fallnlov

[fallnlov]

"empty" house - sodapop curtis

summary: with darry and ponyboy away for parent-teacher meetings, you and soda have the house to yourselves. well, you and soda momentarily have the house to yourselves due to the curtis’s open door policy wc: 1.1k+ cw: making out, groping, suggestive themes, getting interrupted

Sodapop couldn’t possibly be more grateful for parent-teacher conferences, because for the first time in months, the house was completely empty. Other than you, of course. Because what would Sodapop do in an empty household other than have you over?

His hands were all over you, shameless groping your backside as you straddled his lap, lips captured with his rather desperate ones as the television played on in the background. Sodapop’s fingers trailed up the back of your shirt, playing with the strap of your bra.

“Soda,” You mumbled, removing your lips from his to press a kiss to his jaw. The clasp of your bra let up, suddenly snapping as its support gave out on your breasts. Your boyfriend grinned, lifting your shirt up, hand now snaking under the front of your shirt.

Soda struggled with helping you out of your bra, keeping your thick strapped tank top on as he threw the undergarment across the living room. You cursed as he tugged at the low neckline of your shirt, exposing your tits to him. Soda puckered his lips at you, and you leaned down to kiss him again, whimpering into his mouth as he began playing with your tits, fingers teasingly pinching your nipples.

One of his arms secured around your back, keeping you close to his chest as his free hand cupped your cheek. Sodapop bucked his hips up, causing you to gasp loudly, hands flying up to grip both his shoulders as he flipped you over, caging you underneath him on the couch. Sodapop chuckled as he broke the kiss, catching the flustered look on your face.

He sat back on his ankles, running his hands up your thighs, under the dark denim of your skirt. For a moment, he just admired how beautiful you looked like this, all desperate for him, tits nearly spilling out of your top. You reached a hand out to him, curling your fingers around the fabric of his t-shirt to help pull him closer to you.

Sodapop lowered himself onto you again, barely holding himself up using his grip on the arm of the couch behind your head. You brought a hand to the nape of his neck to force his face down, slamming his lips onto yours. Soda groaned immediately at the contact, gripping your thigh with his free hand and moving your leg to make more space for his body between your legs.

Following his lead, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. Soda nibbled at your bottom lip, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your lips immediately after. You granted him access to your mouth, moaning quietly as he tangled his tongue with yours. He sighed into your mouth as you intertwined your fingers through his hair, tugging softly at his slicked strands.

A breath hitched in your throat as Soda broke the kiss, dragging a string of saliva across your skin as he brought his lips to your jaw and down your neck, lips closing around a chosen area to begin suckling on, teeth gently grazing your neck before harshly biting down. You moaned out your boyfriend’s name, feeling his smirk against your neck as you bucked your hips up.

“Want more, baby?” He asked, closely watching your reaction as he rolled his hips down, grinding his hardening erection into your core, exposed by the way your denim skirt had drastically ridden up. Soda came back up to press a chaste kiss to your lips, a hand trailing underneath your skirt to feather his fingers over your panties. You followed his fingers, even as he pulled them away, chasing the briefest friction.

“Soda, you’re being unfair.” Sodapop pouted at you mockingly, and you sighed in disappointment, watching a wide smile splay itself on his lips. “Okay, sorry baby, sorry.”

You felt your chest swell up happily as Sodapop connected his lips to yours again. He let you deepen the kiss immediately, your hands cradling his face gently as he tilted his head to the side, licking into your mouth eagerly.

“Y’all have about 45 seconds before Darry comes in through this door.” Sodapop jolted away from you at the sound of Dally’s teasing voice, a clearly flustered Johnny standing right behind him. As though you just processed his words, you untangled your legs from around your boyfriend’s waist, tugging desperately at your skirt to make yourself as modest as possible as Sodapop rearranged the neckline of your shirt, cursing under his breath.

Soda jumped up from the couch and darted across the living room to snatch your bra from the ground. Dallas chuckled, watching as Soda-pop desperately attempted to shove the bra in his pocket, eyes going wide when it didn’t fit. You followed Soda across the living room, gently easing your bra out of his hands and holding it close to your chest. You headed straight to the bathroom, even as you heard the door open again, Darry and Pony’s voices entering the living room.

After putting your bra on again and taking in your appearance in the mirror, you fished for the lip gloss in your pocket, leaning in closer to the mirror as you swiped the applicator across your lips. Your eye sight caught on a deep purple colour staining your neck, and you silently cursed Soda out for leaving a hickey on such an exposed area.

When you exited the bathroom, you wiped your hands down onto your skirt, smiling softly at Soda’s two brothers. “How did it go?” You asked, causing Soda-pop to spin around to face you. Your eyes flitted from Soda, then back to Darry, Ponyboy, Dally and Johnny, noticing the varied expressions on their faces.

Soda’s, which was humiliated, and definitely a little panicked. Darry’s, which was exasperated and somewhat amused. Ponyboy’s, which was a little flustered, but equally as entertained. Johnny, whose face was just as rattled as when he had first walked into the house. And finally, Dally, whose blatant amusement gave away the fact that he had exposed Soda-pop, and the tent he was sporting in his jeans.

“What?” You asked, suddenly feeing shy with five pairs of eyes on you. Darry cleared his throat, shaking his head and looking down at his feet respectfully. Soda-pop walked towards you, placing both his hands on your hips and pushing you backwards in direction to his bedroom. “What’s going on?”

“Dally just let the entire room know what we were up to, and I won’t sit in there with blue balls.”

You laughed lightly, letting him drag you into his bedroom, and just as he shut the door, Pony’s voice came through, yelling loudly “Stay on your side of the bed!”

taglist: @joonbread, @marilyn-girly, @user010380, @gr1mesgirl

[fallnlov]

sodapop smut headcanons?? 🙏🙏

I haven't done anything for Sodapop in a hot minute, huh...? Let's change that 030

Sodapop Smut Headcanons!

Not really a smut head canon but he can tie a cherry stem with his tongue, do with that what you will.

Adores seeing you in his clothes, if you're wearing his DX hat or one of his flannel shirts while you're going at it, he's like an animal. Grunting, growling, biting (if you're into that), etc. He's feral if he sees you in his clothes

Not quiet, he loves making noises so you know you're doing good and not to stop. He'll praise you and then stop mid sentence to moan when something feels so good.

Returning the favor is his form of love. If you suck him off, he'll return the favor ten fold, like full on toes curling in pleasure.

Prefers to hit raw but he doesn't mind wearing a condom if that's what you want. His pull out game is great so don't worry.

Has a small fantasy of sharing with Steve, but he won't bring it up. Something about him and Steve sharing you just makes him unbearably hard.

Sodapop is a horn dog, anytime you feel like it, he's ready to go. Quickies in the DX break room, bathroom, shower, the drive in, his bedroom, your bedroom, anywhere you feel like.

Once had you on his lap, wrapped in a blanket cock warming him during a movie night with Steve, Two Bit, Dally and Johnny while Ponyboy and Darry were at a parent teacher meeting. It's something he thinks about frequently, wondering if he can pull that off again.

After care god, like really good at after care. He'll clean you up with a rag, get you a slice of chocolate cake (if the others haven't polished it off by now), and let you borrow some of his clothes.

Soda loves watching you give him head, something about just watching you suck him off makes him smile and brings him so much pleasure.

Sodapop also has an oral fixation. If he's writing, he's got a pen in his mouth. If he's at dinner and not talking, he chews his fork. Sometimes he bites his nails and then goes back later to fix the jagged lines. That being said, he also likes having his mouth on you. He'll mouth against your neck, shoulder, or wrist if it's in public and during the moment he'll go for your throat, chest, stomach, thighs etc.

[fallnlov]

how it works - sodapop

summary:  getting your period in a house filled with boys absolutely sucks, especially when you need to attempt to sneak out to the store to buy sanitary products without being asked too many questions wc: 0.8k+ wc

After days of emotional wreckage and mood swings, crying after every minor inconvenience, everything finally made sense. Unfortunately for you, now was not the time for mother nature to tell you that you weren’t pregnant, especially because you were sitting in a room full of clueless men with no knowledge on menstruation.

The silly argument between Steve and Two-Bit melded into the background, all your focus on the cramps in your pelvis and the dreaded fact that sooner or later, you were going to have to stand up. How, was the true question, because the light denim wash of your jeans wouldn't do anything to hide a nasty blood stain. Gripping the arm of the couch next to you, you winced as you pushed yourself off the couch, immediately rushing to the bathroom once you rose, clueless of the eyes following your figure.

You cursed quietly at the sight of the blood pooling in your underwear, desperately patting it down with tissues to soak up the blood. You stuffed a carefully folded layer of toilet paper into your underwear before washing your hands and leaving the room, leaving a scent of lavender in the room behind you. You weren’t really sure why you attempted to slip out the front door without anyone noticing, because four of your closest friends were sitting in the Curtis living room, including your boyfriend.

“Hey, where’re you tryna sneak out on us?” You froze, slowly turning around to glance at Two-Bit, who had astonishingly taken his eyes off the television to target a question at you. Sodapop leaned down on the couch you’d been sat on with him, reaching over the side of the couch so that his hand could graze your leg. He pinched the denim between his fingers, tugging you towards him until he could wrap an arm around your thighs.

“You trying to escape, baby?” You reached a hand up to run your fingers through Soda’s hair, smiling softly at him. He spotted the hidden panic in your eyes and pinched his eyebrows into a furrow.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to run to the store really quickly. I’ll be right back.” Sodapop instantly stood up at your words, patting his pocket to make sure his keys were in there. A sudden jab into your lower stomach had one of your hands settling on your belly and you shifted your weight from side to side. Sodapop frowned as he slung an arm around your shoulders. “I’ll take you. Need to buy some cigarettes too.”

Instead of arguing with him, you nodded along, reaching for the door handle, but Soda’s hand settled over yours, stopping your movements.

“What’s wrong, doll?”

“Yeah, you look in pain y/n, is everything okay?” Two-Bit’s question had a wave of nervousness flooding your body, causing your shoulders to stiffen up. Shaking your head rapidly, you mumbled “Nothing’s wrong.” But it was impossible to lie to your boyfriend when he was looking at you with such a concerned expression. You could almost feel the other boys’s eyes on you, no matter how intently you focused your gaze on Soda-pop.

“I got my period.” Soda’s eyebrows rose, a fleeting look of panic on his face. Somewhere in the room, someone made a choked sound. Dallas, undoubtedly. You laughed half-heartedly, shrugging. “I can go to the store alone, it’s alright.”

Sodapop squared his shoulders up, almost looking offended at your answer. “Now why would you do that? Let’s go.” Soda swung the door open, pausing briefly before asking “Do you need-what do you need to get?”

“Don’t worry about it honey.”

“Are you cold, do you need my jacket?”

“No, I just need some painkillers and some sanitary products.”

“Hey, y/n, a cigarette might help with the pain, if you want.” Dally called out, holding his cigarette out for you from across the room. You shook your head with a small smile on your face.

“Wait, so uh y/n,” Steve started, grabbing your attention. You tilted your head to the side, acutely aware that blood would begin soaking your jeans in any minute. “Does it hurt when you pee?” You grimaced at Steve, growing worried when you saw Dallas and Two-Bit’s faces snapped towards you with equally curious expressions.

“No, Steve. Different, um, different hole.” Dallas leaned back into the couch, humming apprehensively.

“Wait,” Two-Bit jolted upwards, brows furrowed as though he was back in school, but you shook your head, stepping out of the door as you said “Two-Bit, I need to go buy tampons.”

“Then can you show us how they work!?” Dally’s question drowned out as Sodapop encouraged you out of the door with a gentle hand on your back, shutting the door behind him. His fingers lingered on your waist as he led you to the car. He cleared his throat, pausing with his hand on the handle. You raised your eyebrows at your boyfriend, small smile on your face.

“It’s the sex hole, right?”

“Yes, Soda, it’s the sex hole.”

taglist: @joonbread, @marilyn-girly, @user010380, @gr1mesgirl

[fallnlov]

oh nam gyu they could never EVER. EVER. make me hate you.

[fallnlov]

AHHHH SOO GOOD!!!!!!! im kinda obsessed with it now

hii i don't know if your requests are open already (if they're not just pretend you did not saw this one) but i saw you did a franco ask and ugh don't be mad but my request it's also for a franco fic but like i planned this a long time ago😭😭

soooo.... could i ask for franco colapinto on an audi, bmw and honda, 1B1E-2708. for a race weekend?

ok also im that anon that said that was happy to read a prompt and the prompt in question was audi; i love alex turner and his love letter to alexa chung is so insanely pretty like 😫😫 #needthatand

i thought it would fit franco the most since he's a yapper :D

LOVE LETTERS ━━ FC43

﹙ 43 ﹚ ─────── better than words you never said

franco celebrates his first win with you covered in champagne. yet, the only thing in your mind is the napkin that's hiding in the bedside drawer

relationship(s) franco colapinto/you tags alex turner reference, implied sugar daddy, secret relationships, reader on top—only literally, simping franco, simping reader dialogue “My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it”, “I still remember the way you taste”, "You want me to beg? I don't think a winner should beg" wc 1.1k

MASTERLIST ⠀REQUEST ME ⠀ TAGLIST⠀ PATREON GUIDE

radio "comments and reblogs are much appreciated!" was excited to write this one since someone finally used the alex turner reference on my prompts !!! i might do this for all drivers soon enough i'm just happy to get to write one and it's franco hehe

▶︎ ❝ party anthem ❞ arctic monkeys

‘My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it.’

You’re not an easy woman, but maybe you’re willing only for Franco. He has you trapped between his legs, placed on the winner’s bed with champagne staining you and the sheets. It soaks your skin and clings to it. Franco’s hands are situated at your hips as he tries to keep you stable. 

On the bedside drawer is his unread love letter, from him to you. It’s unread because he doesn’t know you read it ten times during the weekend. He kisses you the same way his pen kissed the cheap napkin from the restaurant he took you to on Wednesday. He kisses you like he’s saying: ‘The idea that you may kiss it (his lips) again is stuck in my brain, which hasn’t stopped thinking of you since, well, before any kiss.’

Every word written, smudged, and carefully thought of, runs your head faster than any lap time. Over and over, you can hear his voice. Franco doesn’t know that as he kisses down to your chest, pulling up your soaked blouse to kiss between the valley of your breasts. “You are just as good as the champagne,” he says, a tongue running down, “I remember distinctly how you taste. Winning makes you taste better.”

His ridiculousness is stripped away with every word he didn’t say. Every stroke, every curve, and every line. Everyone thinks he’s great with his mouth, but he’s even better with his hands. Another example of that would be how he’s undressing your pants and pulling them down. You are left wanted and salivated for as his eyes grope your lower half. “Aren’t you very pretty?” he teases.

“Come on, Franco,” you tell him, a hand on the collar of his Alpine shirt, “if you keep teasing me, I’m gonna make you beg for me later.”

“Really?” he laughs, pulling his head up. “You gonna make me beg, sweetheart?” He starts talking in his own tongue, the words so fast you couldn’t catch it. Still, he says it all with a smug look on his face that makes you want to expose his little secret. 

Instead, you say, “Yeah, I’m going to make you beg.”

“I think, instead,” he kisses your knuckles, pulling them up to his lips, “you spoil me rotten for once. I am deserving of it after all. A winner should never beg.”

You roll your eyes, and he laughs at your antics. Begrudgingly, letting you win, he pulls your legs up, and your pants and panties are swiftly off you. The coldness of the hotel room breezes through your cunt, making you clench. Franco catches it in his eye, and he looks at you like he wants you to be squeezing around him instead. You don’t doubt that is what he truly wants.

“Come on now,” he turns the two of you over, “spoil me. Maybe I’ve had enough of spoiling you with all those dinners and events, huh? Let’s see if you can make me beg.”

With your naked sex pressed against his jeans, you work him so that he’s undressed completely too. He helps you out just barely. Pulling himself up, he watches you tug all of his clothes to a pile of clothes by the champagne. “The bed does feel sticky,” he laughs at his own consequences, “but I bet you’re even stickier inside.”

“And now the prospect of those kisses seems to wind me,” you recite, placing yourself right above his standing cock. You can see how his eyes widen and his mouth turns gaping like a fish. “Like when you slip on the stairs and one of the steps hits you in the middle of the back.”

Franco has a hand on your chest, “Wait, love, hold on—”

You slam your hips down, making him choke on his words as he grips your waist. “Fuck, oh, baby,” he groans out the word like it’s difficult for him. For once, maybe, he’s not good with his words.

“What’s wrong?” you smile, “You lost your touch, Franco?” You don’t move on top of him. You sit idly, pressing your hands on his chest as you lean over to his head. He looks at you like he has never seen you before. “Told you I’m gonna have you begging. So I wanna hear it, beg.”

“Ah, you’re really something,” he smiles, his fingers bruising your skin. “Come on then, recite the rest to me.”

Raising an eyebrow, you still comply with his request. “The notio—o-oh!” You cry out as he starts fucking up into you, using your hips to stabilise you. His hips work almost mechanically as he works himself deeper into your cunt. The angle makes it feel like he’s reaching more and more inside of you. Your words fall broken on your mouth as he continues his pace.

“Huh? You still gonna play?” His words make you whimper. Whenever he’s focused on you, his accent tends to become thicker and he pants heavier. “Love, you’re so fucking wet for me. Hmm..? Ah, fuck.” He doesn’t look away from you as he spreads his legs wider, positioning himself as he also moves your hips to meet his thrusts. 

Franco continues on and you’re left at his mercy. At the end, you’ll always give yourself to Franco. It’s not being easy, it’s just that you love being under him—figuratively, but mostly literally. Though, this position feels so fucking good. With his pace, you feel yourself tightening as you’re near your climax. He knows that too. He’s reaching down to find your clit and he rubs it like you want it. You’re left screaming his time as your cunt releases around him.

It doesn’t take long until he paints your insides with his own release. Your face falls over his and he captures your mouth in the kiss he’s been thinking about. The kiss he hasn’t stopped thinking about since your first kiss. A hand down your back, and another in your hair, he embraces you until you lay on your back and he’s right there, covering you in passionate kisses like the first time. It’s easy to give it all to him.

He pulls away. “When did you read it?” he asks, smiling at you.

“Since you first wrote it. When you took me to that fancy restaurant on Wednesday.”

He tilts his head, unknowing, “I took you to a lot of fancy restaurants on Wednesday.”

You laugh and punch his chest. “Dinner. It was dinner when you wrote it so of course I read it on Wednesday.”

Franco just smiles at you and takes the napkin out from it’s drawer. You watch him as he throws it to the bin inside your room. Before you could ask why, he tells you, “I don’t need you to see it anymore. I’ll just prove that I’m addicted to your lips until the media eventually finds out.”

Nothing has ever been a better plan than that.

@Delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @Tribbisweetdear @Jamie2305 @yourmommyagone22 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144

[fallnlov]

✷ RELAPSE | F1 GRID ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎

starring ‎‎‎✷ charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lewis hamilton, oscar piastri, lando norris, max verstappen, franco colapinto & kimi antonelli

‎‎‎‎summary ‎‎‎✷ Loving someone goes far beyond just being by their side. Maybe he hasn’t moved on from you yet—maybe he never will. But how would they react if they saw you now?

word count ‎‎‎✷ 2.9k words.

notes ‎‎‎✷ My first fic in this style. I hope you like it!

F1 GRID MASTERLIST (SOON)

✷ charles leclerc — the Night in Monte Carlo

It was supposed to be just a quiet night after the Grand Prix, a way to shut off his mind from the whirlwind of the race. But Monte Carlo had never been an innocent place for Charles. It was where everything had begun and, eventually, where it had all ended.

Just one drink, he repeated to himself, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach as the icy glass burned in his hand. And then he saw you.

Your laughter cut through the bar like a familiar melody. The same laugh that used to fill his home, the one he still claimed belonged to the two of you years ago, back when you both still believed the world could wait. Now, seeing you there—so close, yet so out of reach—made every muscle in his body tense.

You noticed him too. How could you not? Charles had always carried that presence—the magnetism of someone who bore the weight of millions of eyes, yet here, he just seemed like a man wrestling with his own memories.

— Charles… — Your voice was barely a whisper, laced with surprise and something else—or was it resentment?

He smiled, that crooked, half-guilty smile of his.

Minutes later, you were walking through the warm Monte Carlo night, the distant hum of luxury cars echoing through the narrow streets. Neither of you wanted to admit you remembered every step of that path. But memory was treacherous, as vivid as the feeling of his fingers laced with yours in the past.

And then it happened.

In the same alley where, years ago, you had said goodbye amid tears and accusations, Charles stopped. There was something in his eyes—an apology, a regret, and a desperate longing for one more chance.

— I can’t do this — you began, but the words came out weak.

He stepped closer, the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint trace of alcohol making resistance impossible.

— Then don’t say anything — Charles murmured before his lips found yours, hungry, urgent, as if they could erase every mistake of the past.

It was wrong. It was dangerous. But it was inevitable.

✷ carlos sainz — the Innocent Lie

Carlos parked the car on the nearly empty street, fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel. He repeated it to himself like a mantra: Just here to grab my things. Nothing more. A simple task—get in, take what he’d left in the apartment, and leave before any old feelings could sink their claws back into him.

But his heart knew it was a lie.

When you opened the door, the familiar scent of your perfume hit him like a wave. Everything was the same—the messy sofa, the soft glow of the living room lamp, and your expression, caught between surprise and a quiet exhaustion only those who’ve loved too much recognize.

— You came… — Your voice was low, almost disbelieving.

— Just getting my things, — he replied, firm, as if believing it hard enough could save them both from the inevitable disaster.

But then you offered wine. A flimsy excuse to keep the conversation from dying in the hallway. And he accepted. One glass became two, then three, and before they realized it, they were sitting side by side on the living room rug, laughing at old jokes, reliving memories neither of them had dared touch since the breakup.

Longing was an invisible guest between them, thickening the air. Every laugh melted into a lingering glance, every brush of fingers against a glass lasted a second too long.

— You’ve always been terrible at just grabbing your things — you teased, but there was sadness beneath the lightness.

Carlos took a deep breath, eyes locked on yours. He knew he was about to make the same mistake all over again.

— Just this once… — he murmured, pulling you closer.

When your lips met, it was as if Madrid faded around them. Only the heat of skin, the taste of wine, and the raw need to lose themselves in each other existed.

And then, morning came.

Light seeped through the thin curtains, the distant hum of the city creeping into the room. You were there, head resting on his chest, breathing steady. And in that moment, Carlos felt the weight of déjà vu. This was the third time. Three reunions, three postponed goodbyes, three innocent lies he told himself.

— Just this once… — he whispered, fingers tracing imaginary lines along your skin. But deep down, he knew—it was just another lie.

✷ lewis hamilton — the Reckoning in Ibiza

The music pulsed like a racing heartbeat, vibrating through the walls of the club bathed in neon purples and blues. Lewis wasn’t the type to lose himself in places like this—not anymore. But there was something about this Ibiza night, something in the mix of salt air and expensive perfume, that dragged up memories he’d buried against his will.

And then he saw you.

Dancing at the center of the floor, skin glowing under the strobe lights, smile effortless, eyes closed as if the entire world was just the rhythm of the bass. You’d always had that gift—existing so fiercely that everything else blurred into the background.

Lewis felt his stomach twist. He didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to feel this. But he couldn’t look away.

Just one dance, he told himself. Harmless. Like the old days, when you were just two kids in the middle of an endless summer, before broken promises and continents of distance.

When your eyes met his, the smile you gave was as dangerous as a wet track curve. You didn’t have to say a word. Lewis crossed the floor, and suddenly, the space between you didn’t exist anymore.

The touch of your hands was a spark. That first lap on slick asphalt—unpredictable, impossible to control.

— Just one dance, huh? — you teased, lips too close to his ear, your voice nearly swallowed by the DJ’s beat.

— That’s what I keep telling myself, — he answered, hands on your waist, guiding your movements like your bodies still remembered every step, every mistake, every perfect turn.

The night stretched like a loop. Drinks. Laughter. Lingering glances. And when the club began to empty, neither of you could let go.

You ended up on the beach.

The crash of waves replaced the electronic thrum, and the sun began to bleed into the horizon, staining the sky orange and pink. Lewis lay back in the sand, you curled beside him, fingers tangled like that alone could freeze time.

— We said we wouldn’t do this again, — you murmured, voice drowsy, half-lost to exhaustion.

— I know… — he said, eyes fixed on the sea — But with you, it was never simple.

It was a mistake. You both knew. But on that Ibiza morning, with the taste of salt and want still on your lips, it felt like the only road left to take.

✷ oscar piastri — the Slip-Up in Melbourne

It was just coffee.

Oscar kept repeating it to himself as he waited in line at the Fitzroy café, the scent of roasted beans mixing with the damp air after the rain. There was nothing wrong with catching up with someone from the past—just a quick chat. They were adults, mature enough to handle this. Right?

Then you walked in.

His heart kicked up—annoyingly, unexpectedly. You were smiling as you shook the drizzle from your hair, and suddenly, everything felt exactly like before: lazy afternoons, quiet laughter, fingers tangled under the dinner table.

— Oscar… — you said, hesitant, like his name was an old taste on your tongue.

He gave you a half-smile. Familiar, but with an edge of nerves.

— Hey. Just… grabbing coffee? — He tried to sound casual.

And that’s what they did. For nearly two hours.

But it wasn’t just coffee. It was the sound of your laugh cutting through the café chatter, the absent-minded way you tucked your hair behind your ear while listening to his stories about races, airports, life on the road. It was that inside joke—the one only the two of you understood—that made you both laugh so hard the couple at the next table glanced over.

When you suggested walking back to your apartment because it’s close, Oscar didn’t hesitate.

He should have.

Because there, in the narrow hallway, you both stopped. The silence was heavy, the air thick with memories. A minefield.

— This is a terrible idea — you whispered, eyes locked on his.

— I know — Oscar said, but his hands were already cradling your face.

The kiss was urgent, almost desperate, like it could make up for lost time. Clothes were forgotten on the way to the couch. Quiet laughter, muffled sighs—the kind of intimacy that only exists between people who’ve known each other too well to pretend they feel nothing.

Afterward, Oscar lay there, chest rising and falling too fast, scrambling for an excuse, some logic to cling to. You were propped up on the pillow, watching him with something caught between fondness and wariness.

He broke the silence first:

— This doesn’t mean anything.

You just smiled. Didn’t answer.

Because both of you knew it was a lie.

✷ lando norris — the Late-Night Call

It was 2 AM.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, lighting up the dark room with your name on the screen. Lando stared at the glow, his pulse quickening for a reason he refused to name.

Don’t answer.

The thought looped like a mantra.

But his finger swiped across the screen anyway.

— Hey… — His voice was rough with sleep and something else.

On the other end, your silence spoke louder than words. Lando closed his eyes, exhaling. He knew what this meant. He always knew.

— You okay? — he asked, already knowing the answer didn’t matter.

— No. — That was it. Simple. Direct. Enough to make his chest tighten.

Don’t go over there.

That’s what he told himself as he grabbed his keys, shoved his shoes on in a hurry.

The city was quiet, almost complicit. Lando parked outside your building, trying to convince his heart to stay put. But when you opened the door—the familiar scent, the exhaustion mixed with relief in your expression—it dismantled every barrier he’d built.

— I know this is a terrible idea, — you whispered.

He smiled, sad.

— Me too.

Don’t kiss her.

That was his last warning before his lips found yours.

The kiss was a necessary disaster—hungry, urgent, a silent apology and a scream of longing all at once. The night stretched between tangled sheets, ragged breaths, and the illusion that maybe, just maybe, you could fix what was broken.

Then the alarm went off.

The sound was cruel, reminding you both that the world outside still existed, that promises of last time were just that—empty words.

Lando lay there, his arm still around you, and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the same emotional trap he swore he’d avoid.

Just one more time, he told himself.

But he knew it was a lie.

✷ max verstappen — the Secret in Zandvoort

He saw you before the race even started.

Amid the sea of orange, between waving flags and colored smoke, there you were. Smiling. Like nothing had happened. Like you didn’t share a past sharp with words, slammed doors, and nights as intense as the races he fought.

Max felt his blood boil. Anger, surprise, but mostly—what he feared most—want.

Not again, he told himself as he accelerated down the track, forcing focus into every turn. But every lap, every glimpse of that smile—the one that used to be his alone—chipped at his resolve like smoke dissolving in the wind.

When the race ended, Max went straight to the motorhome, trying to escape the storm inside him.

Fate had other plans.

You were there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with that look that always undid him.

— Nice work, champion, — you said, tone too light for the chaos it sparked in him.

He scoffed, gripping control.

— What are you doing here? — His voice came out harsher than he meant.

— Just watching. Not allowed? — you teased, but there was something in your eyes—a flicker of nerves, a silent acknowledgment of the danger in being here.

Then, silence. The tension was thick, heavier than the scent of fuel in the air.

Max stepped closer. Then again. Until there was no space left between you.

— Just tonight, — he murmured, breath hot against your skin.

His lips met yours with the hunger of a man denying his own heart. Anger turned to want, want turned to relapse, and before they knew it, they were locked in the motorhome, hands frantic, words lost between kisses and gasps.

It was fast. Urgent. A storm. Like always.

After, Max stayed there, forehead against yours, trying to catch his breath—and his sanity.

— We said we wouldn’t do this anymore, — you reminded him, voice weak.

— I know, — he said, fingers still tracing your waist. — But with you… it’s never that simple.

✷ franco colapinto — the Reunion in Buenos Aires

He’d told himself he wouldn’t come back here. But Buenos Aires had a way of tricking the heart. The streets lit by old lanterns, the distant sound of a bandoneón from some nearby restaurant—it all felt like an invitation to the past.

Then he saw you.

Across the dimly lit bar in San Telmo, your eyes met his through the crowd. Impossible not to remember. The last time, you were in the same hotel, the same room, with bitter promises between tears and kisses that shouldn’t have happened.

— Franco… — you said, like his name was an old secret on the tip of your tongue.

He smiled, that restrained smile that hid more than it showed.

— Didn’t think I’d see you here again.

— Me neither. — You took a sip of wine, the glass trembling slightly in your hand.

The tango started. Slow, hypnotic, filling the space between you. Franco held out his hand, and before you could hesitate, you were in his arms.

The world disappeared.

Every step, every turn, was a memory etched into skin. The heat of bodies too close, his gaze locked on yours, the scent of wine and want mixing in the air. A dance you both knew by heart—and hated loving.

When the song ended, the silence between you said more than words ever could.

Then, almost without realizing, you were in the hotel elevator, fingers tangled, breaths unsteady. The same hotel. The same room.

Franco shut the door behind him, eyes searching yours for an excuse not to do what you both knew would happen.

— We’re good at this, — you whispered, lips almost brushing his.

He should’ve said something. Should’ve reminded you of all the promises to stay away, of why the breakup had been necessary. But his hand was already on your waist, pulling you closer.

— Yeah — was all he managed before losing himself in you again.

✷ kimi antonelli — the Mistake in Bologna

Rain poured over Bologna’s narrow streets, turning the old stones into liquid mirrors reflecting the streetlights.

Kimi was sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the unsent message on his phone. He’d promised. Promised himself he wouldn’t do this again.

Then, three knocks at the door.

He hesitated, pulse spiking. Maybe the neighbor, maybe a delivery… but deep down, he already knew.

When he opened the door, there you were.

Drenched from the rain, hair clinging to your skin, eyes wide and pleading like the weight of the world was right there in the hallway.

— I shouldn’t be here… — you started, voice shaking as much as your hands.

— I shouldn’t be opening the door, — he replied, but he was already pulling you inside.

The scent of rain and perfume filled the apartment. Neither of you spoke for a moment. Every breath felt like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap.

— Just for tonight, — you whispered, almost begging.

Kimi clenched his jaw. He should say no. But he’d never known how to say no to you.

— One more time, — he surrendered, the words sounding like defeat.

The kiss was desperate, wet from the rain still dripping from your skin. His hands gripped your waist like he wanted to memorize every curve.

By the time they came up for air, they were in the bedroom, clothes scattered, low sighs filling the silence. It was wrong. It was stupid. But it felt so right.

Later, lying beside you, Kimi stared at the ceiling again. You slept, face peaceful, as if the outside world didn’t exist.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily.

One more time, he told himself.

But he knew it was a lie. He was stuck in this cycle, like a car stuck in gravel, spinning its wheels, going nowhere.

[fallnlov]

Fuck nonchalantism, I need obsession, I need yearning, I need someone who dissects my song choices and remembers the little things about me.

[fallnlov]

ColaPinkto 🩷✨️

[fallnlov]

I can't stop thinking about this man, I need help

[fallnlov]

If they make the american squid game spin off, I want Gi-hun to hAUNT THE FUCK OUT OF THE NARRATIVE OK

and In-ho

I want him to be E V E R Y W H E R E

HE'S IN THE BREEZE

HE'S IN THE TREES

HIS FOOTSTEPS ON THE GROUND

IN-HO WILL SEE HIS FACE IN EVERY PLACE

BUT HE CAN'T CATCH HIM NOW

[fallnlov]

day 33 || me and the guy i decided was the personification of my self hatred

[fallnlov]

it’s namgyu.

prints + merch + commission info pinned to profile :)

[fallnlov]

#girlboss

[fallnlov]

ok... listen to me... a franco colapinto enemies to lovers but it is just him following gabriel's group of friends in the world cup and reader just trashes argentina's national team and he quips back saying that brazil last hope was a decrepit neymar

[fallnlov]

you’re the one that I want - op81

synopsis: when Oscar joined the spring musical, you swore you hated him for it. Because you did. Didn’t you?

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

warnings: misogynistic comments, idk if there’s any more

wc: 5k

an: the grease scenes described are based on the movie, not the Broadway musical!!. not proofread

This wasn’t Oscar’s field.

This wasn’t him.

He didn’t belong here.

You knew it, everyone in the regular rotation of cast knew it. It was like an insult to you all, using the spring musical as a form of punishment. He was only here because he lost a bet.

He didn’t actually care about any of it. It was highly infuriating.

This year, the director chose to put on Grease. Getting the role of Sandy would be the highlight of your entire high school career. You wouldn’t know what you would do if you didn’t get it.

You were freaking out backstage, your friend trying to calm you down. Oscar walked by you, being called on stage for his audition.

And when he sung, it temporarily shocked you out of your nerves.

Because he was good.

The guy who missed half the year for some races, could sing. Like, really sing.

So it didn’t really come as a surprise that when the cast list was posted, his name was imprinted across from Danny Zuko.

Right under yours, across from Sandy Olsson.

He was your counterpart.

The first rehearsal was hell. Oscar didn’t know a single theater term and it was causing confusion all across the stage. And he was terrible at acting. Even worse, he was shit at dancing.

“It’s like dancing with a mannequin.” You confessed to your friend after that first rehearsal. “There’s no emotion to it, and he’s fully awkward the whole time.” You huffed, shaking your head and shrugging on your jacket.

Your friend shrugged. “Maybe he just needs to get used to it? I mean, it’s his first show.”

Hating to give him the befit of the doubt, you rolled your eyes. “For my sake, I hope that’s the case.”

It wasn’t the case. Two weeks later and he was still hopeless on his feet. He needed help, and lost of it, because he was starting to make you look bad.

Your director pulled the both of you aside before rehearsal. “Your stage chemistry is out the window. No one is believing you two are in love, let alone even like each other.” She sighed. “I’m not asking you to be best friends. I’m just asking you to pretend. For just two hours.”

You spoke before Oscar. “Okay, we’ll fix it.”

“Thank you.” She exhaled a heavy breath.

During rehearsal, you’d ran through the entire prom scene and recorded it. The video sat in front of you now, in a cafe, paused so you could critique it. “You have to make this look natural. Look, you’re making me look like a dead body.” You complained. “You’ve gotta lean into it.” You continued, trying to demonstrate what you mean with your own body.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Sorry I’m not broadway trained.” A fake apology, which only annoyed you more.

“Don’t get all defensive. I’m trying to help!” You huffed. “You just need to try to act, and it doesn’t even look like you’re doing that.” You looked him over in judgement.

Oscar stiffened, his jaw clenched. “I didn’t even ask for your help.”

Trying to compose yourself, you stared at the ceiling, a deep inhale through your nose. You slammed the laptop shut. “You’re making the both of us look bad. I’m trying to put on a perfect show and you’re making that impossible.” You huffed, standing with your laptop in hand. “Why didn’t you just fail your audition on purpose? Then you wouldn’t be here.”

Oscar ignored your question. “Your Australian accent is shit, by the way.”

You scoffed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You replied, generous amounts of sarcasm. Your frustration had reached boiling point and it carried your steps out to your car at a rapid pace. Once the door was shut, you let out a silent scream.

Can’t damage those vocal cords.

Frustration was packed full in the air. You attempted to keep it inside, but when Oscar kept stepping on your toes and handling you like a sack of potatoes, you just broke.

“Are you trying to make me look bad?” You whisper shouted. It was only you two in the hallway, having taken him out during your 5 minute break.

Oscar got defensive again. “No! Why must everything be about you?”

“Because you couldn’t give less of a fuck about this!” Your hand shot out, giving his shoulder a rough shove. He flinched back, a look that silently questioned your audacity. “It’s just a pastime for you.” You eyed him over in pure disgust and resentment.

A harsh reply sat on the tip of Oscar’s tongue. He wouldn’t let it slip past his lips, for it was too personal an attack.

“Why don’t you just quit?” You asked.

“Oh, I bet you’d love that, JJ taking my role.” Oops. Guess it slipped.

Your jaw clenched, and then your body went rigid when a voice came from behind you. “Ah, what’s going on here?” Smooth, low, teasing.

JJ. Your ex boyfriend. He cheated on you four times. One of which being with your former best friend. How you missed it that many times, you didn’t know, but it humiliated you to no end.

Oscar caught every micro-expression of yours. The way your eye twitched. The slight deepening of your brows. The heavy swallow that rippled your throat as it went down right before you turned around.

“Nothing. We’ll be back in a moment.” Your voice was cold, filled with more resentment than you’d shown Oscar.

JJ grinned. “Okay,” and then he winked. “Lookin good in that dress. Yellow’s your color.”

It made you sick to your stomach, and Oscar could see it when you turned back to him in the way your face twisted.

“‘M sorry. For the… what I said. It wasn’t right.” He apologized, earning a very shocked expression from you.

You shook your head, smoothing your hands over your yellow costume dress. “It’s fine.” It was inhumane, how fast you could compose yourself. “I guess our five minutes is up.” You muttered, slipping back into the auditorium.

“I don’t know what to do. He’s so… I don’t know.” You sighed, slumping farther in your seat. “It’s been a month of rehearsals and he still looks so unnatural when dancing.” You sighed. “His acting has gotten better, at least.”

Your friend twisted in her chair, sliding her completed worksheet over to you so you could copy it. You were hopeless at physics. “Why don’t you help him then?” She raised a brow.

“What do you mean?” You questioned, your eyes finding the back of his head across the classroom.

She sighed. “We don’t have rehearsal today so just ask him to come over and then you can help him. One on one.”

You bit your cheek and huffed. “Can’t you do it?”

“No. I don’t know his scenes. And you’re his dancing partner. And! You’re the one complaining.”

You threw your head back in annoyance.

“I don’t know why you hate him so much. He’s a nice guy.” She insisted.

A bitter laugh. “Maybe to you.” You shook your head. He apologized for what he said about JJ, but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t still a low blow. “But he doesn’t care about this. It’s all a joke to him.” You repeated the words you’ve said plenty of times lately. The repetition didn’t make it any less true.

“Maybe, but you’ve also been staring at him for the past two minutes.”

You hadn’t even realized, but once she pointed it out, you straitened up. Eyes now trained on your shoes. “Fine. I’ll ask him.”

She didn’t expect you to get up right then, and cross the room to occupy the empty seat beside Oscar.

He turned to you, unimpressed but slightly raised his brows in a silent question.

“Okay so look,” you started. Oscar turned his body towards you. “I’ve been shitting on you for your dancing lately, but I haven’t tried to help. So, do you want to come over after school so I could help?”

“Uh…” he thought it over. He was meant to go to the track after school. His bunny teeth peeked by his lips. “Yeah I’ll just need your address.” He smiled. He supposed he could go to the track another day.

Your hand hit the desk. “Great.”

You expected to lose your patience with him quickly, but an hour in and you still weren’t miserable. An even bigger shock, you were enjoying yourself.

Maybe telling him to loosen up wasn’t the best idea. You tried to run through the prom scene again. When he was meant to flip you upside down in his arms, his grip wasn’t firm enough and you went tumbling down.

You stayed on the floor, holding onto your stomach as you tumbled through a fit of laughter. You pointed a finger up at him. “I did not mean that loose!”

Holding up his hands, Oscar chuckled. “Hey, you said loose so i delivered loose.” He held a hand to you. Your hand slipped into his palm and he hoisted you to your feet.

And then he took you by surprise, spinning you on your feet and dipping you in his arms. He handled you like you were as light as a sheet of paper.

You were stunned into silence, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Figured I’d finish the dance.”

You swallowed, gaze analyzing the details of his hazel eyes. “Uhuh.” You nodded absentmindedly. And then, “you’re leaning.” You pointed out, voice soft and hesitant.

“Yeah.” Equally soft. Equally hesitant.

Something lingered in the air, a shift from how it felt during rehearsals prior. Still heavy, but a different kind of heavy. Like the feeling of being watched rather than like having ten pounds resting on your shoulders.

The moments stretched, gazes locked on each other’s while he held you in that dip.

Until you cleared your throat and stood up. “Uh, how about we—uhm—dinner. Check on dinner? I think my mom is making pasta.” You stumbled, failing to ignore how your heart collided with your rib cage, over and over again. It was the dancing, you told yourself, the dancing is making my heart race not him.

“Yeah. Yeah.” You failed to notice the dark crimson color of Oscar’s cheeks.

The following day in physics, Oscar caught your eye as he filed into the room. He smiled, reserved. You returned the smile, equally as reserved.

“What the hell was that?” Your friend demanded.

“What?” You asked, eyes wide.

Her eyes darted from you to Oscar. “That- you just smiled at each other.” You struggled to find an excuse, and your friend filled your silence. “What the hell happened last night?” Her tone demanded an answer.

“Nothing! Well,” you sighed, she urged you with an impatient expression. “I don’t know. I actually enjoyed myself last night. Like, we weren’t arguing. We were laughing, even.” You shook your head.

“Aw you’ve found your Danny.” She teased, poking you in the arm.

You slapped her hand away. “Did not! He just wasn’t totally insufferable yesterday.” You muttered, leaning your head on your head.

She wasn’t so convinced.

And rehearsal didn’t help to convince her either. Every scene you ran together, it was clear you were enjoying yourself��unlike the previous weeks of rehearsal.

She kept an ear out for your conversations, too.

“You picked that up fast. You’re dancing like a pro now.” You told Oscar between sips of water.

He shrugged. “Guess I’ve got a pretty good teacher.”

She watched as you rolled your eyes while you failed to hold back a smile. The back of your hand hit his chest in response before walking off in her direction.

Interesting.

“So is he not totally insufferable today either?” She teased, a brow raised in suspicion. “Or are you method acting?”

You shook your head. “Shove another twinkie in it, Jan.”

“From the beginning! Let’s run it!” Your director clapped her hands.

Oscar reluctantly placed his hands on your waist.

“I’m going back to Australia, I might never see you again.” You recited.

Oscar shook his head. “Don’t- don’t talk that way, San.” His hands momentarily tightened their grip on your hips. His eyes flicked repeatedly between your eyes and your lips, like he didn’t know which to focus on.

Oh. You hadn’t practiced that. But maybe he was taking your advice. Maybe he was trying to improve his writing.

You continued anyway, taking a step closer to him. “But it’s true! I’ve just had the best summer of my life and now I have to go away.” You sighed, bowing your head. “It isn’t fair.”

Just as in the movie, Oscar slipped a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. You both paused, very aware of the next move.

“We don’t have all day!” Your director impatiently commented, earning chuckles from the rest of the cast.

Oscar hesitated a second more before leaning forward. His lips on yours were soft, still reluctant as he led the kiss.

Your lips tingled, along with the tips of your fingers. And your brain felt light. It was strange. No stage kiss had ever done this to you before.

“Okay! Okay, stop!” Your director huffed. You took a big step back from Oscar, refusing to meet his eyes. “Oscar! This is supposed to be passionate! I want more fire! More desperation! Like you’re trying to devour her face! Like she’s the air you need to breathe and you’d just been drowning for a whole minute!”

You took a glance at Oscar, and couldn’t help but chuckle at his stunned expression and rosy cheeks. “I can do that.” He muttered.

“Great! Start from ‘it isn’t fair’.”

You turned back to Oscar, offering him a small, encouraging smile before getting serious. “It isn’t fair,” you repeated.

Once more, he brought his finger to your chin, inclining your head to face him. You caught the slight shake in his exhaled breath before he dove down.

And wow did he take the devouring part very serious.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close while he stole the air out of your lungs. It was a full make-out.

As scripted, you pulled away. “Danny don’t spoil it,” you were breathless, naturally, without even trying.

“I’m not spoiling it Sandy, it’s only making it better.” He held onto your arms, your hands planted on his shoulders. His eyes searched yours.

“Danny, is this the end?” You cocked your head to the side the slightest bit.

Oscar shook his head and laughed, an uncharacteristically cocky laugh for him. “Of course not.” He grinned. “It’s only the beginning.”

A beat. And then. “Brilliant!” Your director clapped her hands. You and Oscar stepped apart. “Wow! Just, wow! The chemistry!” She slot herself between you two, a hand on each of your shoulders. “God I was really convinced you were actually Sandy and Danny.” She looked between you two. “Amazing, truly amazing.” She shook her head in disbelief.

Then she turned to the collective. “I think that’s a good note to leave off on! Good night to you all.”

When she was no longer within earshot, you turned to oscar. “Not bad for a rookie.” You shrugged.

“Not bad? Cmon you’re not giving me enough credit.” He said, a level of flirtation unlike him.

“Are you trying method acting now?”

Oscar cocked his head to the side in question.

“You’re being flirty.” You pointed out. Oscar was stunned, brows shot up. The pink flush of his cheeks darkened.

He laughed nervously. “With you? I would never.”

You hummed. “Still flirting.” You sung, walking off. A broken argument followed you, though it didn’t make much sense.

“You have him all flustered.” Your friend muttered. You shook your head. “I wasn’t trying, but it was quite easy.” You shrugged, glancing back at him over your shoulder. He was still sporting a soft, pink glow on his cheeks.

Your friend missed school today, conveniently a lab day in physics.

“You can work with Piastri.” Your teacher dismissed, waving in his general direction. You contemplated protesting, but knowing it would be of no use, you didn’t.

Oscars hair flopped as he whipped around to look at you. “Well don’t look so annoyed.” He laughed.

You gave a sarcastic smile. “I’m dreadful at physics, fair warning.” You sighed, occupying the seat next to him. Your knees were nearly touching.

“It’s alright. It’s my best subject.” He shrugged.

You propped your head up on your hand, settling in for an hour of boredom. “What are we doing again? I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Oscar chuckled. “And you wonder why you aren’t good a physics.”

You scoffed, feigning offense.

“We’re building a car out of candy.”

You raised your brows. “Ah good! This is your area of expertise!” The back of your hand made contact with his bicep.

His eyes glanced from his arm, to your hand, to your face, before his gaze dropped to the table. “Uh, yeah.” He muttered, fidgeting with a piece of paper.

“Okay so, how are we building this then?”

Oscar perked up, searching the materials table with his eyes. “Could you grab a rice crispy, a few pretzel sticks, and a few… chocolate striped cookies?”

You raised a brow. “Am I your maid now?”

Blinking, Oscar’s brain stuttered for a reply. “Well, I’m the one doing this car aren’t I?”

Humming, you stood, silently collecting his requested items. “You made a good point.” You shrugged.

He cocked his head, brows shot up in surprise. “Is that a compliment?”

A hand of yours waved through the air. “Yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

“Ooh, that’s a difficult request.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling.

A soft smile, Oscar started working. You stood by, eyeing the way he expertly manipulated the candy in a way that he saw fit to make the quickest car.

It took him all of 20 minutes to construct it, leaving the both of you with an extra 20 minutes to do whatever.

Conscious mind absent, you started to hum you’re the one that I want, while drawing on the table with chalk markers. Not loud enough to disturb everyone around you, but certainly loud enough that Oscar could hear. To mess with you, he started to hum along.

Only when you heard him was when you recognized you were singing yourself.

Routinely, out of instinct, you started dancing in your seat. Oscar followed your lead.

“Okay, okay. Save it for drama practice.” Your teacher shook his head at the both of you.

You and Oscar paused before simultaneously chuckling. Even though you tried to hide it, it was quite obvious, as you both folded in half in the other’s direction.

As the class neared it’s end, you tested the cars. Yours and Oscar’s won by a large margin. “Your nerdy-ness came in handy.” You shoved his shoulder while you walked out of class together.

“Oh I’m nerdy? How long have you been doing theatre again?”

You pursed your lips. He got you there. “Alright, I’ll see you tonight.” You broke off from him with another shove to his shoulder.

The first night of tech week, you organized a get together at a restaurant after rehearsal. Of course, the cast and crew thought they were comedians. They left two open seats, right in the middle of the table. One for you. One for Oscar.

When you walked in, you took a pause before taking your seat beside your friend. “You did this, didn’t you?” You asked her. She shrugged innocently.

When Oscar arrived, he did the same. Pausing before taking his seat. “Just had to leave a seat open for me, did you?” He teased.

You sarcastically laughed. “No. They all did this.” You replied, gesturing to the cast and crew sitting around you both.

“Mmm, meddling pricks.” He muttered. Only you caught it, responding with a hidden chuckle.

The waitress came, taking your drinks and food orders.

“So how are you feeling about your first show?” You asked Oscar, grinning.

The corner of his mouth quirked up for just a second in deep thought. “Bit nervy, honestly.”

Your attention remained on him. “Better or worse than before a race?” It was a teasing question, but also sort of… genuine.

“You care about my nerdy hobbies now?” He teased right back.

A scoff. “Fine, I won’t ask you about your favorite thing on this planet.” A dramatic rebuttal, all things considering.

He stayed silent for a moment, before answering, “definitely worse. A trillion times worse.”

You tilted your head, an expression that communicated shock. “Really?”

“It’s just not what I know, you know? It’s all new to me, it’s not like I can just think on my feet like on the track. If I mess up, well I don’t think I can save it.” He shrugged.

The frown that pulled on your lips wasn’t purposeful. “Aw, that was very vulnerable.”

He shook his head. “I’m never speaking to you again.”

You chuckled, laying a hand on his arm as you leaned into him. “No but seriously, if you mess up, don’t worry. I’ll improv and make it look purposeful.” You leaned back in your chair. “It’s honestly the least I can do after you just saved my physics grade.”

It was Oscar’s turn to laugh now.

Two weeks ago, he would’ve avoided saying a single word to you. But now, he was rambling about his racing, just to keep you talking to him. Perhaps it was the fact that you were the only person he was familiar with. Or—more likely—something deeper.

And you entertained him. Laughing at the appropriate times, adding input when you saw fit. He talked so passionately about racing. You’d never admit it, but it was sort of… endearing.

Jesus, what was happening to you? You should be disgusted at the prospect of sitting near him. Should’ve demanded your friend swap seats with you. You definitely should not have been so engaged in the conversation, clinging on to every word he spoke.

And then Oscar called your name, dragging you from your own thoughts. “Hm?” You hummed, sitting up straighter.

And then a plate was placed in front of Oscar, and he slid it over to you. Your food. “Oh, thanks.” You muttered.

And then he leaned into you, swaying your body while saying, “you know, if I was boring you, you could have said something.”

Instead of replying, you stole a fry from his plate.

“Hey! You have your own food!” He pointed to your plate of pretzel bites.

You acted as if that was new information. “Oh, my bad! Would you like it back? I can-“

Predicting the direction of the conversation, he put a hand up to stop you, a grimace on his face. “No. No. You can keep it.”

For good measure, you stole another. In response, he stole a pretzel bite. And you carried on the rest of dinner like that, sharing your food without a formal agreement to.

Just before opening night, the whole cast turned up at your house. It was a Grease watch party.

The large group crowded into the theater room in your basement.

Like the the restaurant, you and Oscar ended up next to each other. Unlike at the restaurant, it was fully your choice.

He would make comments in your ear throughout. Just stupid comments to make you laugh. And you did laugh, like a total fool.

During ‘Sandy’, he turned to you to make another comment, only to see you sleeping on his shoulder. He didn’t even notice the weight of your head until he saw it with his eyes.

He became stiff out of fear that moving would wake you.

And right before ‘you’re the one that I want’, someone in the back of the room called the both of your names. “Cmon get up there! Give us a live performance!” They joked. The rest of the cast joined in on trying to urge the both of you.

You shifted in your sleep and fear spiked up Oscar’s spine. “Guys, she’s asleep.” He dismissed in a hushed yell.

“Aw!” Someone cooed, and then a flash went off. “I’m so saving that as blackmail.” It was your friend, giggling at the scene.

And then a water bottle was tossed at your head. A hand of yours slowly made its way to your head. You sat up with a groan. “Now she’s not!” JJ laughed.

Oscar twisted around, glaring holes into the very man who threw the bottle at you. “What the hell is your problem?”

Hushed whispers fell upon the room. No one had ever seen Oscar speak to someone like that.

JJ laughed. “Ah, cmon, it’s just a bit of fun.”

“Not when it’s your head being bashed in.” You grumbled, still trying to soothe the spot with your hand.

Oscar only noticed just then that his arm was around your waist. When it got there, he wasn’t sure.

JJ smirked. “Y’know Piastri, if you wanna get her to bed, all you have to do is ask nicely.” His chuckle was evil.

And it made Oscar’s stomach churn. You beat him to a reply. “Get out of my house. Right now.”

“Come on! I’m just joking!” JJ threw his arms out, looking around for at least one person on his side. There wasn’t a single one.

You stood, Oscar’s hand sliding from your waist. “Get out!” Your voice was irregularly shrill, your jaw clenched.

When he didn’t move, you took a fist full of his shirt, shoving him towards the door. “Out!” You ordered once more.

The rest of the cast watched the scene unfold, horrified. The movie was still playing in the back, providing an ironic soundtrack.

Oscar followed you up the stairs despite the protests from your friend.

“Tell me, what do you see in him, baby?” JJ asked.

“You have no right to call me that.” You seethed.

He ignored you. “Cmon, baby, just tell me. Is it his lame hobby of racing?”

“I don’t see anything in him beyond a friend!”

JJ laughed. “Oh he definitely wants a little bit more than friends, just not a commitment, though.”

“You don’t know what he wants! Not everyone is like you!”

JJ made eye contact with Oscar, who stood a distance behind you. He laughed bitterly. “Call me when you get bored of him, sweetheart.” He reached out to touch your face and you flinched away. He left at that, being sure to slam your front door.

“Oh my god!” Your voice broke in frustration. You took a deep breath before turning around. Eyes landing on Oscar, you jumped. “Oh, hi.” You muttered, trying to move past him.

He caught your arm. And then you noticed the movement of his feet. Jazz square stepping. And then the music from downstairs reached your ears. You’re the one that I want. And then he started singing, too.

“You’re an idiot.” You shook your head, chuckling. But joined him. Now you were secluded in the foyer of your house, singing and dancing together out of your own will, not because you had to.

Even when the song stopped, Oscar continued to hold you close. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. It didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Can I ask you something?” He asked, out of breath. You gulped before nodding. “Is this all for show?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?” You asked in a whisper.

His eyes lingered on your lips, his mouth agape while he tried to conjure the words in a way that conveyed him emotions. “I don’t feel like I’m playing a part anymore.” He confessed. “I don’t… it doesn’t feel like I’m faking this anymore.”

You stuttered, searching his eyes.

“If it’s not the same for you just don’t say anything. Spare me some dignity.” He tried to laugh. It just came out as a shaky breath.

You hesitated only a moment before your fingers threaded through the strands of his hair and you pulled him down. His lips met yours, and god was the feeling electrifying.

Months of buildup to this moment sparked between you, released by the acknowledgment of your long suppressed feelings. He deepened the kiss, drawing your body closer to his. His hands mirrored yours, slipping between the strands of your hair to keep you in place. It quickly evolved into a heated make-out.

You signed into it, and he laughed into your mouth. “I hate you.” You muttered, and he swallowed the sentiment. “Mh, evidently.”

“Wow. Looks like you really hate each other.” Your friend deadpanned.

You jumped apart. The entire cast was now standing in your foyer. You could die of embarrassment.

“Movie’s over.” She informed.

“Yeah, thanks. Gathered that.” You mumbled, your face now red hot. It couldn’t have been worse than the deep shade of red that colored Oscar’s entire face.

“At least their chemistry will be good now.” Someone quipped.

You hid your face in your hands. “Oh, god. Everyone get out.” Your words were muffled in your hands, but they got the point. Each one shuffled out the door, but not without sharing more one-off, witty comments.

Opening night had just finished, and Oscar didn’t make a single mistake. You were out in the cafeteria, receiving praise left and right when a woman came up to you. A large, pretty bouquet occupied her hands.

“This is for you, honey.” She said, handing it over.

“Oh! Thank you.” You we’re confused. You’d never seen this woman in your life. But you accepted the flowers.

And then Oscar came up to you, not noticing you at first. “Mum, can we get ice cream on the way home?”

You felt your body go cold. “Mum?” You glanced between the two of them. That’s when Oscar finally noticed your presence, and his eyes went wide.

You hadn’t even been dating for a day and you’re already meeting his parents!

“Oh, how rude of me! I’m Nicole, Oscar’s mother.” You shook her outstretched hand. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you for months! I knew you were going to be excellent!”

Her words eased your worries, now focusing on a shiny new piece of blackmail. “Months, you say?” You asked her, but your eyes were on Oscar, who was now hidden behind his hand.

[fallnlov]

okay, i know we're in an Isack moment, but i had a franco thought that I had to share. imagine that you and Franco are at a very serious point in your relationship. like engaged or married or something. and for a gift you decide to get his rider number tattooed (not in a la china way i promise). you get a small '43' on your upper inner thigh, where no one else would see but him. it's covered by all bathing suits, so no one besides him knows it exists. he only sees it when he's going down on you, or when he's watching himself, fuck into you. okay, idk lmk your thoughts.

I can’t believe i took so long to write this and it’s only 1k. I have an idea for part two though. just wanted to get this out so I could feel bette about ms.

Franco thoughts: ‘43’ tattoo

It was quite an impulsive decision. Sure, you had been thinking about getting a tattoo for a couple of months, but when you got that idea specifically, the next week you were already on your way to the shop.

It wasn’t anything big, just his number — 43 — right beside your hip bone. On the inside, small, something for him and no one else.

You waited for the triple header. You wanted it to be healed by the time he saw it. Wanted him to see it properly. To touch it. And he did.

You didn’t pick him up at the airport — he told you there was no need, he’d be home soon. So you waited in the living room, right by the door, anxiously watching the clock until he walked through it. You basically jumped on him the moment he did. His bags hit the floor immediately so his hands could wrap around your waist, and you reached for his face, pulling him down to kiss you.

“Missed you so much,” he mumbled against your lips.

You hummed. “Franco, baby,” you called, voice whiny. “I need you. Missed you too much.”

“Fuck, mi amor, me too. All those little teasing pictures you sent me? Not enough, amor. Need to taste you. Need you on my cock,” he whispered the last part right into your ear.

Your body shivered at his words, his accent making you weak at the knees. He kissed you again, bending low to pick you up from the floor, your legs wrapping around his hips as he walked you to your room.

You could feel his hot breath on your neck, lips and nose brushing your skin until he laid you down on the bed. You giggled when he lowered himself over you, his hair tickling your neck as he kissed your chest — the part peeking out of your oversized tee. His hands snaked up your sides, under the fabric.

He kept kissing up and down between your face and neck, barely letting you kiss him back — he was hungry, and he just wanted to have you. Your body shook in anticipation when he finally pulled your shirt off, anxious about your secret, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

“What is it?” he asked, kneeling up between your legs and pulling his own shirt off. You shook your head, biting back a smile.

“All of a sudden you’re shy about this?” he teased, fingers darting to tickle your side.

You squealed, grabbing his wrist to stop him. “No! No, please!” you begged, still giggling and squirming under him. “Stop, stop. C’mere.”

He gave in, letting his body settle on top of yours. Your hands held his face close to yours, kissing him slowly — even though you could feel his cock pressed against your middle.

“Love you. So much,” he mumbled, then kissed you again.

“I think you’re just about to find out how much I love you,” you teased.

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Just keep going, and you’ll find out.”

He brushed his lips down your body, hands gliding down your sides until they reached the band of your underwear. You were already biting your lip, trying to hold back an excited smile. When he pulled them down, it was the first thing he saw.

He stopped in his tracks. “What’s this?”

“A surprise,” you grinned. “To show you how much I love you.”

“Fuck,” he sighed. “A tattoo?” He ran his thumb over it — and moaned. Literally moaned at it, the sound coming from deep in his throat. “Gonna fucking kill me,” he mumbled. “Is this real?”

You nodded, watching him fall apart at the sight of his number scarred into your skin. Franco couldn’t help but bite right next to it, his teeth almost digging into your bone. You squirmed at the feeling, making him kiss over the mark.

His lips then made their way to your middle, kissing closer and closer to your slit. You were practically shaking in anticipation when his lips brushed your skin — soft and gentle. You could feel his warm breath before a tentative lick ran between your lips. Then another one, deeper, lower, brushing your hole.

His fingers pressed up to your entrance, circling slowly while the tip of his tongue teased your clit — so precisely it made you squirm. Your hands dropped to his hair, brushing it away to see his face. His eyes fluttered shut and he groaned when you did, taking your clit into his mouth — the prettiest sight in the world.

He was invested, tongue working your clit inside his mouth, head moving up and down for stimulation, while his fingers pressed right at the bottom of your hole, right on the overly sensitive spot. Your mouth was already responding to him — sweet little moans and gasps that drove him insane. And when his fingers finally pushed into your cunt, your body arched into him.

Franco pressed every button inside of you. Curled his fingers up, pressed them against your walls, fucked them in and out — every move in the book. And you were melting for him. He could tell you were close; your body was giving him all the right signals — your pussy fluttering around his fingers, your legs closing around his head, your muscles tightening, and your hands tightly gripping his hair.

“Fran,” you sighed, “please. Franco…”

Hearing his name moaned from your lips only made him more eager. A groan vibrated from his chest and onto your clit — the sensation making your back arch, your hips grinding against his face.

Franco’s own hips were grinding, pathetically, onto the bed, chasing a bit of relief from the pressure building between his legs. But he had to stop when he noticed you falling apart. Your body finally let go of everything that had been building up. Your hand still tugged at his hair, but your hips slowed, your legs twitched, and your back arched before your entire body melted into the sheets.

Your walls were still fluttering around his fingers when he pulled away, pressing soft kisses to your hipbones as he helped you come down. You couldn’t help the sigh or the dumb smile that spread across your face when he kissed his way back up to you, finally meeting your eyes again.

“D’you like your surprise?”

“I think this surprise might’ve just changed my mind about fucking you hard from behind,” he smirked. “Only want you on your back now.”

[fallnlov]

he’s so babygirl