#sequel no one asked for

[thankstothe]

justhouseythings part 2

[possessingtheproperspirit]

How about "smile" for the WIP game

<333 from heart of glass, aka a fic I'm not sure I'll ever finish...

There was a moment, a flash of something that crossed the man’s face on seeing him, and Edgar worked hard to school his own expression into a smile, something relaxed, easy. Friendly. “You’ve been roped into this too, eh?”

[zepskies]

OMG I KEED A PART 2 TO SAM HAVING A CRUSH ON DEANS GF

Like idk maybe say Sam didn't listen to Dean and tried making a move on reader? Like ofc he wouldn't ever do that *I don't think* but in this hypothetical scenerio it happens

Hey hun!

Oooof, that's hard. You guys really like this angsty love triangle stuff, huh? 😂 I genuinely think Sam would rather saw off his own hand than hurt Dean that way. But this is like, the only thing I could think of on this one. 😅

See this imagine for context: You are Dean's one exception.

Pairing: Dean W. x Reader, one-sided Sam W. x Reader Word Count: 1,100

Imagine: Sam crosses the line.

Goddamn witches.

That's the last coherent thought Sam has, before his mind is no longer completely his to control.

Well, it's still his mind. His body. But the careful door in his mind and in his heart, reinforced with steel and chained shut with titanium, combo-coded, locked and loaded, now has broken hinges.

Thoughts he hasn't allowed himself to think for months are pried open, with a sick kind of enjoyment in pain.

You're his brother's girl. Sam can't help but love you. He wants you. And now, he might be able to have you.

The witch is dead, but the spell she just hit Sam with remains. He's not dead, so that's a plus.

"Are you okay?" you ask him, slightly breathless. You're the closest to where he's sprawled on the ground, so you go to him. You touch his arm, and he can't help but clamp down on your hand. He looks at you with the thinly veiled eyes of a hunter as he smiles. Because your concern reaches the deepest parts of him.

"I'm fine," he says.

But Dean reads the hunger in his brother's eyes. He's subtle in the way he grasps your shoulder and Sam's (noticeably tighter).

"But what happened? How do you feel?" you ask, trying to take stock of what you're all dealing with here.

"I uh...feel fine, actually," Sam says. He rolls his shoulders. His gaze focuses on you. Dean holds him back from getting off the ground.

"Get the book. See if there's a way to fix this," Dean tells you without taking his eyes off Sam.

Sam tilts his head at Dean, the beginning of an angry frown on his lip as you rush away to find the witch's spell book.

"What's the matter, Dean?" Sam asks. He doesn't bother to lower his voice. (He literally doesn't have a filter anymore.) "Afraid of what might happen when she actually has the chance to choose?"

Dean's lips purse as his eyes darken. "This isn't you. And when you wake up from this, you're either gonna hate yourself for even thinkin' what you're thinkin', or you're gonna have one hell of a headache."

Sam stares back incredulously. He scoffs. "What're you gonna do, kill me?" They both know that's not happening.

But that's also when Dean knocks him the hell out.

When Sam wakes, it's to you stuffing tissues in his bloody nose. He groans a bit. He looks at you and still wants. But when he looks down at himself, he's in the bunker, handcuffed to the war room table.

You look worried for him as you go back to your side of the table with the book. Dean is oddly nowhere in sight. Sam thought he'd be watching you (and Sam) like a hawk.

"Dean'll be back in a sec. He's trying to get ahold of Rowena," you supply. "But how're you feeling? What's the spell doing to you exactly?"

Sam rolls the kinks out of his neck and removes the tissues, even though his entire face radiates with pain. His brother once promised to break his nose, and he did just that.

"Basically? I think it took away my inhibitions," he replies. More like threw them in a blender and put his deepest, headiest desires into overdrive.

You frown. "Like a really bad bender, or a truth serum kind of thing? But why would he punch you out for that?"

Your gears are turning rapidly, weighing out all the options. You always were smart. Sam leans forward slowly. Noting your thread of wariness, his face softens. He doesn't want to scare you...

He sighs. "Listen...there's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while now."

He reaches out a hand. You're looking at him in frozen surprise. His curled fingers brush your cheek. He leans in toward your face.

But you flinch and pull away.

"What the hell are you doing?" you ask.

Sam should've known, but it still hurts him. His jaw clenches. The spell takes away his self-preservation, however.

Just as he might've tried with words to finally confess the depths of his heart, the door creaks open.

The sound of Dean's heavy boots approaching makes him flinch. But Sam looks over with an unrepentant stare.

Dean glances at Rowena, nostrils flaring. "Fix him." He gestures at Sam before he joins you on your side of the table, resting a protective hand on your back.

Rowena shoots him a droll look. "Only because you asked so nicely."

"I don't need fixing!" Sam argues, glaring at Dean. His voice echoes on the bunker's walls. "You're just afraid of what happens if she knows the truth!"

Your eyes widen further. You look from Sam, to your boyfriend. Dean's jaw is clenched tight.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?!" you ask in earnest. Dean meets your gaze for a moment, his face tense. His reluctant eyes communicate to you things you never knew. Things that clog emotion in your throat. Dean turns back to Sam.

"Don't do this, Sammy. It don't end well for you," Dean says.

"Like hell," Sam retorts.

"Okay, sleep now, dear," Rowena says. And with a wave of her hand and a haze of violet, Sam's world once again blackens.

When he next wakes, he's in his own bed. Not restrained. He indeed has a massive headache, and it's hard to breathe through his still broken nose. He groans and turns, and his brother is there.

When the overwhelming guilt sets in, Sam knows he's himself again, with all the careful walls around his heart put back in place. Rowena must've broken the spell when he was unconscious. Dean can see the truth in Sam's eyes.

"There he is," Dean remarks dryly. "Our giant Jekyll and Hyde."

Sam inhales deeply. "Dean..." I'm sorry doesn't quite cut it.

"She knows," Dean says, after a moment. "Obviously."

Sam nods, swallowing past a lump in his throat. He hesitates to ask the next burning question, because part of him knows the answer.

"It doesn't change anything."

Sam's head turns at the sound of your voice. You stand in the doorway, with your arms crossed despite the disheartened look on your face. Your eyes meet his, steady and sad, but firm.

"I know," Sam says, with a small, self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry...for all this."

"It's not your fault," you reply. Spell or no spell, the way he feels is not his fault.

You step into the bedroom and go to Sam's bedside, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder. That hand smoothes up his neck, and your fingers briefly thread into his hair. Another silent conversation passes between you and Dean, the way only lovers that close can accomplish.

After a beat, Dean nods and gets up out of his chair. He thumbs at your cheek; it's both an answer to your unspoken request and an endearment. Then he pats Sam's shoulder before he leaves you and Sam alone in the room.

Trust. That's what that is. Dean trusts you, and now that the spell has worn off, he trusts Sam again.

Sam meets your gaze. As awful as he feels, he still loves you. He knows you know by the way your gaze meets his.

All he wants to do is touch you.

To apologize, and to touch you.

He hates himself.

You shake your head. "I love you, Sam. As my friend. My brother."

"I know," he nods. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," you reply. "You just have to respect that."

"'Course, I do," Sam nods again. You would've never known, if not for the damn spell.

You surprise him by taking his hand. Yours is soft and warm and kind.

Always kind...

But never truly his to hold.

AN: GAH! The Angst. You could bottle it. 😩

Want to know what that conversation was like between Dean and the reader after she "found out?"

Read It Here: You and Dean talk about Sam's feelings.

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[theferrarieffect]

pastry's girl (papaya problems - part 2)

masterlist

continuation of papaya problems (part 1).

Lando x reader, Oscar x reader (4.3k words)

summary: dating lando is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. until it is. oscar’s there to pick up the pieces.

warnings: cheating (not by reader), just the teensiest bit of smut (lol finally did it, nothing too explicit), angst, mild violence, colorful language, evil lando (i promise i love him irl)

pastry’s girl

There is, mercifully, a two-week break between Monaco and Canada. Several times, George invited the entire gaming squad over to his place (probably to show off how nice it was—and sometimes his cooking skills, which Oscar had to admit lived up to the hype). One night, they played a heated round of Call of Duty which resulted in a drunken Alex locking Lando inside of a massive pantry…and Lando drinking a fifty-year-old bottle of Cabernet in the wine cooler within. George had kicked Lando out for the night, rolling his eyes as he called his driver and asked him to please remove this miscreant from my residence. The rest of them fell asleep in various empty rooms around his massive house.

Oscar rubbed his eyes the next morning as he made his way to the kitchen, following the scent of pancakes that George was undoubtedly conjuring up.

“Well, don’t you look pretty today,” he heard George say.

“Thanks!” she chirped.

Oscar stopped dead in his tracks.

Wow. Her hair had been freed from its normal messy bun; soft, shiny waves cascaded down her back. She was wearing—not a dress, exactly, but a dusty blue top with scalloped sleeves and a neckline that plunged so deeply he felt a little like hyperventilating, flowing seamlessly into shorts that had the same lacy hem.

Oscar decided in that moment that dusty blue was his favorite color.

She turned to face him, and he saw her eyes, fringed with coal black lashes, widen. Her pink, glossy lips parted in a smile. As devastating as ever.

Oscar swallowed hard. “You look—” he forbade himself from glancing at her long, tanned legs, or that illegal neckline, “—really nice. What’s the occasion?”

“I have a date later,” she announced proudly.

“Oh,” he squeaked.

George’s eyes burned a hole in the back of Oscar’s neck.

“Lucky bloke,” Alex jumped in, casually raising a mug to his lips.

“More like,” George said, “who’s the lucky bloke?”

She blushed. Oscar stared at the ground. “Lando.”

Alex choked, spraying coffee everywhere. “Lando? Like, our Lando? McLaren Lando?” he spluttered.

“What are you gonna say next, McLaren Racing, thirteen-time podium holder, British Formula One driver Lando Norris?” George mocked, making all of them laugh.

“That is so weird,” Alex complained. Then he noticed the hurt look on her face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” he quickly backpedaled. “Just more that Lando would never just ask someone out. He’s more of the type to just drunkenly hit on a girl in a bar, you know?”

“It’s okay,” she said with a shrug. “You’re right, he doesn’t seem like the most…romantic type.”

“Well,” George said, “I say good for you. You’re killing it.” He flipped the last of the pancakes on top of a neat stack, slid the plate smoothly towards Oscar, and patted her on the head as he left the kitchen. Alex trotted after him, the filthy traitor, leaving Oscar alone with her.

Last season, Oscar had been engaged in a rather physical match of football against Logan, Alex, and Lando, when Logan had kicked the ball way too aggressively, and it had shot out and hit Oscar right below his ribcage. Naturally, it had knocked the wind out of him, and a few of his ribs were bruised for ages.

He felt a lot like that right now.

Her eyes roamed his face. “You okay?” she asked uncertainly.

No. I’m really not okay. Even though I knew this was coming.

“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’m excited for you.”

She twirled a piece of hair around her pointer finger. Anxiously, Oscar thought. He watched her thin gold ring with a tiny jeweled flower set into it, flashing as she spun her finger around and around. “You know what Alex said?” she asked, frowning a little. “Do…do you think it’s true?”

Oscar sighed. Part of him wanted to tell her, Yes, it’s true. That’s just how Lando Norris operates. He doesn’t know how to commit, he’s always just looking for a good time, and he could think you’re hot even if you have absolutely nothing in common. But he knew he’d be a pretty shitty person if he said that, a terrible friend to the only person he truly had in McLaren—his own teammate. And as much as he hated to admit it, part of it would be out of selfishness.

So he tried to keep his face as impassive as possible as he responded, “What I can tell you is that Lando does really like you. And he knows you better than any girl he’d just meet in a bar.” He took a deep breath. “And if he means it in the slightest, he better treat you like it.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, Oscar.”

~

You had suggested to Lando something chill, something low-key, for your first date, but he would have none of it. He takes you to dinner, a fancy French bistro where you definitely used the wrong fork at least a few times. He compliments your outfit, tells you that you look gorgeous and sexy and how-could-he-be-so-lucky. Then he takes you in his Spider—it’s custom, he says with a grin—to Jimmy’z, a luxurious nightclub illuminated by neon circles in the ceiling, moving strobes encircling a massive disco ball smack in the center. He brings you whatever drink you ask for, twirls you around on the dance floor, even whispers to the DJ to request your favorite song. He doesn’t get drunk, not in the way you were scared he might.

At the end of the night, he kisses you, tasting faintly of Jack Daniels, and you think his lips feel a little sloppy, but nice. You watch him drive away in the Spider, wondering if Oscar ever did finish watching Killing Eve, wrapped up in his blanket like a burrito.

~

Juggling being both a pit crew member and a driver’s girlfriend is...interesting, to say the least. You beg Lando to keep it quiet, at least for a little, and he agrees reluctantly. Alex and George are a tougher sell, requiring several thinly veiled threats and a few pointed glares during close calls. You know inside, for some reason, that Oscar would never gossip about you two.

Lando does tell Andrea, the team principal, who you know absolutely dotes on Lando like a son. Like the golden boy of McLaren that he is. Andrea looks surprised when he meets you, tells you he’s glad Lando finally has what appears to be a “smart, levelheaded girlfriend.”

Lando takes you to more fancy dinners, more bars, clubs where he occasionally DJs. Once, he takes you golfing, laughs at how inept your swing is, guides your arms with his. You ask Lando if he’s seen Killing Eve; he’s never heard of it. He’s not the biggest TV guy, prefers to spend his time streaming on his Twitch. The dates are fun, you suppose, but some nights end in you quite literally dragging yourself into bed, totally spent after an entire evening trying to match Lando’s energy. You know Lando’s face wears a look of disappointment on those nights.

You still game with Alex, George, Lando, and Oscar, and things are…well, mostly normal. Alex and George bicker like they always used to; if anything, they gleefully snatch any opportunity to poke fun at the two of you, liberally making kissy faces and rude noises. You don’t mind that. Lando is touchy as hell, perpetually leaning against you or putting his head in your lap or kissing you on the cheek. You don’t mind that too much, either.

But Oscar is different. Oscar is not normal. He stops laughing at Lando’s jokes, stops laughing at George and Alex taunting you two. And eventually, something you dreaded the most: Oscar stops coming to game altogether.

On the third night in a row without any sign of him, you wait until Lando makes a mad dash for the bathroom before confronting George and Alex about Oscar’s absence.

Alex looks uncharacteristically grim. “I mean, what did you expect?” he asks. “He doesn’t want to see you two making eyes at each other over Rocket League.”

“He's not blaming you,” George cuts in quickly.

“I blame Lando Norris,” mutters Alex under his breath.

“Tell him to come back,” you plead. “If we’re being annoying and couple-y, we can—we will—stop.”

Alex smirks. “Tell that to Norris. You’re not the one being annoying and couple-y.”

“Listen,” George says, suddenly serious. “I know we were giving you a hard time about Oscar earlier this season, and to be totally fair, he’s not exactly the most forthcoming guy about his feelings. But it felt pretty obvious to us that he was into you, and Norris just snatched you up out of nowhere.”

Alex nods in agreement. “Oscar never talks about girls. Or at least never talked about them, until you came around. Norris on the other hand…I mean, by now I’m sure you know his reputation. So can you really blame us for feeling bad for the guy?”

Your heart sinks. It can’t be. You open your mouth to protest, but Lando comes barging back into the room right then, and plants a big kiss on your forehead as Alex makes gagging noises in the background.

~

There was no winning. Not for Oscar. He could sit there and watch Lando manhandle her on a weekly basis, or he could spend Tuesday nights wondering about what stupid joke of Alex’s she was laughing at, what new show she was raving about that Oscar would promptly Google (and sometimes binge) over the following race weekend. To the great credit of George and Alex, they still made the time to game with him, separate from the happy couple.

So when he crashed out at Silverstone on Lap 45, having taken a hit to his rear left from Esteban, even he was surprised at the string of swearwords that he spit into the team radio. (He was pretty sure that fucking-10-second-penalty-for-fucking-Ocon was among them.) The silence from his engineers told him that they were just as shocked by the normally mild-mannered driver. Oscar instantly regretted it; angry radios were a one-way ticket to Memeville. He didn’t know how Yuki and Max cursed with such abandon.

Lando finished P3, narrowly snatching a podium over a soulless Charles Leclerc, whose team robbed him of a crucial pit stop. Oscar watched him shake Lando’s hand, eyes devoid of any emotion, and privately felt a bitter kinship with the tortured Monégasque.

She had sprinted over to his car as soon as he had driven it into the pit lane, fretted over whether he was okay. Helped him out of the car. As the drivers milled around the paddock after the race, she slipped a bar of Cadbury Dairy Milk—his favorite—into his hand, and asked him to tell Lando that she had a bad headache and that she’d try to get to the hotel. Oscar nodded silently, handing her the keys to his driver’s room so she could at least take a nap in the meantime, watched her eyes light up in gratitude.

He begrudgingly relayed the information to Lando, who didn’t seem to register a word of what Oscar said as he raised his trophy victoriously, greeting his adoring British fans.

“Did you hear me?” Oscar growled. “She’ll be in my driver’s room. I told her you’d come see her as soon as you could.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lando waved him away.

George and Alex walked over after the race and clapped Oscar on the back in sympathy; they’d both had their fair share of crashes on Silverstone. Sensing that Oscar was in no mood to celebrate, the three of them decided just to go get dinner post-race instead. They followed George down to the Mercedes motorhome to grab a set of keys when, almost simultaneously, the three of them all noticed a flash of papaya among the black-and-teal-clad Mercedes crew.

Oscar froze. The papaya was Lando. And he was pressing up against some Mercedes girl, her smiling, him caressing her teal collar. Oscar knew George and Alex were both gaping next to him. He turned away in disgust as Lando leaned down to press his lips onto the girl’s.

So he had been listening, after all.

~

“Oscar, wait,” Alex’s voice floated behind him as he stalked out of the Mercedes motorhome and towards his own.

“I’m not going to dinner,” he snapped.

“I know, mate,” said Alex sympathetically. “This whole thing is such shit, and Norris is a little bastard.”

George caught up. “Someone’s got to tell her, don’t you think?”

A wave of nausea hit Oscar. He could already picture the look on her face, see the disbelief and betrayal and heartbreak.

“Let me do it,” Alex said gently. “If she wants to shoot the messenger, way better me than you.”

Oscar swallowed. “She’s in my driver’s room,” he told Alex. “She probably will want to go back to the hotel, though, if you don’t mind—”

“Yeah, mate,” said Alex definitively. “I’ll take her where she wants to go. And I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Thanks, man.” He closed his eyes, rubbed his throbbing temples. He felt Alex touch his shoulder briefly, then disappear. When he finally opened his eyes again, George was looking at him, face lined with concern.

“We should go on a walk,” he said quietly, and stood up.

Oscar numbly followed his lead.

“Or not,” George muttered, as Lando and his entourage of McLaren staff—including Andrea—sauntered into the motorhome.

Lando’s face wore a look of gleeful triumph as he made his way towards the two of them. But Oscar saw a flicker of something else—smugness. I always win, it seemed to say. And better yet—I can get away with anything.

And it was that tiny, tiny flicker that compelled Oscar to step forward, raise his right arm, and smoothly drive his fist straight into Lando’s nose in one fluid motion.

The entire room went silent.

“What the FUCK, man?!” Lando screeched. He covered his nose with his hands. Blood seeped out from between this fingers.

“You had no right,” Oscar snarled viciously.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Lando hissed back.

“We saw you kiss her, you piece of shit. In broad fucking daylight. In the fucking Mercedes motorhome, of all places.”

Oscar expected Lando’s face to crumple, whether in genuine or feigned shame, but not to glare defiantly back.

“Yeah, that’s rich, coming from you,” Lando snapped.

“What?”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t know she was obsessed with you,” he sneered. “You’re just as much of an asshole to her as I am.”

“I’m not,” Oscar said, stunned. What did Lando mean, obsessed? After that night—he winced at the memory—it looked like she was doing everything she could to avoid Oscar. And then, Lando told him that he wanted to ask her out. So he’d kept his distance. Didn’t Lando see that?

“Oscar and Lando,” Andrea said sternly. “I’ll be seeing you two in the office. Now.”

Oscar stared back at Lando unflinchingly.

“I did it for you,” he spat, before following Andrea to the back of the motorhome.

~

“MY drivers,” Andrea fumed. “MY FORMULA ONE drivers, punching each other out in MY motorhome! Would somebody care to explain what the hell happened out there?”

Both Lando and Oscar stared at the floor.

“Yeah, about that,” said George, somehow having invited himself into the meeting. “Sooooo….Lando here decided to suck face with one of the staff over at Mercedes while his girlfriend is dying of a headache back in the driver’s room.”

Andrea’s nostrils flared.

“Did I mention his girlfriend?” George added, clearly trying to get a point across.

Andrea stalked around his desk and leaned in, face close to Oscar’s. He’d never seen Andrea this mad before, and he had to admit, he was a tad afraid of what the principal might do to him.

He squinted. “Did you put your weight behind it?”

“Excuse me?” Oscar said, not sure if he heard correctly.

“Did you put your weight behind it, Piastri?” Andrea repeated impatiently.

“Uh, yes, sir.”

Andrea gave a singular heaving sigh, rubbing his hands together. “Well. Alright then.” And he gestured for the three of them to leave his office with a flourish.

~

In your hotel room, the only source of light comes from your laptop, which is playing The Art of Racing in the Rain. Despite it being a tearjerker of a movie, you always felt compelled to reach for it whenever your own life felt like it was crumbling into dust.

Denny is taking Enzo for a run in the rain when your phone lights up with a text.

Oscar Hey Alex told me he brought you back to the hotel Me yeah he did

Alex had been incredibly kind as he broke the news to you, wiping your tears with the sleeve of his undersuit, borrowing a Williams staff car to drive you back to your hotel instead of calling you an Uber, buying you a little pack of extremely overpriced hotel Advil for your headache. He asked you if you wanted to be with anyone. You briefly considered the people you knew on staff, the drivers, thought about whether any of them could make you feel…if not better, at least comfortable.

But really, there was only one answer.

Oscar Can I come in?

And for only the second time ever, you open your door to Oscar standing there. As soon as you see him, gazing at you with the most heartbreaking sadness in his eyes, you start to cry.

“Shhh,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. “Let’s sit down.”

You nod, sniffling, and Oscar eases the door closed behind him, joins you on the bed.

“Art of Racing,” he notes quietly. “It’s a good movie.”

You admit that it’s your go-to sad film. Oscar offers up an arm, and you slide in next to him, letting him wrap it around your shoulders.

“Thanks for coming.” Your voice is shaky.

Oscar gives you a light squeeze. “I’ll always come,” he whispers.

You sit there, side by side, watching Enzo’s golden ears flap in the wind of Denny’s racecar. Oscar orders food, and as you pull a slice of Hawaiian-without-the-pineapple from the box, watching the cheese stretch into thin strings, you wonder how things could have changed so much since the last time you ate pizza together. Before everything went so terribly, horribly wrong.

~

“Are you tired?” Oscar asks you a few hours later. Killing Eve is playing on the TV, even though you’ve both watched the whole show now. Just background noise. It's what you need. You’re lying on his arm, face nestled between his neck and chest. Not unlike the morning you woke up to him.

“I don’t know if I can sleep tonight,” you admit. “So feel free to go back if you want to go to bed.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Oscar says, gently but insistently. Warmth fills your body at his words, which gives way to longing. You want closer. You want him. You press yourself against his chest, angle your jaw upwards, closer to his lips…

And Oscar pulls away, his body suddenly rigid.

An icy chill pours into your stomach, supplanting the warmth that had filled your body just a moment earlier.

“It’s my fault,” mumbles Oscar, barely comprehensible.

What? “What are you talking about?” you eke out.

“George’s kitchen,” he says.

You shiver, feeling like you’re in a dark cave, and Oscar’s holding the sole flashlight between the two of you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Oscar.”

“In Monaco. I told you that Lando likes you. I told you that you should go out with Lando.”

Your heart twists. “Oscar,” you say fiercely, “you can’t blame yourself for that.”

He just shakes his head.

“It’s only Lando’s fault,” you insist. “And honestly…I shouldn’t have gone out with him in the first place. I didn’t feel it...for him.”

“Lando came up to me one day,” Oscar says slowly. “He asked me about you, about that night I slept over. He asked how I’d feel about him asking you out…”

The ice climbs up your arms, down to your fingers that are still touching Oscar’s jawline. You wrench them away, knowing what's coming.

“And you told him you’re okay with it,” you whisper dejectedly. You understand now.

You need to tell him.

“Oscar…all this time, you’ve been so sweet and kind and caring…” You furiously blink back the fresh tears gathering in the crevices of your eyes. “And since basically day one, I’ve just been letting myself read into it, letting myself think that you weren’t just being nice. I let myself think that you wanted me…because I wanted you.”

Oscar’s eyes widen. He looks almost fearful, you think.

“And when Lando asked me out, I said yes thinking that dating him…would help me get over you,” you continue. The tears have long since started streaming down your face; it’s all you can do to stop your voice from shaking. “To get over how badly I wanted you, but you never wanted me—”

You gasp as Oscar grabs you roughly by the waist, a stark contrast to the gentle arm around the shoulders earlier. He presses his body right up against yours, and what you feel on him—on his body—may well be lighting you on fire.

“Look at me,” he says. A shiver runs down your spine. “I said, look at me,” he repeats, more forcefully.

You obey, looking into his eyes, and are met with something so raw and ferocious, so unlike the Oscar that you've known, that you’re afraid you’re going to faint.

“Still think I don’t want you?” Oscar asks in a low voice.

A small choke escapes your throat. Wordlessly, you bring your hand back up to his jaw, tracing the bottom edge of his lips.

Oscar needs no more invitation. He seals the chasm between you.

His mouth explores yours, tentatively at first, then hungrily. Your lips part as a breath hitches in your throat, and Oscar uses the opportunity to slip his tongue in between them. His hand slides up your back from your waist, around your neck, then dances around your jaw. You play with that perfect, smooth wave of hair near his temples with one hand, feel the tension in the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his abs with the other. Playing with the hem of his white t-shirt.

As soon as he feels your fingers graze his stomach, Oscar breaks the kiss, looking at you imploringly with those beautiful brown eyes.

“If you’re okay with it,” you whisper.

Oscar answers by tugging the shirt over his head, letting it dangle from his fingers, landing with a soft thud on the floor. He leans in again, but his lips are now everywhere besides your lips—your neck, tracing your collarbone, moving up your jaw. An involuntary hiss escapes you as he takes your earlobe between them. The sound seems to energize Oscar, his own breathing growing ragged as he slips the silky straps of your top down your shoulders and kisses you dangerously low on your chest, thumbs brushing little circles on them, making you whimper.

“Tell me when you want me to stop,” he murmurs into the fabric.

You never want him to stop. You need all of him, need him like a wilting plant needs water, like a blazing fire needs oxygen.

You have no idea…

You shake your head, and all restraint is gone. Oscar makes up for all the ground he’d been holding back on, with his hands, with his lips.

…how long I’ve been waiting…

You pull off his shorts, sigh as he reciprocates. There’s not a stitch of clothing left in between your bodies.

…for you to be here.

One more pleading look, one more fervent nod, and Oscar, so tender even in the middle of an aching, desperate storm, finally closes the gap.

~

Freckles. Three of them. But there’s no t-shirt this time.

“Wake up, sleepy,” you whisper.

Oscar stirs. “You must have mistaken me for your pillow,” he says, smiling at you. Your stomach flutters.

“I hope you didn’t mind,” you tell him. He laughs, pulls you fully into a hug, kisses you gently on the top of your head.

“So, I got an interesting text from George yesterday…” you trail off.

“Uh oh,” Oscar says.

You show him your phone, where George had outlined the events that took place in the motorhome in great detail.

“I can’t believe you socked him,” you say, a little incredulously.

Oscar rolls his eyes. “I’m not proud of it, doesn't mean he didn't deserve it.”

Then he sees something on your screen, and grabs your phone. “Wait a sec.”

Me i asked alex to ask oscar to come to the hotel is that bad George Russell Nah. You’re Pastry’s girl. Always have been, always will be. 😏

“I didn’t come up with that nickname,” you protest, blushing. “In fact, I told George to stop calling me that ages ago.”

“Pastry’s girl,” Oscar muses. “Pastry’s girl…I gotta say, I like the sound of that.”

And the sound of his laughter as he scoops you into his arms is, really, as sweet as pastries.

notes:

just realized how real of homies george and alex are…like they also totally get involved with charles in jealousy jealousy 😭 i’m highkey procrastinating on the george x alex fic bc i will not settle for anything less than stellar w those two…

the scene where andrea starts to chew them out? fully stolen from grey’s anatomy, of all places 😂

10 second penalty for ocon

chuck leclerc is soulless fr

yuki and max raging on team radio

part 1 here! more fics here!

[extravagav]

Yk I never did truly recover from the sick fic chapter

[themistdragon]

Part 2, Electric Bugaloo

[pokemon-npcs]

good blog 👍

[mechanicalinfection]

"Queer."

[hehearse]

follow after

[justepilepsy]

Because of current frustration

Happy fuck spiderverse year.

The art direction is in part ableist.

You can enjoy the movie and still say that.

Note: it's ableist because it's using common animation and color choices KNOWN to cause seizures (and death) in audiences. This includes people who don't have epilepsy.

I will never not be bitter about this because the first movie message was about "anyone can wear the mask" when it clearly was excluding people by simply making it impossible to watch this film in a safe manner.

If you got a headache after watching that film. That's a photosensitive reaction and it means you're not immune to these effects. A movie you love should not give you a headache or dizziness or disorientation. It should not give an above average amount of people seizures.

And those effects causing these symptoms should not be hailed as the reason the film is good.

Spiderverse utilises other aspects of comic art to already stick out.

Rapid Glitch effects, large bright high contrast red and blue areas covering the screen, prolonged moving patterns, and flashing lights are not what make this film look good.

[art--harridan]

[Image one: The first page of a digital comic about TommyInnit. It begins with a panel of Wilbur’s hand placing a card on the table, and then one of Tommy with his head in his arms, drenched in blood. He asks "what're you up to now?", to which Wilbur replies "seven of hearts. it's a card game... obviously." After this, Tommy says "hilarious. how do you play?". This is followed by an image of Wilbur sitting at the table, blood leaking from his smiling mouth. He's holding a card in one hand, and resting his chin on the other. He casts a shadow on the table, which has "it's like a game of life:" written in it, followed by three hearts. Below the shadow, he explains "you start with 500 points and 7 cards and whatever cards you have at the end... well, you lose accordingly."

Image two: The second page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. Tommy lifts his head up and squints his eyes, asking "accordingly?? you sure you won't just make it up big dubs?". Underneath, there's a panel of Wilbur, grinning while he shrugs nonchalantly. He says "I'm a man of morals Tommy! And there's a precedent for these things:". Smoke billows behind this panel. Below this, Wilbur continues with "the 7 and ace of hearts subtract 150,", which is accompanied by two card-shaped panels depicting Dream and Tommy. They're both devoid of emotion. Next, Wilbur says "jacks take 50,", followed by the Cat disc and the Your Tubbo compass. Then, he says "8s and 2s deduct 25,", followed by a bloody diamond sword and a lit TNT stick. He continues "aces get 15,", which is next to a L'manberg flag, Tommy's red tie, and the tent from Logsteadshire. Finally, he says "the kings, queens and 10s take 10, and the leftovers are 5; nothing really (unless you're on death's door)." Above this, there's Mexican Dream's mask, Jack's melted glasses, and some of Ghostbur's blue.

Image three: The third page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. Tommy says "Great - now I know how to lose. How exactly do I win?". The first line is above a panel showing a bloody prison wall, while the second is above a panel of Tommy carrying a L'manberg flag past some pine trees. Drawn on top of this is Tommy, annoyed. Wilbur tells him "you get rid of your hand before anyone else." Near this is a panel of Wilbur dirty hand holding a lit TNT stick, an explosion behind the panel. Next, Tommy questions "how exactly?", his face falling flat while Wilbur explains. He says "there's a card in the middle, and you take turns adding one.". There's a single card next to this. Finally, he adds "you can only put down the same suit or number as the previous number".

Image four: The fourth page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. "Jacks change the suit." it begins, followed by "They can be the crux of your play, and ruin another's.". There's 4 card-shaped panels in the middle, positioned in a diagonal line. They each show Tommy in different stages of his life. The first shows him in Business Bay, his suit, tie, and sunglasses on. He's got a big grin and his arms stretched wide. Next, he's wearing his L'manberg uniform, with a slightly smaller smile. After is him in Pogtopia, smile turning to a grimace. Finally, there's him while living with Techno, mouth fully closed and barely a smile. He looks nervous. The panels are framed by two arrows. One is descending, a L'manberg coloured arrow that looks worse for wear. It has a green ribbon tied around it. The other one shares a colour palette with Dream, and has a bloody tip.

Image six: The sixth page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. The first sentence is "twos force the person after to pick up 2". Then, there's Wilbur’s hands with four cards between them, seemingly in the midst of dropping them to his bottom palm. The first card has an explosion flying out of it, background the colour of fire. Next, there's a card which has an obsidian/blackstone wall, a bloody diamond sword laying on top of it. The third card shows a bloody arrow floating in water, while the fourth is simply a rectangle of fire. Then, there's a panel of Tommy weeping hard at the bottom, with the sentence "you can stack them until some unlucky bastard picks up 8 cards" accompanying it.

Image eight: The eighth page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. "but why is it called seven of hearts?" Tommy asks, arms crossed. Wilbur puts a finger near his chin and replies "It's simple really... if someone plays the seven of hearts, the round stops.". Furthere down, there's a panel showing Tommy reaching towards Wilbur back. The next panel is similar, but it only shows a diamond sword in the place of Wilbur, and Tommy's hand is pulling back. These are accompanied by the sentences "there's no negotiation, no getting out of that one. it just stops.". Finally, there's two panels showing the pair's reactions. Tommy looks withdrawn while Wil is smiling, shrugging nonchalantly. "that's bullshit." Tommy says, while Wilbur retorts "that's how you win...". This is followed by a lit TNT stick, and Wilbur continuing "(or not).".

Image nine: The ninth page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. There's a split panel of them, Tommy bored and resting his chin on his fist, while Wil looks giddy, leaning to the side. Tommy questions "lovely - any more stupid rules I need to know?", with Wilbur responding "yeah, but they'll make more sense during play. I'll teach you them as we go.". Underneath this, he continues "c'mon then - let's play:". There's panel of Wilbur and Tommy both sitting at a long table in a dark void, cards set out. You can't see either of their faces. Further down, Wilbur turns over a card while saying "first you turn over the card in the middle". The final panel shows that this card is the seven of hearts.

Image ten: The final page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. There's a closeup of Wilbur’s mouth while he dejectedly tells Tommy "oh. game over.". Below this, there's a panel of a panicking Tommy who's just abruptly stood up from his seat, shoulders bunched up and expression shocked. "no, no, that doesn't make sense." he says. "that isn't fair! this isn't fair!" he continues, near two panels showing his death. One depicts Dream's bloody fist, while the other his bloody corpse. Next to this, he further continues "I didn't even get to play!". Finally, there's a long panel at the bottom. Tommy stands alone in the darkness of limbo, bright with blood and face expressionless. He repeats "I didnt even get to play...", and the comic ends.]

seven of hearts

[starryluminary]

[zepskies]

Omgosh I loveeee the imagines for Sam having a crush on deans gf!!! And the part 2 SO ANGSTY. And you write dean and readers interactions so well! (Feel free to ignore if you don't wanna do this) But I'm so curious to know how the conversation went between Dean and the reader after finding out! I just need to know how dean talks about the situation with them!! Anyway HAVE A GREAT DAY 🩷🩷

Hello my lovely anon!

I'm so glad you enjoyed those angsty little imagines. 😂 For those who don't know, they're referring to these:

You are Dean's one exception. (In which Sam is in love with Dean's girlfriend - and how Dean reacts.)

Sam crosses the line. (The sequel: Sam finally sees his chance with you after he's hit by a witch's spell.)

I tried to imply what followed between the reader and Dean after this section:

Your eyes widen further. You look from Sam, to your boyfriend. Dean's jaw is clenched tight.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?!" you ask in earnest.

Dean meets your gaze for a moment, his face tense. His reluctant eyes communicate to you things you never knew. Things that clog emotion in your throat.

But since you asked so nicely, this is my headcanon for that conversation between the reader and Dean (after Sam is knocked out by Rowena lol):

Of course, you would demand to know why Dean didn't tell you earlier.

Your heart and mind are a maelstrom of emotions: shock, not wanting to believe it's true, anger and hurt at both of these men for lying to you for so long about what's been going on.

Because a lie of omission is still a damn lie.

Dean is quiet at first, and you're forced to read into his silence. You peer at him closer, grabbing his wrist.

"Dean...did you really think it would change anything?" you ask incredulously.

His brows furrow. "No."

But you don't quite believe him.

"I just...didn't want you to have to deal with this shit, that's all," he eventually admits.

Your eyes narrow as you stare up at his face. You're trying to discern the truth.

"Is that really why?" you ask.

"Yeah, okay?" His voice is gruff and frustrated.

You move in closer, gripping the open edges of his plaid shirt. He knows what you're demanding in your gentle silence.

Don't lie to me.

Your hand reaches up to his cheek, a tender gesture that softens him. Your thumb brushes across his lower lip.

"Good," you reply. "Because if I have to remind you that I am entirely, undeniably, irrevocably in love with you, then I might just have to punish you."

A slow smirk spreads across your man's face.

"Oh yeah?" he says. His hands find your hips, drawing you closer. You're satisfied by the hint of doubt washing away from his demeanor. From his tight shoulders loosening.

"Just outta curiosity, what might that entail?" Dean asks.

Your lips curve. "Oh, you'll find out, after we fix your brother... Dean, I'll need to talk to him."

Dean's burgeoning good humor fades, but you take his face in both your hands and make sure he meets your gaze. You are firm in your convictions, and he sees that.

He nods in acceptance, before he dips down to press his lips to yours. It's gentle at first, but all too soon becomes claiming, born of hidden frustration and passion.

When he parts from you, it's slow, reluctant. His fingers draw a strand of hair behind your ear.

In his eyes, you see the true depths of him. Something not many people get to see.

It's there that you always know that you're loved.

I hope that satisfied you, my dear! 😘 I miiiiight do a more official 3rd part to this imagine-verse where Sam gets his happy ending (with Eileen).

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[writeouswriter]

Reading a fic that's so well written I wish I could close my eyes and just let the descriptions and atmosphere wash over me, but the dilemma with closing my eyes is, well, I then would not be able to continue reading this fic, now would I.

[dukeofqueers]

Ser Fel, the Chimera Knight or Unmoored Knight

i love my arisen who was so cringe and fail that he got removed from his own world. get ratio’d by the Endless Cycle idiot

Thora, the other Arisen in the nihilism meme belongs to @missszena​ <3

in game featuring his pawn Leoris

[baronessblixen]

Prompt: 8. "Give me that, before anything happens."

Sequel to day 22 "Cookie Theft And Other Crimes" but can be read as a stand-alone: What happens when Mulder wakes up with Scully in his arms? (Fluff all the way! wc: 1,137)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 27: Christmas With You By My Side

This could be a dream come true; he’s slowly waking up, Scully soft and warm in his arms, still fast asleep and snuggled against him. It would be a dream if it weren’t for the indistinct chatter becoming louder and clearer.

Mulder blinks his eyes open and loses himself in the sight of Scully with her mouth partly open as if she fell asleep in the middle of an argument. He brushes a strand of hair out of her face, afraid it’ll wake her. He’s hoping she’s so used to her family chattering about that they won’t wake her. He was not as lucky.

“Let them sleep a moment longer. It’s still early.” He hears the whispered hiss. That’s distinctively Mrs. Scully. He cracks a small smile. She of all people knows that her daughter needs all the rest she can get.

“Did you not see them?” Bill Jr. is awake too. Mulder is almost sad that he was blissfully asleep when the other man must have seen them down here on the couch together. He takes it all in. There’s a blanket over them so Bill Jr. couldn’t have seen that his sister is draped over him, her leg between his. Her head is resting on his chest, and he tries to keep his breathing even so that she slumbers on. Knowing Scully, she’d feel if something was wrong even in her sleep.

“I think they look cute.” That must be Tara, Bill’s wife.

“Cute? The guy showed up here in the middle of the night and no one even knew about it.”

“Bill, your sister wanted him here.”

“She doesn’t know what she wants.” Mulder takes a deep breath and tries to stay calm. Another glance at Scully to make sure she doesn’t hear any of this. Last night was hard enough. The throbbing in his jaw reminds him of when Bill Jr. discovered him here and showed him exactly what he thought of him. Mulder just took it and he knows he’d do it again. Maybe he shouldn’t have said the thing about him spending the night in Scully’s bedroom, but he couldn’t help himself. They ended up sleeping together anyway. Not in her bed, but why would they do any of this like normal people might? They left normal behind long ago.

“Bill!” Tara says, remembering too late they’re supposed to be quiet. “That’s your sister you’re talking about.” Mulder finds he likes Tara. How she ended up with someone like Bill Jr. remains a mystery. Maybe they can open an X-File on it.

“He’s caused her nothing but pain.” The disdain in Bill Jr.’s words hits Mulder unexpectedly. His eyes find Scully’s face, so peaceful in sleep. Last night all he saw there was hurt and weariness. He held her, let her know she wasn’t alone. And never would be. He made her smile, too. Elicited a small laugh even. Scully has reminded him more than once that none of what’s happened is his fault. Sometimes, though, it’s difficult to remember. What if Bill is right? The guilt gnaws at him.

“It’s not your place to decide who your sister spends her life with.” Mrs. Scully interrupts his pity party. “Fox and Dana have something special. She loves him and he loves her.” Mulder hears a gasp and for a moment isn’t sure if it came from Bill Jr. or out of his own mouth.

“But Mom…”

“You’ll be nice to him at breakfast.” It’s an order so harsh that even Mulder nods. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mulder chuckles and that’s when he sees that Scully is looking up at him with a curious expression and the smallest of smiles.

“How long have you been awake?” he asks in a whisper, their faces close together. He should care about morning breath, but he doesn’t.

“Just a moment,” she says, her voice still sleepy.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.” She shakes her head, stretching, but not leaving his side. Instead, she snuggles closer and he has to control his breathing again. This time to not let her notice how excited he is. In more ways than one.

“No. It was Bill.” Her tone is laced with annoyance. “His voice has that effect on people.” Mulder just grins at her. “You know he’s wrong, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“When he said that you cause me nothing but pain.”

“You heard that, too?”

“I did, and I want you to get it out of your head. It’s not true. I see that worry line on your forehead there, Mulder.” She touches his forehead with the tip of her finger. “It’s not true.” She says, looking into his eyes. “You hear me?” He nods solemnly, trusting her. If she says it’s not true then all he can do is believe her.

“What about the thing your mother said?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She’s so obviously lying that he has to laugh. Scully covers his mouth with her hand, not wanting to be found out. For the rest of the house, they’re still fast asleep. “Fine, I heard it.”

“You know it’s true on my end. I told you.”

“We’d just fished you out of the ocean, Mulder. I bet you said I love you to every nurse.”

“I didn’t, and I can just say it again now, Scully. I love you. Your mom is absolutely right about that. And you don’t need to say anything else now. I know how you are in the morning before your coffee. I don’t need the words from you. I know it in here.” He puts his hand on hers, close to his heart. “You follow me to haunted mansions and you let me comfort you when things get too much. I have everything I ever could have asked for.”

Scully doesn’t say anything, but he sees the wheels turning in her head. And then, completely unexpectedly, her mouth is on his. It’s a soft and tame kiss, appropriate for Mrs. Scully’s living room couch. But it’s still the best, most perfect kiss he’s ever received.

“Eww, there are grown-ups on the couch and they’re kissing!” A kid yells and suddenly it’s mayhem.

“They’re what!” Bill Jr. yells.

“Better give me that, before anything happens,” Tara says to either one of the kids or her husband.

“You get back into the kitchen, right now,” Mrs. Scully interferes before Bill can make it to the living room where Mulder and Scully still cling to each other and this moment. More and more people of all ages appear in the living room and Mulder doesn’t know who they are or where they came from. He can’t quite care either because Scully is still smiling at him. It’s already the best Christmas he’s ever had.