#its just rare i can make it come out in a way i like

[tastesousweet]

frat boy chris x bitchy reader blurb . . .

had the urge to write again and drabbled up this concept

warnings: toxic dynamic (:0), mentions of sex & alcohol, characters not in an official relationship!

at times it can feel like chris has some sort of alert that screams and announces your presence at one of his parties, with the way that he ends up finding you almost immediately every time.

this time you've got your upper body leant against a wall, fiddling with the wet label of the black cherry seltzer you hold against your chest as you gaze up at some guy who’s talking to you with those pretty fucking eyes.

and just like that you’ve irked him. with the way your smooth teeth peek out every once in a while to bite at or mess with your full, glossed lips; you’re giving this guy every sign in the world that you want him. chris almost wishes he was naive enough to not know you’re only using this guy as your own pawn to get his attention- as if it was that fucking hard. this was your own form of foreplay, or “to keep things interesting” as you often would say.

so he waits it out, letting you play with whatever man you’ve got your eye on at the moment just to swoop in and have you to himself by the end of the night. he tries to stay coy and keep his composure especially when his frat brothers give him shit for it, spewing phrases like “dudeee, saw your girl’s here- she’s like eye-fucking the hell outta some guy but here nonetheless, right?” with a laugh and clap to chris’ shoulder. to which chris would mumble a dry response.

chris tries to find the humor in this situation, i mean how could he not? it’s actually quite hilarious to him that you strut around his house and all over this campus as if you’re anything above him- as if you only tolerate him out of some sort of pity. yet, more times than not you’re the one showing up at his house or inviting him into your campus apartment in the earliest hours of the morning. you’re the one urging him to never stop when he’s got your pretty face shoved into one of your pink pillows and his hips snapping against you. so, while chris is easily jealous of these men, he’s never quick to anger. these guys don’t stand a chance, you’d never give them what you give chris. these guys you play around with will never get the dirty polaroid pictures you sneak into chris’ back pocket while you kiss him goodbye at your door, or the satisfaction that he gets when he finally convinces you to let him interrupt your study session only for him to get carried away, focused on playing with your clit rather than calling out the cursive key terms written on your flashcards to help with your studying.

he only continues to take irritating sips from his, now room-temperature, can of beer (the same can of beer he’d cracked open at the start of the night; it’s rare to find chris moving onto a second drink before you’ve arrived. he’d much prefer to wait for you to show up so that you’d get drunk simultaneously especially now that he knows how much you dislike dealing with him when he’s drunk and “messily clinging onto you”) while focusing on your conversation with that man who’s way too close to you. he’s completely unaware of the pissed look on his face as he watches you nod your head, eyes glancing up and down the guy’s figure whenever you want to make his (and chris’) head spin. chris can almost see the idea come to your filthy brain before you slowly reach into your back pocket and reveal a small lollipop.

you remove its plastic cover, placing the wrapper into the front pocket of the man's blue jeans. chris can see your mouth form the words, "thank you" as you remove your hand from his pocket, grazing your fingers over his zipper and brass button before leaning back against the wall.

chris adjusts himself in the seat of his unsteady barstool, glancing around him with his lip tucked in anticipation. though his eyes narrow when you softly plunge the sucker into your mouth with your innocent demeanor, rolling it over your tongue to coat it in a thin layer of your saliva, before your lips form a slow pucker around it as you free it from your mouth.

chris draws his fingers around his lips out of habit, watching you ask "wanna taste?" to the blonde. then he's rolling his eyes at the eager head nod the idiot gives you and the way you smile and meet his mouth halfway to place the pink candy on his tongue. he looks between the two of you as you share a long moment of eye contact. you only move to stand on your tiptoes and whisper something sweetly sexy into his ear like you always do. the guy's face only turns extra red when you kiss his cheek and give him a flutter of your fingers in dismissal.

chris gives you a few moments alone to check your phone and such before he's walking over to bother you and your space.

he approaches while you’re focused on reapplying your lip gloss in the hallway mirror, "whoring around my house gets kinda embarrassing after a while don’cha think?” the musk of chris’ voice bleeds through your hair and into your ear over the loud music and party ambiance.

you give a sigh of annoyance as you glance in the mirror from your own lips to his all too familiar face tucked close to your skull. you rub your lips together and purse them before twisting the slim tube closed again, “mmm… not really, but you coming to bitch and whine about it is possibly one of the most embarrassing and predictable things you do, don’cha think, honey?”

you turn your head so that you’re face to face, giving him a condescending smile as you smooth your hand over the stubble on his jaw. he only runs his tongue over his teeth in slight defeat while staring into your eyes.

“s’not cute, honey. fix your act, y’grossin’ me out at my own fucking party.” he grits his teeth, baiting you.

your grin widens at his audacity, squishing his cheeks a little to push his lips out awkwardly, “chris… who the hell are you talkin’ to like that?”

when he hears a few people begin to turn down the hall he snatches your hand from his face embarrassingly fast, backing away a little when you scowl at him.

and just as he expected, a few bumbling idiots come prancing down the hall not sparing either of you a glance as they rush down towards the basement in search of a bathroom.

“‘kay, are you done taunting me? i wanna go dance.” you cross your arms.

“taunting? baby, when was i tauntin’ you? last time i checked you were putting on a show- havin’ lollipop sex with randoms and shit.” the way chris voice descends from concern to mockery almost makes you want to give him head right here. almost, you don’t give it up that easy.

“aw, you saw that? would’ve done so much more if i knew i had an audience, especially as handsome as you…” you pout.

“you’re a twisted bitch,” chris laughs to himself, shaking his head.

“okay, let’s not get into the name calling. we don’t want to hurt each other’s feelings now, would we?” you stretch your arms out and around his neck, pulling him both physically and mentally back to you with a smile on your face.

he bites at his lip and pretends to think, “nahh, you’re right. just ran through the entire conversation in my head and it ended bad.”

“mmm, see i told you.” you smile at him.

“right. it’s always you tellin’ me. okay, gimme a kiss, please? i need it and deserve it,” chris pleads, bringing you closer by the small of your back.

“deserve it? m’kay…” you joke before you give in. with the way his eyes are so dreamy in this dim lighting and his voice is so scratchy yet soft; you both about eat each other’s faces during that never ending kiss.

- y/n is legit a male manipulator but i support women’s wrongs tf !

[shslbunnylover]

hello honey! saw a masterlist for Marilyn T. was put up and you don't have to take this request if its too much!! can you write teacher/student dynamic where Marilyn takes reader on the couch? Reader could maybe be riding Marilyns thigh as she fingers her? thank you!!

★★★𝘼𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙡 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡★★★

Character: Marilyn Thornhill

Summary: See ask above!

Taglist: @inlovewithgreta @lilfartbox1 (Message me to be a part of the taglist until I get a page set up!!)

Trigger warnings (DL DI): NSFW, vaginal fingering (Marylin receiving), thigh riding (Reader receiving), praise kink, age gap (Marilyn is 32, Reader is 21), dom/sub dynamics (Marylin top/Reader bottom), teacher/student dynamics, slight overstimulation, a bit of a choking kink,

Genre: Smut

A/n: Sorry this took so long, Anon! I suffered a creative block, but thank you for being patient!

Word count: 3.6k

...

...

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you entered the empty classroom of your favorite teacher, your body adjusting to the slight temperature change in the room that kept the plants inside healthy. You slid off your jacket and tossed it carelessly onto a nearby stack of chairs that Marilyn had kept in case her class had any extra people coming to listen to her lectures, but those people were rare.

The room was quiet, the walls painted a soft sky-blue color that always managed to put you at ease no matter what had occurred before entering the space. With the capri walls decorated with posters detailing the anatomy of different species of plant and the main rules of botany such as the differences between vascular and nonvascular organisms, the room was decorated like any typical college science classroom would be, the only thing truly bringing a warm and comforting aura being the person who sat at the desk in the front of the classroom.

Plants decorated the counters on the perimeter of the classroom, ranging from anything as simple as Aloe Vera to the more complex botany subjects like cyclamens and amaryllises. You had grown a couple with Marilyn during office hours and even during classes, and those were the ones she had most proudly displayed on her counters and even one sitting on her desk. The beautiful red petals of the amaryllis you had grown with her over the 3 years you had attended her class, and the 1 year you had been dating, brought a warmth to your cheeks that could have matched the plant's corolla.

You dusted off your skirt and walked over to Marilyn's desk as you gently sat on the edge of it, waiting for the redhead to make her way into the room for the "meeting" you two were supposed to have. In the meantime, you kept busy by reading off the posters on her walls, despite knowing everything about them. After all, you were her best student in more ways than one.

The words on the distant posters soon blurred together as your eyes lost their focus, your mind only thinking of what would happen once your girlfriend arrived. Would she just propose a sweet and simple date idea? Would she help you out with your classwork? Or would she do something else entirely? You prayed it to be anything but the classwork, as you knew you wouldn't get special treatment, she never played favorites when it came to grades after all. You didn't have to worry about that though, you were good at botany, and having a hot teacher you wanted to impress certainly helped boost your grades.

You thought for a couple of minutes, thinking about the woman you loved with your entire being. Her hair, how it so beautifully would gently caress her shoulders as she moved throughout the classroom. Her face, the expressions she'd make whenever you brought her a surprise or brought her over the edge. Everything about the woman filled your head seemingly out of nowhere, and it got your heart racing much quicker than what you considered to be normal. You were a botany major after all, not a cardiology one, so you weren't certain about what was normal and what wasn't, but you knew that your current heart rate fell into the latter category.

As the clock ticked audibly and you saw it reach 4:00, your thighs pressed together in slight annoyance. She was late. Normally you wouldn't mind, but now that you had been thinking about her so long that it got you riled up, you didn't want to wait a second longer to finally pounce on her.

Your mind just couldn't shake the concept of her taking you on her thigh, and you making her moan with your fingers. You weren't sure when your thoughts had become this lewd all of a sudden, but God were you enjoying the feeling in between your legs that came with it.

God, everything about that woman made you riled up. The way her slender fingers curled around her pencils the same way they curled around your neck. The way she punctuated words in her everyday speech just like how she'd punctuate her title to you as you rode her. But what got you the most was the way she would wrap her pretty lips around the cap around her pen to help her focus, like when she would suck her juices off your fingers or vice-versa.

Everything at this point was turning you on the more you thought of her.

You wanted her.

No- You needed her.

You needed to ride her thigh, have her choke you, and leave hickeys all across your neck so everyone knew you were hers. The ache in between your legs was nothing but a symptom of the thoughts in your head that were begging to be cured.

Only your girlfriend knew the way to release the empty feeling in your core, it always managed to surprise you how she knew your own body more than you did.

But after all, she always said that she knew what was best when it came to that pretty cunt of yours.

Your brain continued to think, the thoughts becoming more and more vulgar and inappropriate the longer you were left without the redhead. The fantasies in your mind eventually became so infatuated that you hadn't even noticed when the older teacher walked inside.

"Earth to Y/n?" Your girlfriend's voice called out; amusement laced deep into her voice.

"H-Huh? Oh! Mari!" You shook yourself out of your dirty daydreams to launch yourself onto the redhead whom you had been waiting on.

"Hello baby," She cooed softly. "Sorry I'm late, Dean Weems kept me for a bit longer than I appreciated,"

"It's okay, you can make it up to me later," You replied, wrapping your arms around her waist and kissing her passionately when you ended that sentence.

The taste of her was ravishing for you. You had been practically starved of her all day since she had been at a meeting and had her TA teach the class instead. Mixing that with your now heightened libido, you felt yourself kissing and tasting her as if you'd never see her again.

Marilyn chuckled at your sudden and obvious want for her as she pulled away for air.

"Someone missed me~" She teased. "Did you not enjoy today's class without me here? Hm?"

You smiled nervously, a warmth to your cheeks appearing.

"No, it was so boring," You shrunk into yourself a little bit, looking down at your shoes as you put your hands behind your back and rocked on the soles of your feet.

Marilyn smirked in reply, caressing your cheek with her soft hand that immediately helped to ease your need for her...at least a little bit.

She tutted before sucking her bottom lip behind her teeth, admiring you with her soft hazel eyes that always managed to captivate you.

"But did my TA do a good job today? I need to make sure I won't need to have a word with him," The older woman hummed whilst looking at you expectantly, after all, you always paid attention in class. So, you should know the answer to that, right?

"I think so," You shrugged, internally begging Marilyn to just skip the small talk about class and to help the heat pulsing in your cunt.

"That's not a definite answer honey," Your girlfriend chuckled, her soft laugh turning a bit darker as she slowly began to figure out what was going on with you.

"I don't know, I wasn't paying attention," You shrugged, rolling your eyes a bit as you continued to try and kiss her, only to be pushed away by the redhead.

Marilyn chuckled once more, giving your body a once-over before cupping your chin to keep you in place.

"And why is that? You're my best student. You should know to be a good girl and pay attention even with a substitute," Marilyn said in amusement.

You let out a whine as you felt yourself being separated from your lover, obviously not appreciating how much of a tease Marilyn was being.

"I was just tired, and...you make the class much more fun...He just talked and talked..." You replied, pouting slightly now.

"Awe...did my baby not have a good time in class? Is that why you're being all clingy to me now? Since you missed me so much and haven't seen me all day?" Marilyn asked, her tone becoming more torturing and instigating as her lips formed a small smirk on her face.

You broke away from her grip, kissing your girlfriend as fast as possible in a mix of pure need and starvation, soft whimpers escaping both of your lips when they finally collided.

The kiss lasted no more than a few seconds. After all, you weren't the one in charge here. Marilyn was.

"So you are starved...aren't you baby girl? Need your teacher to fix that little problem of yours?" She hummed with dominance and a mix of lust and love in her voice, her hand falling from your ass to cup your heated sex.

Your breath caught in your throat, only a whimper managing to escape as her fingers poked the cloth, teasing you and making you so frustrated because you knew they wouldn't go in and make you feel full.

"Mari-" You moaned quietly, her hand retracting from your clothed pussy to wrap around your neck.

"What's my name?" She cocked an eyebrow. "And don't get all shy on me now and act like this is some big surprise, you didn't do a good job of hiding how turned on you are,"

"Sorry, Miss Thornhill," You replied weakly, your brain in a love-drunk dazed as you looked down at her arm that held the hand choking you softly.

"That's a good girl..." Marilyn asserted, letting go of you and listening to you whine from the loss of her touch with a smug look on her face.

You started at her, your thighs already clenching and your chest heaving, God you looked ripe for the taking.

"Please- Please I need you," You whimpered, going back to try and cling to her. "I haven't seen you all day and I just want you,"

The redhead chuckled darkly, shrugging off her blazer and tossing it over to where you had chucked your jacket earlier.

"Oh, I know, darling. You haven't done a good job at keeping how wet you are under wraps," She laughed, holding onto your shoulders to keep you still.

"Then why are you teasing me?" You whined, huffing as your arms crossed in front of your chest.

"Because it's funny to watch your little face get all frustrated," Marilyn replied with a fat smirk on her face.

"You're the worst," You groaned, leaning forward to cling to your older girlfriend.

Marilyn simply laughed once more, pushing you off of her.

"Now..." She began, sitting down on her desk chair and patting her thigh softly. "Go lock the door and straddle those pretty little legs around me, okay baby?"

You couldn't have moved faster as you practically sprinted to the doorknob and twisted the lock before walking up to your girlfriend and straddling her thigh, just like she asked.

Marilyn snickered darkly under her breath, cupping your ass with her hands as she took your lips in hers, sucking every last moan out of you whilst squeezing the soft tender flesh of your ass.

"Look at you," She broke the kiss, moving to your neck. "Such a beautiful little student, how'd I manage to lure such a gorgeous thing into my bed?"

"Because you're hot as hell..." You groaned in reply, pulling at your teacher's blazer to bring her warmth closer to you.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, little one," The redhead smirked before leaving a noticeable hickey on your clavicle. "I think I've teased you enough, why don't I give you a reward for being such a good girl?"

You nodded almost immediately, you knew how pathetic you looked, straddling your teacher's lap and begging for her to make you feel good, begging for her to relieve your aching cunt of the empty feeling it had been carrying.

"Please, I've been good, please!" You begged, wrapping your arms around Marilyn's shoulders and looking up at her with your best puppy dog eyes.

"Of course, plus, I need to get off as well," Marilyn licked her lips.

Marilyn sat there for a few moments, examining your body with her eyes, each curve, each time your chest raised to take a breath, and every other tiny detail about your body.

"Take this off," She suddenly instructed, referring to her pants.

You swiftly moved to take off her belt, throwing it off of her body before sliding off her black work pants, revealing a beautiful pair of legs and a wet pair of black underwear.

"You're gorgeous, Miss Thornhill," You breathed out, settling yourself back on her thigh.

"Thank you, baby. But you can compliment me later. For now, I want you to take off both of our underwear," The older woman purred, watching as you scrambled to follow her directions.

"Yes Miss Thornhill..." You replied almost at the same time she finished her demand, having already tossed both of your soaked pairs of underwear with her belt and pants.

"Good girl..." Marilyn nodded, placing her hands on your hips, allowing your wet cunt to rub up against her thigh perfectly. "Now use your fingers and make me cum, and I'll take care of your little problem,"

"Yes- Yes, Miss-" You bit back a moan, your fingers falling to her now-dripping pussy.

Marilyn let out a soft moan as your finger teased her entrance, gliding over her slick mound before finally penetrating her core with your digit. Her walls clenched down against your finger, only giving you more of a challenge to stretch her around you.

"Fuck...Good girl..." She repeated, grabbing your hips and moving your cunt up and down on her thigh, angling her leg so that your sensitive clit would be affected by her movements as well.

Shivers shot up your body, bucking your hips.

Just the simple movements of this woman, her voice telling you just how much of a good girl you were for her. It had you going crazy.

"A-Ah-" You whimpered, grinding your pussy against her skin, your clit and hole desperate to get off after hours of being denied of your girlfriend's presence.

Her hands felt so in control as if you were stuck that way. She was always in charge, and that somehow sent more shivers up your spine. Her hands pulled your hips along her, her sharp green eyes watching as your cum was painted across her thigh.

Up and down.

Up...and down...

"Yeah...that's right baby, let me hear you, let me hear just how good I'm making you feel with just my thigh," Marilyn purred, wrapping her hand around your neck gently, moving her other hand to hold you just above your ass to guide you against her thigh.

"Fuck- Feels so g-good-" You breathed, your legs shaking the more your body melted into the older woman's.

Your hand continued to slide in and out of Marilyn's cunt, the warm white liquid coming out of her pussy trailing down your fingers as it only increased with the pleasure you gave her.

"Good girl...such a good girl- You're doing so good for me- Such a perfect little student...Fuck-" The redhead groaned, her walls fluttering around your digits as she tried to keep her composure, continuing to glide your cunt up and down her thigh.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, your chest heaving up and down while your legs trembled.

"I need you- Please- More-" You whined, moving your hips quicker as you slowly moved another finger inside your girlfriend.

"Ah, shit~!" Marilyn winced in pleasure, tensing her grip on your throat as she moved your body, her gentle guidance slowly turning into practically manhandling. "Don't stop, Y/n! Keep going- Don't stop-"

Her voice- God it had you wrapped around her finger. Her whines, her soft whimpers, begging you not to stop with the promise of a reward, it was all so much for you.

The world around you disappeared, your eyes going blurry, the only thing on your mind was the pleasure coursing through your veins and the sensation of your nimble digits filling your teacher's cunt.

"Please- Just like that! Fuck you're such a good little girl- Such a good student- Fuck- FucKK-!" The older woman's breathing increased, her thigh tensing up to elect a mewl from you.

The sounds of the base of your fingers hitting her cunt filled the room, mixed with your moans as the air around you began to smell like sex and sweat. Your bodies mixed as your cum soaked her thigh and her cum soaked your fingers.

But it's not enough.

You need to be surrounded by her.

The hand not fucking Marilyn senseless tears off the redhead's button-up shirt, and no more than a second later are your lips attached to her chest, sucking on her nipple as if you weren't to ever taste her again.

"Fuck- I'm the one in charge here, baby- Don't go trying to act all dominant-" Marilyn grunted, her voice a mix between a groan and a whimper.

"Just..." You leave a hickey on her breast. "Wanna make you..." Another hickey. "Feel good..."

A smirk is brought to her face, and she smirks before tearing off your shirt and moving both of her hands to grind your hips. She's the one in charge after all. Not you.

"Oh, and you're such a good girl for that..." She moaned, noticing how heavy your breathing had become and how close you were getting to reaching your climax.

Shiny prints of her lip gloss were left across your neck as she kissed your soft skin, leaving the occasional bite mark as her hands cupped at your ass, helping your poor body rut out all the pent-up sexual frustration.

"Fuck- Fuck Mari-" You whined, your vision going fuzzy as you rubbed your clit against her skin.

"Hm? What was that?" Marilyn teased, puckering her lips a little to rub in your slip-up.

"S-Sorry- Miss Thornhill-" You immediately corrected yourself, not wanting to get a punishment and have your orgasm delayed even further.

"Good girl," The redhead chuckled.

The praise brought you nearly over the edge, and your grip on your girlfriend only increased as you sped your pace up.

"Fuck- I'm close- Please- Please let me come-" You begged, your breathing becoming ragged the more your hips moved.

The lower part of your stomach felt as if it was being filled with a hot liquid, and your muscles tensed up, your walls wrapped around her fingers, pulsing each time Marilyn curled her fingers and rubbed your G-Spot.

"It's okay, beautiful, it's okay. Come with me, come with me. Fuck-!!" Marilyn gasped as you added a third finger into her cunt.

Your legs shook, her words guiding you through your orgasm as the familiar feeling of coming close to the edge of a climax coursed through your body

"Fuck! Fuck! Please! God damn it!" You cried, eyes rolling back into your head. "Please! Faster! Please Miss Thornhill!"

Marilyn shuddered at the sound of your moans, her orgasm fluttering throughout her veins. She quickly moved her leg and rubbed it against your heat, making sure to rub at your clit.

"God I'm gonna come- Please- God damn it!" You moaned as she brought you over the edge.

The warm fire in your belly pooled as your body went fuzzy, sweat pouring down your body as you rutted out the last bit of your orgasm. Ecstasy pumped through both of your bodies as soft moans left both of your lips.

The world was fuzzy once you opened your eyes, and you still had your fingers nestled in Marilyn's cunt as she spoke to you, her voice being muffled by the after-effects of your little "session" together.

"H-Huh? What did you say?" You mumbled, looking up at your girlfriend's sweat-covered face.

Marilyn chuckled, as she lifted your chin with her hand, causing you to gaze into her gorgeous hazel eyes.

"I said, are you okay baby?" She smirked, pulling her glasses to rest them on top of her head.

You nodded, slowly sliding your fingers out of her soaked pussy before licking each drop of her juices off of your digits.

"Mhm...yeah...Are you okay?" You repeated the question.

"Yeah, don't worry about me baby," Marilyn wiped a few drops of sweat off of your face.

The two of you sat in silence, nuzzling into each other's embrace, the silence only being broken after a few more minutes had passed.

"Why don't you come back to my place, pup? You can sit on my lap just like this while I grade some essays," Marilyn suggested, squeezing your bicep just a bit to knock you out of your daze once again.

You blushed a bit, you hadn’t ever come back to her place in the whole year you two had been dating, as it was just never convenient for the two of you.

“W-What? Are you sure?” You stuttered out, sitting up a bit straighter, your legs still shaking from the pleasure you had just experienced.

“Yeah, I’d say it’s about time, wouldn’t you, darling?” Marilyn purred, smiling down at you.

You paused for a moment, before nodding.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” You smiled.

You went to stand up, but Marilyn quickly scooped you up into her arms.

“Where do you think you’re going? You know you still have to get dressed,” She chuckled, sitting you down on her desk before picking up your clothes.

As she slowly and gently slid back on your underwear, you looked down at the woman taking care of your body, and you smiled.

‘How did I get so lucky with this placement?’

...

If you enjoyed reading this, don't forget to like, reblog and comment! Thank you and you are loved <3

-Akira

[tansyuduri]

Merlin Loregasm Rewatch S1E5

Hi Everyone! Welcome to my rewatch of Merlin focusing on the lore. I am a giant nerd so pretty excited about this. We’re on LANCELOT

Lancelot: It's my life's ambition to join the Knights of Camalot OKAY let's talk knights! While most knights were nobles. (Especially in the later middle ages) Not all were. In the early middle ages it was not that unusual for a commoner to be knighted for acts of valor in battle, Great service to a much higher lord, or marrying a noble woman. While this got much more rare it did not fully die out. So Lancelot coming as a commoner and hoping to be a knight is unusual but not unheard of. His way of going ABOUT it is a bit odd.

Arthur: Right you jumped up dung beetle this is it. your final test. Pass this and you are a knight of camalot. Fail and you're no one. You face the most feared of all foes. The ultimate killing machine. You face me. Your challenge is to last one minute in free combat. Grimmond second son of Wessex. Your time starts now. OKAY lots to talk about here. First of all Knight of Camalot must be a great honnor. This dude is the second son of at LEAST a noble family. That being considered no one is huge. However the second son thing could mean he would not inherit his fathers title and this is what Arthur refers to.

ALSO is Wessex suborninate to Camalot? Or are knights just coming from outside Camelot because being a knight of Xamalot is such a big deal. Wessex was a anglo-saxon kingdom and as I have said before we are pre saxon take over in Merlin. HOWEVER the first recorded king of Wessex was named Cedirc and this name is thought to be brittonic rather than saxon giving rise to the theory he was a native of Briton who was later saxonized. Possibly implying a existance of Wessex before the Saxons arrived. It is also implied that for a while he was not a king. SO it's possible Wessex could have been part of Camalot. Also, the test is interesting. See Kings could knight whoever they wanted. Occasionally they would go on a knighting spree of squires just so they could say they had more knights before a battle. Of course as we know in Camalot squires are not a thing. So the normal path of page to squire to knight goes out the window. MY POINT HERE is this test might serve as a replacement for that. Come up with by either Uther or Arthur. Hey you wanna be a knight for us? Sure, pass this test and BOOM knight. It kinda suggests that a LOT of people wanna come be knights of Camelot. (Which seeing how many die is a good thing) So my question is WHY. WHY is this such a plum gig that people want it so bad. Is there some level of renown? Uther does not seem to give out bits of land so it can't be that.

Okay I'm kinda loving the fact that the coat of arms for Wessex is similar to but not the same as the one given to Wessex in the 1300s. Same colors no cross (eliminating Christianity) and what looks like different animals. (but its hard to see)

First reference to the First code of Camalot. Only those of noble blood can serve as knights. Will talk about this a bit more later then reasoning is explained a bit I do find it interesting that they use the word code which was also used for the "code of chivalry"

Gaius: The first code of camalot states that only those of noble blood can serve a knight. Uther created the knights to prtect this kingdom from those who wished to destroy it. He knew he would have to trust each of his knights with his life. So he chose them from the families that had sworn allegiance to him. The nobility Okay first of all considering how he treats commoners and is paranoid fair. SECOND OF ALL HOLY SHIT UTHER CREATED THE KNIGHTS? What was there before? I mean I know he conquered the kingdom. so choosing them from families sworn to him makes sense in that aspect. BUT DID CAMALOT JUST NOT HAVE KNIGHTS? I mean where were the Knights of Medir sooo. Okay I've got this. Knights of Camalot were likely disbanded or something following the abuses of the Knights of Medir. Uther however was like Naw fam I'm bringing them back, there is NO WAY that could happen to me. So he re-formed the knights of Camalot. ALSO does this mean every camalot knight we see comes from Camalot nobility? So Camalot has some part of western illes (Valiants heraldry implied Ireland so Camalot owns part of Ireland?) Or can it be from any nobility? Even if it's not sworn to him? And Northumbria mentioned later is also Camalot but there are still other kingdoms? Okay okay. so either at first knight they were nobles of Camalot but then things spread to other nobles. That's why Uther doesn't seem to know Valient. (Of freaking Ireland) but still invites him to serve as a knight of Camalot. And has knights coming to try to serve from lots of places. OR Camalot is bigger than I thought it was despite just being conquered and Includes some of "the western illes" (Almost certainly Ireland) Wessex, and Northumbria. (While Mercia is somehow its own kingdom) Gonna look for evidence to resolve this as I keep watching the show. because I NEED TO KNOW.

FYI I will not be trying to solve what obscure references like this are about. A LOT ABOUT TOPOGRAPHY CAN CHANGE esp when magic effects things.

Okay LORD of Northumbria. Its looking like Camalot actually does include Northumbria and likley Wessex but not Mercia. (Also thus possibly some least bits of Ireland? Or the other two were from outside Camalot and Northumbria is part of Camalot. I'M KEEPING AN EYE ON THIS. BECAUSE AGAIN I NEED TO KNOW. ANYHOW LETS TALK NORTHUMBIA

It was an Anglo Saxon Kingdom consisting of two other lands that united under the Saxons. (Bernica and Deira both of whom likely existed before the saxon invasion.) Now Deira at least it brought up later so it's likely separate from them. Bernicia is also never mentioned in Merlin SO my thought is Merlin world wise Northumbria is basically the name we are using for Bernicia. Because otherwise it just plain would not exist yet.

Okay in a time before machine made clothing this is a BIG DEAL. See noble did not sew her own clothing. Instead they would hire a tailer who was hired specifically to make custom fitted clothing for the elite. AND if this is true it means Gwen might have been one of them in addition to being a servant. Gwen would likely be far from the only one. But if she was the best that would be noticed. HOWEVER If a noble family was wealthy enough and had an extensive staff, they might hire a tailor exclusively. I don't think Gwen served this role simply because she would not have the time. Gwen however CLEARLY knows how to sew clothing for nobles, as she does it for Lancelot. This implies that she in fact DOES sew clothing for nobles (If not the pendragons themselves) as a side gig. This would likely earn her money. (Further supporting the Gwen's family is more well off than most non nobles theory.) I find it interesting that she keeps being a servant when she has this as a possibility. Does she need to? Or is her loyalty to Morgana and Later Arthur on display here that she chooses to keep being a servant?

Hahaha Okay this position is pretty unique to the Merlin world. Normally patents of nobility would be used and not really checked. ALSO, nobility would have married other nobility People tended to know each other or of each other. Nobles never really had to prove their status otherwise, because their status is known to everyone at the time of their birth.

Gaius: A griffin is a creature of magic. It is born of Magic, Sire and can only be killed by magic. Okay what constitutes a creature of magic? Unicorns are not, thats clear, Are Afancs? Since Merlin did use magic there they could be? Cockatrices are not, however. And trolls are not. In short what counts as a "Creature of magic" Seems to be kinda arbitrary in Merlin. So not much I can extrapolate here.

LIKE I SAID IN PREVIOUS POSTS Gwen's father is not just a typical village blacksmith. And that has implications on the status of Gwens family and their ability to live a higher quality life. (I talked a lot about this in previous episodes)

Okay we have a thank god from Gaius who we KNOW was trained in the old religion. SO either saying god does not mean you are not pagan in Merlin, or he converted or somthing.

Gwen sent at least the helmet off with him. Possibly more. That stuff is not cheap! As in normally only rich nobles could afford it. Also did she send him off with the set that was the best she had? I don't really think Lancelot would accept that. So I think she sent him off with a cheaper suit or helm. UNLESS Lancelot didn't really know how expensive armor was. Which is a big possibility because he didn't know about the code so he might not know about other things in a knights world.

[sinnabee]

hahaha! guess who got carried away when a Certain Song came on her spotify, and had to draw these blorbo thoughts or else just. die

@pillowspace has infected me with so so so so SO many blorbo thoughts. i have blorbo poisoning. send help

(btw, we are still streaming if anyone wants to pop in :D)

[icewindandboringhorror]

boy in silly sitting positions compilation

[breadboylovin]

having the worst weekend ever in my life rn

[enden-k]

im sorry to hear people are stomping all over your boundaries, big props to you for sticking up for yourself and putting your foot down. I hope you're doing ok (/gen)

on another, hopefully happier note, i noticed your info post mentions that you self ship! I'd love to hear about your favourite self ships if you're comfortable talking about them some time?

i actually never did or had interest in this but then haitham waltzed in so hes the first and only one (this whole thing flusters me so its smth i indulge in for myself in private by reading or daydreaming or sometimes i babble and ramble about him very in depth)

(most hkvthm things i draw is just me going 'wish that was me' and drawing it LMFAO)

ohh also same w kaveh but in a slightly different way than haitham (theyre both the only ones) i want them to hold hands. i want them to hold my hands. there

[oc-cinematic-universe]

i LOOOVE thinking about fantasy disabilities!!!! i love figuring out what people would have to do to accommodate them! it's literally awesome!

[apocalympdicks]

my tumblr bios a liar im fucking 25

(no one believes me irl cuz im 4'11 & im visibly autistic)

[legobatjoker]

whats more insane than in merlin episode 2x04 when merlin and arthur have that long convo about arthur and how he likes “gwen” except its clearly about how arthur likes MERLIN. and they both know this.. or possibly only arthur knows it… or perhaps most possible of all? neither of them know it.

[shock]

i want to hold my tongue and not share the depth of my opinions about the two-headed cow but it upsets me so much every time i see it, i really do hate the narrative of 'rooting for' an animal like this to live despite it being unable (and will be unable, for its entire life) to do the most basic of things life has to offer, even breathing, eating, moving, to prioritize the savior myth that everything can and should be saved, that every living creature should be treated this way as though its not one of the greatest mercies that we as humans have the ability to enact a quick and painless alternative to a slow and miserable life that ends in slow and miserable death on our livestock when they can't advocate for themselves, the ability we have as humans to see the research and make a prognosis and decide that the spectacle is not worth the extended misery, but this life is worth the dignity of a peaceful death we have the capacity to grant

because there is a difference between helping a baby animal in the first legs of life knowing it has a chance to have a quality of life worth fighting for, not a life doomed to be painful that we KNOW is painful knowing all that we know about animals who come with this specific type of physical abnormality, what we see on the surface is only a fraction of much more malformation and deterioration on the inside that we can't just decide is not happening because they 'look' fine, and what we see on the surface is already a life from start to finish without any experience an animal like this should have by virtue of being alive, with no life at all and no understanding of why it is going through this

the assumption that there is no suffering despite eating, breathing, moving never something that this baby will be able to do unassisted, despite knowing the longest a two-headed cow has ever survived was not even a year and a half and that record hasn't been broken in over thirty years, that's not even a quarter, an 8th, a 12th, a 15th of a cow's normal lifespan, and doubtfully much of that was pleasant or comfortable, and even if this cow does get to the point of being able to stand on its own, we can't ever know the full range of agony this animal is going through, all we know is there is and there will be agony, and we need to not see life as inherently successful or painless just because something is going in one end and coming out the other, that isn't what defines an animal's quality of life to me

the two-headed calf poem is beautiful to me because it's a miracle that something so rare (luckily) and so doomed could see one extraordinary thing before passing. the sky ceases to be beautiful when forced to live every day for the sake of social media's voyeurism, it makes me so sad that someone who raises livestock would put public attention over their duty to their animals ☹️

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - dub/con, afab!reader, cockwarming, medical malpractice, nonconsensual drug use, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, and obsessive behavior.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

“It really is a shame to lose such a lovely patient.

His hand drifted from your thigh to your hip, rocking you back as you tried to squirm away from him. He was too deep, too big, and you’d been sitting on his cock for too long. Whenever you tried to shift your weight, though, the arm wrapped around your waist would tighten its hold and drag you back into place, leaving your ass slotted against his hips and your cunt struggling to clench around his base. You didn’t know how long he’d kept you like this, but it must’ve been longer than an hour, if not two, three, four. Despite your foggy senses, you could feel slick dripping down your thighs, an empty void in the pit of your stomach where pleasure should’ve been. You could remember hearing that Harper was a good doctor, but that couldn’t be right. Doctors weren’t supposed to make you feel so bad.

“I mean, I know it should be a doctor’s goal to see their patients off as happy and as healthy as can be, but—” He paused, sighed, and you could picture him rolling his eyes, feigning wistfulness as he let out an airy chuckle. “Good, obedient patients can be so rare, especially in a town like this. I’m allowed to mourn the loss of my best charge yet, aren’t I?”

You felt him twitch inside of you, and in search of a distraction, your gaze fell to the collection of papers fanned out over the desk in front of you. You knew you were supposed to be reading them, but the text seemed so impossibly small, and your last round of medication was still clouding your senses, making it hard to focus on much of anything beyond the throbbing in your core, the feeling of his cock stretching you open despite your body’s best attempts to force him out. You could recognize the phrases, signal out words like ‘unfit’ and ‘dependent’ mixed in with the rest of the benign text, but when you tried to put it all together, none of it made sense. It was all you could do to check the boxes Harper pointed to, sign your name on any dotted lines that hadn’t already been filled by his. You could only hope that, when you finished, he’d let you stand up, get off of him, go back to your cozy room with its nice, soft padded walls. You couldn’t imagine having to sleep in his office, again.

“And you’ve been so cooperative, too,” he went on, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. You felt his lips against the shell of your ear, then your cheek. “Always taking your medication, always following your treatment plans, always coming to our little sessions with an open-mind – the pinnacle of an ideal patient. Honestly, sometimes I think I could tell you to stick your hand in a vat of boiling water, and you’d do it with a smile on your face. All for the sake of your recovery, of course.”

It was him moving, this time – shifting forward until your stomach was pressed against the blunt edge of his desk and he was all-but draped over you, his body pressed flush against yours. You let out a pitchy whine by way of protest, but Harper didn’t seem to notice, only humming as his hand found yours. “Almost done, little mouse. Just one more page.” He was practically cooing as he took you by the wrist, guiding your hand to the bottom of the final page. Two thick, cutting lines occupied most of the available space, his neat signature taking up the first. He brought you to the second, almost daunting in its vacancy, his index finger tapping against the back of your hand. “You remember your name, right? Can you write it for me?”

It was so hard to think, to stay awake, to try and remember a time where he hadn’t been planted so deeply inside of you. “If…” you started, only to trail off. You blinked once, then twice, and did your best to force your tongue to move. “If I do, can I go home?”

Usually, Harper hated it when you talked about the orphanage, about school, about home. You hadn’t meant to, you just wanted to go back to your room, and you moved to correct yourself, to promise that you didn’t want to be anywhere but this hospital, his hospital before he frowned and prescribed you another electrotherapy session, another dose of the small, white pills that left your thoughts blurred and your body hot. But, anything you might’ve been able to spit out died with a breathy laugh, a peck to the corner of your jaw. “Of course,” he purred, rocking his hips gently against yours. “Sign, and I’ll take you home tonight.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt yourself start to smile. Hastily, smudging the ink more than once, you scrawled your name across the brutal line, dropping the pen and going slack against Harper as soon as you were finished. There was another open-mouthed kiss to your throat, then the dip of your shoulder, and he dragged you back onto his lap with a playful squeeze to your thigh, a grin pressed into the crook of your neck. You squirmed unabashedly, now, your hands  graspingly weakly at the arms of his chair in hopes of pulling yourself to your feet, but Harper held you tight. “Where do you think you’re going, little mouse?”

“I need to— You said I could go—”

“Just give me another minute, darling.”

His cock pulsed against the walls of your cunt, and you felt something break open inside of you.

“I want to appreciate this moment before we get you to proper, brand-new home.”

[headspace-hotel]

I agree with the idea that a lot of humans nowadays have a severe lack of curiosity about the world, but I think there has to be a solution other than shame.

I think about this every day because the fate of our world hangs on curiosity: either we will rediscover the importance and wonders of the soil and bugs and flowers and water and finally with the whole natural world, or this way will be forgotten.

People raised in the great wasteland of the suburbs and roads and buildings have never seen most of the plants and creatures that are supposed to fill every field and meadow. So many humans have never seen with their own eyes more than a scant few of the most common of hundreds of wildflowers that are supposed to surround them. Some live in biomes designated forest and have never witnessed truly mature trees. They do not know what the birds sound like. When they see an ordinary deer, they are awed and amazed by it or even afraid of it. They have never eaten any of the delicious wild fruits that grow in their homeland; all birds except starlings and robins and sparrows are so strange and beautiful that they stare in wonder. They confront insects like people on an alien planet encountering an unknown life form: What is this? Will it hurt me?

I cannot even describe the grief I feel on behalf of humans that grow up and live in the wasteland of pavement and lawn. That we are expected to live in these brutal environments, that we are expected to be content without the right or ability to live alongside living creatures, to walk among wildflowers, to hear birdsong, to feel the plush softness of moss, to see even common bees and butterflies—the fact that we live, work, and raise our children in poisonous wastes where nearly everything has been wiped out, and the simplest and most abundant of natural pleasures are rare privileges—it's cruel. It's a crime against the human spirit. It makes me so angry and sad.

When I started researching plants, I had no idea that I would end up expanding my mind so much that I would be virtually a different person within the year. Before I learned, I could not have imagined the diversity and beauty that exists in the world. My mind did not have the tools to come up with it.

I lived for over twenty years believing that there was only one species of firefly. I lived for over twenty years not knowing that the Southeastern US has native bamboo. I had never tasted the indescribable flavor of a pawpaw or seen the iridescent vibrance of a red-spotted purple butterfly. I had only seen a Pileated Woodpecker out the window of a car. I had never touched true topsoil, the soft, living blanket of rich, sweet-smelling earth full of mycelium, as springy and plush as a mattress. Just one year ago, I knew nothing!

Humans, as creatures, are insatiably curious and hunger for beauty. It is so cruel to deprive a human of relationship with their natural environment.

It is no wonder that we are all addicted to the internet—we have a crucial need that is unfulfilled. Compared with a forest, the world of lawns and buildings is so ridiculously flat and unstimulating. You would expect humans in such a place to feel constantly bored, restless, frustrated, and incurably sad.

I feel that lack of curiosity can be a chosen thing, but it is also a defense mechanism against a world that will feel like sandpaper on the senses of the curious.

But we need curiosity to fix this—we need the ability to notice the living things that have crept in at the edges of the wasteland and be infected and tormented by their beauty. We need to recognize the forest reaching into our cage in the form of tiny saplings. We need to discard the word "weed," not because it is derogatory because it is fundamentally incurious—it designates a plant as needing no identity outside of its unwantedness. We must learn their names. We must wonder what their names are.

[pucksandpower]

Say My Name

Oscar Piastri x streamer!Reader

Summary: when fans mistake Oscar for your ex while he is hanging around in the background of your stream, you get introduced to a side of Oscar that you’ve never seen before

Warnings: 18+ content

Your fingers fly across the keyboard as you narrate the intense battle unfolding on your stream. “Oh damn, that was close! I almost got sniped there.” You lean in, eyes narrowed at the screen. “Gotta be more careful or this round is over.”

The chat explodes with messages cheering you on. Being one of the top female gaming streamers has its perks, like an incredibly loyal fanbase that hangs on your every word.

You glance at the viewer count — over 50,000 watching live. Not too shabby.

“Okay team, let’s rush B, I’ll try to draw their fire.” You move your character into position, heart pounding with anticipation.

Suddenly, a quiet thump comes from the living room behind you. You start, whipping your head around, but see nothing amiss through the open doorway. Must have been your imagination.

You refocus on the game, calling out tactics to your teammates. Another muffled sound, like something soft hitting the floor, catches your attention. You turn off your video and hit mute on your mic. “Hello? Is someone there?”

No response. You’re just about to unmute when a very familiar face pops into view from the hallway. It’s your boyfriend of nearly two years.

Your face splits into a huge grin as you take in his messy hair and the rumpled clothes he slept in on the flight. “Oscar! You’re back early!”

He crosses to you, bending to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Missed you,” he mumbles against your hair.

You tilt your face up for a proper kiss, “I missed you too, ba-”

But you’re cut off as his lips crash into yours, insistent and heated. Heat blooms in your cheeks at the sudden, passionate embrace. Far too soon, Oscar pulls away, leaving you flustered and breathless.

“Sorry,” he says with a smirk that suggests he’s anything but. “Couldn’t help myself.”

You shake your head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous. I’m working, you know.”

“So I noticed.” Oscar settles onto the couch just off-camera, casual as can be. “Don’t mind me, keep going.”

“You sure?” You eye him skeptically. The stream has been on a short period without your commentary and the chat is getting restless. “I can take a break if you want.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “No, no, I’m just going to hang out here for a bit. Go ahead.”

Hesitating only a moment, you turn your video back on and unmute your mic. “Alright folks, sorry about that little pause. I, uh, got a surprise visitor.” You gesture vaguely toward where Oscar lounges behind you.

The chat instantly lights up with questions about who was there. Smiling to yourself, you ignore them for now, re-focusing on the game.

Over the next hour, it becomes increasingly difficult to concentrate. Oscar keeps distracting you, making silly faces and gestures whenever you glance his way. More than once you have to stifle a laugh after catching sight of him. Your fans seem to find your giggly mood delightful, though they remain oblivious to the cause.

Finally, in a rare break between matches, you swivel in your chair to face him. “You’re being so disruptive,” you stage-whisper. “Don’t you have better things to do than pester me?”

Oscar feigns innocence. “Who, me? I’m just sitting here, love.”

Rolling your eyes, you stretch your arms overhead with a groan, back popping from sitting so long. Oscar’s gaze shamelessly rakes over you, darkening.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, fighting a smile.

“Like what?” His eyes glint with mischief.

You open your mouth to respond, but a new donation notification pops up on your stream, cutting you off. “Oh, wow, thanks for the ten thousand bits, Legend27!” The expensive donation isn’t that unusual, but the comment attached gives you pause.

I’m so happy you and Eric made up! You two are couple goals for real.

Frowning, you scan the new barrage of messages flooding the chat … and find dozens echoing similar sentiments.

Your stomach drops as you finally realize what your viewers think is happening. They assume Oscar is actually your ex, the one you briefly dated and had an awful breakup with over two years ago. Apparently his surprise appearance has led them to believe you two have reconciled.

Heat floods your face at the misunderstanding. Objecting seems pointless though — you’ve learned it’s better not to discuss your private romantic life on stream. “Ah, thanks guys, you’re too kind,” you finally say, aiming for a neutral tone.

Beside you, Oscar stiffens, catching the implications of the messages. His jaw clenches and you watch as his face cycles through a series of micro-expressions — first surprise, then confusion, quickly followed by displeasure and … jealousy?

Uh oh. This could get messy fast if he gets worked up. You try to subtly shake your head at him in a silent plea to ignore the chat.

No such luck. His brow furrows deeper and you can practically see the tension ratcheting up in his shoulders.

Suddenly, Oscar surges to his feet with a muttered curse. Before you can react, he’s stalking around the side of your chair until he’s directly in view of the camera’s frame.

“Oscar, what are you-”

But he cuts you off by cupping your face in his hands and kissing you hard. Your startled squeak is smothered by his fierce, possessive mouth moving over yours.

Powerless to resist the onslaught of sensations, you melt bonelessly against him as the kiss stretches on and on. Only the escalating number of notifications showing the shock and exclamations from your viewers finally breaks through the heady fog.

With extreme reluctance, Oscar ends the kiss, both of you panting. He keeps his face buried in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your flushed skin as he growls, “She’s mine.”

Then, before you can respond, he reaches past you and slams his palm into the power button of your streaming setup, shutting everything down.

The simultaneous howl of outrage from tens of thousands of confused fans cuts off abruptly as the screen goes black. Only the two of you are left in the ringing silence that follows.

“Oscar!” You finally manage. “What was that?”

He pulls away enough to meet your wide-eyed gaze, his brown eyes blazing with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I got … jealous,” he admits, seeming almost surprised at his own vehement reaction. “When they thought I was your ex. I didn’t like that at all.”

Your expression softens at his uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. Reaching out, you trace his sharp cheekbone with gentle fingers. “You have no reason to be jealous, silly man. It’s only ever been you.”

Some of the blazing heat in his stare banks into smoldering embers at your reassurance. “Yeah?” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Good.”

He leans in again until his lips are a hairsbreadth from yours. “Because you’re mine, okay? And I’m yours.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, dizzy with wanting him. “I’m all yours, Oscar.”

The possessive words seem to flip a switch in him. With a low, rumbling sound of approval, his mouth slants over yours once more in a searing, demanding kiss that makes your toes curl.

The abrupt ending to your stream is already causing a social media firestorm of epic proportions. But surrounded by the circle of Oscar’s arms, his familiar warmth and love, you can’t find it in yourself to care even a little bit.

After all, you think dizzily as he deepens the kiss, your fans should have recognized that you two were a couple from the very start — because Oscar Piastri is most definitely not your ex.

He’s your everything.

***

Oscar’s hands are everywhere, seemingly unable to get enough of you as his kisses grow more and more fervent. Your back hits the wall with a gentle thump as he crowds closer, caging you in with the solid warmth of his body.

“Missed you so much, love,” he rasps against the heated skin of your neck. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

A whimper escapes your lips at the scorching path his mouth blazes over your pulse point. “I m-missed you too, Oscar.”

His name falls from your lips like a prayer and he rewards you by sucking a mark into the sensitive spot just below your ear. Pleasure zings along your nerves at the hint of delicious possession in the act.

When he finally pulls back to gaze at you with dark, hooded eyes, his lips are reddened from enthusiastic use. The sight sends a molten flare of desire arrowing straight to your core.

“Say it again,” he commands roughly, voice gone low and gritty in that way that never fails to make you melt.

You blink up at him, momentarily lost in a lust-fueled haze. “W-What?”

“My name.” His large hands skim over the curve of your waist, bunching the fabric of your shirt. “Say my name again.”

“Oscar,” you breathe without hesitation, watching raptly as his pupils blow wider at the sound. “Oscar, Oscar, Oscar ...”

Each breathy iteration seems to stoke his hunger hotter. His fingers flex against your sides like he’s holding himself back from something.

On a daring whim, you slant your mouth near his ear, letting your lips brush the shell with every word. “Oscar Piastri,” you practically purr. “My Oscar.”

A broken groan is your only warning before he’s on you again, mouths crashing together in a heated crash of lips, teeth, and tangling tongues. His hand comes up to cup the nape of your neck, angling your face for deeper exploration.

When you finally manage to tear your lips away, you’re both panting harshly, chests heaving. “What’s … gotten into you?” You pant.

Rather than answer, Oscar just shakes his head and dives back in for more fervent kisses, like a man dying of thirst and you’re the most delicious drink he’s ever tasted.

It’s not until he suddenly grips your waist and spins the two of you around, depositing you on the desk with a surprising lack of finesse, that you realize just how wildly affected he is.

Oscar licks into the seam of your lips like he’s staking a claim and something within you shatters at the stark, naked wanting in his eyes when he pulls back the tiniest bit.

He just stares at you, chest heaving, gaze roving hungrily over your features like he’s memorizing you all over again. His pupils are blown wide, just thin rings of molten brown remaining around the black.

When he speaks, his voice is low and gravelly in a way that vibrates through you. “Say. My. Name.”

“Oscar,” you respond immediately, not even having to think. His hungry gaze burns over you and you feel stripped bare and vulnerable under the weight of it.

But rather than make you want to cover up, it has the opposite effect — you’re reeling him in, hands fisted in his shirt to pull him closer. You never want this delirious, frantic sense of possession and desire to end.

“Again,” he grinds out, sounding utterly wrecked already.

“Oscar.” You bare your neck for him as you say it, like presenting an offering. He groans low and deep, instantly ducking to mouth along the column of your throat.

His hands are everywhere, pushing up the hem of your top, kneading along your sides and ribs as he nips and sucks bruising paths across your collarbones and chest.

“Don’t stop saying it,” he orders, more plea than demand.

So you let his name become a breathless prayer falling from your lips, over and over between gasps and keening whimpers. You lose yourself in a heady feedback loop — the more you speak his name with naked wanting, the wilder it seems to drive him until his touch grows scattered and devouring.

At some point his hands finally succeed in tugging your shirt up and off. Your name doesn’t even register when his scorching mouth closes over one peaked bud, your back bowing at the shuddering bolt of sensation that lances through you.

All you can seem to process is the feel of his calloused palms mapping every inch of newly-exposed skin and the desperate mumble of “Oscar, Oscar, Oscar ...” spilling shameless and endless from your lips.

Eventually, the heated exploration of his mouth and hands becomes too much to simply lay there and take. With a low, guttural sound you haul Oscar upright and swing your legs around his hips, relishing his full body shudder.

“Not enough,” you accuse roughly, rolling your core against his in clear invitation. “Need you closer, Oscar.”

His heated groan at your wanton demand is music to your ears. Strong hands grasp your thighs to hitch your legs higher around his waist as he surges against you.

“So impatient, my darling girl,” he teases. This close, you can make out the faintest brush of freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones that you’ve mapped and memorized with lips and fingertips a hundred times before.

You can’t help but reach out to graze them with your thumb, gazing up at him with naked adoration. “My Oscar,” you murmur reverently.

His eyes slip shut for a beat, jaw ticking as if your words have an unexpectedly profound effect on him. When he opens them again, his gaze is fierce and intent.

“Yours,” he vows simply, leaning in to seal the promise against the plush of your lips.

The kiss is somehow softer and headier than before. You get lost in the lush glide of his mouth, every sliding brush of lip and tongue shorting out whatever rational thoughts remain until all you know is his name — the shape and taste and weight of it against your own.

It’s the only thing that seems real, vital, until at some point Oscar’s mouth leaves yours to trail hot, openmouthed kisses down your chest and stomach and lower still.

Your back bows as you squirm incoherently against the press of his lips and tongue. His restraint seems to have finally snapped, movements growing hungry and rough as he works you steadily higher.

“Oscar,” you sob out his name like you’re breaking apart, pleading for something you can’t quite name. He answers with a rumbling sound of satisfaction that vibrates hotly against your sensitized flesh.

More, is all you can think as he redoubles his efforts.

At some point, you must have arched helplessly off the desk because suddenly his hands are at the small of your back, fingertips digging in hard as he holds you arched for his questing mouth.

The intimate angle of his positioning has your jaw dropping open on a silent scream of overwhelmed pleasure. All that escapes is a strangled gasp of, “Oscar!”

He growls something incoherent against you that might be praise, might be reassurance, might just be your name groaned out roughly in shared bliss. But you honestly can’t tell anymore — you’ve transcended far past coherent speech and rational thought.

Everything has devolved into just sensation and feeling and the endless loop of his name spilling over and over from your lips like a benediction.

Oscar, Oscar, Oscar ...

Just when you think you might actually shatter into pieces from the intensity he’s wringing out of you, strong hands are abruptly hauling you up and off the desk in one smooth motion.

You cling to him with heavy limbs, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he staggers the few steps to your shared bedroom. At some point his shirt has vanished, allowing your hands free rein to roam over flexing muscle and heated skin.

When the backs of his legs hit the edge of the mattress, he pauses to claim your mouth in another searing, shattering kiss. He whispers something fervent and intense against your lips, your name perhaps intertwined with endearments or promises.

You can’t be sure. All you know is the shape of his name against your tongue, the only word your mind seems capable of holding onto as he lowers you reverently to the sheets and stretches out over you.

When he finally sinks into you with a harsh groan of relief, your back bows and you let out a broken, high keen — his name once more torn from your lips in breathless ecstasy.

“There you are, that’s it love,” he growls hoarsely as he begins to move, words interspersed between drugging, thorough thrusts. “Let me hear you, let me hear my name on those pretty lips.”

So you do, shamelessly loud and incoherent now as he gradually unravels you from the inside out. His name and gasped pleas and frantic praise all blur together in a continuous stream of blissful delirium.

At some point, his own control seems to splinter apart, hips snapping hard and deep as his pace turns utterly unrestrained. Still, you chase that shattering edge, crying out for Oscar as your whole world narrows to the merciless intensity of his driving thrusts and demanding hands kneading your flesh with staking ownership.

When you finally go soaring over that dizzying peak with his name torn hoarse from your throat, he follows you over almost violently with a ragged shout. Oscar’s arms shake dangerously as he holds his weight off of you, pupils swallowing up the copper of his eyes entirely in onyx pools of spent lust.

As you slowly float back down from that searing high, limbs heavy and sated, you reach up to trace the sharp line of his cheekbone. He turns his face into your palm with a shuddering exhale as if grounding himself.

For several long breaths, all that can be heard is your shaky inhales mingling together while your racing heartbeats gradually return to normal.

Finally, Oscar presses a warm, lingering kiss to the center of your palm before shifting to stretch out beside you, his weight dipping the mattress.

You immediately curl into the reassuring heat of him, despite the sweat still cooling along your skin. One of his arms bands around your waist, holding you flush against his side while his other hand comes up to card soothingly through your hair.

Nestling your face into the curve where his shoulder meets his neck, you press a gentle kiss to the hollow of his throat and whisper, “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” he murmurs back, low and slightly scratchy in the aftermath. You can hear the smile in his voice as his fingers keep carding idly through your hair.

Silence falls again, comfortable and peaceful in the aftermath of your frantic passion, both of you simply basking in the warmth of shared nearness.

Eventually though, the question you’ve been avoiding asking slips out in a hazy murmur. “What brought all … that … on, Oscar?”

He’s quiet for so long, you begin to wonder if he fell asleep. Just when you’re about to shift to look at him though, he speaks up.

“When your fans assumed I was your ex … the way they were celebrating that the two of you got back together ...” His fingers stroke almost absentmindedly through your hair as he pauses. “I dunno, something in me just .. .snapped a little. Seeing them say over and over how perfect he was for you ...”

He trails off with a low chuckle, and you can’t resist craning your neck to glance up at him curiously. When your eyes meet his, his expression is rueful.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of any other name on your lips, love. Even your own.” His fingertips trace the line of your jaw with unbearable tenderness. “All I wanted was for you to say my name like that — like it’s the only word that matters in the entire world.”

Just like that, a fresh ember of want rekindles low in your belly at the slightly awed honesty in his voice. You exhale a shaky breath, searching his stormy gaze for … what? Evidence of how crazily affected you are by such a simple revelation?

Whatever he finds reflected in your stare seems to give him pause as well because his eyes almost immediately darken with renewed hunger.

“Say it again then,” he husks, rolling until he’s leaned over you, hands planted on either side of your head. There’s no demand in the words, just low, thrumming need thrilling between you both.

So you reach up to cup his face in your palms, rubbing your thumbs over the sandpapery stubble along his strong jawline as you gaze adoringly up at him.

“Oscar ...” you breathe out his name like a sacred invocation. “My Oscar.”

His eyes slip shut and he makes a low, ragged sound of pure satisfaction on an exhale that ghosts across your lips.

“Yeah,” he rasps, bending lower until his forehead rests against yours. “That’s it, love … that’s all I ever want to hear.”

You pull him back down to you then, unable and unwilling to resist sealing the promise of those words against his lips with your own.

And as everything inevitably dissolves into heat and need and formless ecstasy once more, you lose yourself to the endless chant of his name on your lips — your entire world whittled down to just that one exalted word, over and over and over.

Because really, what other name could ever matter when Oscar Piastri is the only name you’ll ever need?

[notiddygxthgf]

2/2

★ pairings: choso kamo x f!reader

★ synopsis: Yuuji Itadori truly was the best friend a girl like you could ask for, but he wasn't the only reason you came to visit. (His older brother, the devilishly handsome Choso Kamo, had always been the apple of your eye).

★ c.w.: slow burn, friends to lovers, eventual smut, childhood sweethearts, kinda, mutual pining, choso with a tongue piercing, rough sex, cunnilingus, backshots, unprotected sex, regular people au, two year age gap, PWP.

★ a/n: part two! its all smut lol. anyway, like I said, this one shot is finished (just split btw two chaps bc theres 11k words). but if u comment and persuade me who knows! I can always do another. im a whore for ur validation.

★ w.c.; 5k

best friend's brother ; chapter index

YUUJI COOCHIE &lt;3

|  come over tn?

|  i got smth i wanna run by u first

YOU

|  omw.

You stood on Itadori’s porch, finger poised over the doorbell a month after your eighteenth birthday. You had been anticipating to see your best friend, Itadori. But as the door swings open, what you don’t expect is to come face to face with Itadori’s older brother.

Your heart drops, and your breath catches in your throat as you take in his appearance. It felt for a moment as if time had stood still since you last saw him. He had only grown more handsome during your time apart. His dark hair was done back into two messy buns, deep bags residing beneath his deep eyes. 

Choso looked absolutely breathtaking . His fitted black tee clung to his chest and arms, showing off his toned physique, while the baggy black sweats he was sporting gave him an effortlessly cool appearance.

His presence exudes a magnetic charm that takes you back to when you were 17. His half smirk sends a wonton shiver down your spine.

“Hey there,” He says, deep, rich voice sending ripples of familiarity throughout your body.

When his lips pull away from his teeth, forming syllables and words, you couldn’t help but notice a small glint of metal near the tip of his tongue. You realized immediately what had seemed so different about him, and your eyes widened in surprise.

“You pierced your tongue?” You blurt out, unable to hide your shock.

Choso nearly snorts, though his eyes never leave yours. “You’re not surprised to see me?” He teases.

“I am,” You retort quickly, trying to regain your composure. “You’re home for the holidays?”

He nods, gaze still fixed on your red face. “Just came home last night.”

That would explain why I didn’t see you, you thought.

“I’m glad you came, though, I’ve been holding onto your birthday gift for a while now,” He sighed, stepping aside to let you into the house but keeping his arm braced on the doorframe. 

You slide under his muscular arm, doing your best to ignore the way your body bristled with electricity when you brushed up against him.

You set your bag on the ground near the door, kicking off your shoes and neatly pushing them aside while Choso locked the door behind you. 

“It’s in my room,” he said, passing you.

You followed him nervously up the stairs into his bedroom, heart pounding a little louder with every step. This would be the first time you would find yourself alone in Choso’s room, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander.

As you enter his bedroom, you drank in your surroundings – a rare sight. The room was a reflection of Choso’s personality; band tees all over the walls, sheets laid flat and clean, laundry sitting in a basket in a neat, folded pile – a subtle hint of organized chaos.

It felt both familiar and new at the same time. The air was thick with anticipation, and memories of your whirlwind summer fling with Choso came flooding back.

You brace your hands on the door. “Is Itadori home?” You ask him, hands tracing the doorframe while Choso rummaged through his drawer. You sat on his bed.

“Nah,” he replied casually.

Furrowing your brows, you tried to make sense of the situation. But told me to come over…

“Is he coming?” You tried again, voice tinged with uncertainty.

Choso rose up from the bedside drawer, extending a small box towards you with a slight grin. “Nope,” he said.

The realization hit you like a freight train. This was a fucking setup, and Itadori was the mastermind behind it all.

He wanted you alone with his brother. He knew about your fling with him. 

He didn’t notice when the two of you had disappeared to the pantry for ten minutes. 

Though the moment you returned to see him glancing at you with a curious brow raised, you knew he had finally caught on. Even if he didn’t say anything about it.

He knew.

He had set you up.

Your face was on fire. Still, you took the small box from Choso, an awkward smile on your face, and carefully undid the little bow. As you opened it, you revealed its contents – a tee shirt with Choso’s University crest on it, a glace pendant on a fabric necklace, and a box set of your favorite film saga.

Choso had never given you a gift for your birthday before, at least not anything beyond a card. Briefly, you wondered if it was his way of making up for your 18th birthday party, the one he had missed.

“Choso…” You began, a humorous grin on your lips. “Merch?”

He shrugged playfully, his gaze locked onto yours. “In case you miss me,” he replied, tone teasing yet sincere.

With a genuine smile, you leaned over and hugged him. “I love it,” you had told him.

Choso reached into the box for the necklace, gesturing for you to come closer. You leaned in, allowing him to loop the fabric over your head. His fingers brushed against your skin, your neck as he adjusted it.

He froze. You froze.

For a while, the room was quiet. There was an intense stare-off between you two. Choso cleared his throat, seemingly about to break the moment, but you had other plans. Gently, you gripped his chin between your index finger and your thumb, turning his head back to you. 

Gently, you tugged his lower lip down. He stuck his tongue out to wet the corner of his lips in return.

Your breath hitched as your gazes locked, and the air in the room shifted. Choso’s dark eyes shifted beneath your gaze, and you found yourself drawn closer to him.

You swallowed. “How bad did it hurt?” You asked, eyes fixed on the sliver of metal you had caught a glimpse of inside of his mouth.

Choso raised a finger towards his mouth, bringing your attention back to his tongue. “This?” He asked. “Hurt like a bitch, not gonna lie, but it healed up real nice.”

Wordlessly, he stuck his tongue out so you could see it up close. You examined it carefully – it really had healed up rather nicely. There was a small, silver ball wedged into the pink muscle. You wondered how it would feel on your lips, your neck, your body .

Choso closed his mouth. “I got it the first weekend after move-in day,” He explained.

“Why?” You inquired, curiosity finally getting the better of you.

He shrugged with a smirk, “Thought it would look hot. What do you think?”

“I think it looks like a pain in the ass,” You retorted. “Don’t any of the girls you kiss complain about that thing?”

“Quite the contrary,” he remarked, licking his lips. “Why’d you ask?”

You tried to ignore the jealousy that bubbled up inside of you, deep inside of you at the thought of him kissing other girls. You had to remind yourself who you were talking to here. You would have been naive to expect loyalty from a college freshman.

“Looks cold,” you commented instead. “I don’t imagine that would feel very good.”

And his eyes, those dark, beautiful cesspools of emotion, dropped down to your lips, lingering for a moment too long before returning to meet your gaze. “You wanna find out?” He asked.

“Piss off,” You scoffed, hitting him playfully on the shoulder. But the blush on your cheeks betrayed the effect his words had on you. “Fuckin’ tease.”

He didn’t move back. No, instead, he leaned in a little closer. “You sure?” He whispered, warm breath grazing the shell of your ear. “I can show you how good it feels, if you want.”

And that’s how you wound up here, with his face buried between your legs. He kissed his way up and down the skin of your thighs. You made quick work of his twin buns, tugging the ties out of his hair.

His lips curled into a knowing smirk. He lifted one of your legs onto his broad shoulder, running his tongue along the length of your inner thigh, pressing a kiss right where your ass met your legs. The metal ball on his tongue felt odd against your skin, but not necessarily unpleasurable.

You had never gone this far with him before. You were turned on beyond comprehension, hungry eyes drinking in the rosey hue that dusted his pale complexion while he sucked on your skin – hard enough for it to hurt, hard enough to leave a mark. 

Tenderly, Choso reached for your panties. He appeared to be on the precipice of a decision. 

“Can I…” He panted, trailing his thumb over the thin piece of fabric that separated the two of you. “Can I take these off?”

You nodded quickly, lifting your hips up for him while he guided the panties off of your legs. 

He licked his lips and parted your legs a second time, fully exposing you to his ravenous gaze. 

“You look like heaven,” He breathed out, voice trembling. He took a moment to admire you, smiling at the way you tried to hide your face. “Wanna taste…”

You had never done this before. The one man you had ever dared to hook up with hadn’t bothered. So you swallowed the lump in your throat, watching him get down on all fours and dip his head down between your legs like a man with his head bowed in worship. 

Though you were far from holy, in that moment, you felt like you were God.

His tongue was hot and wet against your skin, licking a stripe from bottom to top. The metal ball of his tongue piercing caught on your puffy clit, eliciting a quiet gasp. 

“Feel good, baby?” He teased, relishing in the way your thighs tensed around his head. His eyes flitted between you and your pussy – spread open for him like a buffet – pupils blown wide with desire. His pink lips parted around his tongue a second time, and this time you watched him.

Watched him press the metal ball against your clit, rolling over it in slow, steady circles.

You felt like you could die here. 

He adjusted his grip on your hips, pulling you down on the bed until you felt his nose pressing in between your folds. He kissed your heat, moaning into you.  Then, without so much as a warning, he began to eat you out like a starved man.

“Fuck, Cho–” You cried out for him, reaching down to tangle your fingers into his inky black tresses. You had never felt so good in your life, like he had been waiting for this as long as you had. You were sensitive, far too sensitive to comprehend the way your body felt, the way his tongue piercing felt as it glided over your hot flesh.

He didn’t slow down. He licked, slurped, and kissed your swollen clit, keeping that unforgiving pace up until your hips began to jump against his tongue.

“Shit,” You hissed,

He moaned into you in response, meeting your gaze with an intense fire burning behind his eyes. His tongue massaged you up to what you know would be the hardest orgasm of your life – that damn piece of metal made for one hell of a stimulant. It felt like it was pressing right up into your pressure points, deeper than his tongue was able to reach.

You felt yourself come apart at the seams, reduced to a moaning mess in a matter of minutes, riding his tongue like your life depended on it. He stopped moving for a moment, letting you grip him by the hair and ride his face. 

You couldn’t look away.

He looked amazing, fire burning behind his eyes, fingertips biting into the skin of your thighs, brows furrowed with concentration. His eyes never left yours, not even once.

You dropped your head onto the pillow, sitting back and allowing him to resume what he had been doing earlier – that thing with his tongue. 

And resume it he did, assuming a more demanding pace this time. It almost made you want to cry – the pace, the ball on his tongue – it was almost too much to bear. It felt so good.

You felt that familiar coil in your abdomen, almost like you were about to cum, then in a moment’s width he had pulled away. 

You struggled to regain your surroundings, vision cloudy and hazy with pleasure. You could hear your rampant heartbeat racing in your own ears. 

Choso leaned back with a stretch, cracking his neck and licking his lips. The entirebottom half of his face was drenched, dripping with an obscene mixture of your slick and his spit. 

He looked gorgeous, even when his face was tinted red. 

“Choso…” You breathed, letting a breathless chuckle slip between your parted lips.

He grinned back at you. “Any complaints?”

You didn’t glorify him with a response, gripping him by the fabric of his shirt and tugging him up and over you. You searched for his lips, locking them between yours in a messy, heated kiss. The taste of you lingered on his tongue, tangy and a little sweet.

“Shut up and fuck me, Kamo,” You panted with a grin of your own.

That was all he needed to push you onto your back, diving back in to ravage your lips again. It was all a rushed, passionate haze – he tugged your tee shirt over your head, you shoved your skirt down to your ankles and kicked it off the side of the bed. He leaned back with a stretch to reach for the back of his shirt, tugging it over his head and flinging it to the side. 

Your mouth nearly watered for him. He was everything you had dreamed of and so much more. Well defined arms, pecs, abs – a few tattoos littered the broad expanse of his chest. His torso tapered down into a thin, slutty waist. You let your hand slide down his abdomen, eliciting a quiet groan from him as your painted fingernails caught on his toned abs, ghosted over the large tent in his sweats that left nothing to the imagination. 

He was big. Bigger than you had anticipated. The last man you were with was about 3 inches (which was probably for the better, because it had been your first time). He felt about three times as big as that. Maybe more.

It didn’t take long for him to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your ass flush against his navel. He reached for a handful of your hair, jerking your head to the side, then uttered against your ear, “G’nna fuck that attitude right out’ta you.”

He left you for a moment while he undid the strings of his sweatpants. You couldn’t watch. You knew if you saw it, you would have doubts. 

But you found yourself looking back anyway, right as he had told you. “Wanna reach into that drawer and grab me a condom?”

“Are you um…” You swallowed. “You don’t have any diseases, do you?”

You knew you were clean because you were so disgusted by the man you had hooked up with before Choso that you’d taken yourself to the planned parenthood in town the day after to be tested. Even if you had used a condom.

Choso’s brow quirked up at that. “No, I don’t have any STDs. I get tested twice a year.”

Oh. Okay.

Again, you didn’t want to think about how many women had taken his dick before you. 

“Never gone raw before, though,” He mused quietly, hand rubbing mindless circles over the skin of your ass. 

“Really?” You asked.

“Is that a surprise?” He retorted, though he didn’t seem very hurt by your comment. “Can’t babytrap me.”

You thought about definitely didn’t think about Choso being a father. 

“Is there any way for you to, like…” You hummed, trailing off. Your inexperience had never been more disgustingly apparent. “Pull out?”

“You’re talking like this is your first time,” he laughed breathily.

You paused. His eyes widened.

“Is… this your first time?” He asked again.

“I had sex with this one guy from my class a while ago,” You said after an awkward silence. “He was small and, like, really bad at it.”

Choso seemed humored by your honest admission, though it came at the expense of your own embarrassment. “Why’d you go through with it, then?”

“I only did it to get back at you,” You turned your head back to the pillowcase below you. With a pout, you admitted, “Thought for some reason that by me having sex, I was proving something. I was younger and stupider, okay?”

“So… you’ve only had sex once?” He asked. You didn’t realize this was an interrogation. 

You nodded embarrasedly. Somehow this was more humiliating than being spread open for him like you were right now.

“You sure you want this?” He hummed, roaching forward to tuck your hair behind your ear. It was strangely intimate. When you nodded, he sighed. “We’ll go slow, then. I don’t wanna hurt you–”

“Don’t treat me like I’m fragile,” You cut him off, finally turning back to look at him. “I can take it, okay? Just answer the damn question.”

Choso leaned down over you, pinning you into the bed, kissing down your spine. “We can… do backshots,” he murmured against your skin. “Want that?”

“Mhm,” You sighed, easing into his touch.

You had waited far too long for this for something like a condom to get in between the two of you. You wanted to feel him. All of him. 

Choso rolled back, slipping his tip between your fold and swiping it through your slick. You watched him, watched the way he bit his lip at the sensation, eyes glued onto the place where you met him . 

He pursed his lips, letting spit fall from his lips. You watched it dribble down, landing right onto your twitching hole. 

That was so fucking hot .

Then, without a word of warning, he pushed the tip in. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, feeling the burn, the stretch of his girth inside of you. He paused for a moment when the tip was the only thing inside of you, brows drawn together, breaths shallow.

It took everything you had not to cry out in pain. You had been waiting your whole life for this.

But, shit, it hurt. He was big. You felt your body struggle to accommodate him.

Maybe some prep should have been in order…

Oh well, gotta see it through.

As if sensing your internal dilemma, Choso reached down, intertwining his fingers with yours. He placed a soft kiss to the back of your neck. 

“You okay?” He asked you.

No . Yes.

“Yeah,” You bit out. “Just… I ‘jus need a minute.”

“Just tell me when,” he pressed another kiss to your hot skin. “You’re doing so good.”

It took you a few more minutes to adjust to him. Every minute, he would slip in a little further, just enough to make your skin hot and flushed. You could feel him throbbing inside of you, throbbing against your spongy walls.

Eventually, you gave him the green light. And, fuck, it was like something inside of him had snapped. He slid the rest of the way in until his hips were flush with your ass. He drew out, slowly, then thrust back in again.

It felt like he was pulling you apart over and over again, snapping his hips against yours in a progressively harder fashion. 

Choso whimpered quitedly, pausing his harsh movements to change pace. You clenched around him in response, something that made him double over. “Ah, fuck,” He gasped. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

He drew back, thrusting into you once more. You felt your whole body jolt forward with a loud moan of your own.

With wild, passionate eyes, Choso pulled out again, leaving just enough room for the tip. Then, he slammed back into you. Again, again, again – he was relishing in the way you cried into the pillow.

“Fuck, fuck,” You chanted, like some sort of sinful prayer. “ Fuck me, Cho– ”

“Might not last long if you keep callin’ my name like that,” He gasped, tangling a large hand into your messy tresses and gripping it tightly. 

You drew your brows together, allowing yourself to be lost in the pleasure, the attention he was giving you. What would Itadori think, you wondered, if he walked in on you like this – face down ass up in his big brother’s bed?

“Choso ,” You groaned into the pillow. It felt like he was scratching an itch deep inside of you – not your coochie, but your soul. It felt like you were made for this. “ Choso, Fuck. ”

Itadori slipped into his house with a quiet sigh. He kicked his shoes off, set his bag down on the floor, and then reached for his scarf. It had been one long, hellish day. He felt bad making you wait for him, but he didn’t doubt that you would have made yourself right at home in his bedroom by now. You were probably sprawled out over his bed, passed out or playing with his PS5.

He froze when he heard something come from upstairs. It sounded like furniture being moved around, or something like that. There were voices, too.

With knitted brows, he walked hesitantly towards the stairs. Was it coming from up there?

“Fuck, Choso,” He heard a vaguely familiar – albeit very muffled voice – moan. 

It was you. You and another muffled voice.

“Choso, Choso!” 

“Right there?”

“Fuck– yes! Don’t stop!”

He quirked a brow. Then, with a sigh and a dejected shake of his head, he hid away in the kitchen.

“Please!” You gasped, you fumbled around behind you in search of his hand. He grabbed it, pinning your arm behind your back and thrusting into your sore pussy from a new angle – one that made you feel dizzy. You didn’t know how long the two of you had been going at it. All you knew was that you never wanted it to end, that your mind was a blissful haze.

Your body slid up against the bedsheets – up and down, up and down, clenched fingers leaving wrinkles in their wake. 

“Fuck me harder,” You pled.

And fuck you harder he sure did. His chest rolled against your backside, pinning you into the mattress and holding you right where he wanted you. Then he fucked you a little harder.

You were all but screaming his name at that point. “Choso–” 

The head of his cock was bullying into you, beating against that spot deep within you that made your feet fly up, rubbing the back of his thighs as if to tell him ‘ keep going’.You gripped the sheets with unwarranted strength, feeling yourself drip and clench around him – hearing the obscene squelch you made when the two of you met in the middle. 

“ Fu-u-uck ,” You cried, voice high and weak.

“Quit suckin’ me in like that,” He chuckled, though it was cut short by a deep, guttural groan as you did it again. “ Shit , you want kids or somethin’?”

There was a knot in your stomach. A vaguely familiar warmth that seemed to only grow hotter by the second.

“ So perfect, so wet ,” Choso commended you, licking the shell of your ear, peppering butterfly kisses to the back of your neck. Your name fell out of his pretty lips between a cacophony of sinful noises.

You felt yourself get lost in him, craning your head around to take another look at him. His angelic face, scrunched up with pleasure, mouth hanging open just slightly, pale face dusted with pink. Inky black hair plastered to his forehead and neck with sweat. The muscles in his chest and torso rippled.

“I’ve wanted you…” You gasped, trying your best to articulate despite the stimulation he was giving you – it was almost too much. “Since I was young – fuck .”

His hips stuttered. He pulled your hair away from your neck, kissing the junction where your jaw met your neck. 

He gripped your hair to crane your head back, slowing his thrusts to long, deep strokes that had you trembling. 

“The feeling was mutual,” Choso grunted, trying to keep himself together.

You felt your eyes roll almost all the way back into your fucking head, mouth hanging open, drooling shamelessly on his pillow, his sheets.

You were close. So close.

Those deep, lust-filled eyes of him weren’t doing anything to slow the train that was coming. Each thrust, each slide of his cockhead against your g-spot brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“You feel even better than I imagined,” He growled, and you nearly came right then and there. 

He moved his hands so that your hips were up in the air for him, bringing his other arm around your neck to pin you there. When he picked up pace this time, you felt yourself drip – like, actually drip – all over him.

I wanna have his kids .

Your moans and pleas matched the pace of his sloppy thrusts. He was getting close, too. You could hear it. No, seriously, noises like that should have been criminal.

The feeling of being filled by him was driving you up the wall – almost as hard as he was currently driving you into the mattress. You never wanted it to end. 

But, shit, it was about to.

“Choso,” You whimpered. He didn’t slow down. “Think ‘m g’nna cum.”

“Yeah?” he gritted out, breath fanning over your neck and your cheek. He reached a hand down, releasing your neck to rub slow circles on your puffy clit – a speed that felt foreign compared to the harsh strokes he was giving you, but not entirely unwelcome.

That was all it took to have you hurling towards the edge, ass jumping up and down to meet his thrust in the middle, to take as much of him in as you possibly could.

“Yeah, shit,” He gasped. He was trying to hold on for you, but you were making it realhard. “G’nna cum for me, baby? Lemme fuckin’ hear it.”

You were all but throwing it back on him, mindlessly chasing your release like a bitch in heat. The moment you got the green light, your orgasm snapped. You cried out his name one final time, arching your back all the way into the sheets, spasming wildly around him. The shock tore through you in waves.

Your hips jolted with hypersensitivity while he fucked you through it.

Choso’s hips stuttered. He twitched, like he couldn’t take another minute of this, then he remarked, “That was so fuckin’ hot, holy shit – fuck, wait–”

He slid out of you rapidly, leaving you to gasp at the sudden loss of him. The next thing you know, he was stroking himself to completion. He came with a broken whimper of your name, spurting ropes of warm cum all over your back.

You took a moment to catch your breath. He did the same. A few moments, actually.

The silence that followed was deafening. He groaned, running a shaky hand through his hair. You collapsed into the bed.

He had left the bedside at one point, though only for a moment before he returned with a warm wash rag. He cleaned his love paint off of your spine.

Then, tossing the rag into his hamper, he collapsed next to you.

You chuckled breathlessly, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him with all of the strength you had left in you (not much). “Shit…” 

“Shit,” he agreed, licking his lips. “You were great.”

“You were better,” You said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk home tonight, though.”

Choso shrugged. He reached down, pulling the covers over the two of you. “Sleep here, then.”

Sleep here.

You recalled many nights of him walking girls to the door. Choso never let girls stay the night.

He wants me to spend the night with hiim.

You laughed, reveling in the irony of it all. Years and years of pining led you here, to this. “What would Itadori think?”

Choso threw an arm over your waist, pulling you closer to his side. “Fuck what Itadori thinks.”

Your world went black a moment later.

Your eyes fluttered open as you lay in the aftermath of a steamy evening with the man of your dreams. Choso, your best friend’s brother. The one you had fucked.

His lips were pressed into the slightest pout. You watched him snore, taking note of how peaceful he looked while he slept, taking note of the way his tousled black hair fell into his pretty face.

With a contented sigh, you reached for a shirt that lay nearby – his shirt. The one he had taken off yesterday. You slipped out from beneath the covers, padding quietly out of Choso’s bedroom. Your feet were quiet against the wooden steps.

As you entered the living room space, you contemplated sneaking into the kitchen in search of some much-needed sustenance. It had to have been later in the afternoon at that point – you assumed that you and Choso had been sleeping for a few hours, at least. Your stomach grumbled in agreement.

Just as you were about to step into the familiar kitchen, however, you froze. There, sitting at the table, munching on a Kit Kat bar like it was no one’s business, was her best friend. 

Itadori.

“Hey…” You said rather awkwardly, heart racing. “You’re… you’re home.”

Itadori quirked a brow, looking you up and down curiously. His eyes noticeably lingered on your neck, right were you had a sneaking suspicion Choso had marked you with his lips and teeth. 

“Hey,” He finally said. “You two finally done up there?”

“You heard that. Of course you did,” You sighed, dropping your stiff arms and plopping into the stool next to him at the kitchen island. You faceplanted into the cold surface, groaning, “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know my brother’s good in bed,” Itadori took another bite. He placed a heart over his chest, feigning an exaggerated cry of, “ Choso– oh, Choso, don’t stop, I’m cu–”

“He told me you weren’t coming home,” You groaned, even louder this time. You were glad that Itadori couldn’t see the nasty shade of red that had painted your features.

“He lied,” Your best friend chuckled, crumpling the wrapper of his Kit Kat bar and tossing it in the trash bin. He stood off, dusting his hands on his pants, reaching for his phone. Then, like nothing had happened, he said,  “I’m ordering Chinese. You want?”

You raised your head at that, taking a slow glance at the room around the two of you. “I could go for some beef and broccoli…”

You loved the bond you had with Yuuji. Unbreakable, truly. Sometimes a little toocomfortable. This was, undoubtedly, one of those times.

Itadori dialed a few numbers into his phone. He paused, raising his brow again, “I think you’ve had enough meat tonight, don’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” You sighed, though you laughed a bit at his joke. 

Images of Choso flashed through your mind. The image of him spitting on the tip before slipping it in. The image of him tangling a fist in your hair, craning your head back to look at him while he pounded you into the mattress.

With a faint smirk of your own, you remarked. “You’re probably right. I should save room for all of the meat I’m gonna be eatin’ tonight after you go to bed.”

“Please shut up,” Itadori sighed, running the palms of his hands over his exasperated face. With a shake of his head, he held the phone up to his ear. “I really don’t want to think about my brother putting his dick in you. Not while dinner is also in the question.”

You shrugged. Your phone buzzed. Turning it over, you read the new message you had received.

CHOSO    just now

Whered u go beautiful

Your phone chimed a second time.

CHOSO    just now

Steamed dumplings n fried rice plz

You turned the screen over with a grin, telling Itadori. “Your brother wants steamed dumplings and fried rice.”

“I’d say fuck my brother, but tonight’s game night and I don’t want you taking that literally,” Itadori sighed. Still, he unmuted himself, telling the woman on the other side of the phone, “Another order of fried rice and dumplings, too, please.”

Yuuji Itadori really was the best friend a girl like you could ask for.

a/n: hi there my little steamed dumplins <33 lmk what u thought!!! I love reading ur comments and dms. again, this is a one shot, but I would totally drop another part if yall would like -- gotta show papa choso some love. comment and lmk what u think pookiesss

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @missphanosaur18 ,

wanna join the ' choso kamo ' taglist?| bfb; chapter index

[jamminvroomvroom]

Hey girlll I love your blog so so so much! Congrats on the 4k bc you absolutely deserve it🫶🏼

I just had a little angsty request for Charles lando or Oscar (you can pick any you’re feeling more atm, I eat up anything ab my boys)

I saw this prompt maybe you could use - - "I can be there when you need me!" "But I did, and you weren't."

late night talking.

op x fem norris!reader

in which lando’s little sister has been sneaking around with his teammate, but it’s starting to have its challenges…

hiiiii thank u sm anon! love this request love you MWAH! so appreciative of this request and all of the others and that y’all trust me to bring your ideas to life!! i hope this hits the way you wanted it to! let me know what you think, big love 🤍

songs to set the mood: late night talking by harry styles, i love you by billie eilish, over my head by james marriott, if these walls could talk by 5sos

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst, fluff, a bit of hurt/comfort, secret relationship, brothers teammate trope (r is lando’s sister), fingering, morning sex, angsty needy sex, lando being an embarrassing little shit

4.1k words

sex and talking. sex and talking. sex and talking.

that’s what you do, oscar and you.

you watch him all weekend, eyes trailing his lean frame, the way his body moves under papaya fabric. then, when your brother finally leaves you alone, you sneak into oscar’s arms, room, bed, whatever’s closest.

you have your way with one another, nothing untouched, unexplored, and then you talk and talk until your lips hurt from stretched out grins and a satisfying ache sets into your spent limbs. you sneak out when the sun comes up the next day and join lando for breakfast in whatever hotel you’re in that weekend.

rinse, repeat.

you can remember the first time you saw him in real life, way back in early 2023, clear as day. you were in bahrain with your brother for testing, the sun in your eyes, and there he was. awkward, stocky, hands buried deep in his mclaren administered slacks. he was littered with moles, mousey brown hair catching the rays of light, chocolate eyes conveying cool confidence that didn’t at all match up with his uncomfortable stance. you could kiss over those moles like a game of dot to dot, tug on his strands that looked like smooth chocolate frosting, sink into his brown irises until you drowned.

lando had caught you staring, sending his elbow into your ribs, and when you turned to glare at him, cuss him out, you saw a look of warning. his eyes said: don’t you fucking dare.

and you didn’t dare, not for a while at least.

-

“o-osc.” you whine, panting through the waves of eye-watering pleasure.

he’s got you laid out across his massage table, two fingers scissoring into your sodden cunt as his thumb bumps your clit in messy circles.

it’s rare that you sneak away so brazenly like this during a race weekend.

“you gotta be quiet.” oscar shushes you, eyes flitting between your own watery pair and his fingers where they’re working you open.

“trying.” you breathe, slapping your own hand over your mouth when your belly tightens one last time. one wrong move and the entirety of the hospitality suite will know. lando will know. perhaps all of china will know. that’s how good he fucking feels.

you sob into your palm, bucking your hips wildly as you fall apart, spilling all around his relentless fingers. he fucks you through it, grinning coyly as your muffled cries subside.

“c’mere.” oscar lulls, pulling you back towards him. he kisses you deeply, smiling against your lips.

“i should go.” you mumble, pushing his hair back and raking your fingers through his hair.

oscar nods apathetically, reserved all of the sudden. you frown, stealing another quick kiss. you stumble to your feet fixing your underwear and your skirt, and grab your bag from the small sofa.

“we need to be more careful.” his words make your blood run cold.

“more careful?”

you sneak in and out of hotel rooms under the cover of night, you have his name disguised in your phone, you never speak to him in public.

“this was risky.” oscar shrugs. he looks antsy, his entire demeanour changing in a matter of minutes, the ecstasy of watching you writhe all for him worn off.

“this- i- you’re the one who dragged me in here, piastri.” you accuse. ‘piastri’ is reserved for when you’re pissed off, a cagey step back from the affection ‘osc’ that you usually called him. “whatever, i’ve got to go.”

“i’ll see you later?” he poses it as a question, uncertain that you’ll show. he has never been uncertain before, not with you, not with a lot of things. bile rises in your throat, and you scoff.

you can’t reply. the door slams behind you.

-

“where’ve you been?” lando ruffles your hair, a single eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“got bored with watching you look at data so i went for a walk.” you reply nonchalantly, pushing his hand away.

he hums in response, nodding slowly. it’s like he doesn’t quite believe you but he quickly moves on.

“you coming out with us after the race tomorrow?” lando asks.

“depends on who ‘us’ is.” you reply curtly. you don’t wanna look at oscar’s stupid, handsome face for a second longer than you have to. a familiar sadness sinks into your bones.

“couple of the drivers, alex, carlos, oh and oscar might even be swayed.” you grit your teeth, suddenly frustrated. “anyway, since when do you have beef with drivers? little miss sunshine fallen out with someone?” lando sounds confused, accusatory.

you stay silent, walking into the back of the garage, praying someone will come and steal your brother away.

“hey, you gonna tell me what the problem i-?”

“lando, we need you to look at this.” your brother gets cut off by a frantic engineer, your prayers answered, and is quickly lost to the chaos of the garage.

a pair of warm eyes burn into the side of your head. you turn to see oscar watching you, his eyebrows furrowed as if he’s studying you. he’s fidgeting, playing with his fingers, something strange for the man as cool as a cucumber. you look away as quickly as you can, managing to tear your eyes away from him, a lump forming in your throat which you swallow down.

it’s painful, really. sex and talking, it’s not enough, never has been for even a second. oscar piastri, australian f1 driver, number 81, quickly became your oscar, somewhat against your will.

-

somewhere in hungary, about 8 months ago

“are we really doing this, piastri?” you giggle, throwing your head back as his lips work your neck.

“need you.” he groans into your skin, low and needy. you’ve never heard him sound so disheveled, so desperate, a far cry from his usual, monotonous self.

“want you, osc.” you pant when his lips find your sweet spot, the feeling of him so delicious on your body.

“have me.” he whispers, falling into bed with you in his lap.

you lay there basking in stunned silence afterwards, a layer of sweat coating your knackered body. your shoulder is pressed flush with oscar’s, not an inch of space between you while you both stare at the ceiling, sporting matching lazy grins.

“i can’t believe we did that.” oscar mutters, a layer of disbelief in his voice.

“i think we should do it again.” you tease, except you are deadly serious.

“agreed.” he breathes.

“this stays between us, right?” you whisper, shyly.

“always.”

-

always makes your skin crawl now. you’re sick of having him in the dark, of having to avoid him in public for fear of turning into a lovesick fool. it’s embarrassing, really, unrequited love.

you can barely follow qualifying, staring blankly at the empty space in the garage where oscar’s car resides. you manage to catch the radio message through the headset you have on, the one where oscar’s muttering about a stupid mistake that’s just knocked him out. he’s limping back to the pits, licking his wounds.

you feel a pang in your chest, sympathetic and disappointed for him. you wonder what his mistake was, where his mind was. you’ll wait for the right moment, swallow the ache in your heart and your pride, and you’ll comfort him. he gets led away by frustrated engineers immediately, studying lines of data with furrowed eyebrows. you watch from afar, but then your heart sinks to your feet when four words sound through your headphones.

“lando, are you okay?”

will sounds stressed, repeating the four words that make your world stop spinning on its axis. everyone in the garage is staring at the tv screen, breaths held, stomachs tight.

your brothers car sits in tatters, carbon fibre littering the track. you can see the fluorescents of his helmet burrowed in the cockpit, still. your mouth hangs open, one hand clutching your chest, the other covering your quivering lips. you’re numb.

that feeling returns, the one of eyes burning into your weathered features. your wide eyes flit to the australian boy watching you from across the garage, and you beg silently for him to just come to you, pull you close, tell you that lando is okay and that he loves you back.

and lando is okay, his winded voice reassuring you over the radio.

but you stand there alone.

just like always.

-

somewhere in brazil, about 5 months ago

“what’s your favourite colour?” oscar mumbles lazily, lips bumping your cheekbone.

you’re curled up on his lap watching the sunset from his balcony. he was well behind lando after qualifying, and he’d craved a moment alone with you all day.

the air was thick, humid, the hot orange sun sinking far off in the horizon. you turn to face him, his features illuminated by the hazy glow. the sunlight makes his chocolate eyes sparkle warmly, so pretty.

“brown.” you whisper, scanning his face.

he laughs lowly, his chest rumbling.

“brown?” he questions teasingly.

“yep.” you grin, pecking his lips softly.

“why?”

“go look at those pretty eyes of yours in the mirror.” you retort smoothly, threading your fingers through his shower-damp strands.

“you flirting with me?”

“you bet i am.”

you twist back around, facing the view once more, moulding into his body. he kisses over your shoulder, resting his chin. you stay there content until the sun is gone and the stars twinkle.

-

the air in the room is thick, awkwardly silent.

he stands leaning against the desk, opposite where you sit on your bed. the lights are low in your hotel room, the imprint of your body still fresh against the mattress. you’d been crying when he knocked, eyes rimmed red, skin flushed raw.

“you just stood there.” you croak.

“love, i-“

“don’t call me that. please.”

hurt flashes across his features, but like he knows it’s not fair of him to complain, he buries it immediately.

“i just… will you hear me out?” oscar pleads quietly.

you nod feebly.

“it’s impossible. this, us. i wanted to go to you but i- i couldn’t, i didn’t know how that would look and i didn’t want to jeopardise this.”

“but you did.” you whisper. his face shatters, falling fast.

“no, no, i can be there when you need me-“

“but you weren’t!” you cry, your body physically sinking, your shoulders drooping.

“i can fix this, i will.”

“i think we need to stop this, osc. it’s too painful for me. i’ve tried to move past the hurt but after today…” your voice shakes and you crumble, the first tear falling.

“i’m not trying to hurt you.” he crosses the space between you in two rushed steps, collapsing to his knees before you.

“that’s not good enough.” you bite back. “i’m not going to be some guys dirty little secret. i won’t do it anymore oscar.”

“i was trying to protect you… this.” he gestures between you desperately

“i know, oscar. i know! but i never asked you to do that. i can’t love you in a hotel room for the rest of my life.” the words slip from your tongue, abrasive and messy, before your brain can catch up.

you grimace, biting your tongue, but oscar’s reaction couldn’t be further from your own. his watery eyes widen, pink lips pulling into a boyish grin.

“i don’t want to love you in a hotel room for the rest of my life either.” oscar whispers, tentatively taking your hands. you stare down at your slowly intertwining fingers, a familiar warmth oozing through your body. “i wanna love you everywhere.”

“show me.” you murmur through shaky breath.

“i will.” he leans in, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “for as long as you let me, i will.”

“just come here.” your fingers find the hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him into a kiss, one born of frustration, and longing, and a year of late night talking about everything except how much you love each other.

oscar pushes you back onto the bed, crawling over you, starving. you pull him flush against you, leaving no room between your bodies. you crave the feel of his entire weight pressing you into the mattress and as he does, you feel at home. when you pull apart, catching your breaths, he says it properly, for the first time, and the world gets lighter.

“i love you.” oscar cups your jaw, those chocolate eyes boring into yours, the intensity of it knocking you for six. “always.” he adds.

the meaning of the word changes. always doesn’t mean a shameful, taboo secret anymore. life is breathed into the six lettered word; always means you and him, together, finally out of the shadows.

“i love you, osc.” you whisper.

he’s smiling when he kisses you again, unbuttoning your blouse like he’ll die if he doesn’t get the offending item off of your frame. you retaliate by shoving his t-shirt up his back, tugging greedily at it to strip him bare. the material comes off easily and as he sits up to throw it away, you shrug off your blouse and it meets his shirt on the floor. his hands smooth over your curves, brushing the pudge of your belly as he finds the zip of your skirt, ruining the fasten in his state of haste. you barely notice the way he’s ruined the item of clothing, urgently unbuttoning his jeans. your underwear is gone too, nothing separating you but your bra, restless hands on heated skin.

“we need to be quiet.” you breathe. “lando’s next door.” oscar giggles, tinged pink.

“get on top, love.” he drawls, flipping onto his back and taking you with him.

he sits up with you in his lap, nothing anchoring either of you in the middle of the bed. the imprint of your devastated form is gone, replaced by the shape of him. you can feel the head of his cock nudging through your folds, slicking him up so that he can slide nice and deep. he trails his fingers between your legs, thumbing at your clit in deft circles, just the way he knows you like it. you’re mewling in his lap, grinding down on the pad of his thumb; it’s so good but it’s not enough.

“please, osc.” you pant, urging him to let you sink down on his cock. you can see how red it is, feel the way it throbs for you, and the need to be full of him is almost paralysing.

“come on, pretty girl. fill yourself up.” oscar mutters against the shell of your ear.

he kisses down your throat as you slide down on him, dropping your hips firm against his.

“fuck.” you cry, your forehead falling against his shoulder.

“you okay, sweetheart? feel so good for me.” oscar coos, his fingertips digging hard into your hips.

“so good, baby.” your head rolls back, feeling him hit that spot tucked away within your walls.

your breaths mingle, your breasts flush against his chest, and as if he realises that he never stripped you of your pesky bra, he grunts, unclasping the black lace and flinging it somewhere far away. he gently mumbles an awestruck “fuck”, as if he hasn’t seen your tits a million and one times before, and latches onto your nipple. his tongue works in slow circles, matching the pace of your hips working languidly on his cock, and you keen further into his body.

“prettiest girl for me.” oscar grits out, his eyes squeezing shut when you clamp down on him, hard.

you’re both trying so hard to be quiet, overwhelmed by touch and taste, love. you’re growing tired, hurtling towards a desperate release, and oscar can sense it, the feel of your quivering thighs tightening around his hips spurring him on. he grinds up into you, maintaining your pace, but he’s fucking you harder now, the anticipation of your release sending shivers down his spine.

“you gonna cum for me?” oscar grunts, holding your hips down against him. you can’t move, his hold too tight and your body too tired, all you can do is wait for your orgasm to hit like a ton of bricks. you nod frantically.

“yes, oscar, please baby.” you beg for it, and like the true gentleman he is, the calloused pad of his pointer finger finds its home on your clit, sending you into an upwards spiral.

it’s as if you’re levitating when you let go, in a dreamlike state, your teeth sinking hard into his pale shoulder to muffle a surefire whine of his name. he’s rutting into you, prolonging the bliss.

“cum inside of me.” you urge, voice barely above a whisper. well, you’ve certainly never done this before.

oscar’s eyes roll into the back of his head, tears pricking his lash line. a guttural gasp of your name spills from his lips when he lets go, painting your insides warm and white. you stare at the tiny indents your teeth had left on his thick shoulder, his breath hitting the crook of your neck warm and wet as he comes down.

“‘m yours, and i’m here. i’m always gonna be here, i promise.” oscar speaks so quietly that you wonder if you’ve imagined it.

-

“when i made that mistake today, i was thinking about you.”

you’ve been laying there in silence for a while now, tucked under his arm when he speaks. you turn to look at him, perplexed.

“what?”

“i felt so awful about what i said after we, you know. you looked so upset with me, and i don’t blame you.” oscar sighs.

“i just don’t want to feel like a shameful secret, osc.” you tell him quietly, the words heavy on your tongue.

“you won’t, not anymore. ‘m so sorry, sweetheart.” he lulls, kissing over your hairline.

“how do we make this work? and how are we ever gonna explain this to-“

“lando.” oscar cuts you off, shifting uncomfortable. “he’s going to murder me and my entire bloodline.” he chuckles nervously.

“he won’t murder you. he might put you in a gravel trap, though.” you roll onto your side, smiling teasingly up at him and he rolls his eyes.

“i’ll take the heat. you’re worth it.”

-

“promise me.” you pant, his hips grinding into you. you’re curled into his chest, still spooning and barely awake. he’d woken up needy, and you were even needier, the faint glow of early morning sunshine washing over you through a crack in the beige curtains.

“anything.” oscar stutters, his breath warm against the back of your neck. his nose bumps your skin, teeth scraping the shell of your ear.

you stop meeting his thrusts. he whines low, wordlessly pleading for you to resume. he ruts his hips against your ass, chasing friction.

“tell me it’s all gonna be different now.”

“i already told you, i-“ oscar grunts.

“promise me.” you purposely clamp down on him, a hiss sounding from between his gritted teeth.

“promise, i promise, i love you.”

you giggle, rocking your hips again, fucking yourself onto him once more.

“i know.”

“you gonna let me off the hook?” oscar pants in your ear, tugging on your earlobe with his teeth.

“still gotta prove yourself, piastri.” you moan.

he feels deeper like this and he knows it, revelling in the way he’s filled you up so perfectly. he rolls into you slowly, sliding against each and every spot that makes you squirm. you drop your guard, going limp in his arms to let him finish you off.

“you nearly there, sweetheart? you gonna cum for me, love?” his accents thickens in the mornings, husky and intoxicating. you fall apart, then, and he stays buried inside of you, the only sounds in the room your matching heavy breathing.

“i need you to get dressed.” oscar kisses your cheek.

“kicking me out already?” you feign offence, looking at him over your shoulder.

his fingers come to cup your chin, his forehead resting against yours.

“there’s something we gotta do.”

-

you’re wearing your skirt from the day before, the waistband rolled over to make up for the oscar-destroyed zipper. his hoodie that you’ve stolen almost completely covers the short skirt, and your messy hair and poorly removed makeup don’t do much to convince anyone that you’d actually slept in your own room last night.

still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you don’t really comprehend where oscar is leading you, but when the elevator dings, signalling that you’ve reached the restaurant floor, you’re suddenly painfully awake. time seems to move in slow motion, your tummy twisting as you realise what’s about to happen.

ahead of you, tucked into the corner of the restaurant is your brother, jon, and ashley. lando is already draped in team kit, the papaya of his hoodie blaring obnoxiously for once, a warning sign.

“oscar, what-“

“i’m doing this.” he affirms, speeding up his stride.

oh my god oh my god oh my fucking god.

your heart speeds up, dropping to the pit in your belly when lando notices you, eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched, eyes taking in the bewildering sight before him. his baby sister, disheveled and wide-eyed, and his teammate holding her hand, on a mission.

“what the fuck am i looking at?” lando doesn’t sound angry, per say, more perplexed than anything. there is an edge to his voice that you don’t particularly like, but he hasn’t started swinging yet, you suppose.

“i’m in love with your sister. like, for real. you deserve to know that.” oscar says confidently, somewhat monotonously.

lando opens his mouth, closes it. opens it again, closes it. he repeats the process a few more times, going through the motions of an emotional rollercoaster.

but then, he sighs deeply, a grin of disbelief stretching across his face. jon bangs on the table excitedly, and ash is shaking his head.

“you owe us so much money.” jon laughs, his head tipping back.

“pay up, boss.” ash sticks his hand out expectantly, smirking across the table.

“what… what?” you exclaim, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“i didn’t wanna believe them.” lando shrugs.

“don’t blame you.” oscar chimes in, and you stare between the two mclaren drivers in bewilderment.

“are you okay with this?” you question, staring your brother in the eyes, still a bit disoriented by the entire situation. his face softens, a genuine smile lingering small on his lips.

“if you’re happy, i’ll make my peace with it.” lando’s eyes flit between you and oscar.

all of the sudden, a look of horror crosses his face, and his voice turns stern.

“but,” he inhales shakily. “if i ever, ever, hear again what i think i heard last night,” he glares at oscar, pointing one firm finger at the australian, who stands up a bit straighter. “you’re dead, piastri.”

jon and ash bite back giggles at the empty threat, and you take it upon yourself to put an end to the situation before it gets any more awkward.

“well, on that note!” you sing-song, dragging oscar away.

“and make sure you’re using protection!” lando calls out, panic stricken, big brother mode activated.

“oh my god.” you blush dark pink, speeding up, the elevator in your sights.

“that went well.” oscar quips sarcastically. he looks rather happy with himself.

you kiss him as soon as the metal doors shut.

-

you do go out after the race, but for once it’s not to drink away the memories of a weekend in oscar’s arms. this time, it’s to celebrate the fact that you can love him out loud, and he’ll do the same right back.

you’re dancing in his arms, bright lights in shades of blues and purples streaming over your bodies. oscar holds you close, keeps you wrapped in his arms, despite the shock on the faces of others at the sight of lando norris’s baby sister publicly besotted with his teammate.

when oscar kisses you deep, smiling against your lips that taste like cherry liquor, you know that this last year of your life wasn’t in vain.

you and oscar, you’re built to last.

-

“how did you not see it, mate?” charles beams, crinkles by his eyes from the wide smile he’s sporting. he’s clearly drunk, but lando is too.

it appears he’s clocked the brits sister and her australian suitor on the dance floor.

the monagasque has rocked up to the bar with alex and pierre in tow, the three of them slapping lando on the back as they arrive.

“i guess there were signs.” lando shrugs, dragging his finger over the rim of the crystal glass.

“signs? mate it was obvious.” pierre chuckles, pushing lando’s shoulder.

“wait, you all knew?” lando splutters.

yeah. duh. come on, man.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“it’s funnier.” charles… winks? it’s hard to tell with him.

lando finds you in the crowd, grinning up at oscar like he hung the stars in the sky. the younger mclaren driver returns your look, and it sparks warmth in lando’s chest.

you’re gonna be okay.

-

hehe

-

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