b38rman

[b38rman]

Behind the Scenes: Haas' 200th Grand Prix

[b38rman]

haasf1team Cold never bothered him anyway… 👀🥶 Introducing our Polar Bear 🐻‍❄️

[b38rman]

getting ciaoed by a teenager in a haas while he overtakes your redbull is absolutely diabolical 💀

[b38rman]

White girl wasted Ollie is my favourite Ollie

Very me coded

[b38rman]

🧸🏎️💨

[b38rman]

i need to squish him until we both explode

[b38rman]

Your stories are incredibile! One idea: ollie and kimi share a girl, she is infatuated with their muscles. Pleaseee

coming up after my next wip, anon!

[b38rman]

THE ALTAR IS MY HIPS ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Ollie Bearman

request - Anonymous asked: Ollie Bearman with a size kink please 🙏 🙏🙏🙏

tags - ollie bearman x afab!reader, ollie bearman x physio!reader, size kink, explicit sexual content

synopsis - It was unsurprising that helping Ollie unwind after a long day involved getting physical with him, especially considering your job—but you just didn’t know that it would be this physical today.  

rating - explicit

warnings - 18+ minors dni, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex

a/n - sorry this took forever but better late than never! mwa

Your stature was a running joke among everyone on Ollie’s team and at Haas—especially because you were his physiotherapist. They never tired of comparing your height to his, teasing that he could probably bench press you if he wanted to.

Still, they also knew better than to underestimate you. Small but deadly, they called you.

Ollie knew it too.

You could knead at the knots in his shoulders until he was practically melting into the table, stretch out his muscles until they were loose and pliant, and get him back to fighting form even when he swore he couldn’t move another inch. Recovery and reset were your job, and you took pride in doing them well.

It didn’t help that Ollie enjoyed the contrast a little too much.

“You sure those tiny hands have enough strength to fix me up?” he teased one afternoon, sprawled out on the massage table after a brutal workout session. His voice carried that familiar lilt—half-joking, half-daring you to prove him wrong.

You rolled your eyes and leaned in, pressing your thumbs into the tight muscle between his shoulder blades. A smirk tugged at your lips as Ollie tensed beneath your touch, his breath catching in his throat.

“Careful, Bearman,” you warned. “I might take that as a challenge.”

He let out a sharp exhale, something between a grunt and a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Point taken.”

The thing about working so closely with Ollie—knowing every strain, ache, and tight muscle—was that you also got to see every version of him. There was the media-trained Ollie, all easy smiles and laughter. Then there was the cheeky one, full of playful banter and teasing remarks. But there was also this version: the quiet, exhausted one who carried the weight of expectation in his shoulders and sank into the massage table like he was trying to disappear into it.

Like now, at the end of the second testing day.

His usual grin was gone, replaced by exhaustion so deep it clung to him like a second skin. His shoulders sagged slightly as he sat on the treatment table, taking off his shirt and rolling out his neck while you grabbed a bottle of magnesium oil from your kit. 

“Long day?” you asked, more out of habit than anything. You already knew the answer.

Ollie hummed, his head tipping forward as you started working through his post-session routine. His answer was muffled as he rubbed at his face. “Yeah.”

You gave his hamstring a few firm taps before beginning his stretches, guiding his leg into position and pressing carefully to test his range of motion. He winced slightly as you pushed him deeper into a stretch, and you sent him a knowing look.

“Too much?”

He exhaled through his nose. “No.”

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, you moved through the motions—passive stretches, soft tissue work, flushing out the lactic acid that had built up over the day. You rolled out his calves, kneaded at the knots in his quads, and dug into his IT band until he let out a strangled sound that almost sounded like a moan.

When you were done, you tapped at his ankle. “Turn over.”

Ollie didn’t move.

You frowned, pressing your fingers into his Achilles lightly. “Ollie?”

Still nothing.

You walked over to where Ollie’s head was, expecting to find him fast asleep, but instead, you were met with a very much awake Ollie—one whose cheeks were flushed, lips parted slightly as if he’d been caught thinking about something he wasn’t supposed to.

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “You good there, Bearman?”

Ollie swallowed, shifting slightly on the massage table, but the way his eyes flickered over you—slow, considering—sent a shiver down your spine. “Yeah.” His voice was rough, lower than usual. He cleared his throat, but it didn’t do much to hide the warmth in his expression. “Just… thinking.”

“Thinking?” You echoed, skeptical.

His eyes darted around, as if he was weighing his options. “I—um—don’t want to make this weird.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together in response. “What’s so wrong that you can’t turn over?”

It took you a second to realize the situation, a brief silence passing between you afterwards. Oh. Oh. 

“Do you want me to leave for a bit?” You asked, trying to look away and hide the color now building in your cheeks. You didn’t want to make this any more awkward than it already was. 

In lieu of a response, you felt warm fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you just a fraction closer as Ollie finally sat up. The height difference was even more obvious like this, and you tried to not think about it at all.

You were usually immune to how his body looked without a shirt on, since it was the usual state he was in when you two were together. However, the situation was making you notice the freckles dusted over his chest and light spread of hair that lead down his body. 

“I want you here—“ He almost pleaded all while you tried your best not to look down.

“—You know we shouldn’t,” You cut him off, taking on a desperate tone mixed with something you hoped he couldn’t detect. 

“We can though, if you want to.” Ollie’s voice coated every word with honey, until you were the one melting into hands. 

You took a deep breath and watched his big brown eyes take you in. You knew that this was wrong, but at the same time, you couldn’t help the tinge of desire that was licking up your throat. You were pretty sure this would violate any and every clause you had in your contract. This meant trouble, and you knew it was more true for you than for him. 

That didn’t stop you from throwing caution to the wind and stepping forward, putting your body in between Ollie’s knees. If you were going to do this, like every other thing you did, you were going to do it well. You weren’t sure if Ollie could hear your breathing quicken as he put his hands around your waist, almost as if to ground you.

“What do you need, Ollie?” You said, millimeters away from his face, barely above a whisper. 

In lieu of an answer, Ollie’s lips crashed into yours, clearly expressing what he needed to you. It turns out, you being attuned to his body didn’t strictly apply to the physio work, but to this as well. Ollie groaned as he brought your bodies together at the edge of the massage table, grinding against your thigh in a way that was as hot as it was filthy. 

It was unsurprising that helping Ollie unwind after a long day involved getting physical with him, especially considering your job—but you just didn’t know that it would be this physical today.  

You let his hands roam freely as he unzipped your work jacket, revealing just your sports bra underneath. 

“Did this for me?” Ollie asked cheekily at your lack of a shirt. “You wish.” In reality, it was just more comfortable to you to work in that attire—it wasn’t as if you were expecting to unzip your jacket anytime soon. Still, a small part of you was grateful for your own wardrobe choice because it paid off in the end somehow.

You shimmied out of your jacket before continuing to kiss and grab at every piece of Ollie you could reach, and it felt like you couldn’t get enough of him as much as he couldn’t get enough of you. Your fingers mapped out Ollie’s hard torso and back, similar to how you usually would, but in an entirely different context. Now, it almost felt wrong to brush your fingers over the waistband of Ollie’s cotton shorts, but him scrambling to help you with them was enough of an indication of just how desperate he was for this. 

Ollie helps you pull his shorts and boxers off in one go, lifting himself up over the table momentarily before settling back down again. His cock was hard and red, leaking against his stomach. Well endowed would be an understatement, and when he caught you staring with a smirk painted on his lips, you knew that he probably knew as much. 

He then focused all of his attention on getting you out of your clothes, tugging at your sports bra and leggings. Once you were both in the same state of undress, Ollie got down from the therapy table, wrapped his arms around your hips, and whispered “Jump,” into your ear. Then, he was lifting you off the ground, with his hands then settling around your thighs as they clamped around his hips. “You’re so small—it drives me crazy.” He breathed a laugh against your neck before licking and kissing at it absentmindedly, “I love it.” 

Your brain blanked out right before you could think of a response because Ollie was pressing his hips up, using the angle to press the head of his dick against your folds. You let out a sound that was between a gasp and a moan, clenching at almost nothing as he stayed still against you. 

“If you want it, you have to beg for it baby.” Ollie rabbited his hips ever so slightly, barely giving you what you needed. 

“Please fuck me, Ollie, please.” 

He bit at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, eliciting another moan from you, before setting you down on the massage table. From this angle, you could see just how big Ollie was, and it intimidated you as much as it turned you on. 

“Is it going to fit?” You found yourself wondering out loud to him as he laid his hands on your knees to spread your legs.  

“I’ll make it fit.” Ollie replied, voice going octaves lower. Then, he was guiding his cock into you inch by inch, careful not to overwhelm you. The stretch was a lot at first, but the pleasure of feeling so full and close to him was encompassing every other sensation. You knew he was fighting the urge to go in all at once, evident from how he was scrunching his eyebrows together and clenching his abdomen. 

When he finally bottomed out, you were definitely feeling him deep inside you. Part of you wanted to press against your stomach, see if you could feel him.

“You can move.” You breathed out, almost unable to use your words. With that, he was pulling out just to the tip and shoving back into you, causing both of you to groan at the feeling. 

“You’re so fucking tight.” He muttered above the sound of skin slapping against skin, finding his rhythm as he fucked into you. You watched as he fixated on where your bodies were meeting, digging his hands into your hips so hard you were sure you were going to bruise.

He used his leverage to pull you into his thrusts, pushing into you so hard you were scared the table would give way with how much it was creaking under you. 

You felt yourself hurtling closer to the end embarrassingly quickly, feeling so thoroughly fucked as Ollie rearranged your insides. “Ollie—ah—m’close,” you managed to say. 

“Yeah?” He pushed your hips up ever so slightly, now ramming into your g-spot with every thrust. You were almost screaming with just how good everything felt, and you hadn’t even laid a hand on your clit. 

Before you knew it, your orgasm was consuming your body, and you were somehow going impossibly tighter around Ollie. “Fuck,” you heard him say, and you just knew that he could feel it. He continues fucking into you though, albeit at a slower pace, with your impossibly wet pussy making the slide much easier but so much louder. 

“Can I keep going?” He pauses to ask you, still evidently hard. 

“Yes.” You think you might die if he doesn’t, honestly. 

You expect him to just speed up again, but instead he pulls out and gently flips you over so you’re on your stomach. Before you could protest, he’s sliding home once more but this time from behind, letting his big dick in even deeper than you thought possible. You were feeling a bit overstimulated with the sheer size of from your recent orgasm, but again, the pleasure overcame everything else. 

In a lot of ways, he fucked like he drove—precise, fast, passionate, and most of all, unrelenting. It was just an added plus that he knew how to use his sheer size. “Yeah, take it, take it,” He mumbled, mostly to himself. Soon after, he was burying himself into you, painting your insides with white rivulets. 

Somewhere between the space wherein he was pulling out, kissing your shoulder blade, and disappearing into his en suite to grab something to clean you up with, you felt a hint of fondness and something deeper than that rush through you. You were too scared to even think of what it was. All you knew for sure was that absolutely nobody would be hearing about this. 

[b38rman]

Ollie Bearman with a size kink please 🙏 🙏🙏🙏

getting on it, anon 🫡

[b38rman]

MASTERLIST ✩࿐࿔

★ - denotes smut

OLLIE BEARMAN

one shots

read your mind

slow motion, double-vision - ★

is it new year’s yet?

the altar is my hips - ★

series

through the motions - 1, 2 - ★

[b38rman]

IS IT NEW YEAR’S YET? *ੈ✩‧₊˚ Ollie Bearman

tags - ollie bearman x afab!reader, meet-cute, beach fic, holidays, strangers to lovers, fluff

synopsis - You’d originally planned the trip as a romantic getaway, but now, stuck alone at a beachside bar and haunted by what could have been, you chose to face the season head-on. Then, a chance encounter with a charming stranger and a stolen drink turns the night on its head.

rating - teen and up

warnings - alcohol consumption, swearing

a/n - the five-minute drink and the overall setting is loosely based on a place called flotsam and jetsam in la union ! here is what the five-minute drink is and here is what the vibe is like 🏝️❤️ merry christmas and happy new year everyone (: based on the sabrina carpenter song of the same name

The holiday cheer felt more like a taunt than an escape. The bar’s radio played another overplayed Christmas song against the crash of the waves in the background, and you fought the urge to groan.

The whole trip was starting to feel like a mistake—everything about this season just reminded you of what you didn’t have. Couples crowded the beach outside, string lights twinkling over beach blankets like some cruel reminder. December was supposed to be magical, but all it felt like was a prison, locking you in with your own thoughts.

“Why am I even here?” you muttered under your breath. Maybe it would all be easier if you could just fast-forward to next year.

This was supposed to be a different kind of trip—a romantic getaway for two, a toast to the year that was, and everything that could have been. You’d booked it far in advance, fighting for one of the few coveted rooms in this hotel with those views. A balcony overlooking the endless stretch of perfect blue ocean, the kind of place designed to take your breath away. It wasn’t easy to get, but back then, it had felt worth it.

You could still remember the way your ex had smiled when you showed him the reservation far before the -ber months. And now? Now that smile only lingered in fragments, fading into the glow of your phone screen as you scrolled past holiday posts you didn’t want to see. The reservation had been non-refundable, but somehow it felt like that wasn’t the only reason you’d kept it.

“One five-minute drink,” the bartender announced, sliding the glass across the counter. You muttered a quiet thanks, your mind elsewhere, watching the waves beyond the window as the opening chords of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” replaced the Christmas music.

A moment later, you reached for your drink—only to find a distinct lack of one.

“Oh, that’s not good,” a British voice muttered beside you. You turned to find a guy holding your drink, his brows furrowed as he realized his mistake. “I don’t suppose this is mine?”

“It’s not,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. You could almost ignore how his hair fell perfectly in waves atop his head or how his eyes glistened like the endless shoreline. His shirt fit him well too—damn it, you were supposed to be furious.

He winced and set it down like it might bite him. “Sorry, I thought service was absurdly quick here. Guess I’ve just nicked your drink.” He smiled sheepishly, an apologetic tilt to his head.

“That was supposed to be my five-minute drink,” you said, gesturing to the glass.

“Five-minute drink?” he repeated, looking intrigued.

“It’s their strongest drink,” you explained. “And the rule is you’ve got to finish it before the song ends.” You tilted your head toward the speakers as Axl Rose’s voice hit another high note.

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Well, that’s quite a rule for a drink. I’ve ruined it for you, haven’t I?” He waved to the bartender before you could protest. “Let me get you another one—you’ve got time to set a proper record before the guitar solo.”

You let him order another five-minute drink for you, and when the bartender brought him a glass filled with what you guessed was his own—dark, smoky, and definitely a classic old-fashioned—you smirked and took it in stride. Once the familiar pink concoction of your own drink arrived, you humored him with a brief “cheers” motion and knocked it back in record time, finishing in far less than five minutes—closer to five seconds, really.

He raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed. “I don’t suppose I’ve had enough to ask why you’re here downing your five-minute drinks all by yourself?”

A laugh escaped you, though it was bitter, not amused. “I guess some people thought I was better off alone this season.”

He paused, his gaze softening as he studied you, the edge of his smile fading slightly. Something in his expression lingered, as if something clicked, but he didn’t press—just kept his thoughts to himself as you quietly sipped your drink, feeling strangely lighter than a few minutes ago.

“Ex?” he asked, gently probing, clearly giving you the space you needed to decide how much to say.

You nodded, letting the edge of a grim smile touch your lips. “Yup. Well, it’s a blessing and a curse that he couldn’t even wait ‘til the air got colder to break up with me.”

For a moment, it felt like you’d given him a little more than you intended—an insight into just how much this holiday season was grinding you down. But, for some reason, his silence felt comforting instead of heavy, a rare feeling among a sea of well-meaning but annoying sympathy.

He shifted in his seat, as if deciding to shift the subject just enough. “I’m Ollie, by the way,” he said after a beat, offering his hand. You gave him a sideways glance but took his hand nonetheless, feeling the casual warmth of it. “I’m here with my family, actually. Parents are off doing their thing, and my siblings are off… well, let’s just say they’re not big fans of hotel bars.” His smile was wry, clearly unbothered by the family activity you might’ve expected to be mandatory for holiday time.

“Ah, the classic ‘doing my own thing while the family enjoys their own’ situation,” you said with a teasing half-smile. “Sounds like a good deal. I’ll trade you—family chaos for solitude, no problem.”

Ollie chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m sure it’s not always that simple, but yeah, I figured I’d come check out the vibe here… and, you know, after seeing someone finish that drink in five seconds, I thought I could probably take a break myself. The family does seem to want some space.” His smile deepened, the kind of easy, friendly grin that was making you reconsider the chance you’d almost passed on by leaving earlier.

“You’re right,” you replied, setting your drink down and meeting his gaze. “It’s a bit of a mess if I’m being honest. But maybe this whole ‘holiday escape’ idea wasn’t a total wash.”

“Well,” Ollie said with a teasing twinkle in his eyes, “I’d say it’s officially turning into a good night. Just don’t finish your next drink in five seconds… don’t want to set the bar too high for me.”

You raised an eyebrow in mock challenge. “You’d be surprised, Ollie. Five-second drinks are practically my thing.”

He leaned back in his seat with a mischievous smirk. “Guess I’ll just have to find something else to keep you entertained.”

You looped your arm through his as he guided you back to your room. Maybe you shouldn’t have let him—especially not when the alcohol buzzed in your head, making you giggly and a little off-balance. But there was something about him that felt trustworthy, like the one stable anchor in the midst of the chaos. He seemed to have a solid head on his shoulders, even though he was caught up in the same holiday madness as you.

“Your ex-boyfriend must have been real boring if he left you while you were this fun,” Ollie said, breaking the silence with a teasing tone.

You tried to suppress the small pleased smile that pulled at your lips, not wanting to be too obvious.

“And you’re fun, huh?” You poked him lightly in the rib, a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Only good reviews so far from what I’m seeing.” He met your gaze with that same steady look, and for a moment, it was just the two of you—no pretense. “Let me guess, he was some super-serious finance guy?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to laugh. “Shut up. Like your job is any better.”

Ollie slowed his steps, pausing in the hallway with a thoughtful look on his face, like he was weighing something. It was brief, but you could tell he was considering what to say next.

“Not really boring no,” he said, his voice softer now. “Well, I’d say my job doesn’t really define me does it?”

“Yeah, well, people don’t always fit the box,” you quipped, still feeling that comfortable sense of ease between you, despite the night’s whirlwind.

As the door to your room neared, Ollie paused just before stepping inside, his hands still holding onto yours. He looked at you like he had one last thing he wanted to say—and then it all happened in a moment.

He kissed you.

It was warm, slow, lingering. Not a rush to start the year or check something off your list. It was simple—something genuine in the press of his lips against yours. When he pulled away, he smirked slightly.

“But it isn’t New Year’s yet,” he said, his voice low with a soft edge.

You hummed in reply, a smirk playing on your lips as you tugged him closer, brushing your mouth against his once more before answering.

“Don’t need it to be.”

With that, you pulled him into your room, the door clicking shut behind you, and a wave of unexpected excitement took hold.

You had no idea what you were getting yourself into—but for once, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

[b38rman]

baby bear on the podium after his win 🤍

[b38rman]

Ollie Bearman | Qatar Grand Prix 2024 🇶🇦

Sprint race winner! 🏆

[b38rman]

formula2 Forget the trophy... Ollie won it for the Sprite! 😂🍾

[b38rman]

that “ehh!” from jannik the ferrarismo jumped out

| ATP Tour

[b38rman]

"ollie is lestappen son" "ollie is charlos son" wrong. he is charles' son and trying to find out who his other dad is mamma mia (2008) style

[b38rman]

SLOW MOTION, DOUBLE-VISION ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡☾ ﾟ｡⋆ Ollie Bearman

tags - ollie bearman x afab!reader, childhood friends to lovers, reader is in uni, light angst, eventual smut (with feelings), explicit sexual content

synopsis - No matter how many years passed by, it was glaringly obvious that you would never admit to yourself that you’d always wished for Ollie to be the one for you. It was hard back then, and it was even harder now. (OR: Your head knew that your childhood best friend would never be the one for you. Your heart just hadn’t realized it yet.)

rating - explicit

warnings - 18+ minors dni, slight angst (a little bit of arguing), explicit sexual content, unprotected sex

a/n - very obviously inspired by gold rush by taylor swift. ollie IS gold rush to me. highly recommend listening to it while thinking of him.

Whenever Ollie ran, you would chase him. Whether it was through his garden, between classrooms, or around your dinner table, you'd been doing it ever since you could remember. 

That was until he ran far, far away from you to Italy—of course you wouldn't follow (no matter how badly you wanted to.)

It was amidst this chase when you realized that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop longing for him. You'd known this since you were 12 years old, when he grinned from the pew next to you as he caught you falling asleep during a church sermon. After that, you couldn't stop realizing the squeeze in your chest when you made him laugh, or the way he'd look at you at the end of a karting race, and how he'd thank you on those days like your company meant more than the accolades he was collecting. 

At 16 and 17, when he'd just moved and you'd already begun preparing for university, you'd try to keep in contact regularly. You'd watch as your laptop screen filled with the smile that had made your knees weak even from a thousand miles away and promptly force yourself to shut down those feelings.

"Hey you." He'd say, like he always did. "Hi. How was work today?" You'd answer, and he'd beam before talking your ear off for an hour or two, or until he decided he was too tired to keep going. 

Many times you wished you could reach through the screen and trace the freckles on his cheeks. You longed for the certainty of knowing how they felt under your fingertips.

On these calls, you knew that he just needed someone to listen to him. It wasn't that you weren't genuinely interested in what he was saying—of course you were—it was just that maybe your life was getting so bland that you had nothing to share with him, or that all of those things paled in comparison to what he was doing. The distance was far greater than the mileage separating both of you.

"Good night Ollie, sleep tight." You'd say at the end of one of these calls, watching his eyes blink slowly, indicating that he was already drifting off.

"You aren't telling me something." He answered. You felt your stomach twist.

I miss you, was definitely on your mind. I love you and I want you here were more self indulgent options for sure.

"I'm telling you everything." It was a white lie, but you couldn't think of what else to say to that.

You watched as Ollie's face dropped and shifted into an expression you couldn't read. He paused to take a moment, before going back to his own sleepiness.

"Good night." And the screen faded to black.

Over time, the calls became less and less frequent. It was sad, honestly; you went from seeing him basically everyday to feeling like you were barely a part of his life. Ultimately, though, it became clear how you were worlds apart from each other, especially since he stopped coming home for holidays and birthdays, and you didn't have the time to visit Modena no matter how many times you'd promised that to him in the past.

You existed on different planets—entirely different dimensions and planes of reality. He could pick and choose between celebrities and Instagram models, and you were stuck highlighting textbooks living from deadline to deadline.

That was until you got the call. 

“Ollie’s coming home.” Your mom said as soon as you picked up. You were cycling from one building to another between your classes and had three missed calls from her already. 

“What?” You hoped the shock surfacing in your voice wasn’t that obvious, considering how jarring it was in comparison to your mom’s excitement. 

“Yes! Come home for the weekend, it’ll be just like old times.” Your mom answered, thankfully not detecting your nerves.

It would be like old times, but this Ollie  wasn’t. You didn’t know what to do with that. What you were sure of though, is Ollie wasn’t running anymore—and you weren’t sure if that meant you had to stop chasing him too.

Ollie was standing behind his parents when you arrived at their house. It felt surreal, like you were undergoing some kind of half-dream, half-deja vu state. After greeting his parents with the usual pleasantries about how university is treating you and how you grow up so fast, you finally got to lay eyes on Ollie after three whole years. 

All you could see in that moment was him. It was like your mind fell silent and the only sound that cascaded through your body was that of your heart pounding against your ribcage.

In front of him, you were five, twelve, sixteen, and nineteen all at once. 

The silence felt like it lasted a lifetime, but he pulled you in before he could say a word.

The world went silent as you closed your eyes and let yourself stay in that moment. It was as if his parents and little brother weren't in the doorway with you—as if the world was your hometown and Modena was universes away.

"I missed you." Ollie said so earnestly your body was going to explode. He buried his face in your hair and you swore he was a few inches taller than he was when he left you.

"Me too." You replied into his chest, trying to breathe through how overwhelming everything was.

You were on your phone, lying in Ollie's twin-sized mattress, perfectly preserved like a sacred relic from your childhood. You'd remember nights when you'd snuggle together, his touch like a comforting anchor amidst seas that he could calm with his hand. You wondered if it was the same as it had always been. Would it be different now? Was it different now?

You glanced above the screen to watch Ollie reassembling his simulator in silence. It was comfortable, with the only air of awkardness coming from the elephant standing in the corner of the room; that being you not being on conversational terms previously despite being 'best friends.'

"Need help?" You asked, as you watched Ollie furrow his brows at some part that looked like any other part, which was confusing in itself but you were willing to help anyway. 

"No, all good." He chewed his bottom lip, clearly still frustrated and at a loss at what to do. 

You pursed your lips together and calmly asked a second time, "You sure?"

"Yes! I told you I didn't need your help the first time. Why aren't you listening to me?" Ollie let go of the parts he was holding, opting instead to press his eyes into his palms. "It used to be so easy to have you around, I just can't figure out why it's so different now."

"Well maybe it's because you're different now, Ollie." You couldn't help but raise your voice back at him as your heart pounded for entirely different reasons now.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe you were the one who stopped talking to me." His eyes pierced through you, but his glare was so obviously laced with hurt. It hurt you too—of course it did. 

You took a deep breath before replying. 

"You could literally pick any other girl to talk to, I don't know why what I do matters so much to you." You felt the tears well up in your eyes as you tried to stop your voice from fraying at the send of your sentence. You closed your eyes and covered your face in an attempt to stop the tears, but that proved futile as the warm wet streaks soon lined your face.

You felt the side of the bed dip and a hand reach out to gently touch the hands on your face. 

"Hey, I'm sorry, look at me." He wrapped his calloused hand around your wrist and exposed your red, splotchy face in all its glory to him. "You know me, you know I don't care about—" Ollie gestured loosely with one hand "—them. Besides, none of them will ever be you."

You tried not to overthink his statement too much as he moved his hand from his wrist to your cheek, then to your forehead. You held your breath as he leaned forward to press a kiss on your forehead, then down to your right cheek. You felt all the air exit your lungs as he pressed his forehead to yours, so impossibly close to you.

Growing up, you'd always wondered what it would be like to study how perfect every freckle and feature on his face was. Now that it was happening, the overwhelming glimmer in his eyes barely gave away that none of this was a pipe dream that you'd imagined from too many days away from him.

"Can I—" Ollie started. 

You grabbed his chin and smashed your lips together, taking him by surprise before he could even finish his sentence. People describe kissing to be like fireworks going off in your belly, or like butterflies swarming—however, there were no butterflies or fireworks, because those things couldn't even come close to what you were feeling. 

The kiss was hard and deep and neverending. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that came from years of anticipation—it was something else entirely; gentler, more deliberate. You felt Ollie’s hand slide to your waist, pulling you closer as though he was afraid you might disappear. Every inch of space that had once stretched between you over the years seemed to fold in on itself, leaving only the heat of his lips on yours and the sound of your uneven breaths filling the room.

“Ollie,” you whispered against his mouth when you finally pulled away, your voice barely audible. His name hung in the air like a confession.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with something raw, and you almost wished you could look away from how immense it was. “I mean it,” he murmured. “None of them will ever be you.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of those words nearly leading you to collapse. You didn’t need him to explain further because it made sense now. From the moment he grinned at you in that church pew, to the countless video calls where his smile never quite reached his eyes anymore, and even now as his thumb brushed gently across your cheek—it all made sense.

But there was still a sliver of fear inside you. “What happens when you leave again?” you asked softly. Your hand found its way to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. “What happens to us then?”

Ollie let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing against yours again. “I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “But I do know that I can’t keep pretending it doesn't feel like this to me. I can’t keep running away from this—away from you.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave. For years, you’d chased him, only to stop when you thought he’d never look back. But here he was, tethering himself to you with a kind of sincerity that was so intense it was just on the verge of too much. 

You didn’t say anything more. Instead, you let yourself kiss him again—this time slower, more intentional. His lips moved against yours like he was committing every moment to memory, like he didn’t want to forget a single second of this.

Eventually, the kiss deepened, and his hands roamed cautiously over your back, your waist, like he was overriding the memories he had of you with this one. You felt the mattress shift as he pulled you down with him, your body fitting against his as though it had always been meant to. The warmth of his hands against your skin grounded you, making you feel like this wasn’t just a dream.

“Ollie,” you breathed his name again, your voice trembling as his lips found your jaw, your neck. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

“So have I,” he confessed between kisses, his voice husky and filled with need. “You have no idea how long.”

You stayed on your sides, your head spinning as you continued to kiss. Maybe it was the oxygen that you were losing from kissing for this long, or maybe it was how high you were on the fact that Ollie felt the same way about you. Either way, you knew where this was leading, and you could barely believe that it was happening here, in Ollie's bedroom. You couldn't figure out if it felt sacred or if it unlocked certain fantasies that you didn't dare indulge in. 

Ollie was the one who made the first move, daring to move his warm, calloused hands over your ribcage, tantalizingly close to your breasts. "Please, Ollie," you brought your mouth away from his for a moment to plead. "Need you." You said, punctuated by you moving his hands under your bra. 

You shuddered under his touch as his hand rubbed across your nipples, leading you to jerk your hips forward into the growing hardness in his pants. You knew the moan he let out would fill your ears and mind with yearning long after this.

You toyed with the hem of his shirt as both your movements grew more and more desperate, and that cued Ollie to rid of his shirt altogether. You followed suit with your shirt and bra, making sure to spend enough time admiring just how beautiful all of him was, like he himself was chiseled out of the marble they used to make the statues of demigods.

"You're staring." He said smugly, eyes glistening with mischief and warmth. You chuckled back at him. 

"Well I'm sorry." The apology came out sounding snarky and sarcastic, and it was Ollie's turn to laugh.

"You aren't though." Ollie quipped back before diving into your neck once again, licking and biting just to get some noises out of you. 

He then helped you out of your shorts and underwear, seemingly desperate to run his fingers through your folds. "Fuck, you're so wet for me." You gasped as he ran his fingers over your clit and your hole, spreading your wetness around. 

Ollie made quick work of his own pants and boxers, and you indulged him by wrapping your hands around his dick, hard and leaking pre-cum. After you gave him a few experimental pumps, he was relenting. "Ah—wait—don't want to cum yet." 

Soon after, your hand was replaced by Ollie's as he guided his length into you, inch by inch. He had one hand at the base of his dick, and the other holding your knee up, making the angle better and ensuring that you were properly open for him to lay all of his love into. 

You didn't even have time to think after he bottomed out inside you, because soon after he was setting a pace that could only be described as relentless, like he was trying to repent for the years you'd waited. You couldn't help the moans that escaped your mouth as he pounded into you. 

You held on to him as he laid into you, whimpering as sweat began to form on his brow. 

"Tell me," He said, breathless as the room was filled with the sounds of skin against skin, "Tell me you love me." 

Your heart felt like it was bursting at the seams. "I love you—God, fuck—I love you."

With that, Ollie was burying himself deep into you and reaching his climax, painting your insides with pearly white rivulets. You were not far behind, clenching and cumming around his cock as he ground the last of his orgasm into you. 

As soon as Ollie pulled out, he was grabbing napkins from his bedside table, cupping a wad of them at your entrance as his cum seeped out of you. He seemed focused on it though, how you were practically dripping with his release and yours. 

"I could get used to this." Ollie's breathing turned heavy.

"You're kind of nasty." You replied playfully, shifting the mood as he cleaned you up.

"You love it." He joked, but you knew there was more behind that. 

"Almost as much as I love you." You followed up, laying a kiss on his flushed cheek. 

For the first time in years, you didn’t feel like you were chasing him anymore. He was here—grounded, steady, and most importantly, yours alone.