”

You nod and stand there for a second longer, eyeing his bare chest. He notices and laughs. “Get in, you devil. The water's gonna get cold.”

You smile playfully and blush, pulling back the shower curtain.

The warm steam rushes around you, instantly relieving the pressure in your head. You suddenly feel the room spinning and sway on the tile floor, grasping for the wall. Jay steps in just in time to grab your hips, leaning you back against his chest.

“Woah, woah. You okay?” He asks, his eyes wide in alarm. You nod and turn yourself around to face him. “Yeah, sorry. I just got a little dizzy.”

“Hold onto me. I can't have you falling, alright?” You nod and squeeze his sides as he reaches for the body wash. His tall frame shields the water from you, water droplets bouncing off of his head and trickling down into his face. His hair is now soaked and his brown curls tighten into loose ringlets, sticking to his forehead.

Jay washes you all over in a gentle and slow rhythm, taking care to lighten his touch around your heat. Despite the medicine kicking in, your vulva was still tender and sore, making it difficult for you to fully relax. You lean your head on his chest and sigh, trying to focus on the hot water enveloping you instead of the aching pain between your legs.

Jay sighs and brings his hands up to massage your scalp, pulling your body flush against him.

“You're such a good mom. She's so lucky to have you, you know that?”

You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his back, smiling against his wet skin. “Thank you, Jay. I couldn't do any of this without you.”

He chuckles and tugs on your hair, leaning your head back to kiss you. You moan and press yourself deeper into him, squishing your breasts against his chest. He chuckles and brings his hands around your body to knead them, massaging the sore spots around your nipples.

You whimper and close your eyes at the pure bliss coursing through you. Jay peppers kisses along your jawline and down your neck, making you moan louder. With your limited strength, you weakly lift up a leg and caress his inner thigh with your knee. A low growl rumbles through his chest and you feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

Your cheeks flush and you muster a cheeky grin. “God, I love you.” You sigh. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

Jay sinks his teeth further into your collarbone and grunts, “I love you too, beautiful.”

He dips you backwards and arches your spine, your head falling back with ease. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades as his lips find your nipple, sucking at the soft tissue around it.

Every touch elicits a new wave of pleasure, a new sense of thrill and lust. In this moment, you forget all about your period and simply focus on the man in front of you, loving you endlessly.

Jay slides his hand down your stomach and curls his big fingers around your swollen bud, making you moan and hitch your hips against his hand.

You return the favor and lift your back up to wrap your hand around his cock. He groans huskily and stares into your eyes, a smirk creeping up on his lips.

“I love when you do that, doll.” he whimpers. A symphony of moans escape his lips as you stroke him softly. The water adds a light friction to your movements, only making him beg and plead more.

You smile and stare into his eyes, pressing your forehead against his. God, these sounds will be the death of you.

You let go of his cock and he bucks his hips into your stomach, sliding it up your belly button. The pressure feels so good against you and only makes you wetter.

You pull back hesitantly.

“Not here, honey. Let's dry off.” you suggest, placing a firm hand on his chest.

He nods, quickly turning off the shower and drying you both off. He grabs a dark towel and sweeps you off your feet bridal-style, kissing your face all over.

He carries you to the bed and hastily throws down the towel before laying you on top of it. Jay climbs over you, admiring your figure for a moment before caressing your face and neck again. You giggle and wrap your legs around his waist.

“You sure this is okay?” You ask him, searching his eyes. “Today's my heaviest day, bubba.”

His face softens as he considers your words.

A wide grin sweeps across his face. “Baby. Of course it's okay. I don't give a fuck about the blood. And It'll make you feel better, right?”

You smile and nod, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks.

“Well then, that's all that matters.” He leans down and kisses you passionately, sliding his tongue in your mouth and running his hands over your body with fervor.

He settles himself between your legs, slapping your inner thighs gently as he admires your swollen pussy. A trickle of blood has already made it's way down to the towel, forming a dark red line against your tender heat. His eyes darken with lust and he scans your body.

“My baby. I love you so much.” He leans over to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the top drawer, opening it carefully and rolling it on himself. You run your hand along his stomach, lightly tracing a finger over his happy trail.

“I love you too. You treat me so well, Jay.” You say.

“Well, of course, toots. What kinda man would I be if I didn't love on my girl, huh?” He slaps your thighs harder this time, eliciting a moan and a laugh from you as he positions himself at your entrance.

“Tell me if it hurts at all. Okay?” Jay leans down and coos in your ear, starting to inch forward slowly.

Immediately you feel pressure build up in your core as you clench around him. Your walls grip his cock snugly and you dig your heels into his back. He moans and keeps pushing inside you.

When his hips fully kiss yours, you sigh with relief at the pain dissolving.

“You - you alright, baby?” Jay gasps, choking at his words in pleasure.

You nod, your voice trembling. "Thank you, Jay." Tears well up in your eyes as emotion floods over you. You’re overwhelmed with gratitude -- grateful for Jay, for your body, and for this little family you created.

The rest of the night is spent making love until you're both happily exhausted.

You fall asleep in Jay's embrace, dreaming of your daughter. She’s laughing, her eyes shining brightly with joy. As she grows in front of you, her pupils shift and change colors like a kaleidoscope. You watch in awe as years seem to pass by in an instant. She’s turning into a woman, radiating love and light, and it makes your heart ache.

The next morning you wake with the memory of her still fresh in your mind. Your tears spill onto Jay's skin as you kiss his cheeks, knowing that one day, your dream will come true.

A/N: I had a bit of trouble wrapping this one up. Didn't feel like writing all the sex details if you know what I mean 😭 I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!!

[burdenandacrop]

hellooooo!!! do you think you could write something about doing schlatts makeup or playing with his hair when you’re bored or something to that effect? also your writing is so good and i love your page setup, its so cute!!

˗ˏˋ ❝ does pink even suit me ? ❞ ˎˊ˗

this idea is so adorable so THANK you for suggesting it, this is about to be the most fluff ridden thing i've ever written.

summary : fiddling around with your makeup bag, whilst he just lays bedridden; arises a new idea to you. does he think it's stupid at first? yeah, but he'll do just about anything to earn your smile.

⋮ ⌗ ┆established relationship, tooth rotting fluff, schlatt is SUCH a sweetie pie in this one, banter, fem reader.

sitting on the soft carpet, you wandered your hands into your makeup bag that most likely needed some care. there really wasn't much else to do, considering it was such a rainy day in new york. so the only noises you could hear was the roar of thunders and every cat tiktok that schlatt was stalking on his phone. giggling to yourself quietly when you heard something from his phone, probably some poor kitty falling off a counter top and making a big comical noise. your hands continued to rummage through the bag, eventually finding a blush you swore went missing months ago. guess actually going through things helps in that department. pulling it out and eyeing it to see if the packaging got damaged.

schlatt's lingered over to where you were sitting, he was curious as to why you were on the floor of all places. of course, he knew better than to question those arrangements. considering you weren't exactly the most normal person there was, all with love though. he plopped his phone onto his chest, the soft volume of whatever tiktok he was watching still playing through the speaker. "what are you lookin' at hun?" he asks out of the blue, startling you a bit. he hadn't spoken in the last hour so. you whip your head to him with a soft grin, raising up the blush in your palm. his eyebrows raising gently as he eyed the blush in your hand, smiling to himself on how cute you looked in the moment.

"ah, you finally found the- uh. what's it called?" he stammered out, a bit embarrassed that he still hasn't gotten down all the makeup terminology. "blush, well- liquid blush if you want to be technical about it." you reply, looking back down to the blush and twirling it around with your fingers. "hm, makes your cheeks all pinky, right?" he muttered with a quiet chuckle, starting to sit up more upright in the bed as he looked down at you sitting. you softly nod and look back up to him on the bed, "i think i was wearing this on our first date actually." you snicker to yourself as you drop the blush into your lap, now just wanting to look at him. he looked awfully adorable when he wasn't all the way there, just unbrushed hair, fuzzy chops, in one of his old sweatshirts he probably scammed someone on ebay for. you thought so even if he disagreed.

"gonna be so honest with you, the color of your cheeks is not something i remember from that day." he stated, his words waning as he stretched out his arms. he slumped his shoulders back down with a gentle grin, "i just remember how your eyes looked when i called you pretty for the first time." he added on, tucking his lip in with a smile. you playfully scoff at him, waving your hand around with a chuckle. "okay smooth guy, you win." you reply, shaking your head and go back to rummaging through your makeup bag. being pleasantly surprised to notice how many things you mostly just forgot about. schlatt sighed with a smile, kicking his legs off the edge as he stood himself off from the bed. eyeing you as you went through your bag, walking behind you and taking a seat right next to you. even if it was on the floor, he couldn't pass this up.

you side eyed him as you saw him adjust his legs on the floor, grinning to yourself as you noticed how he was trying to cross his legs like you were. he groaned as he finally got the position he wanted, leaning his head down to your shoulder. "going through your makeup?" he muttered, sinking his cheek further into the soft cushion of your sweatshirt. you softly nodded, bringing your hand to gently pat the side of his head. "mhm, figured it was time." you mutter, tangling your fingers into his hair as you knitted his head. his eyes failing to stay open as you continued, he absolutely loved when you did this. even if he never said it out loud, his furrowed eyebrows when you stopped spoke for themselves. "you're so disorganized." he joked, nudging his head closer to you.

"well what do you think i'm doing then, huh?" you scoffed at him, pulling your fingers away from his head. hearing an immediate elongated 'hmph' from his closed lips. he whipped his head back up and rested his hands into his lap, sat like a kid who just got in trouble. his eyes roam to the window, watching as the rain fell on the glass panes so harshly. "i hope the kitties are okay." he mumbled, making you look up from the makeup bag. "those outdoor kitties are just fine, i'm sure they're safe under somewhere dry." you reply, rubbing his shoulder gently as you try to silently convince him to not bring in yet another cat. he just leans back and plops his back onto the carpet, a bit surprised on how nice it felt on his back. groaning and looking up to you, "just so bored."

he was unbelievably dramatic, even bringing his hands up to his face to sulk. you look to the makeup bag, then to him, then right back to the makeup bag. an idea arising in your head, perhaps an idea he wouldn't be the most ecstatic about but, an idea non the less for such a bleak day. he knitted his eyebrows at you, immediately picking up on your signals. "you don't even have to say it, you weirdo." he stammers out, placing his arms behind his head as he laid out on the carpet. "you literally have the prettiest eyelashes, come on." you try and convince him, drooping your shoulders for the dramatic effect. two could play that game. he just shakes his head and groans out, but not surprised you'd come up with an idea like this. it was you after all.

"only to prove i'm comfortable with my- masculinity." he coughed out, rolling his eyes back to you. the answer making you nearly jump in glee, it wasn't such a boring day anymore. your reaction only sending him back further as he snickered to himself, watching as you grabbed your makeup bag by the handle and scooted over to him with the same smile that made him fall for you in the first place. "don't break a nail with that excitement." he added on with a sarcastic undertone, just to rough up the edges a bit. you looked up from unzipping your bag, slowly peeling back the top as you looked at him with playful annoyance. he always needed to get the last word in, seems it was just his character.

he softly snickered under his breath, readjusting his hands underneath his head as he watched you pull out numerous items. in which they all looked incredibly foreign to him. his eyes widened as you palmed a pan with a smile, looking at him as you held up the brush in your other hand. "it's just blush." you groan out with a smile, as you start to lean over him to start applying. now he wasn't so terribly mad at the idea anymore, your face looked really pretty from this angle. seems he's smitten any which way you look at it, really. he closes his eyes in his thinking that the brush was going to go on his eyes, the little notion causing a snicker of your own to be heard. making him shoot his eyes back open in confusion, he looked stupid doing that. didn't he. "what?" he asked, watching as you swarmed yourself with giggles. his cluelessness only adding to the comedic value. taking a deep breath to settle your laughter, sighing with a soft grin.

"you don't need to close your eyes for this- it's your cheeks, silly." you explain as you point at your own cheeks for demonstration, maybe then he'd get it. though it was kind of hard to tell with him. he slowly nodded, still not exactly getting what the point was. he just couldn't fathom looking like an idiot, especially not in front of dear you. "yeah, knew that. just- gotta be prepared with your type of antics." he tries to back himself up, rolling his eyes with a gentle grin. you just shake your head and lean down to sway the brush along his cheeks, being pleasantly surprised on how nice the shade went with his cheeks. the notion being oddly soothing to him, he liked how soft the brush felt on his skin. no wonder you liked to do this to yourself so often. his eyes trailed from your eyes to how your lips were perfectly curled into the sweetest smile, "does pink even suit me?" he muttered, soft enough to surprise you. he was a softie, but something about this felt so much more delicate with his tone. you could definitely get used to it.

you slowly stop the brush from moving along his cheek, softly titling your head as you watched his eyes slowly flutter. "yeah. pink suits you." you reply back, almost trying to mimic his gentle voice. you almost couldn't tell if the rather intense pink on his cheeks was from the blush pan, or from his own rosiness. either way, it was cute. "i'll take you prettying me up every day if it means i get to see you smile like that." he muttered, moving his hand from his head rest to move it to your cheek to gently caress you. the warmth of his thumb roaming, sending you into a serene state. "you do look awfully pretty right now." you snicker out, leaning your head's weight into his palm as he continued. "i got a good makeup artist, real top notch." he replied, snickering along with you. the soft rain in the background perfectly balancing with the softness of the moment in its entirety. "she's gorgeous so- don't tell my girlfriend." he adds on, chuckling out as he dropped his hand to your shoulder with a sigh.

you roll your eyes with a smile, leaning down to kiss him gently. looking down into his eyes as you noticed the soft shine on his lips that appeared, the little fact making you crack another chuckle. "i think i just solidified your makeup look." you smile, wiping your finger on the edges of his lips as the stain would not budge off his skin. he just shook his head and brought his hand back up to your face to gently hold, "what a pro, seriously." he sarcastically coughed out with a smile. watching your eyes for a moment, entranced with how the lighting was falling perfectly on the edges of your face. "c'mere." he muttered, trailing his hand to the nape of your neck before kissing you again. his other hand moving from his head to gently hold the rest of your head as he dove his lips into yours, he couldn't imagine a better rainy day.

author's note : AAA sorry this is so short, but. i think it's adorable, at least in my eyes. i hope you love it !! i really loved the fluff, which is odd considering i'm such an angst ball. i hope to get the ball rolling for the rest of writing amidst all my working days, til then. LAUVE YOU !!!

[fullpenguincupcake]

The Chinese yearn for Luigi Mangione 🇨🇳

For more Luigi, fanfic and romance stuff: see here.

[kartyepartye12]

Darling we both know

That the nights were mainly made

For saying things that you can't say tomorrow day…

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

le dragon rouge: rosquez [e]

“Grandmother,” Valentino drawls out. Marc’s fangs gleam, wicked—he can’t stop staring. They’re smaller than he had imagined. Sharper, very white. “What big teeth you have got.”

Marc lets out a snort. Doesn’t smile and doesn’t blink either. “All the better to eat you with.”

It’s—disquieting. It is also disquieting when he does it in press conferences, or when he’s listening hard to whatever bullshit Valentino is saying, but nothing softens the blow here. Marc’s attention falls over him intensely, scrapes along his nerves.

Hungry—which happens to be the crux of their current issue.

Valentino is thinking about it—Little Red Riding Hood. Being eaten. Same difference. Marc’s mouth is close, is the thing, and bitten pink. Almost pretty enough to distract him from what it hides, how his voice comes out lisped through his teeth.

It sounds a bit goofy, except everything Valentino can see is how ashen his face looks, the marble motionless of his posture.

He’s acutely, unfortunately aware of his heartbeat on his jugular, also.

Valentino is not surprised by anything that has happened thus far. It was right there on his files— MÁRQUEZ, Marc: vampire, 21 years old . So no, not surprised.

And he caught Marc feeding, once. On a fucking club bathroom, a girl in a mini green dress pressed between him and the grimy wall. She was screaming, but no, not that away. Less like she had teeth on her throat draining her dry, more like she had a couple of fingers in her cunt.

So sue him, he is a little curious.

“Valentino,” Marc says, doing a terrible job of trying to look steady with his huge, liquid eyes and the pinched tight press of his lips, like he’s salivating and wants to hide it. “Are you—ok?”

“Yep,” he pops the p obnoxiously. Makes himself grin. “Come on, food is getting cold.”

“Hmm—okay.”

It doesn’t sound very certain. Valentino is pretty sure he should be offended.

Marc bends down to hover over him anyway, pressing Valentino against the bed, chest on chest, worse than chains. His thighs had been cold, braced around his hips, but he’s fucking freezing —like metal left out in the winter. He can feel the hair on his standing on end. His little flinch, trapped under him.

It’s June in Spain, he shouldn’t burn like ice. It makes no sense.

The cold is better than looking at Marc, though. Easier. Kid’s—whatever, a predator species, something bad and wicked, but he doesn’t usually look like that. Doesn’t usually look like much of anything unless he’s up on a bike and taking them all for idiots.

And he’s terribly sweet for Valentino too.

He isn’t sweet in this bed. Eyes too dark, with an inorganic, lifeless glint to them. Body too still, never fidgeting, every move deliberate, seamless.

Valentino had read about it once—uncanny valley. That there had to be a reason for humans to be afraid of things that look like them but aren’t them.

Marc’s nose brushes against the hollow of his throat. Valentino swallows around nothing—mouth dry and sour. His pulse spikes. He wonders how much of that the vampire nuzzling him can feel, smooths out a scoff before it bursts out of chest.

“It’s alright,” Marc aims for soothing and misses it by a mile. He’s panting, and each word sounds like it was pried laboriously from his mouth. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Valentino laughs. Can’t help it, or how gravelly it sounds. “I thought that was the point.”

Marc huffs. The chill of his face pressed on the side of his neck is like a naked blade. 

“No, it isn’t.”

There’s this something tugging under his skin. Not fear—well, not only fear, Valentino has an alright sense of preservation for a moto rider, and he isn’t exactly thrilled by pain—but still there. Prodding like thorns.

Annoyance, except he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know anything other than the fact it makes him itchy, restless. He’s a pinned butterfly, the sheets creaking under him.

Marc’s lips skim over his carotid, icy, a little cruel—which is new. Horrible. And horrible in the way it makes his stomach clench. Valentino sucks in a rattling breath. His tongue might as well be glued to the roof of his mouth.

“I can find someone else.” Marc inches away from him, tries to get up.

Valentino clamps his hand on the back of Marc’s neck, watches him jolt like a live wire. “You don’t want to,” he says, thrumming, runrunrun instinct screaming at him—he sounds catlike still. A little steelier than he’d planned to. “I think you want to eat me real bad.”

Marc makes a noise—helpless, half-choked, amused. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well. It’s polite to ask.”

“Please, please,” he mutters, a laugh threaded into it. Because of course Marc wouldn’t be ashamed of begging—Valentino chews on the inside of his cheek until it aches, something white-hot pulsing through him. “May I bite you?”

May I . Proper little boy, isn’t he?

Valentino lolls his neck to the side. “Be my guest.”

He sounds very magnanimous. It’s almost a joke, another one, and Marc—

Marc grabs his chin. Bears down on his shoulder to keep him in place. Valentino thought—he thought he’d hesitate a lot more. He doesn’t know why he did.

Then there are teeth.

It hurts. It really fucking hurts. Valentino makes a noise, strangled, like he’s sawed off a chunk of his tongue. Cold sweeps over him—worse than an ice bath after Sepang, the shock making his body seize and spasm.

Marc might as well be raking teeth over his raw nerve endings. Injecting him with poison.

Too much to feel, and barely anything he can untangle. Barely anything he wants to untangle. Valentino’s head goes taffy thick, fuzzy around the edges. His vision blurs, breaking in blocks of color and little else.

He would flinch if he could. Maybe. Or maybe not. As that haze rises, Valentino relaxes muscle by muscle, and he might as well go down a drain, bones liquid, that jolt of nauseous fear bled out of him along his consciousness. Ha .

Marc moans, a quiet, wrecked little noise, halfway to a sob, like he does when Valentino is mean to him, pushing in his spit-slick cock after quali and pressing his face against a wall to keep him quiet.

Everything about him is still cold , glacial, except his frantic tongue on his neck. That feels scorching, and Christ, Valentino isn’t sure about pain anymore. It’s a blurry, feverish thing crawling under his skin. Too much. Too big. Valentino isn’t sure about pleasure either.

There’s only Marc, and that wet sucking sound right against his ear. He laps Valentino up, hungry and fucking shameless about it.

He feels his heart pumping, feels his blood moving the wrong way inside his veins—into Marc. It’s the most in-his-body Valentino has ever been.

A high, keening groan echoes between them, through the pounding in Valentino’s head. It has to be coming from him. He can’t stop it, or close his mouth, or think about moving. Valentino sinks— ah , ah , ah , dizzy when he tries to figure out he’s hurting, or not hurting, or feeling good.

He’s shaking. Like that one time when he brushed against a live wire by accident and couldn’t unclench his hand, stood there jolting until Stefania pushed him.

It sizzles inside—that feeling he can’t name, like an orgasm that just won’t quit until Valentino can’t decide if it’s great or worse than a knife between his ribs.

Valentino drifts on nothing. Time drips around him, and his blood drips into Marc. Marc who’s starving, who doesn’t ever care about stopping. Valentino is getting wrangled like his Honda on the corners, bent to his will. He laughs about it. Tries to.

Marc would eat him whole. He would.

And it isn’t great , but Valentino lets himself be taken over, fights to keep his eyes open—so he can look at the ceiling. At the tanned sliver of skin on Marc’s nape.

Everything spins. Loses meaning.

It all comes crashing down when Marc lets go of him. Valentino blinks, his eyes gritty—shudders, too. Entire chunks of his body are unresponsive, numb.

Marc presses his face against his chest, stays there. He’s panting, shoulders heaving with it, fever-hot to the touch and thrumming with wild energy. Can’t seem to stop fidgeting above Valentino, his fingers restless on the bones of his collar, back and forth and back and forth, right where it pushes against his skin.

Slowly, with Marc keeping him pinned to the bed, Valentino realizes his vision has focused again.

His senses come back to him one by one—the cool, smooth sheets under him, the rancid yellow lamplight, Marc’s strong things braced around him, the staleness in his mouth, the metallic smell thick and soupy in the air.

Marc leans back. Still fucking disquieting—except not quite. His cheeks are flushed pink. There’s red all over his lips, all over his chin, messy like when Valentino hooks his fingers into the babyfat of his cheeks and makes him show the come on his tongue, tells him to not swallow. He isn’t stone, or cold metal, or motionless.

And his eyes. They’ve gone from unnatural to searing, dark as pitch.

Alive. Hard to miss it when he was so other before.

It’s pretty. Reminds Valentino of that one time he saw an eagle pluck a kitten from the side of the road in Tavullia, the glossy blackness of its feathers.

Marc shifts again on his lap. It hits him like being highsided into the asphalt. Valentino scrambles for air, his cock oversensitive in the cooling stickiness inside his underwear. He had—

“Uh.”

“I’m sorry,” Marc snorts, not sounding sorry at all. He’s rubbing himself against his thigh, Valentino realizes. Looking fucking obscene about it, his budge fat and heavy, straining against his shorts. “It happens sometimes.”

“Alright,” he says eloquently, in an ugly jumble of syllables. Lets his eyes linger. “Aren’t you going to do anything about it.”

It isn’t a question.

So Marc immediately shimmies out of his clothes—awkward, overeager—and wraps a hand around the big cock he doesn’t fucking use for anything because he acts like he’s going to die without Valentino inside him.

He’s flushed dark, wet . Valentino isn’t sure he wants it—but he’s thinking about it anyway, Marc’s thick dick in his ass and Marc’s teeth on his throat, all at once. Being eaten. Consumed. All of it. If he could, he’d scorch that thought to ash, and his tacky underwear too.

His next breath comes out funny, a little choked. Marc, uncaring godling that he is, throws his head back, opens his mouth to moan.

He works his hand like he’s on time attack, no finesse—ruts against it, in this ugly, brash desperation that Valentino can’t help but stare at. It’s too soon, and he might not have enough blood for an erection, but his own cock twitches anyway. The pain of it is like being pricked with a needle.

Marc didn’t want to stop—he knows that. Would’ve loved to drink him dry, keep him for himself, hishishis in the gore in his stomach. It makes Valentino clammy, jittery. It also makes Valentino think about cutting him open, burrowing in.

All the way up to his elbow. Or mouth first—have them match.

“You needed it,” Valentino hisses. It’s easier to say than you could’ve killed me .

“I did—fuck, you’re so—l don’t how you let—”

Valentino doesn’t like what Marc is about to say. He hooks his fingers inside his gore-splattered mouth, right over his retracting fangs. They’re shaking, chilly, an uncoordinated weight. Marc clearly doesn’t care—garbles out this reedy noise, eyelashes fluttering low over his cheeks, and tries to sink his teeth in.

“Don’t,” Valentino hisses.

Marc goes wide-eyed, nods. He’s sweet like this, almost.

“Can I—,” he asks frantically, in a slur of words, leaking all over his hand.

Valentino toys with saying no , just to see if he’d cry, or get angry, or ignore him and keep going. Lets it shine through in his face. Marc whines, his dangerous mouth wobbling pitifully. That smooths the unkindness unfurling in his chest like an overgrown rose bush, all thorns.

“Of course,” Valentino croons, remarkably gentle, in rehearsed showmanship.

Gentleness comes easy with Marc’s leash in his hand. Easier at his harsh, stuttered, “ Valentino ,” when he sweeps a calloused thumb over the head of his cock.

Marc topples forward, curled above him, the blood on his chin drying brown and stark against his skin, the pale scar running there. The blood on Valentino’s throat is fresh, though, still dripping sluggishly on the sheets. His head is light, untethered, running in manic racehorse circles around Christ, Christ, Christ .

Each time he blinks, his eyes feel sandy, and his skin is clammy, underwear scraping along his dick, but he’s wired wrong under Marc’s second-hand heat—hungry too. Reckless with it.

“You’d take anything I gave you, no?” He hums genially, the words cracking like a whip between them, Marc scrambling to nod. “Whore.”

It drips honeyed from his lips— puttana .

When Marc comes, he does it with a small, wounded noise, jaw twitching. But Valentino told him no, so he doesn’t bite. Just shakes, pants open-mouthed and wanting, with his come trickling over Valentino’s chest. His eyes plead, and he clings to that, to the uncomplicated cruelty that this opens up.

Tomorrow, Valentino will get rid of everything—the bloody sheets, his clothes, the ache in his veins at Marc’s wicked, white fangs and the fat weight of his soft, come-tacky cock.

Tomorrow, for sure.

[sherlockismarvelous9-1-1]

Hmmm what you got in that heart Oliver?

awwww

[scrollonso]

Cinnamon — Strollonso (7) (prev)

Fernando: I'm at the front.

Lance checked his phone when a text from his boyfriend — that's what they were, right? — lit up the screen, smiling to himself as he threw down the pen in his hands to reply.

Lance: I’m almost done. I’ll be out soon. 💚💚💚

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Lance continued to close up the Aston Martin building. He was doing it later than his father usually did today — at 7:00 pm rather than the usual 5:00 pm as his father had to attend business elsewhere.

Organizing files, putting things away, and then shutting off the lights, Lance locked the building up for the day before walking outside, slipping his phone out so he could text his boyfriend again.

It came naturally, running a business like this. He was practically a trained dog for it.

Before he could click on their chat, a pair of voices were heard and Lance looked up, seeing his boyfriend and a man who was standing far too close for his liking engaged in a conversation.

It was only when the man took a step forward, placing his hand on his boyfriend’s arm did Lance's lips purse, tucking his phone away.

There wasn’t a specific feeling Lance could identify in that moment, but a tight pressure built in his chest. His fists clenched, and thats when he understood— jealousy. He's so embarrassingly jealous over practically nothing.

There was absolutely no reason for him to feel this way — he trusted Fernando. He knew him. Still, the idea that someone was touching his boyfriend — someone other than him —was fuelling a kind of anger he rarely experienced.

Lance began to surge forward, needing to put an end to it when Fernando's following actions had his heart feeling light. He watched dutifully as his boyfriend tilted his head, staring at the guy’s hand on his arm intensely for a second before taking an obvious step back. A small breath of air left Lance's lips, loosening the ache in his throat.

The guy’s hand fell away, and his smile dimmed momentarily. Watching Fernando's stance, Lance could tell he was starting to get uncomfortable. Fernando's eyes flickered back to the main entrance of the building where he expected Lance to walk through, and he nodded his head, talking less and less to the stranger before him.

Lance took this opportunity to make his way over, a smile on his face. As he got closer, he could hear their conversation more clearly — realizing the guy was talking about something Lance was familiar with, having an entire shop dedicated to cars.

“So, I was just wondering if you could help me pick the next car for my collection? Maybe we could grab a bite now if you’re free! I know this great dinner place a five-minute walk from here,” the guy suggested.

Before Fernando could talk, Lance spoke up instead.

“Hi, Fer.” Lance stood beside him, his smile widening as he looked up at him, his arm wrapping around Fernando's waist. Enjoying how the older man instantly relaxed into the hold, and warmth filled Lance.

Fernando's hand went straight to Lance's back, his fingers twisting around a the fabric of his formal jacket.

Lance turned his head back to the guy before them, whose eyes flicked between the two of them before returning to Fernando's face, completely ignoring Lance.

“So, are you free? I’m confused about—” the guy continued.

“I own Aston Martin,” Lance interrupted. He might as well get business out of this unpleasant situation. “I can assess your interests and find a vehicle that—“

“I wasn’t asking you. I was asking him.”

“Excuse me?” Lance scoffed, incredulous. No way he was being spoken to like that. Not after this stranger was shamelessly flirting with his man.

The guy’s tone made Fernando straighten up. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to help you,” Fernando said simply, his voice flat.

The guy’s demeanor changed instantly, shock infiltrating his features. His soft smile was replaced with disgust. Aimed at Lance. Lance shifted on his feet, his fists clenching again as he tried to take a step forward so he could sock this cunt right in the face.

The only thing stopping him was Fernando's grip on his waist, unrelenting, forcing him to stay still.

“Listen here—“ Lance began, and was cut off.

“What? Why?” the guy asked, confused, still ignoring Lance as he only directed his attention to his boyfriend.

“Apologize.” “Apologize?”

“Yes.” Fernando repeats in a condescending tone. “Apologize to my boyfriend.”

When the stranger stays silent, his mouth agape, Fernando sighs as if he’s bored and turns to look down at an equally shocked Lance. “Are you finished?”

“Mhm,” Lance hums quietly, and his boyfriend nods, moving his hand from his waist and slipping it into Lance's hand instead. He firmly grips it, dragging them both towards his car.

“Hey!” Lance exclaims, looking over his shoulder at the stranger. “I haven’t hit him yet!”

“It’s time to go home, Lancito.” Fernando said monotonously. “Come on,” Fernando dragged his boyfriend to the passenger side, opening the door before setting his hands on Lance's waist.

Before he could protest, Lance was easily lifted into the air and set in the seat, and Fernando reached across his body to buckle him in.

“I’m mad at you.” Lance said once the click of the seatbelt had been secured. Fernando sighed, resting an arm at the top of the car as he peered inside towards his boyfriend.

“Why?”

“You let that ugly creature touch you.”

“I moved away.”

“Still,” Lance huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looked away. “You should’ve done more.”

“Like what?”

“Kill him.”

That had Fernando cracking a small smile, and he raised his free hand to cup Lance's jaw, gently turning his face so they were staring at each other again.

Lance stared into his boyfriend’s eyes intensely, trying to keep the frown on his face. He wasn’t mad, not really. Just a bit annoyed. Not at his boyfriend but at the dumb fuck who—

His thoughts were cut off when Fernando leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. Brain short circuiting, Lance's eyes closed instantly and he was arching into the delicate touch, wanting to deepen it.

Fernando entertained him for a few seconds before pulling away, staring at him again.

“Happy?”

“No,” Lance scowled. “Fuck me and I will be.”

“We’re in front of your dad's company.”

“Sexy. Now take your pants off.”

Fernando pulled away fully, laughing to himself as he slammed the passenger door shut in his boyfriend’s face. With a slacked jaw, Lance watched as his Fernando rounded the car before getting into the driver’s seat and hopping in.

“You’re mean,” he told Fernando once he had settled in.

Fernando shrugged, starting the car. “You like it.” As much as Lance wanted to deny it, he couldn’t. He lived for Fernando's mock rudeness — loved it, in fact.

Lance squirmed in his seat as Fernando began to drive them back to Lance's house. The thought of being home and alone with Fernando's had Lance even more restless, fisting his hands on his thighs to try and subside the burning pleasure inside his body.

It didn’t help when Fernando reached across the console to set his big hand on Lance's thigh, holding him down firmly halting any movements.

His hand was so uncharacteristically large that it could easily circle majority of the surface of Lance's thigh, and that very idea of Fernando being much bigger and stronger than him — in every way besides height — only made his breath catch in his throat.

Instead of saying something, Fernando teased Lance by rubbing small circles on the inside of his thigh using his pinkie. Looking over at his boyfriend, he could see the almost lazy way Fernando was presenting himself. His free hand — the one not currently torturing Lance — was set easily on the steering wheel. He looked so composed, so bored, and it only served to make the situation more enthralling.

“Fer,” Lance whined softly, unable to take anymore. If the growing tent in his jeans served to prove anything, he didn’t know what could.

“What is it, Lance?” Fernando asked, feigning confusion. “Did you forget something at the shop?”

“No , you fucking—“

Lance's words cut short when Fernando pressed his hand against the younger boy's boner and a desperate pant left his mouth as he shut his eyes.

Trying to cope, Lance held his breath until they finally reached his house. Clicking off his seatbelt, Lance made quick work of turning to Fernando and yanking his shirt close, sealing their lips together in a burning kiss. Moaning in his mouth, Lance started to climb into his boyfriend’s lap when Fernando stopped him with a push to his chest.

Whining, Lance pulled away and stared desperately into his eyes.

“I still have some papers left to grade,” Fernando murmured, and that had Lance heating up even more.

“But—“

“Will you be a good boy and wait for me? It won’t take that long.” Lance sighed, nodding his head and let Fernando go — watching him pull out his own school bag as he did so. Before he could get far, though, Fernando pressed a soft kiss against his mouth as a thank you before they both exited the car.

“Will you be fast?” Lance sadly asks.

Fernando nods, and they enter the house. Slipping off their shoes, Lance grabs Fernando before he can fully retreat into one of the spare rooms he'd been using for wodk.

“Give me a goodbye kiss.” He demands.

“I just kissed you in the car, Lance.”

Lance frowns. “Yes, but that wasn’t to say goodbye.”

Instead of arguing, Fernando leans down and gives Lance what he wants knowing if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be left alone long enough before his boyfriend is whining at his office door wanting to come in and makeout some more. After a quick kiss Fernando practically runs to his makeshift office, leaving a pouting Lance behind as he shouts after him.

“Hey! That wasn’t a proper kiss you cheater!”

A couple hours had passed by and Lance decided it was time to check out what his boyfriend was doing.

Innocently, of course. He had even ordered takeout and just wanted Fernando to eat. Nothing more, truly.

Pushing open the door to his office, Lance sees Fernando slouched on a comfy chair with his — practically useless — glasses pushed to the top of his head, pushing back his hair in a way that does something to Lance's stomach.

As Lance walks towards him, food in hand, he takes his time observing his boyfriend.

Fernando is leaning forward on the desk, his left hand cupping his head while his right plays with a black pen. Lance can see how focused he is on marking what he assumes is another assignment Lance didn't do, the small furrow in his brows lighting a smile on his face wondering what made him confused to the point where he's unsure on how to assess it. Fernando shifts his glasses back in place, most likely trying to work again.

"I seem to be lost, professor." Lance says out loud once he’s close enough, and Fernando is finally aware of his presence with a startle, looking up before a small smile crosses his features.

He easily puts away his pen, gathering up the papers on the desk and shuffling them into a neat pile. The entire action is so studious it makes Lance want to fuck him in that chair.

"What brings you here, Mr. Stroll" Fernando asks formally, playing along, and Lance rounds the desk just as he leans back in his chair, swivelling it in his direction as he approaches him. His legs spread just slightly, and Lance feels that action deep inside of him.

"Oh, y'know." Lance says airily, a shrug to his shoulders. "I was just around."

"Around?"

"Getting dinner," He clarifies, shaking the takeout bag in his hand softly to show him. "And I thought of you."

"Thinking about me after class?"

Lance sets the food on the desk before crawling in his lap, his knees on either side of Fernando's thighs as his arms wrap around his neck. His boyfriend’s own hands settle on his waist, stroking up and down in a caress.

Lance had changed into embarrassingly short shorts and a tight tiffany green shirt, his exposed skin being touched so delicately it made him shiver.

"You are my favourite professor." Lance whispers against his lips, brushing his own over and over again in a caress not yet making full contact.

"You're a tease." Fernando says, tilting his head up trying to connect their lips.

Since Lance was on top, he realized the small amount of power he held over his boyfriend. Though, it quickly dissolved when Fernando's right hand leaves his waist and pushed up his glasses so they sit on the top of his head, cupping the back of Lance's neck in a firm hold and pushing his face down so it can finally meet his.

Fernando moans into his mouth, most likely tasting the small dessert his boyfriend had eaten earlier and Lance shifts closer, fully settling into his lap. Fernando's left hand travels down to Lance's thigh, fingertips pushing up the fabric just enough to mess with him.

It's only when they pull away — Lance's hands cupping Fernando's face does he talk again.

"You missed me." Fernando says simply.

"I brought you dinner."

"You wore these short little shorts, and interrupted me just to bring me dinner?”

"You're my professor." Lance deflects, not so subtly making him let out a soft laugh.

"Ah, you wanna continue playing." Fernando nods, understanding what his boyfriend wants. They occasionally role played — though majority of the time it involved Lance begging his boyfriend to do something dangerous, the fear eliciting pleasure. Never before had it been just a version of their reality in a different font.

Fernando gives his boyfriend’s neck a small squeeze before settling both hands on his thighs again. Lance moves back just slightly so he can look down, seeing the contrast in their size. His hands are so large that they fill the expanse of his thighs, even squished together making him shiver.

"So you came here to... what? Bring me dinner and leave?"

"I dunno." Lance shrugs innocently. "Maybe get a grade or two."

"And you think dinner is enough for a grade or two?"

"What else could you want?"

Fernando takes his time checking him out, fingers tracing the column of his neck before slipping into the top of the shirt and pulling at it enough to separate the fabric from my chest.

"You shouldn't be doing that," Lance whispers. "You're my professor."

"You're the one who came here looking for a free grade. Shouldn't I get something in return?"

"I brought you food." Lance's hands fall to his shoulders, fingers curling in the fabric as he continues his feather like touch where he wants him the most.

"I would like to eat something," He nods, and a smirk lights his features when he reaches down under Lance's thin shorts and palms him fully, his fingers most likely feeling the damp underwear.

"My, Lance." He taunts. "Are you wet for your teacher? Does the way I lecture you turn you on?"

"You're not being fair."

"Aren't I? You decided to come meet me during the night, wearing these short fucking shorts and this cute little innocent expression hoping I'd eat your fucking dinner and grade you an A. I don't think you're being fair."

His fingers hook into Lance's underwear, yanking the fabric to the side so he can access his dick. As soon as Lance feels him give him a quick, rough stroke, his eyes growing hazy as he slumps forward.

He can see the way Fernando is smiling at him, watching his every emotion with exert attention and it heightens every feeling.

"Fernando," he whispers.

"So now we're on first name basis?"

"Put your fingers inside of me."

"I bet you'd like to be fucked in this room. The very idea of someone walking in on you acting so desperate turns you on, doesn't it?"

"You're being mean."

He laughs in his face at that, his smile widening as he continues his teasing down below. He's playing with his wetness, spreading it around, swirling his fingers yet not giving him enough to become satisfied. Fernando is busy gathering his boyfriend’s pre-cum on the tips of his fingers to care how Lance feels.

"You're supposed to be nice to me," Lance whimpers. "I brought you dinner. I was nice to you."

"You want me to fuck you," He states simply. "Don't try and twist shit around."

"But—" Lance is cut off when Fernando slips two fingers inside of him, knuckles deep, knocking the air out of his lungs. He instantly slumps against him, unable to keep himself up feeling the shallow fucking of his fingers inside of him.

Fernando's laughing again, the sound close to his ears as he shivers against him and shuts his eyes.

"Aw, look at how sensitive you are," Fernando murmurs softly against his boyfriend’s ear, lips brushing against the shell. "You're practically drooling all over me."

Lance can't respond, too deep into the pleasure as he curls his fingers with every thrust, hitting a spot inside of him that has Lance pushing his hips against him for more.

Fernando's other hand wraps around his back, anchoring Lance to him as his fingers play with his hair, pulling it away from his face so he can watch his boyfriend intently.

He's murmuring pretty words to Lance that are drowned out by the noise of his fucking.

Look how pretty you are.

You practically jumped in my lap at the idea of getting fucked.

I wonder what grade you'll earn if I fuck your hole.

Only when he slips his fingers out, bringing them up to Lance's face does he open his eyes and blink away the haze.

Fernando is opening and closing the two fingers that were inside of his boyfriend, watching the wetness string together in fascination.

Something about the way he’s so wet turns Fernando on, and he's always taking time to play with it, feel it, look at it and show Lance in attempts to embarrass him. It seems to work when his face flushes red, and he try to scramble off Fernando's lap.

But Fernando doesn't let me get far, instead twisting him around and pulling him back against his chest so he’s sat facing away from him.

He forcefully pulls his legs open so they lay over his thighs, his other hand cupping Lance's jaw controlling where he looks as he lowers his lips to his ear again and shoves his fingers in his face so he can see them once more.

"You see how wet you are, baby?"

Lance can only nod, swallowing roughly.

"I want to spread you on this desk and eat you."

A mewl sounds Lance's throat and he’s squirming in his lap, wanting to close his legs desperately as he clutched the ends of his shirt.

"But you'll be mean to me." Lance whines.

"But you like that," Fernando says feigning innocence. "You like how mean I am, the words I call you. You like the way I toss you around and fuck you the way I want."

"You're going to fuck me? He— here?" Lance look around, imagining a lecture hall with all the empty chairs and the amount of people who could fill them if they were there. That thought has him closing his legs for an entirely different reason — would Fernando continue if someone happened to walk in?

Instead of answering, Fernando decides to shove his right hand back under his pants, pushing it off of Lance, fully leaving him in his underwear.

His left hand works on his top, rifling up the material so he has better access to his chest. Lance is shaking in his hold at the feeling of fingers entering him again as Fernando plays with his nipples, twisting and panting in his boyfriend’s hold while his hips betray him and seek more.

Lance clutches desperately onto Fernando's wrist when he starts finger fucking him faster, the action too much to bare and Fernando pinches his nipple in retaliation.

Even if Lance wants to close his legs, Fernando starts to fuck him faster until he’s nothing but a broken mess slumped against him, his small pants turning into the smallest of cries.

The sound Lance is making down there has him flushed red — precum dripping down to coat his holes giving the allusion that he really is wet. Wet like a girl. Fernando continues on with his taunting as he presses a kiss to the side of his head over and over again.

"Ah— Fer... Fernando I'm—"

Fernando shifts his fingers just slightly, hitting somewhere deep inside of his boyfriend that causes the pressure in his stomach to build intensely on a new level.

"Please... please..."

"I hope someone does walk in just so they can see how desperate you are. Do you think they'll stay to watch the show? Or maybe they'll take out their phone to record you cumming all over my lap and replay it in the privacy of their own home."

"But I'm yours," Lance whimpers uselessly.

"Aw, you are mine, baby. You think I'd share your pussy with anyone else?"

His words untangle the last knot inside of him and Lance cries out his orgasm, shivering and shaking and plastering himself to Fernando's lap as he rides it out.

He’s left jolting every now and then, his hands still holding onto Fernando's wrist as he gently eases out of him to go back on his dick, gathering the new cum that spilled out of his tip so he can showcase his cum again.

It's stringing to his fingers, to his dick, creating a gigantic mess and Lance purses his lips together in a tight line, not wanting to make a sound as he shifts in his lap so he’s sideways.

Fernando brings those fingers to his mouth, sucking his boyfriend’s cum off of him and he wants to cry. Instead, Lance presses his face against his chest, curling his hands into his sweater inhaling him in.

"You let that man touch you," Lance tells him. "I wanna burn this sweater."

"I'm sorry, baby. I'll make it up to you."

"How?"

Fernandi grab a fistful of Lance's hair, twisting his head up enough so that he can lower his head and kiss him. He’s eating at his mouth, slanting his face to deepen it as his teeth nip and suck and taste him.

His boyfriend looks disheveled and soft, all sweetness and trust as he leans into him as if Fernando is his anchor. Lance's moaning into his mouth, curling against him tighter and he shifts his hands to adjust his boyfriend in his lap so he remains secure.

It feels like minutes upon minutes until they’re forced to break for air, and then Fernando is standing up with Lance in his arms and pushing the takeout bag he brought him to the side, settling him on the edge of the desk.

It seems like the coolness of the wood affects Lance since he shivers again, letting out a small breath of air. Fernando pushes apart his legs, standing in between them, and places his hands on his thighs rubbing up and down in soothing motions, hiking up the fabric of his shirt with every stroke.

Lowering his head so they’re eye level, Fernandk whispers , "Would you still like me to fuck you, Lance?"

His eyes darken, lids lowering as his lower lip curves into an adorable pout.

"In here?"

"Mhm..."

He takes his answer as a sign to hook his fingers in his boyfriend’s belt loops, pulling Fernando impossibly closer to the space between his legs before hurrying to unzip his jeans. Lance only stops when Fernando covers his hands with his own, sending Lance a sweet smile which halts his movements entirely.

"Slow down, baby." Fernandk says kindly and — like a good boy — he does, doing as he says.

Finally, when his jeans are unbuttoned and unzipped, Lance slides back on the desk and spreads his legs further, tilting his hips in his direction.

Fernando easily takes the lead, pushing down his jeans and boxers enough to pull out his dick and bring it near the boy before him.

Fernando watches in shuddering movements as Lance reaches down between his spread legs, grasping the damp fabric between his fingers and pulling it down his legs so his boyfriend can have easy access to where he wants him the most.

The action is the hottest thing Fernando had seen him do, that combined with yanking up his shirt to his waist has Fernando holding back a groan.

With a step forward, Fernando pressed the tip of his dick to his entrance, his other hand holding down his shaky thigh keeping Lance plastered to the desk.

He easily reached behind his boyfriend, grabbing a bottle of lube and pouring it on his dick.

Fernando takes this moment to watch his boyfriend watch him, his eyes directed to the space between them, his lower lip rolled into his mouth as a means to hold off his pretty sounds, his eyes widening just enough so that Lance can see how fucking precious he is.

After what feels like centuries does Fernando move again, moving his hips slowly and pushing into him, pausing so Lance can adjust to his size. Lance lets out the cutest noise — a muffled cry as his head falls forward to press against his boyfriend’s chest breathing heavily.

"You alright, mi sol? You okay?" Fernando breathes out, stroking his thigh in kind movements.

Lance gives him a jerky nod, urging Fernando to continue with a tilt to his hips. Fernandk nods back, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before giving Lance another inch.

The process continues until he’s fully inside of Lance, hips flushed together and the only thing that separates them is the minimal amount of air.

Lance's forehead is still pressed against his boyfriend’s chest, his hands still curled into his sweater while Fernando's are resting on his hips, holding him close.

"Talk to me, Lance. Tell me how you feel." Fernando urges, pressing kiss after kiss to his hair. Lance is  breathing heavily, his body jerking and every minuscule movement from him has Fernando holding back a moan.

Slowly, in lethargic form, does he lift his head and look up at his boyfriend, his face tired and skin damp.

"Can you record me?"

Fernando pauses, looking down at his lover not sure if I heard him correctly.

"What?"

His fingers curl tighter into his sweater, a flush growing on Lance's pretty face. "Will you record you fucking me? Just so I can... just so I have something."

Fernando removes his hands from his legs, cupping his face in his hands to make sure he didn't accidentally fuck something loose in his head.

"You want me to record you getting fucked?"

Lance nods, looking painfully shy and Fernando's heart expands at the desolate look in his eyes — as if he’s scared that Fernando will judge him.

"Grab me your phone, baby."

"You won't record with yours?"

Fernandk shakes his head, stroking Lance's hair and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"I care for you so much, Lancito. So much. And I know you trust me, of course I trust you, too. But this is something private. And if you want your body recorded, it'll always be on your phone so you know where it is and you have it safe. Do you understand?"

Lance smiles. "I understand, Nando." And then he’s reaching for his pocket, slipping his phone out and handing it to him in shaky movements.

Fernando takes it from Lance easily, looking at him once again just to confirm that this is what he wants and he nods making Fernando type in his passcode and press the camera app.

Lance lays back down on the desk, shivering with need when Fernando let out a small groan at his movements and press record, positioning the phone so that his entire body is focused.

Lance's shy at first, bringing up his arm to cover his face which is fine with Fernando since this is going at his boyfriend’s pace.

When he feels secure with everything, Fernando lets out a breath of air before grasping onto Lance's waist with his free hand and sliding him all the way to the edge of the desk so he has a better hold on him.

"I'm going to move, sweetie." Fernando murmurs in warning, and when Lance nods he starts to thrust inside him. In and out and in and out until he’s crying out again.

Lance's back arches, lifting off the wood thrusting his chest near his boyfriend and Fernando slides his hand up, yanking up the top of his shirt so he can access them.

Fernando immediately cups them in his hands, squeezing roughly, strumming his thumb up and down his nipple before giving it a sharp pinch.

Lance squeals, bringing his knees up making Fernando take his hand away for a second to send a sharp slap to the inside of his thigh.

"Put your legs down." Fernando says roughly, trying to hold back his orgasm as best as he can. Lance complies immediately, sending his boyfriend a pout making Fernando grip his face in his hand, squishing his cheeks together while he continues to thrust.

"You're a fucking brat." Fernando hisses at him, and instead of apologizing Lance smiles, making Fernando lean down and kiss him roughly.

His hand slides to his neck, fingers curling around Lance's throat not squeezing but letting him know that he would be taking the lead.

It's hard to record him and kiss him at the same time but Fernando makes it work, and when he’s done he pulls away to a dazed Lance holding onto his sweater trying to yank him back.

Instead, Fernando continues to create distance between them, slowing down his movements and fucking him nice and deep, jolting his body with every thrust.

Lance gasps every time, mouth parting, eyes glazing, and his fingers start to grow lax on his body.

"Fer," Lance's moaning again, begging his boyfriend to speed up. Fernando can tell he’s close to the edge, close to reaching another climax which is why he wants to draw it out as punishment.

"What is it, baby?" Fernando taunts. “Am I not fucking you the way you want?" Lance shakes his head, going to say something when he gets cut off. " Too fucking bad."

That earns Fernando a charming little tantrum as Lance yanks at his sweater, squeezes his legs around his boyfriend to pull him closer, arches his back to shove him in deeper.

Fernando scowls down at Lance knowing what he’s doing, but it soon turns into a smile as an idea forms in hid head. Clasping under his knee, Fernando spreads his leg enough so he can bury himself further into him and fuck him like that.

Lance's whining and whimpering, squirming and clawing at Fernando's chest when his boyfriend forces his eyes to open, hanging his head and letting out soft moans as he lets himself reach an orgasm.

Lance's cries echo across the room, no doubt reaching every crevice of the house and Fernando lets out a curse.

"Fuck— fuck, Lance... you're such a fucking brat. Look at how pathetic you are dripping all over my cock... Fuck , baby you're so sweet."

Fernando's cum spills into him, and with his hips tilted Fernando was able to fuck it deep into Lance's hole. The idea to plug it closed filled with his cum enters his mind, and he has to grit his teeth before he does something about it.

Fernando lets himself ride it out, slowing down his thrusts before setting his phone down so it's leaning against the takeout bag, pointing in his direction.

With a groan, Fernando pulls out of him and heaves out a breath, and Lance sits up and looks at his boyfriend incredulously when Fernando sits back down on the chair and leans his head back to catch his breath.

"But... but I didn't—"

"Since you decided to be in charge, sit on my fucking dick and make yourself come."

Lance's mouth gapes open as he looks down at the spot between his legs, one that is currently dripping full of his cum and he notices from my peripheral vision that Fernando is smirking to himself.

With a glare his way, Lance does just that, slipping off the desk and crawling into his lap once more. Pressing his forehead against Fernando's shoulder, he looks between his legs and grasps his boyfriend’s dick in his hands, stroking it a few times on purpose making him hiss at the sensitivity before aligning it with his entrance and sinking down.

Lance's face turns to press into his neck, small pants leaving his mouth again as both of his hands grasp Fernando's shoulders for stability.

Fernando is doing nothing to help him, his hands laying on the armrests as Lance grinds in circles on his dick. All in hopes of cumming one last time.

His eyes squeeze shut, his cries muffled, and Lance turns his head so his mouth is at Fernando's jaw, biting his chin in retaliation for doing this to him as he takes one hand off his shoulder and shove it between them, grasping his dick.

Instead of getting angry, Fernando laughs at his boyfriend’s visible frustration, and he starts murmuring things that make Lance want to cry.

"You need to cum that badly? God, you're pathetic."

"I want to hit you very very badly," Lance tells him in a whine, for the first time wishing he'd shut up.

Fernando flickers his eyes from Lance's face to his body, noticing the pathetic fucking he’s currently doing and smiles to himself.

"Do you need my help, Lancito?"

"I need you to stop talking."

"Aw, I thought you needed me. Was that a lie?"

Lance lets out a noise deep in his throat akin to a growl, and clasps a hand over Fernando's mouth so he stops. When he doesn't fight Lance on staying silent, he finally allows himself to take it slow and fuck himself thoroughly on his cock, stroking his dick at a pressure he likes and pressing his face back against his neck.

Breathing him in, Lance starts to moan when his orgasm starts building up again, feeling himself grow slack and exhausted and Fernando lets out a sigh, feigning annoyance before he can feel his hands grab Lance's waist and finally help him fuck himself on him.

Lance keeps his face hidden, his hands going under Fernando's sweater and clawing at his skin to punish him further. Fernando then tilts his hips and slams him down roughly in retaliation.

Lance cries out, Fernando's hand knocking his own away as he gives his boyfriend a rough stroke and finally, finally is Lance able cum all over him.

"There you go, baby." Fernando says in a soft, sweet voice. "You look so pretty, Lance."

Lance feels exhausted, staying slumped on him trying to breathe properly again as Fernando rubs his back, kisses the top of his boyfriend’s head over and over again, strokes his hair and whispers the sweetest words to him.

Fernando hugs him to his chest, keeps him secured there until Lance is able to sit up, wincing at the friction with Fernando still inside of him.

"I'm going to pull out, alright, baby? Just give me a second."

Fernando easily lifts his boyfriend off of him, setting Lance down on his thighs seeing the mess of cum all over him. He easily reaches for the tissue box on the desk, cleaning himself thoroughly and tucking himself away before grabbing another and doing the same for Lance.

After helping Lance back into his clothes, Fernando cups his face in his hands and presses a slow, soft kiss to his lips.

"Are you alright, Lance? Talk to me. Tell me how you feel."

"I feel good, Nando. Don't worry."

He kisses Lance again, this time a bit more firmly before pulling away and murmuring, "I already told you before. I like worrying about you." Lance smiles tiredly at him, hugging him — needing the comfort of his arms.

Lance can hear Fernando fumble with his phone before a sound chimes signalling the end of the recording. Setting his phone back down, Fernando rubs his back again.

"Let's eat in a bit, alright?” Lance can only nod slowly, movements lethargic.

"Will you still kill him, Nano?"

Fernando laughs. “I’ll think about it.”

A few hours later the silence between them was bromen when Fernando shut his laptop with a click, standing from the chair in his makeshift office. He glanced over at Lance, who sat curled up on the couch, looking smaller than usual in the oversized hoodie he changed into — complaining about feeling icky in his other clothes. His eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion, but he smiled faintly when Fernando held out a hand.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Fernando murmured. “Let’s go eat.”

Lance took his hand without hesitation, letting Fernando pull him to his feet. He leaned against him as they walked through the quiet apartment, their footsteps soft on the hardwood floor.

The house smelled faintly of coffee and books — the scent of late nights and quiet moments, a sanctuary that had become their secret world. Fernando grabbed the takeout bags from the kitchen counter, balancing them with one hand as he kept his other arm securely around Lance.

“Back to your room?” Fernando asked gently.

Lance nodded, his cheek resting briefly against Fernando’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

They made their way down the hall to Lance’s room, slipping inside and closing the door behind them. Fernando set the food on the desk, unpacking the food lance had bought earlier. They ate in comfortable silence, sitting side by side on the bed. Fernando passed Lance a water bottle, brushing his fingers over Lance’s hand as he did.

Lance leaned into him, the weight of the day slipping away with every gentle touch. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this — the quiet, the closeness, the feeling of being cared for. “You’re too good to me,” Lance murmured, resting his head on Fernando’s shoulder.

"No, Lancito," Fernando pressed a kiss to his hair. “You deserve it.”

They sat there for a while, the room dimly lit by the bedside lamp. Eventually, Lance set his plate aside and curled into Fernando’s side, closing his eyes. “You’re falling asleep on me,” Fernando teased, running his fingers through Lance’s hair.

“Can’t help it,” Lance mumbled. “You make me comfortable.”

Fernando’s chest tightened at the words, a surge of protectiveness washing over him. He tilted Lance’s chin up, kissing him softly, lingering for a moment before pulling back.

“I should go,” Fernando whispered, his voice regretful.

Lance’s eyes fluttered open, sleepy and affectionate. “Stay.”

“I can’t, cariño. Your father might come home early.” Lance sighed but nodded. He sat up, watching as Fernando stood and grabbed his jacket.

At the door, Fernando turned back to him. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Okay.”

Fernando leaned down for one last kiss, lingering at the doorway. “Sweet dreams, Lancito.”

Lance smiled softly. “You too, Nano.” As the door clicked shut, Lance lay back on his bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin. The room felt a little emptier without Fernando, but his warmth lingered.

And for now, that was enough.

Lance woke to the soft hum of voices downstairs. The late morning sun streamed through his window, warming the blankets tangled around his legs. He blinked groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before glancing at his phone — no messages from Fernando yet, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

It was the familiar deep laugh coming from the living room.

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. His dad was home.

Throwing the covers aside, he scrambled out of bed, barely stopping to slip on pants before dashing out of his room. His footsteps echoed in the hallway as he rushed down the stairs, the sound of his father’s voice growing clearer with each step.

When he reached the bottom, there he was — Lawrence, standing in the living room with a wide grin on his face, talking animatedly on the phone.

“Dad!” Lance’s voice was bright with excitement.

Lawrence turned, his eyes lighting up as he saw his son. “Lance!” He was quick to mute the phone, setting it aside as if the conversation meant nothing in comparison to his son.

Without hesitation, Lance ran across the room, throwing his arms around his father. The hug was tight, warm, and filled with all the unspoken things Lance hadn’t been able to say since Lawrence left on his business trip.

“I missed you,” Lance mumbled against his father’s shoulder. It was true, even though growing up made them drift apart, it was never enough to stop Lance from missing his favourite man in the world.

Lawrence chuckled, holding him close. “I missed you too, kid. How’ve you been?”

“Good,” Lance said quickly, pulling back to look at his dad. His heart ached with guilt at the lie — he hadn’t been good. He’d been sneaking around with Fernando, breaking promises, and keeping secrets. But in this moment, all he wanted was to feel like a kid again, safe in his father’s arms.

“You’ve grown,” Lawrence teased, ruffling Lance’s hair like he used to when Lance was little — like he still does despite the similarity in their height. “What are they feeding you at school?”

Lawrence beamed, the weight of the past few months lifting from his shoulders as he took in the view of his son. For the first time in a while, Lance felt a pang of guilt — he knew how much his dad loved him, how much he wanted to protect them. And yet, Lance was hiding one of the biggest parts of his life from him.

“So,” Lawrence said, his attention still fully on Lance, “what do you say we catch up over lunch? Just the two of us?”

Lance’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t expected this — hadn’t prepared for the possibility of being alone with his dad so soon after Fernando’s departure.

But he smiled, nodding quickly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.” Lawrence clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Go get ready, then. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Lance nodded again, his heart pounding as he made his way back upstairs. As he passed by his room, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Fernando:

Good morning, Lancito.

How did you sleep?

Lance stared at the message for a long moment before typing back a quick reply.

Lance:

Morning.

Dad’s home.

I’ll text you later.

The café they went to wasn’t far from home, a cozy little spot Lance remembered from when he was younger. His dad used to take him and Chloe there on weekends, and stepping inside now felt oddly nostalgic.

Lawrence chose a table near the window, and they sat in comfortable silence as they waited for their food. Lance sipped at his iced coffee, trying to keep his nerves in check. His father seemed relaxed, though, and that made Lance feel a little better.

“You’ve grown up a lot, you know,” Lawrence said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was warm, affectionate. “I’m proud of you.”

Lance looked up, surprised by the unexpected praise. “Thanks, Dad.”

Lawrence leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I know I’ve been away a lot lately. Business has been… complicated. But things are finally settling down.”

Lance nodded slowly, unsure where this was going.

“I’ve got good news,” Lawrence continued, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “We’re expanding the team — new facilities, new investments. And Aston Martin wants me to spend more time at the main building instead of overseas.”

Lance blinked. “Wait — you mean, you’ll be around more?”

“Exactly.” Lawrence smiled. “I’ll be home more often, working closer with the team. And I want you to be involved, too.”

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. “Involved? How?”

“More appearances at events, more behind-the-scenes work. You’ve always loved racing, and I'm trying to work some things out with buying Williams next season. We can build something together.”

Lance stared at his dad, a mixture of emotions swirling in his chest. He’d always wanted to spend more time with his father — to be closer to him. But now, with everything happening with Fernando, the idea of being under his dad’s watchful eye made him uneasy.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Lance admitted, setting his coffee down. “That sounds amazing.”

Lawrence chuckled. “It is. And it’s about time we did this, don’t you think?”

Lance nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Their food arrived then, giving Lance a moment to gather his thoughts. As he picked at his sandwich, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of his secret pressing down on him. His dad was offering him a chance to be closer, to be part of something important — and yet, Lance was hiding one of the biggest parts of his life.

“I know things haven’t been easy for you,” Lawrence said, breaking into his thoughts. “But you’ve handled everything with maturity. I’m proud of the man you’re becoming.”

Lance swallowed hard, his chest tight with emotion. “Thanks, Dad.”

Lawrence reached across the table, squeezing his son’s hand. “We’ve got a bright future ahead of us, Lance. I’m excited to see where it takes us.”

Lance nodded, his smile faltering only slightly. “Me too.”

But as they finished their meal and left the café, Lance couldn’t shake the feeling of dread settling in his stomach. His dad was home, everything was changing — and somehow, Lance had to figure out how to keep Fernando in his life without destroying everything his father had planned for them.

When Lance and Lawrence returned home, the house was peaceful, with a soft hum of life that Lance had missed while his dad was away. His heart felt lighter after their lunch, though a part of him was still weighed down by the growing complexity of his secret life with Fernando.

Lawrence gave his son a warm clap on the shoulder as they walked through the door. “Think about what we discussed today. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“I will, Dad,” Lance promised.

Lawrence gave a nod, satisfied, before heading to his office. As soon as he was out of sight, Lance sighed in relief, letting himself collapse onto the couch. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see a group chat lighting up with messages.

Charles: Lance!!!!! Clubbing! Tonight! Don’t try to say no.

Esteban: Yea, we’re dragging you out if we have to.

Jessica: You’ve been MIA lately, Lance. Time to make up for it. xx

Zhou: Don’t worry guys! The club DOES play Beyoncé for anyone who wasn't sure.

Lance chuckled, shaking his head. His friends never let him get too lost in his thoughts for too long. He’d been avoiding them lately, wrapped up in his secret relationship with Fernando, but now he realized how much he missed them.

Lance: Fine. Where are we going?

The responses came instantly.

Charles: We’ll pick you up at 10.

Esteban: Dress nice. No excuses!!

Lance smiled at the screen, grateful for his friends. He shot a quick glance toward his dad’s office, making sure he wasn’t coming back out, before texting Fernando.

Lance: Going out with Cha and the others tonight. Don’t worry about me.

Fernando’s reply came quickly.

Fernando: Be careful, Lancito. I’m always worrying.

Lance’s heart gave a little flutter. He grinned at the message before heading upstairs to get ready.

At exactly 10 p.m., a car pulled up outside the Stroll house, and Lance slipped out quietly, his dad already aware of his plans. Charles was in the driver’s seat, with Esteban riding shotgun. Zhou and Jessica waved from the back, grinning at him.

“Finally!” Charles said as Lance slid into the car. “Thought we’d have to break in and kidnap you.”

Lance laughed. “Sorry. It’s been… a weird day.”

“Weird how?” Jessica asked, leaning over the seat to look at him.

Lance shrugged. “Family stuff.”

Esteban shot him a knowing look. “Well, whatever it is, forget about it tonight. We’re going to have fun.”

As Charles pulled away from the house, music blaring through the speakers, Lance felt a rush of excitement. For the first time in weeks, he was going out without worrying about anyone finding out his secret.

For now, he could just be Lance.

The night started harmlessly enough.

Lance had agreed to join Esteban, Charles, Jessica, and Zhou for a night out at one of the trendiest clubs in town. He hadn’t been out in ages, too preoccupied with balancing classes and… well, Fernando. His friends had teased him about it all week — how he was turning into a hermit, how he never had time for them anymore.

So, when Jessica texted him earlier that day, he couldn’t find a reason to say no.

The club was packed, the music thumping so loud Lance could feel it in his chest. The lights pulsed in time with the beat, casting neon colors over the crowd. For the first time in weeks, Lance felt like he could let loose. The drinks were flowing, and with each one, the tension in his shoulders eased.

Charles and Zhou were in high spirits, dancing with anyone who came near. Jessica was at the center of it all, laughing as Esteban twirled her around. Lance found himself smiling, grateful to be surrounded by familiar faces.

“Come on, Lance!” Charles shouted over the music, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the dance floor.

Lance went along, laughing as he stumbled into the crowd. He let himself get lost in the moment, moving to the music, the bass vibrating through his body.

But as the night wore on, the alcohol hit harder, and his mind began to wander.

Fernando.

No matter how hard he tried to focus on the music, on his friends, his thoughts kept drifting back to his professor. To the way Fernando had kissed him before he left his office that afternoon, slow and lingering, like he didn’t want to let him go. To the way Fernando always seemed to know exactly what Lance needed, whether it was a reassuring touch or a whispered word of encouragement.

Lance’s chest tightened. He missed him.

Before he realized what he was doing, he found himself sitting at the bar, phone in hand. His fingers hovered over Fernando’s contact.

He shouldn’t.

Fernando had told him to be careful. They needed to keep things discreet.

But Lance couldn’t help it. The drinks made him bold, made him reckless. He gave in, typing out a message.

Lance: Miss you, Nando. Wish you were here.

He barely waited for a response before calling.

Fernando picked up after the second ring. "Lance?"

"Nando!" Lance slurred, grinning. "I’m out with my friends. Este, Cha... uhm. Nando who are my other friends? Zhou, and Jess. You know them, right?"

Fernando chuckled softly. "Yes, sweetie. I know of them." He's well aware of who all his students are. "Are you drunk?"

"Maybe a little." Lance giggled, leaning his head on his hand. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

Fernando’s heart softened at the sound. "It’s late, Lancito. You should be heading home."

"But I want to tell you about my day!" Lance protested. "We had this crazy exam, and Cha, he's silly y'know, Nando? Uhm, well, Cha said I was acting distracted — and, well, I was, because I was thinking about you."

"Lance," Fernando sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. "Where are you?"

Lance glanced around the crowded club, squinting at a sign. "Uh… somewhere near downtown? I don’ really know, Cha's big brother drove us here."

Fernando shook his head, already grabbing his keys. "Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you."

Lance beamed. "Really?"

"Of course," Fernando said softly. "I’ve got you."

By the time Fernando arrived, Lance was standing outside the club with Charles and Esteban, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Your ride’s here," Charles teased, nudging Lance.

Lance lit up when he saw Fernando approaching. "Nando!"

Fernando caught him as he stumbled forward, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Let’s get you home."

As they walked to Fernando’s car, Lance leaned heavily against him, his voice soft. "I missed you."

Fernando pressed a kiss to Lance’s temple. "I missed you too."

Once they were in the car, Lance sighed contentedly, resting his head on Fernando’s shoulder. "I’m glad you came."

Fernando smiled, starting the engine. "I always will, Lancito. Always."

Fernando’s house was quiet, a comforting contrast to the chaos of the club. Lance stumbled through the front door, leaning on the smaller man for support, still giggling softly.

“Y'really didn’ have to come,” Lance murmured as they entered the living room, his voice quieter now.

Fernando smirked, closing the door behind them. “Yes, I did. I couldn’t leave you like that.”

Lance let out a content sigh as Fernando guided him toward the bedroom. The moment they crossed the threshold, Fernando began undressing him. Lance stood still, letting Fernando pull his shirt over his head before helping him out of his jeans.

"You take such good care of me," Lance whispered, his voice soft and sincere.

Fernando smiled, gently brushing a hand through Lance’s hair. "Someone has to."

Once Lance was down to his boxers, Fernando helped him into bed, tucking him under the covers with a care that made Lance’s chest ache. Fernando quickly undressed, his shirt and pants hitting the floor in a careless pile before he slid in beside him. The bed dipped as Fernando settled next to him, his arm instinctively wrapping around Lance's waist, pulling him close until there wasn’t an inch of space between them.

Lance sighed contentedly, resting his head on Fernando's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The sound was soothing, grounding him in the moment — in the warmth and safety of Fernando’s embrace.

“I love this,” Lance whispered, his voice quiet but filled with meaning.

Fernando kissed the top of his head, his lips lingering against Lance’s soft hair. “I do too.”

Lance shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at Fernando. His sleepy, glassy eyes held an unusual vulnerability, the alcohol still lingering in his system loosening his tongue.

“No, I mean… Nando, I love you.”

The words hung in the air between them, soft but unmistakably clear.

Fernando froze, his heart skipping a beat. His mind raced as he processed what Lance had just said. It wasn’t something he had expected to hear — not yet, at least.

Lance’s smile wavered, a flicker of nervousness passing through his eyes. “Do you not—?”

Before Lance could finish, Fernando shook his head quickly, his expression softening as he reached up to cup Lance’s cheek. His thumb brushed over Lance’s cheekbone, a tender touch meant to reassure.

“No, no, Lance, it’s not that.” Fernando’s voice was low, full of emotion. He leaned up, capturing Lance’s lips in a kiss that was slow and meaningful, a silent promise conveyed through the press of their mouths.

The kiss deepened naturally, their movements slow and deliberate, savoring each moment. Lance melted into it, his fingers threading through Fernando’s hair, pulling him closer. Fernando’s hand slid from Lance’s cheek down to his waist, fingers tracing the curve of his hip before slipping under the blanket.

As their lips parted, Fernando gazed into Lance’s eyes, his own dark with affection and desire. “I love you too,” he murmured, brushing his nose against Lance’s before kissing him again, more insistently this time.

Lance moaned softly into Fernando’s mouth, his hands wandering over his shoulders and down his back, mapping the familiar planes of his body. His heart was racing, but it wasn’t from nerves — it was from the sheer thrill of hearing those words back.

Fernando rolled them over gently, his body pressing Lance into the mattress. Their kisses grew more heated, lips and tongues tangling as their hands roamed freely. Fernando’s fingers skimmed along Lance’s sides, tracing the muscles there, his touch lighting a fire beneath Lance’s skin.

Lance arched into him, craving more of that contact, his body responding eagerly to every touch. His hands wandered lower, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of Fernando’s boxers, pulling him even closer.

“Te quiero tanto,” Fernando whispered against Lance’s lips, his Spanish accent making the words sound like music.

Lance shivered at the sound, pulling Fernando down for another kiss. “I want you,” he whispered between kisses, his voice breathless and needy. “I want all of you.”

“You have me,” Fernando promised, his voice hoarse as he kissed his way down Lance’s jawline and along his neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin. “You’ve always had me.”

Lance grinned, his eyes fluttering shut as he nestled back into Fernando’s arms — lightheartedly shutting down any advances as he registered just how sleepy he was. "Good. Now I can sleep happy."

Fernando chuckled, holding him close — more than satisfied with ending his night like this. "Sweet dreams, Lancito."

And as Lance drifted off, Fernando knew he would never let go of this moment — or of the boy in his arms. Not without a fight.

Lance jolted awake, heart pounding as the sunlight streamed through the curtains. He sat up quickly, the covers slipping down his bare chest, and groaned when he realized his phone wasn’t on the nightstand. “Shit,” he muttered, scrambling out of bed and searching frantically for it.

Fernando stirred beside him, his eyes fluttering open. “What’s wrong?”

“My phone’s dead,” Lance said, grabbing it from the floor where it had fallen. “And my dad was expecting me home last night.”

Fernando sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Calm down. We’ll get you home.”

Lance nodded, biting his lip as he plugged his phone in to charge for a moment. When it didn’t turn on immediately, he groaned in frustration. “I’m so fucked," and Fernando didn't bother to scold the boy.

The drive to Lance’s house was quiet, tension thick in the air. Fernando occasionally glanced at Lance, who was nervously tapping his fingers on his knee. As they pulled up in front of the Stroll mansion, Lance finally let out a shaky breath. “Thanks for driving me.”

Fernando reached out, squeezing Lance’s hand. “Anytime.”

Lance leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to Fernando’s lips. “I’ll see you later.”

“Text me,” Fernando said with a smile, watching as Lance opened the car door.

“I will,” Lance promised.

As soon as Fernando’s car pulled away, Lance took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He walked up the steps to his house, heart pounding. His key slipped in the lock, and he quietly stepped inside, hoping to sneak past without anyone noticing. No such luck.

The moment the door shut behind him, his father’s voice boomed from the living room. “Lance!” Lance froze, wincing at the sheer volume of Lawrence’s shout. His father stormed into view, his face red with fury.

“Where the hell were you?” Lawrence demanded, fists clenched. “I waited all night, and you didn’t bother to call!”

“I—” Lance opened his mouth to explain, but Lawrence cut him off.

“And what the fuck did I just see outside?” Lawrence’s eyes blazed with anger. “You kissed him. Your professor. Do you have any idea what kind of scandal this could cause? Have you forgotten who we are?”

Lance’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t realized his dad had seen. “It’s not—”

“Don’t you dare tell me it’s not what it looked like,” Lawrence snapped. “Because it damn well looked like you’re messing around with some man who could ruin your career before it’s even started. With a man who's career I could ruin if I decided to bring light of this.”

Lance’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, really?” Lawrence crossed his arms. “Then what is it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been sneaking around behind my fucking back.”

“It’s not your business who I’m with!” Lance shot back, frustration boiling over. “I’m an adult, Dad. You don’t get to control every part of my life.”

“You’re my freshly nineteen year old son,” Lawrence hissed. “And you’re making a damn fool of yourself.”

Lance took a step forward, meeting his father’s gaze. “I love him.” That stopped Lawrence in his tracks.

“You what?”

“I love him,” Lance repeated, voice steady. “And nothing you say is going to change that.”

"Jesus Christ, Lance." Lawrence stared at him for a long moment, chest heaving, before shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve completely lost your mind.”

“No, I haven’t,” Lance said firmly. “For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I want. And I’m not going to let you take it away from me.” Lawrence’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he took a step closer to Lance.

“You’re not going to let me take it away?” Lawrence’s voice was low and dangerous. “We’ll see about that.” Before Lance could react, Lawrence reached out and snatched his phone from his hand.

“Hey!” Lance protested, lunging for it, but his father stepped back.

“You’ve clearly proven you can’t be trusted.” Lawrence’s tone was cold as he slipped the phone into his pocket. “And I’m not about to sit by while you throw your future away for some fling with a grown ass man who should fucking know better.”

“It’s not a fling,” Lance argued, frustration boiling over. “I love him.”

“And I’m your father,” Lawrence snapped. “And as long as you live under my roof, you’ll do as I say.” Lawrence turned on his heel, grabbing Lance’s car keys from the hook by the door. “Your car privileges? Gone. Your phone? Gone. And as for school…” He pulled out his own phone, already dialing. “We’re fixing that right now.”

“Fixing?” Lance’s chest tightened with dread. “Dad, stop it, what are you talking about?”

Lawrence gave him a cold glance as the call connected. “Yes ma'am, yes it's Lawrence. I need to speak with Ms. Sally Kornbluth immediately. It’s urgent.”

“Dad, no!” Lance’s voice rose in panic.

Lawrence held up a hand to silence him. “Yes, of course i’ll hold.”

Lance took a step forward, desperation clawing at him. “You can’t do this.”

“Fucking watch me.”

The call reconnected, and Lawrence’s expression softened into polite professionalism, though his tone remained firm. “Good evening, Sally. I hope your day has started off better than mine. I'm calling regarding my son, Lance Stroll. I need to make some changes to his class schedule… Yes, that’s right. I’d like all his in-person classes switched to online immediately. He's found himself in quite the predicament and if he wants to graduate on time and with honours it'll only be possible if he begins learning from our home.” Lance’s stomach dropped as he watched his father’s plan unfold, powerless to stop it.

“Thank you,” Lawrence continued. “And I’d like his access to extracurricular activities suspended for the time being. Yes… Yes, That will be all. Thank you so much for your time, Sally.”

As he ended the call, Lawrence turned back to Lance, his expression unreadable. “You’re grounded. No car, no phone, and no more in-person distractions. You’ll focus on your studies from home.”

Lance’s fists clenched. “You’re trying to control my life.”

“I’m protecting you from yourself,” Lawrence said coldly. “Now, go to your room.”

Lance stared at him, anger and heartbreak swirling in his chest. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think,” Lawrence said, his voice softer but no less firm. “Now. Go.” With a final glare, Lance turned and stomped up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him. Lance fell backwards onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind spinning with frustration and helplessness. The silence in the house felt suffocating, broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards or the faint hum of distant traffic.

His phone? Gone. His car? Gone. His freedom? Completely taken from him.

The weight of Lawrence’s words replayed in his mind. “You’ll do as I say.” Lance clenched his fists. He hated how powerless he felt, trapped under his father’s control like he was a kid again. His chest ached with the desperate need to reach out to Fernando, to explain everything, to hear his voice — but there was nothing he could do.

He glanced at the window. No phone. No car. I’m stuck. He had thought about climbing out earlier, but Lawrence had been one step ahead. The window was now locked from the outside. Even if he managed to sneak out, his father had likely alerted the house staff.

The doorknob rattled, and Lance sat up abruptly as Lawrence stepped inside without knocking — just one of many priviliges he would come to realize Lawrence felt as though he no longer deserved. “Dinner’s ready,” Lawrence said curtly. “You’ll be eating with me.”

“I���m not hungry,” Lance muttered.

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Lance.” His father practically growled, "get up and come downstairs." Lance glared at his father but stood anyway, following him downstairs like a prisoner on a leash.

The dining room was painfully formal. The table stretched between them like a chasm, both of them sitting in tense silence as the kitchen staff set their plates down. Lawrence watched Lance carefully. “You’re not speaking to him anymore.”

Lance’s grip on his fork tightened. “You can’t control that.”

“I can, and I will.” Lawrence’s voice was cold. “I’ve spoken with the head of his department as well as with Ms. Kornbluth again. They’ve agreed to monitor your activity. Any attempt to contact him through university channels will be flagged and will result in him losing his job automatically.”

Lance’s heart sank. “You had no right—”

“I have every right,” Lawrence cut him off. “I’m not going to let you ruin your life for some—” He stopped, his lip curling. “Some pathetic affair.”

Lance slammed his fork down. “It’s not an affair! I love him.”

“That’s enough.” Lawrence’s voice was a low growl. “You don’t know what love is.”

Lance stood abruptly, his chair scraping back. “I know more than you ever will.”

Lawrence rose too, his towering figure intimidating as he loomed over Lance. “You will not defy me again.”

Lance’s chest heaved with emotion, but he held his ground. “I’m not a kid.”

“Then I expect you to start acting like a man,” Lawrence snapped. “And forget about him.”

Lance shook his head, his voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath. “I won’t.”

Lawrence’s expression twisted, his frustration boiling over. His shoulders sagged as he ran a hand through his hair, his composure slipping. He looked at his son — really looked at him — and something in his eyes softened with a hint of desperation.

“You are just a boy, Lance,” Lawrence whispered, his voice trembling. His eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. “You are my boy.”

Lance froze, the weight of his father’s words hanging heavy in the air.

Lawrence’s jaw clenched, and his voice broke slightly as he continued, “And that man… that man is closer to my age than yours. Don’t you see how wrong this is?”

Lance’s chest tightened, but he shook his head again, his heart pounding. “It’s not wrong. I’m not a kid, Dad. I know what I’m doing.”

Lawrence let out a bitter laugh, wiping a hand over his face. “You think you know what you’re doing? You have no idea, Lance.” His voice cracked, revealing the pain beneath his anger. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to protect you from people who would take advantage of you. People like him.”

“No one’s taking advantage of me,” Lance said quietly, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “I love him. And he loves me.”

Lawrence stared at his son, a tear slipping down his cheek. He quickly brushed it away, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“You think this is love?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “You’ve barely lived, Lance. You don’t know what love is. You don’t know what it means to build a life, to face the consequences of choices like this.”

“I know more than you think,” Lance said softly. “And I know that keeping me locked away isn’t going to change how I feel.”

Lawrence shook his head, pacing the room like a man trying to outrun his own thoughts. “You’re too young to make a decision like this. You don’t see the danger—”

“The only danger,” Lance interrupted, “is you tearing me away from the person I care about.”

Lawrence stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping in defeat. For a moment, he looked older, worn down by the weight of fatherhood and fear.

“I just… I don’t want to lose you,” Lawrence whispered.

“You’re not losing me,” Lance said softly. “But if you keep this up… you will.”

Lawrence’s gaze lingered on his son for a long moment before he turned away, retreating toward the door. His hand hovered over the doorknob, trembling.

“You’ll understand one day,” he said, voice low and filled with sorrow. “When you have a child of your own.”

With that, he walked out, leaving Lance standing alone, the echoes of their conversation hanging heavy in the air.

Hours passed, the house dark and still. Lance sat on his bed, staring at the dead phone his father had confiscated earlier. His mind drifted to Fernando — to the way his arms felt like home, the way his voice softened when he said Lance’s name, the way he made him feel seen. But now, Lance was alone. Trapped. Helpless. Cut off from the one person who made him feel alive.

He lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His chest ached with longing, and anger simmered beneath the surface, but what could he do? His father had locked him in a cage, and all he could do was wait. A quiet knock on the bedroom door broke the silence, followed by the soft creak of it opening. Lance sat up, surprised to see his sister, Chloe, standing there, one hand resting on her belly.

“Chlo?” Lance blinked in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

Chloe gave him a tired smile as she stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her. “I heard what happened. Mom called me.”

[loucifersbitch]

any tips for someone who wants to write some louliver for funsies but doesn’t want to, like, offend the masses or do something egregiously wrong? I would love to join the fun but am afraid of messing up or making it seem too serious

the beauty of rpf is that it's fiction. putting those real guys in scenarios is very similar to putting the blorbos in situations. the main difference i've found is just trying to be respectful toward the people themselves. so the things i try to keep in mind are staying as close to what i know of the person's personality as possible, not making them do or say something completely out of character, and just trying to be accurate (kind?) in my interpretation of the person

when it comes to how louliver interact, we don't have a lot to go on. just one interview, but that's what i use for my blueprint of them. the fond looks, the little bit of flirtation, oliver stepping in to change the subject when it seemed lou was uncomfortable, the bicep grab - these are all parts of their personality as a "couple" to me. and you'll have your own interpretations of their interactions as a writer! which is the beauty of writing fiction

i hope this is helpful. i can try to answer any other questions you might have or if there's anything specific you think i can help with, too!

[myanmardoesnotexist]

As we get closer and closer to MotoGP coming back, I slowly start to vibrate at an increased intensity as I remember that we will get to see how Valentino deals with Marc and Pecco being on the same team.

There are four possibilities:

1. Valentino will pretend everything is normal and like Marc doesn’t exist (which, he can’t even do that when Marc is nowhere near Pecco, so doubtful)

2. Valentino will pretend like they are cordial now, cue the stiff public handshake (also doubtful, less than a year ago he was publically ranting about Marc)

3. Valentino makes his hostility extremely obvious, spiral more and more in his insanity, and we get at least one confrontation (less doubtful, I could see this happening and it would be amusing)

4. They fuck nasty (unsure where I stand on this one)

Regardless, this will be entertaining for sure. And the fics that will come out of this will be incredible. So I for one am excited.

[reminas]

Monday morning habits.

Sequel to this!

[phan-trash]

phanfic but it's written by an aegosexual so it's all in 3rd person

[henrycangelbaby]

hear me out: fred hechinger x writer! reader where he’s starring in a film reader wrote and he totally falls for her or something like that :3

He had hoped and prayed that she would be here tonight; he wasn’t a religious man by any means, but he would have to thank God at some point for putting him in the same room as the most stunning woman he had ever seen.

Or

Fred happens upon love at first sight.

Fred has a staring problem; the problem being that he shouldn’t be staring. He was raised better than that, but sometimes life throws something at you, and you can’t help but look. In this instance, that something was a person, in fact a woman, a beautiful, glowing woman who was contractually obligated to be on this set.  

Fred is admittedly not as engaged with filmmaking as he would like to be; perhaps if things were different, he would be, but frankly, his schedule is already somewhat packed, and his pay check, while generous, does not extend to getting to know all of the staff that work behind the scenes. That is just a silly suggestion. Until it isn’t.

Fred’s an optimist and maybe considering current circumstances a hopeless romantic as well. Y/N, he is told her name is the breath-taking woman whom he had seemingly fallen in love with at first sight. She had walked past him once and he had felt the need to do a double take, turning back around to catch a glimpse of her hair walking away from him. She was a writer he had found out after a bit of subtle snooping, casually dropping the question into a conversation with one of the PAs.

They don’t tell him much else, just her name, her reason for being on set (that she wrote the whole film that he is starring in, god damn it), and that she is here for some scene tweaks. It’s not much to go off, and unfortunately for Fred, none of his scenes end up needing to be changed. The day just seems to be bringing him regrets; why couldn’t his character be the one to need changes? Should he have performed worse to get said changes? Why hadn’t he engaged with the artistic process more? It’s such a silly thought that he would never dare to verbalize it; of course, he had never talked to any of the writers on his jobs before; he hadn’t had any reason to. 

But now as he peers over at an unassuming (unknowing of his existence) Y/N, he thinks that if all writers look like her, he may start investigating some of the work that happens off set as well. 

He doesn’t see her after that day; without a chance to even introduce himself, she disappears off set, likely to never be seen again. It’s not a writer's role to be on set, he reminds himself; this was all silly, and he should forget about it. And he does. 

Until the wrap party, it’s the usual suspects at the wrap parties: actors, directors, and producers, among all the other (and rather forgotten) staff that helped create movie magic. 

He chats amicably with people, laughing over silly stories and shared experiences, but his mind is elsewhere. Y/N was going to be here tonight; in fact, she was here, standing across the room from him, laughing about something with one of the producers. He had hoped and prayed that she would be here tonight; he wasn’t a religious man by any means, but he would have to thank God at some point for putting him in the same room as the most stunning woman he had ever seen.

He never had any trouble talking to people; in fact, he would consider himself somewhat of a social butterfly, his happy, cheesy smile a visualization of his feelings, happy and glad to be around, willing to have a chat with anyone. But now faced with the biggest threat of all (an unreasonably pretty woman), he finds himself at a loss; what would he even say? ‘Hey, thanks for literally writing the movie I just starred in. You actually just gave me a job, so that’s cool. By the way, you are so beautiful I’m pretty sure I turned religious for a night so I could pray that we would end up at this party together, hahaha.’.

Eventually, the forced proximity he had all but prayed for pays off. He turns around from a conversation to a tap on the shoulder; he has to stop his mouth from falling open when he turns around to see Y/N smiling at him gently. The producer he had seen her talking to earlier spoke quickly. 

“Fred!” He exclaimed, “Wanted you to meet Y/N; she was our writer for this.” He offered pushing Y/N towards Fred with zero explanation for the introduction. 

Fred should feel guilty about abandoning the conversation he was just having, but he doesn’t; instead, he smiles at her brightly, putting his hand out for her to shake. 

“It's lovely to meet you,” he says kindly. “Your talent is incredible; we wouldn’t be here without it,” he jokes. 

He’s relieved when she laughs, beaming at him, her cheeks warming slightly. 

“Thanks so much; likewise, of course,” she responds. 

There’s a beat of silence that follows; neither of them looks uncomfortable, nor do they have something to say. 

“I’m terribly sorry if this is a little forward, but I just wanted to congratulate you; I’m actually a big fan of yours,” she spoke bashfully, getting quieter towards the end as her face heated up. 

If Fred were any lesser man, he probably would get down on one knee in this very second, but that would be rather abrupt and impolite, and his mother raised him better than that, so instead he smiles widely, grinning at her with every bit of elation he feels. 

“Thank you so much, lovely. I would return the favor, but I think it goes without saying that none of us would be here without you,” he says. 

She giggles, and the sound makes his heart do another leap; at this rate, she was going to send him to an early grave with a heart attack. Their bubble is broken when someone calls her name, pulling her attention away from him; he finds he misses it the second it’s gone. 

“I’ve got to go, but it was so lovely to meet you, Fred.” Y/N says her ever-bright smile persisting as she turns away. Fred mutters under his breath for a moment, Lovely, he thinks. She is lovely. 

“Wait,” he says, quickly rushing behind her; she turns around, eyebrows creasing together in confusion.

”Wait, I'm sorry, I just..." Fred starts unsure of where he really wanted the conversation to go. 

“Um,” he tries again. “Could I take you out sometime? Wherever you want, I promise.” He says firmly, finally digging his heels into the conversation. 

Y/N smiles at him wholeheartedly, the excitement of the situation brimming into her eyes. 

“Yeah, I would love that,” she starts. 

“Here I’ll put my number in your phone.” He hands it over gladly, gleaming with the brief moment of contact.

She types her number in quickly, leaving a pink heart at the end of her name. 

“I’ll text you, I swear,” Fred promises. 

She smiles widely, touching his hand gently. 

“I’ll be waiting for it,” she says back, turning to leave with one last wave over her shoulder.

His cheeks betray with the red that warms them.

He follows through; of course he was going to, but he has to hold himself back from texting her the second that she disappears. The next morning he is more than grateful to see a notification with a pink heart in the name pop up on his phone; he thinks he must have died and gone to heaven when she finishes off her texts with an exclamation mark and multiple x kisses. Fred isn't being dramatic when he thinks that this might actually be the first day of the rest of his life.

Thank you to the anon who requested this, this is kinda ass but don’t let that stop you from requesting my day is instantly better when I see messages in my inbox!!!!! Much love gang!

[melsstoragecloset]

you’ve got all i need (it’s so wasteful)

landoscar | 3.5k | G

“Do you think he knows?” Lando asks Oscar as they watch Alex jump the rope with his 5th graders, not to be confused with Charles’ 5th graders, who Alex insists are just slightly less well-behaved than Alex’s kids, who according to him, are little angels sent from above who could never do anything wrong.

The same kids who had managed to stick a sheet of paper onto Alex’s back without him noticing that reads: I have smelly farts and also like Mr. Russell. Because they’re 10 year olds whose idea of funny includes farts and their teachers liking eachother.

“Maybe, but he's probably too tired to deal with a bunch of 5th graders teasing him about being married to George.”

Lando laughs, Oscar watches.

-

or, Oscar's first year as a teacher, in bits and pieces

[girlpanthera]