#soda cup (oc)

[deafenedsaltwater]

Lots of loose magma doodles !! ^^

[puffpawstries]

Hanichi but Ichimatsu has a partner who vibes are 'Eats like a broke college student' And drinks 2 liter soda straight from the bottle.

[alaraxia]

inspired by a question in the patreon discord on what your sidestep is getting at the gas station convenience store at 3AM

[trashbins-stuff]

Mmm

[softichill]

Constant nausea & fatigue ain't very fun

[acidy-stars]

Omfg IT HAS SO MUCH TIME TAHT I DONT POST WTF

Anyways

Soda cup<333(i love my own ocs so much jjwkdhekdj)

[frayedcircus]

doodling in a whiteboard with some friends and accidentally created the sloppiest most pathetic wet cat of a man you’ve ever seen. i hate him so much i hope he dissolves.

we named him cohan rivers bc it’s an awful name<333

(he secretly has weezer blue eyes)

thank you to @pearonpizza @yellowfrog456 @unofficial-trader-joes and @barrkcaat for helping create this horrible guy.

[cosmiceevee4375]

yeahhhhhhhh I used to be a gacha kid :> ( still am sorta ) that’s where I came up with cream! And cream used to be uh… a “ 🎀 Pick me gworl 🎀 “

so I feel this would be creams reaction to the og cream lol

Wait cream what are you doi-

€Ur$E$ AU

Ask 📦: OPEN!

( ehehehehehehe I stole your stars @xyeniavodka 😈😈😈😈😈 )

[ardenigh]

It was fun reading about Lucky and I’ve thought of several questions about him:

1) How did Tegan die and how was he brought back?

2) What was Tegan’s life like?

3) What sort of person is Tegan’s brother?

4) What is Lucky’s daily routine?

5) Does anyone else in Tegan’s family know about Lucky? If so, how are they taking it?

6) How similar/ different are Tegan and Lucky’s personalities?

7) Besides Dmitri and the helmet, does Lucky keep anything from Tegan?

8) Would Tegan’s brother dig further into denial as time goes on or would he accept that Lucky is a person of their own?

9) Would Lucky ever be comfortable at looking at Tegan’s face?

it is once again... Lucky Hour

(thank you sm for the ask and the wait, omg! this got really ungainly really fast bc i like talking too much about my boy, so I'm dropping a cut here!)

It was fun reading about Lucky and I’ve thought of several questions about him:

1) How did Tegan die and how was he brought back?

He was brought back à la Shepard in an effort led by his older brother, a talented neurologist willing to call in every last favor he'd accrued over his career. Experimental cybernetics and nanotech to knit the corpse back together… synthetic neural weaves to shore up and repair the brain damage… The aim was to rebuild his damaged parts, resuscitate his basic autonomic functions and, in turn, facilitate the recovery and augmentation of his higher functions - all with the end goal of bringing his little brother back.

As for how Tegan died?

Motorcycle accident. 

Eyes on the road, guys.

2) What was Tegan’s life like?

Probably less legitimate than most people’s - not that he ever let his mother know, back when she was alive. Ostensibly, he was just an apprentice at a tattoo parlor and liked frequenting the library. Beneath that, though, he had a familiarity with the city’s rougher crowds and lesser-known corners. A known neutral party to those interested in such things, Tegan was the king of the illegal street racing scene and a popular racer to bet on. ‘Course, being so familiar with the fast and loose life, Tegan was no stranger to witnessing other crimes from time to time. Some of his old racing buddies, the ones who know how observant he was, think that Tegan’s death was no coincidence - but they know to keep their voices down.

3) What sort of person is Tegan’s brother?

Janus… is a perfectionist, a visionary, and a brilliant academic to boot - he holds a Ph.D. in neuroscience and a master’s in software engineering, and he fully intends to broaden his wheelhouse as he goes. He’s also very much the picture of a resentful older sibling for most of his and Tegan’s upbringing, because, like - while he studied the blade, Tegan was out here goofing off and getting into trouble and still somehow being the favorite son, to salt the wound. Of course, what he lacks in close connection and open communication (and he really is lacking there), he makes up for with a ferocious tenacity. If this man sees something worth salvaging, he will immediately lock his jaws on it and he will not accept failure as an option.

He knows he should have tried more with Tegan, and he refuses to entertain the thought of never having that second chance.

4) What is Lucky’s daily routine?

For the most part, Lucky is a courier and busy with it; lets him combine his love of riding with an easy way to see new things and meet new people. He lives on lots of little catnaps interspersed with lots of running around - it’s not unusual to see him out and about early in the morning, and again in the middle of the night. 

His routine is a little like this: deliver package, stop by new hole in the wall place he passed earlier, deliver package, head home to sleep and feed dmitri. head over to janus’s lab for mnemonic exercises and a vitals check. deliver package. Find a new piece of media to delve into. Take nap. Leave city limits to stargaze.

Not necessarily like that all the time, of course, or in that order.

5) Does anyone else in Tegan’s family know about Lucky? If so, how are they taking it?

Oh, no. Going down the list, it’s like - father passed when the boys were little… mother a couple years before Tegan’s accident… between Janus’s aversion to regular communication and busy student life, and also Tegan being none too keen on letting on that he’s making a living racing illegally, neither one is close with their relatives. 

The most they know is that Tegan was hurt. He’s made a full recovery, though, so don’t worry, no need to visit (says Janus, stonewalling every single attempt while also frantically trying to snap his brother out of whatever delusion of identity he’s working through). 

Now, Tegan's associates, on the other hand… some are very concerned about the sudden personality changes. 

6) How similar/ different are Tegan and Lucky’s personalities?

They both love an adrenaline rush! They’re also both pretty social and will initiate conversations. Neither of them actively seeks romance or relationships, (‘no one in this city can handle me,’ says tegan. ‘i’ve existed for, like, three weeks,’ says lucky.) They’re also both good at compartmentalizing when they need to.

Tegan is louder, for sure, though - he’s developed an affectation of infuriating nonchalance after years of being constantly dealt his brother’s disapproval, the “why are you always like X”  and “why do you never do Y.” He will not be judged, thanks, and certainly not by the guy who only communicates in criticism and academic citation. 

Lucky is still chatty, but he speaks a little softer, and he pays more attention to the people around him. He skirts around people in a crowd rather than walking straight through. He’s taken by small details and twice as observant as his template, and people who knew Tegan are a little unnerved by how much more insightful he is, these days. Novelty makes him gentler, keener to listen in. He still shares Tegan’s pull to go fast at all times, though.

To sum up the main difference, though: Tegan will tank a sucker punch and grin through bloodied teeth. 

Lucky will dodge. 

7) Besides Dmitri and the helmet, does Lucky keep anything from Tegan?

Aside from all the basic identifying and legal assets? Tegan's apartment for one (although he does take care to partition everything that's not his own). Walking in, you would think two people were living there - only, one of them has been away for so long that an atmosphere of neglect has settled over his things. It takes a long while for Lucky to peek into Tegan’s collection of books and journals, so they’ve been getting a bit dusty. Can’t bring himself to throw anything, though. Feels disrespectful.

Tegan’s bike was completely totaled in the accident, though. Lucky would have kept it, otherwise.

8) Would Tegan’s brother dig further into denial as time goes on or would he accept that Lucky is a person of their own?

Ooh, that is a very good question, like, thematically. Janus is the reigning champion of not letting things go, tbh; it wouldn’t just take time, either. It would take a slow, methodical dismantling of everything Janus thought he knew about Tegan. It would take little, sharp instances of realization, that Tegan had passions and hobbies that he’d had no idea of. That Tegan had always looked up to him, behind the cavalier rebel front. That, really, when it came down to it, he never really knew his little brother at all. 

Honestly? First he has to accept that he can’t fix this; it’s too late, and his brother is gone. 

Only then will he even begin to be able to accept Lucky as his own person. 

Something something Janus’s stages of grief go: anger, bargaining, denial denial denial…

9) Would Lucky ever be comfortable at looking at Tegan’s face?

Yes! I mean, very early on, he hardly even had a problem looking in the mirror - like, it was tragic and all, and of course he harbors a lot of curiosity about who this other guy was, but it was only up until people started expecting him to be Tegan that it started to cause him discomfort. Once he has a firm grasp on who he is, ‘cause he’s still feeling that out, and once certain people understand that he’s Not The Guy They Want, then he’d be able to look himself in the eyes without wanting to crawl out of his own skin a little bit. 

bonus: quick doodle of tegan and lucky for a bit of feature comparison

[sweetwolf05]

MerMay 2024 Day 8

Fresh Water, Mermay prompt based on Legendary444 on DeviantArt

[kurocamille]

❝maybe frat boys aren’t so bad (aka cars are meant for driving!)❞

Frat!Bakugou Katsuki x reader (except he’s not stereotypical and mean) mdni

part 2

4.1k+ words

you attend your first frat party and run into a familiar flirty face. he offers to drive you home from the party, the empty parking lot outside your dorm building definitely seems like the perfect place to get down and dirty…

warnings

part 1 of 2 (2 will have full smut..) 1 oc who’ll come into play later…., car sex, fingering, handjobs, heavy makeout, hickeys/neck kisses, dry humping/grinding kinda, female/afab reader, no pronouns used, inexperienced reader, “baby” as a pet name

It was your first time going to a college party, miraculously enough. This year, you had met a group of girls who had quickly invited you into their friend group. Somehow, despite you refusing over ten times, they had managed to drag you to a frat party.

After getting yourself a cup of mysterious red punch, you stand in the crowd of people. Bodies brush against you—intentionally or unintentionally, you don’t know. You’ve seen a few of your friends since arriving, but it seems like most of them are off doing God knows what with some drunken frat boy.

You can feel the beat of the music in your chest, as if it’s pumping your heart for you. The strobe lights flash around you. Sipping away at your drink, you go wandering in search of someone you know.

When you exit the common room, you float down a hallway with fewer people. Despite fewer people being there, the hallway is stuffy, and you can barely walk through without knocking shoulders with someone.

You aren’t watching where you’re going, and suddenly you trip on the bunched up carpet beneath your feet. The half-full soda cup goes flying, and so do you. It spills on the front of your shirt and down the back of a nearby couple who, until now, had been in the middle of making out,

“Ugh!” the girl shrieks, and you look up to see her glaring at you. She comes out from under the guy caging her, and you realize it’s the girl Mika from one of your classes. As always, her hair is perfectly coiffed, and she’s wearing a dress that barely covers her ass.

The girl shakes her hands of the sticky liquid that spilled on her, but seeing as she had previously been caged under that other guy, she had barely gotten wet. Meanwhile, the guy stands in a sopping wet shirt. You also recognize him; Bakugou Katsuki. He’s in another one of your classes, one of which you had been paired up for a partner project. Unlike Mika, he doesn’t look like he’s trying too hard. A white short-sleeved band t-shirt complements his black jeans, something you wouldn’t have expected a frat boy like him to wear.

Despite being in the same fraternity/sorority group, Mika and Bakugou could not be more different, and you can’t help but wonder how they ended up together. While Mika is extremely stereotypical and, if you might say, annoying, rude, and a bitch, Bakugou is really nice. That one project had taught you that not every frat boy is a shameless womanizer and prick. Although he’s a definite flirt, he’s always been respectful and acknowledged you as an equal—opposite of what Mika had done to your friends, and now you.

“I’m so sorry,” you say hastily.

“Don’t min-” Bakugou starts, but he’s cut off by Mika.

“You better be sorry!” she all but screeches at you. “This is a brand new set of nails. They’re completely ruined. You better repay me for this. It cost 10,000 yen, you know that? Can you even fucking afford that”

“Look, I’m sorry I did that, but I don’t know if I can repay tha-” you start. The look she gives you is incredulous as she snarls before interrupting you.

“I actually can’t believe you. You must be a dumb slut dying for Bakugou’s attention. Imagine sabotaging me just because he chose to be with me! And you’re so poor you can’t even afford to fix your mess… Ridiculous,” she huffs, pressing a pointy finger into your chest and probably expecting you to bow down and beg for forgiveness.

You try to apologize, but Bakugou steps in before you can say anything.

“Mika, who cares,” he sighs. He looks at you with a silent ‘I can’t deal with this face.’

The silence that follows feels like an eternity, but it really only elapses the half second before her hand makes contact with Bakugou’s face.

The sound from the slap resounds in the small hallway. You stare wide-eyed at the growing red spot with matching nail marks on Bakugou’s face.

“You should fucking care. We’ve been together for, like, a month already, and you still won’t stand up for me?! I’m done, don’t call me,” she seethes before pointing at you. “And you, you better hope we never see each other again.”

After that, Mika storms off in a fit of rage and disappears into the crowd.

“Dating on and off for a month, and she pulls that. Psychotic bitch,” he mutters before turning to you. “Hey, Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming, you should’ve told me.”

“I’m so sorry, for all of that. I’ll just get going and pretend I never saw that.” You turn on your heel to dash out, but a hand grips your shoulder and turns you around.

“No need to apologize, she gets crazy when she’s drunk, and I was planning on breaking up with her,” he shrugs. “Anyway, I’m just gonna head upstairs and shower this stuff off. You can come up too, if you want, Y/N.”

You raise a brow at his suggestion. “You want me to come shower with you?”

A look of confusion and surprise crosses his sharp features before a smirk breaks out. “There are multiple bathrooms up there, but you know, if they’re all taken, you can always join me.” He sends you the stupidest wink that still sends your stomach into frenzy.

“You bounce back too quickly,” you groan. “Whatever, I’m coming up, but not with you.”

Bakugou reverts to his uncaring self and has you follow him. You follow Bakugou, slowly making your way up the rickety house stairs. When you make it around the corner, Bakugou points you in the direction of an ensuite washroom, and disappears into the room across from you. “Just take a folded towel, and I’ll deal with it. If you need anything, just come and get me.”

In the quiet of the bedroom, you lock the door and undress. You make your way into the connected bathroom and strip down in the low light. The shower has terrible pressure and doesn’t heat up, but it does the job of cleansing the sticky punch off your skin.

You finish your shower within five minutes and step out to grab a towel. It’s surprisingly clean, but the pile of your clothes on the counter are still dripping with liquid. That means you’ll either have to walk around in a towel for the rest of the night or muster up the courage to ask Bakugou for some clothes.

You opt for the second option, seeing as you won’t have to walk through a drunken frat house in a towel that barely covers your “good bits.” So, you head back to the door where Bakugou was, rolling your clothes into a ball and tucking them under your arm. When you get there, the door is still closed, as you expected, but there is no sound of running water coming from the room.

“Bakugou, sorry, I need some extra clothes,” you say after knocking on the door.

As if it isn’t embarrassing enough, Bakugou takes his sweet time getting to the door. When it finally opens, he stares at you, his eyes unashamedly trailing up and down your body. He, similarly to you, looks to have just gotten out of the shower. Water droplets fall from his hair and fall down his hardened chest, which he doesn’t bother to clothe. The only thing keeping his from being stark naked in front of you is the towel sitting low on his hips, low enough that you can see his v-line drifting below.

“Clothes?” he asks after an awkward pause, and you flush.

“Yeah, anything will do, I just need it to get home in them,” you reply.

“Alright, come in.” He beckons you with his hand to follow him.

The first thing you notice when you enter is that his room is far different from the other one. While the first bedroom, whose you can only assume is his frat brother’s, is standard for a male college student—clothes strewn everywhere, an only half-made bed, and suspicious posters. Bakugou’s room is the opposite, the bed made, shelves tidy, and everything in order.

Bakugou coughs and breaks you out of the spell you’re under. He’s holding out a crumpled plastic bag, with some grocery store logo on it. “Here, for your wet clothes.”

You quickly snatch the bag and stuff your clothes into it. As you struggle to fit them inside, the towel hugging your body slips from its hold and drops below your nipples. From your peripheral vision, Bakugou freezes ever so slightly, and you hear an awfully loud swallow.

As soon as you notice him, however, he averts his eyes and pretends he had been looking for clothes the whole time. The outfit he chooses for you isn’t half bad, a hoodie and drawstring sweatpants, but they look so big they could drown you.

You take the two garments from him, accidentally brushing fingers in the process. He pulls away from you and heads back towards his ensuite bathroom. “Don’t worry, I’ll be in here. I won’t peek. You can get changed in the bedroom.”

With that, he closes the door and cements a divide between the two of you. Quickly, you change into the clothes he gave you, having to roll up the cuffs on them multiple times. You look like a blob of fabric, but it’ll have to do. Hopefully Bakugou won’t notice that you’re not wearing your bra and panties.

Knocking on the bathroom door, you meet face to face with Bakugou one last time. He’s fully clothed now and gives you a smile.

“Looks like it fits,” he says sarcastically.

“For sure,” you joke, flattening out the garments awkwardly. “I’m planning on heading out now, by the way. I think I’ll just catch an Uber, I’m pretty sober now, and my friends will probably be here for a while longer.”

“Don’t take an Uber,” he replies suddenly.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he corrects himself. “I mean, it’s not safe to take one right now. Let me drive you, I didn't drink tonight.”

“No way!” you retort. “I couldn’t bother you with that. I’ll be fine, anyway.”

However, Bakugou, being his stubborn self, does not relent until you agree to let him drive you all the way back to your dorms, only a stupid 30 minutes away.

Normally, you wouldn’t risk going with someone in his frat, but you have enough trust in Bakugou to keep civil. So, after a moment of contemplation, you accept his offer and follow him to the adjacent parking lot. Multiple people stare as you walk past them, but you pay them no mind, seeing as you’re practically unrecognizable in your new outfit.

“Yo, Bakubro, good for you!” a redhead yells from the doorway as you leave, whooping in a supportive, you suppose, manner.

“Ah, shut up, don’t spread any rumours, Shittyhair.” Bakugou groans, but you don’t miss the way his ears turn pink.

You’ll have to forget about that, though, because the lights of a black Jeep Wrangler flash on, and Bakugou escorts you to the passenger seat.

“I didn’t know you were this much of a gentleman, Bakugou,” you giggle in an embarrassingly girly way.

“I’m always a gentleman.” He winks and walks around to his side of the vehicle, leaving you feeling hot in the face.

He swings into the passenger seat, and puts the car in motion. You can’t help but notice the way his arms grip the steering wheel, the veins from his strong hands trailing up his forearms in a way that makes you unconsciously bite your lip.

“Put the address into the GPS,” Bakugou interrupts, and you notice his eyes force themselves away from your lips.

You deny whatever you just saw and punch your address into the screen. The machine takes only a second to bring up the route home, which, at this late hour, will actually only take 15 minutes.

After pulling out of the lot, Bakugou heads down the street following the indicated yellow line. He drives smoothly and professionally, as you expected he would. He maneuvers the car with expertise, and you can’t help but think he’s showing off when he steers with an open palm and an arm on the back of your seat.

For most of the ride, you guys are silent. Other than the faint whirring of the air conditioner, the only sounds to be heard are made by you and Bakugou. His by his slow, peaceful breathing, and yours by the beating of your heart—something which betrays you by getting louder and faster with every minute.

Luckily for you, the drive is soon over and Bakugou’s car is parked right outside of your dorm building. For the most part, the lot is empty, and the lights from the windows are off. It makes sense, most people in your extremely small building are out partying at 9 o’clock on a Friday, and the homebodies you’d normally associate with are already in bed.

Your specific block seems to be completely dark, seeing as you left your friends behind at that party… Whoops. It’s no matter, however, you’ll just be the first one in your complex to get back.

You unclick the belt from your waist, moving up on the seat to grab your things off the floor.

“This is you, right?” Bakugou questions.

“Yep! Thank you so much for driving me. I’ll text you later so you can have your clothes back.” You smile at him and go to open the door, but he lightly pulls you back.

“Wait. Y/N, you can keep them, actually. ” He chuckles, but it has an awkward tone to it. “You look better in them than I do”

Wait, what?

You always thought Bakugou was just flirty by nature, which to some extent he is, but you could see it now. Whatever you two had going on was certainly out of the ordinary. From what you could tell, Bakugou wasn’t half as teasing towards Mika as he was to you.

Ever since that one project, he had always made it a priority to sit next to you in class. You had assumed he was there for your notes, not that you minded, but could it actually have been for another reason altogether?

“Well, I would bet you look pretty good in these too, not that you don’t always look good,” you giggle, testing out the waters.

Bakugou’s eyes widen in surprise and soften under the pale light of his car. You stare at him fondly, accidentally letting your eyes flicker to his lips.

“Y/N, I-“ he starts but can’t seem to find the right words.

“I know you just broke up—literally tonight, but, Bakugou, gosh, I really want to kiss you right now,” you speak for him.

Maybe that punch was more potent than you thought. Good thing Bakugou drove you all the way here…

Instead of replying, Bakugou places a tender hand on your cheek and pulls you in. Soft lips meet your own, and you smile. You move to his lap where the seat has suddenly been rolled back.

Ah, it’s his frat boy car seat trick.

Your kisses continue slowly, and you can tell Bakugou wants to deepen the kiss when his tongue brushes against your lips. Upon first contact, you freeze in place. Before this you’d only ever been with one guy, one that you hadn’t even gone far with. In the moment now, you can only hope and pray that he won’t notice your inexperience.

However, you completely forget whatever worry you had when Bakugou starts to go into your mouth. His large hands pull you flush against his body, grabbing at the flesh right above your ass.

When you finally pull back, Bakugou’s eyes are blown wide, and he looks lost to lust. The lips that had previously been on yours now have a cute pout, having puffed up from your kisses.

Bakugou’s lips move down and pepper chaste kisses along your jawline. Even with his light and seemingly innocent pecks, you’re still softly moaning under his hold.

Bakugou switches focus to your neck, licking and sucking a hickey into your skin. After nipping at you for a while, Bakugou lifts off of you, and you can tell with his smirk that he left a massive bruise blooming on your skin.

“Bakugou, let me touch you,” you whisper as he moves to kiss the other side of your neck.

“Call me Katsuki… Please. “ He groans when you slightly grind against his groin.

You shift down on your hips and look down to see a thick boner growing in his pants. Curiously, you press it softly with your fingers and give it a light squeeze.

Katsuki looks down at you, his face quickly turning red. Silently, you reach into his pants, looking at his gorgeous ruby eyes for any sign of contestment. Katsuki stays quiet but gives you a small nod in approval.

Finally, you get to the moment you’ve been waiting for. You press your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, sliding your hand across the top of his cock. Then, with one movement, you free him from his confines, and his dick stands proudly in front of you.

Any expectations or preconceived notions about what Katsuki was packing were shattered. Painfully hard and dripping tiny amounts of precum, his cock is a beauty. The dark pink tip invites you in, begging you to give it one moment of reprieve.

When you nervously stroke the shaft, Katsuki’s reaction is instantaneous, his hips lurching up against yours.

“Fuck, keep going,” he hisses, his breath already laboured.

With more confidence you wrap your fingers around him and give his cock a few quick pumps. Your sudden change in tempo makes Bakugou’s cock twitch in your hold and release a bead of white precum. You remove your hand, and Katsuki’s eyes meet yours with a pleading look.

Carefully, you push your thumb against the slit of his dick and lubricate him with his own pre-cum. As you swirl the substance around the head, Katsuki buries his face in your shoulder.

“Oh my God, I’m about to cum,” he gasps. “Fuck, it’s like I’m a virgin again.”

Bakugou’s chest heaves as you work him to his high. With every light touch or squeeze of his dick you make, it twitches and throbs in reply. You decide to help him finish, doing the same fast strokes that make him groan lewdly in your ear.

Then, all of a sudden, Bakugou reaches out and stops your hand in the middle of its movements. You eye him, confused. “You into edging or something?”

“Not quite, I wanna get you off, too.” He surprisingly lets out a hearty laugh.

“Sit up, baby,.” You follow his instructions and he picks you up with ease.

Katsuki flips you over so you’re no longer sitting on top of him, rather lying caged underneath him. His body is so close to yours that you can’t look down to see what’s happening when you feel his hands moving against your clothed pussy.

“May I?” he asks, tugging at the edge of your panties.

“Still such a gentleman,” you giggle embarrassingly.

“Breaking the frat boy stereotypes as we go, I suppose.” He laughs with you, before turning his attention back to your body.

His adept fingers pull your soaked panties to the side, revealing your equally glistening cunt. Katsuki nimbly dips his fingers in your wetness with a soft hum.

“So wet, baby,” he grins, and you blush in embarrassment.

Bakugou skillfully captures your attention by pressing the pad of his thumb against your aching sex, as if to test the waters. When he hears your soft moan in response, he takes it as an invitation to keep going.

Slowly, Katsuki’s thumb plays with your throbbing clit, brushing it in teasing circles. A whine escapes your mouth, and he chuckles upon hearing it, knowing how needy you feel. “You want my fingers inside of you?”

You gasp out a ‘yes,’ and his fingers are immediately prodding at your entrance. Then, you feel the stretch your hole makes to accommodate his intruding finger. Although you’re not used to such a feeling, you easily adapt to the length of his digit, which pleasantly curls into your depths.

Bakugou starts fingering in and out of you, and the pleasure increases. Previously soft moans and whines turn into cries against his shoulder. Despite your embarrassment of being oversensitive, the flush on Bakugou’s face proves he’s just as affected, without you even touching him.

As Katsuki continues to slip inside your wetness, you feel the pressure building in your stomach, much differently than it ever has before. One more finger squeezes into your tight cunt and presses against your pleasure spot. You cry out, and his hands continue to brush against that sensitive place.

“Fuck, that feels good, please don’t stop,” you babble mindlessly, barely even registering Bakugou’s reply of, “Course not. Wouldn’t dream of it.’

To your blissed out surprise, the pleasure gets stronger. The sensation on your clit returns, and your body uncontrollably arches into Bakugou’s above you. With every calculated movement against your bundle of nerves, you’re worked closer to orgasm.

Then, all of a sudden, the angle of the thrusting fingers changes. Bakugou changes his position to be closer to you, somehow managing to reach further than before. With every new touch to your g-spot and clit, you feel yourself being pushed to your high.

In turn, you grasp a hold of Katsuki’s twitching cock. His hiss in reply shows you just how sensitive he is from before. Your hand moves up and down, matching the quick strokes of his fingers. Just as quickly as he had gotten you to the peak of your orgasm, his body convulses, signaling his is soon to come, as well.

Your moans crescendo and bounce off the walls of the car, and Bakugou can't help but be spurred on by them. The speed of his hand gets faster, still very much calculated in its movements, your hole fluttering around his digits.

After swiping your thumb across his leaking tip, Bakugou’s body seems even more sensitive, if it’s even possible. His cock violently throbs in your hand, begging to spill its seed. You oblige its wishes and continue your pumps up and down his hard length.

You can feel yourself almost cumming, on the brink of losing your mind. Similarly, Katsuki’s body, his higher-pitched moans, twitching shaft, and milky tip, tell you he’s extremely close.

Then, taking you by surprise, Bakugou cuts off your moans with a hot kiss. Immediately after you make contact, his tongue sweeps against yours in a passionate dance.

“I’m gonna cum!” Your voice gets muffled by the tongue pressing against your own.

The addition his mouth was to your pleasure plunges you right into orgasm. Your body convulses, pussy tightening uncontrollably, and you wail into his mouth. Anything you had ever expected of sex is automatically blown to bits when this atomic force hits you.

You feel your eyesight black out, as if you’ve been hit by a truck. You subconsciously grip harder around Katsuki’s dick, causing his orgasm to come shooting out of him. Long strings of his pearly cum cover the palm of your hand, his cock still moving to let out the last bits of his seed.

The bliss that follows is calming. Bakugou finally pulls out of you, his face coming off of yours to reveal his dazed eyes and flushed cheeks.

You doubt you look appealing, but Bakugou looks at you sweetly and more kindly than you can assume he does with anyone else.

“You did so well, baby,” he whispers to you after leaning down to your level.

You give him a quick peck on the cheek and slowly untangle your limbs from his. Bakugou helps you up and grabs your (borrowed) clothes that had previously been strewn across the other seats.

After dressing yourself and saying a quick goodbye to Bakugou, you slip out of his car and head back into your dorms.

You smile to yourself as you lay in bed alone. On your bedside table you notice you’ve received a new notification, a message from an unknown number. What you see makes you smile and blush.

‘That was such a great night, let’s do it again sometime. - Bakugou’

a/n: hi guys. i’m back for the holidays and i hope to put out part two soon (let’s be honest, i never write things on time). i tried writing something more plot heavy… hope you enjoyed🫶 also, sorry for the edging joke. i think i’m funny.

[naffeclipse]

A Tease

Reader x Grease

Commission Info

I am rattling @o-cinnamonstickz for commissioning one of my monster boyfriend OCs and letting me go absolutely feral with this guy! Grease is such a menace and the poor reader must sweetly suffer him. After stealing a break while on a late shift, the reader will run into Grease behind the diner, and one tease will lead to another.

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

The customer smiles as he hands you back the black check presenter, his mouth spread a little too wide to show off his molars. You feel the money tucked within, but with an inward groan, you fear there is no tip. You wish him and the few others eating with him a good night. Maybe you’ll get lucky and one of his friends will pity you and dump a few quarters on the dirty table.

As they all throw down their napkins and scurry away, out into the night of Hebron, you step back to the cash register. Feeling the inside of your apron pocket, you brush against the worn and half-crumpled box of cornstarch hidden within before snagging your pen to tuck behind your ear.

With a few taps and clanks, and a little slam to get it to open properly, you deposit the cash for the meal. Stealing a glance over to the table, you find the dishes piled high, the clear cups half filled with watered-down soda, and not even a dime in sight.

Great. Just lovely. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and huff through your nostrils. Where did the virtue of tipping go? Is it just tourists or is it simply everyone that steps through the diner doors who forgoes the practice?

Such questions will only leave you with a headache pounding away at your temples. Biting back a few choice words due to their rowdiness and the not-at-all-subtleness in looking you up and down, you slip the bill into the towering pile that has collected throughout the day.

It’s close to the end of your shift, right? You keep yourself from staring at the clock in the diner too frequently lest the hands get stuck in one place, endlessly ticking without spinning. Everything seems stuck in time here. 

The Hebron Diner, aptly named after the town Hebron, in which you and this poor restaurant reside, is a vintage theme with black and white photos of old cars driving between the trees and sepia pictures of scenery from the nearby national park. You’re growing to hate the lilac coloring of the tables, stools, and booths, and your own stupid waitress attire is drenched in the same hue. Your apron is white—a poor choice, considering how well it shows the stains of burger grease and ketchup. 

You return to the table and begin gathering plates. One hardly touched his fries and you think the other merely played with his country-fried steak. Only an hour to go and then you’re free to rush home and scrub off the smell of fast food from your skin and hair. As the darkness holds over Hebron and its neon-dusted but quaint main street, your hope for the end of a long shift grows. 

You bring the dishes back into the kitchen. Darren, the cook, seems content to clean the grill while the diner remains open but inhabited by hungry customers. 

“Hey, would you mind taking out the trash?” he calls over his shoulder, never even looking up from the faint steam that sizzles over the grill top. “I’ll keep an eye out, let you take a break for a minute if you do.”

“Deal,” you answer without hesitation. You still need to wipe down the table, but you’ll do that after your break. You’ve earned one. 

Dropping off the dishes, you look to Darren for directions on which garage. He jerks his head in the direction of the trash bag sitting in a gleaming silver can, and you quickly tie it up and lift it from its container. Without another word, you breeze outside towards the dumpster. 

Darren scratches your back, you scratch his. You don’t talk to him much, but your habitation as coworkers is seamless as butter on fresh hotcakes. 

The coolness of the night washes over you, chasing away the heat and stress of the diner. A faint street light shines into the employee parking lot filled with cracked pavement and the remnant odor of grease traps. 

The dumpster is located on the other end of the small lot, unfortunately. The light doesn’t quite reach there and deep potholes collect water and whatever may fall into their depths. Your heart skips a beat, your fingers white-knuckling the tied-off garbage at your side.

There are monsters out there. You never thought of such things since you were a child, but the world became a lot bigger and unknowable, and this town became a lot smaller and strange since you discovered the truth. There are things in the dark that hide with mouths full of teeth. They like to watch you. They hope to follow you home and catch you where no one will hear you scream.

Is your paranoia striking because you’re alone now? The darkness is thick and inky, wrapping around the edges of the weak streetlight.

No. Stop being a child. Heaving the trash bag up with a soft clatter, you grind your teeth. The night isn’t what scares you. You push yourself forward, one foot after the other, until you catch sight of one of the potholes. It brims with dark liquid shining iridescently. It stands between you and the dumpster, and you catch an unmistakable ripple across its surface. There is no breeze tonight.

Your breath catches in your throat before you roll your eyes. A name is on the tip of your tongue, ready to call out, but you stop yourself.

A wicked grin crosses your lips. A juvenile idea infiltrates your brain and you run with it. You set one hand on your hip before arching a brow, staring down at the oil puddle. Does he really think you don’t know he’s here?

Dropping the trash bag into the puddle, you promptly sit on top of the black material—not allowing logical thoughts such as the fear of something sharp poking you or the general distasteful smell reeking from it stop you—and throw the puddle outwards in a thick, black splash.

You recline back on it, hands on your knees, as you shift your hips slightly to sink into what feels squishy and crumples slightly, perhaps old food and cardboard boxes. Gross. You ignore it and keep sitting pretty. Underneath you, the puddle begins to bubble and froth. The iridescent sheen of purples and blues and yellows flash in a way you haven’t quite seen before. 

Then the thought lingers a little too long before it manifests into something searing with embarrassment. You might as well have plopped yourself into a demon’s lap.

No. You hold firm. This is payback. He’s stalked you, hunted you down, and grabbed you. The least you can do is embarrass him with the rotten cherry being a trash bag on top of him. You lounge as if it were a throne.

Then a growl emerges from below you. Goosebumps roll over your arms until every tiny hair pricks. Your heart begins to thump hard and fast like a rabbit fleeing from a fox.

You spring off of the garbage bag as if burned. Breath caught in your throat, you whirl back to face the sleek ripples of the oil puddle. 

The black liquid rises, funneling into the figure of a man, lithe with muscles and powerfully sleek not unlike a tiger. The trash bag is ripped upwards in a grip of indignation. Your gut clenches as claws, iridescently gleaming and dark, sink into the thin black material.

A creature of living oil. A demon. Grease.

Two dark tendrils drip down from the top of his head, the tips resting at his shoulders. A long, sleek, and wicked tail snaps behind him. His face is flat with a sharp jawline, lacking a nose but his mouth bears bone-white teeth. Two pale blue eyes, centered with black pupils, pierce you in the darkness of the parking lot as if he might devour you whole. You’re reminded so vividly of a tiger before it strikes.

“How disrespectful,” Grease snarls, his silky and dark timbre carrying a slight threat underneath it. “I’ve come to see you and you put trash on me. Must I remind you who I am?”

You shift on the gritty pavement from one foot to the other. The candle flame of mirth inside of you is not yet extinguished. A small voice warns you in the back of your mind that you’re pushing your luck, but you are nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

“I know who you are, oil boy,” you say, much braver than you are. “You’re not as slick as you think you are.”

His grin widens.

“Oh?” He steps forward, his shoulders lowering like a cat about to bounce. The sway of his tail is excited, thrilled for a chase. “Neither are you, little nymph.”

A brief burn infiltrates you at the nickname he’s unfortunately bestowed upon you. Your brow furrows as you take a step back. A powerful concoction of adrenaline and confusion floods your veins, interrupting the flow of your thoughts as a primitive instinct to survive takes hold.

“What…?” Your tongue is too heavy.

He tilts his head, revealing a terrible mouth filled with shark-like teeth. Fear spears your heart.

“If you want to sit in my lap, you merely need to ask.” He cackles a heinous sound of black glee.

Red heat fills your face, coloring you in both rage and embarrassment. No, no, this is backfiring. You should have known he would have twisted it in his favor. He’s so seductive and intimidating. You forget which part of him is more dangerous: his teeth or his words.

“Ah, just how I like you, all pretty and pink,” he purrs deep in his throat. His black tongue, oily and black as midnight, swipes over his teeth as if he just found dessert.

Forget this. You twist on the balls of your feet, pushing off the cracked pavement in a dead run for the back door of the diner.

It’s over before it’s truly begun. Long, slick claws snatch you by the arms. Grease rips a gasp from you as he whirls you around and pins your back to the wall. You glare up at him, a breath rattling into your lungs. 

“Let me return your little favor.” His voice coils within you. Your heart beats against your ribs, wild under his devouring gaze. “A little tease for another.”

The sleek tip of his tail finds your ankle and begins winding up your leg. You bite back a yelp at the squeezing, staining pressure from the tendril. A chain to ensure you can’t run.

“I wasn’t teasing you,” you protest, but it’s a lie. A filthy lie that is only met with a sinister chuckle from Grease. 

“Don’t be so coy. It’s not a good look for you.” 

Fighting words long to fly off your tongue but his own emerges from his jaws. Dripping black saliva coats it like thick honey. Your eyes widen. He leans in closer with a monstrous grin. The tendrils upon either side of his head twist up gently and press into your cheeks, securing you into place as you suck in a sharp breath. Your palms press flat against the wall at your sides. He bends low to find access to your neck.

The cool, slick caress of his tongue on the curve of your throat draws out a shiver. It fills your chest and rolls down your spine. Tenderly exploring your skin, the tip of his tongue licks slowly upwards before disappearing from underneath your chin with a cool trace. You gulp.

The fiend. You would curse him if you weren’t half-paralyzed underneath his mouth. Your fingers inch toward your apron pocket.

“On second thought, why stop with a tease?” Grease slips back just enough to capture your gaze and watch you squirm. A threat of blush is bearing down upon your defenses. “You deserve more. A proper… tantalizing…”

He finishes his thought with a too-wide smile and his tongue flicking out of his mouth, closing the precious little distance between your lips. The gallope of your heart roars in your ears. You can’t name the roiling in your middle. It is too hungry, too excited for an oil demon’s touch. 

Still, you lean forward in the slightest, just to catch him the slightest bit off guard. His tail loosens from your leg. His eyes widen, but he presses in—

You snatch the box of cornstarch out of your apron and whip it in front of you, spilling out fine white powder onto the oil demon. He screeches in fury. Backing away from you as the cornstarch latches onto his chest, he writhes and hisses, claws raking at the substance gluing up his sleek form.

“You—! You—!” He howls but all you can do is steal one breathless sound before sliding out from underneath him and grabbing the door handle. Twisting it, you fling yourself into the kitchen.

You twist back to slam the door closed but catch a sharp, pale blue glare, frothing with a promise so vile, it ignites your core into a hot bubbling mess.

Grease will make you pay. But not tonight.

You lock the door and fall back against it. Deep gulps of air heaves through your chest. You slowly push your hair away from your sweaty face.

You got away. For now.

[banj0possum]

what would your characters react to reader wanting to squeeze their chest? like they jutst walk up to them all shy and stuff and they just mutter out if they can touch da boob, especially valeth and baron 👁️👁️

Asking Them If They Can Squeeze Their Chest

My OCs x GN Reader

CW: touching the booba, a bit suggestive themes in some parts

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Adrian scoffs while hiding his red face. "Pfft huh? What are you, some kind of pervert? Hah! W-wait why are you walking away! I didn't say no dumbass!" please cup his moobs he is begging you please hold them gently in your hands

Brandon is a bit embarrassed and doesn't know what to do.. Does he need to take off his shirt? Should he shower first? He's just had practice! If you compliment him afterwards he's blacking out over how flustered he is from you touching him.

Valeth is happy to let you feel him! A true warrior has no shame when it comes to showing off their body. You must admire your loving mate very much! He loves looking down at you as you feel him. Your eyes look like stars as your hands squeeze his chest, he won't lie, he might ask you to do this again.

Bo is a bit hesitant. Are you sure? There's not a lot left.. If you insist, he will sheepishly lift up his shirt and look away, he doesn't want to seeing him all shy. Please reassure him that you love him and his looks, he's very insecure about his body, the poor boy.

Screw is flustered. "Wh-what?! Y-you wanna- with me? Uhm..o-ok! P-please me gentle!" He's very ticklish so he's trying not to laugh while you touch him, you're both just very very flustered during the entire ordeal, Soda and Rib's was laughing their bones off watching the two of you.

Ribs is confused. "I...don't have any..."

Soda is flat but you're welcome to touch him. You are his mate after all :)

Wolfie rolls over and wags his tail. Please please please ! His leg kicks frantically as you rub his chest. Please nuzzle your face in his chest! He'll pull you close and lick your cheek telling how cute you are.

Dorik stand up and quickly lifts up his sweater. "Anything for you Master!......why are you not doing it yet?"

Kalva cocks his head in confusion. You have to act out that wanna honka honka his boobas and once he realizes what you're asking, he does a little :0 face and hops closer to you and sits down politely. He give you permission. :3

Jasper is in shock, he is frozen. If you ask if he's ok, he tries his best to compose himself and give you permission. He tries to look indifferent to it but he's not hiding his grin very well.

Viktor stops sipping his tea for a moment, his cheeks a bit red. "P-pardon me, my Dear?" Of course you can uhm...feel..him...if he had a heartbeat, it would be beating so fast it would sound like humming.

Garrick is ready for you to do it, he's read your mind, his tits already out to be honked baby. He's on the bed waiting for you to hop in with him. 'For the full experience' he says.

Silas has a smirk on his face and leans closer to your face. "My dear sweet (Y/N), you really want to do such a thing~? Well then, how about we go up to our quarters so you can feel me all you want~"

Baron's cold facade breaks for a moment as you ask him, his saliva gets caught in his throat and he starts coughing out of surprise. Once he regains his composure he flatly agrees and gulps when your hands touch his chest. He doesn't utter a word or sound the whole time. When you look back up at him, he has a nosebleed. "I-it's nothing Boss, I'm fine..please continue.."

Caspian swoons and coos so much, you almost drop the request all together. "Oh my! How romantic! How forward! You're so sudden my Treasure, I love it!~" He's very loud and sensitive so expect him to make some questionable sounds if you ask him.

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Rebuild & Restore - Chapter 4

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

All OC Characters belong to me

Joe grunted as his text message to Kiyana went unanswered for another day. “Gotta be Josh’s punk ass.” He muttered, throwing his phone onto the couch next to him. It’s been six months since he had Kiyana in his bed and he was feening for more. 

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back as he remembered how tight she felt wrapped around him. How intoxicating her moans sounded as she moaned in his ear . “Fuck” He whispered as he felt his pants grow tighter. He groaned and opened his eyes. “Fuck.” he muttered again, grabbing his phone and sending Kiyana another text message.

“Baby, when the last time you had some dick?” Kiyana choked on her lunch and glared at Samara as she reached for her cup of soda. 

“Girl what?” Kiyana asked. Samara shrugged. 

“You so wound up. That’s exactly what we’re doing this weekend. Getting you some dick.. Grade A dick.” 

“Can you stop saying dick?!” Kiyana hissed. “I do not need any of my coworkers over hearing this conversation.” Kiyana looked around, grateful that they were seated towards the back of the cafeteria and only one person was near them but he had on headphones. Samara had shown up to the hospital on Kiyana’s first day to have lunch with her and to hear about her day out with Josh and the boys. 

“I’m just saying.” Samara shrugged again with a smirk on her face. “Last person you had sex with was Joe, right?” Kiyana nodded. 

“Oh speaking of Joe. He texted me again.” 

“Did you respond?” Kiyana shook her head and Shrugged. 

“What was I supposed to say?” 

“Oh, big daddy Joe. I need you and that dick.” Samara said playfully, batting her eyelashes at Kiyana and laughed loudly, ducking the french fry that Kiyana threw her way. 

“Sorry to interrupt.” Kiyana and Samara looked towards the person and both of their jaws dropped open causing him to laugh a bit.  “I just wanted to introduce myself.” He said, his eyes never leaving Kiyana’s.  “I’m Elijah but everyone calls me Eli. You the new labor and delivery nurse right?”  Kiyana nodded, her mouth going dry when he flashed her a grin. “Nice to finally meet you. See you around.” He said, giving her a nice once over before biting his lip and walking away from them. 

“Fuck what I said about Joe.”  Samara said, eyes wide as she and Kiyana watched Elijah walk away from them. “If you don’t ride that man six ways to Sunday… I will.” 

Josh let out a growl when he saw Shanté waiting outside by his rental. He knew it was too good to be true. He could have swore her crazy ass had got sent back down to NXT but here she was, wearing a customized YEET shirt that had “MRS. USO” on the back. 

“Bruh, you trippin’” He muttered. Standing as far away from her as possible. “Whatchu want?” He looked around to see if there were any lingering fans around. He did not need any picture of him and Shanté hitting social media. 

“I miss you.” She pouted and Josh rolled his eyes. “C’mon Josh. Those four months meant something to you too.” 

“I didn't,” he said bluntly. “We had sex that’s it.” Shante rolled his eyes not believing what he was saying. 

“Josh, come on! You were so mad that I went out with Theory.” 

“Nah” He shook his head., “I was mad that Kiyana was being a bitch and refusing to bring the boys to see me because we were fighting and I took it out on you. I don’t give a damn about you and Austin.”  Shante furrowed her eyebrows. 

“What?”

Josh sighed. “It was nothing but sex Shanté. Yeah I said some shit that I shouldn’t of said. But I never wanted to be with you.” He shrugged, not caring if it came off mean. He was sick and tired of popping up everywhere. “It was just sex.” He repeated, and as expected Shanté marched up to him and smacked him in his face.

“I’m happy Kiyana divorced you, you piece of shit” She glared at him before ripping her shirt over her head and throwing it in a nearby trash can. Not caring that she was now walking around in her bra. 

“You and everyone else.” He muttered before climbing into his rental and driving towards the hotel. 

Kiyana fell backwards onto her bed. She was beyond exhausted. She closed her eyes and sighed. She would have to get used to this feeling, no longer a stay at home mom or a wife. She was almost asleep when he phone dinged with a notification, 

ElijahDaniels has requested to follow you. 

Kiyana bit her lip as she scrolled through his instagram account.

This man was too fine for his own good. She accepted his follow request and immediately received a DM from him. 

ElijahDaniels: those your kids? They look just like u.  KiyanaJackson_: yeah and thank you, lol. You’re the only person to ever say that.  ElijahDaniels: i aint know you was married tho. Tell you husband my bad lmao.  KiyanaJackson_: divorced actually.  ElijahDaniels: good KiyanaJackson_ good? Lol ElijahDaniels: yeah, now i can get to know u better.  ElijahDaniels: see u tomorrow ❤️

Mr Elijah Daniels MD 😉... our girl KiKi is back in the game!

(Joe is coming, i promise.)

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

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[trashbins-stuff]

My little silly cringy inanimate show esp 3: "new year new you, right?"

waaaa this took so long but also bc time blindness so it look lazy sorry huff huff huff...okay so lore: in this world they have this thing where someone house is picked to be The House hat everyone come over to celebrate this thing call "old years dinner" (dont think too much of it, it make it up) the ppl in the hosue invite ppl thye know and the ppl they know in vite other ppl THEY know and they all sort of come over and hang out even if they barely know each other. Maybe the real old years dinner was the friends we mae along the way..........................................amyway heres an announcement, mlscis will be on hiatus for alittle while bc i have ezam and ither stuff next espisode will come out at laye jauary or mid feb or maybe even march idk

[iihandsiiheavn]

ʚïɞ "a podium to celebrate", pt II. OP81

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⋮ fluff. word count: 1.4k. ʚɞ part I here.

⠀✧₊⁺ oscar piastri x aria giuseppe (red bull driver!female oc)

summary: aria and oscar late night after the hungarian gp.

warnings: pure fluff but badly written, i am sorry. taylor swift references, max verstappen as a special guest, could have ended in smut but the writer didn't feel like it should.

"Where are you going?"

Aria cursed under her breath as she heard the neighboring door creak open, revealing her teammate’s face, grinning mischievously.

"Fuck off," she whispered, her backpack light on her shoulders as she glanced back at the driver over her shoulder. "Go to sleep. I got more points than you today. Go mull over that."

"Calling Christian right now... Babybull is leaving the hotel, and I bet she’s headed to McLaren’s. Should I guess the room?"

Verstappen pretended to be on the phone, teasing the younger driver, making her step back and playfully swat at his arm.

They were good friends. Ever since Aria debuted in Formula One, Max had been someone she looked up to and a fun coworker. She knew he was joking as he watched her leave.

"It's easy to guess the room; you'd be the one sneaking into their first driver's. I've read about it on Twitter," she taunted, giggling as he rolled his blue eyes. "Fuck off, Max. Go to bed. Leave me alone.

"You'll be alone with the winner. Let me at least crack a joke!" he continued in a playful tone, watching her resume walking. "Wishing my mate Piastri good luck — you've got too much energy."

"I'm sure he can keep up," she quipped before heading to the elevators and out of the building.

Sneaking off was something both the Red Bull and McLaren drivers were used to doing; it was all fun when they had days off and could freely be around each other. But there was also the thrill of leaving their own hotels just to see one another, and that’s where Aria was headed now. A rented car waited for her just outside, and the drive to the hotel where the McLaren crew was staying was quick — nothing like a GP lap, but close enough.

She knocked softly on her best friend's door, which opened to reveal a soft smile before she jumped into his arms.

"Hello, Formula One Grand Prix winner... How are we holding up?" Her tone was sing-song, arms wrapped around the Aussie’s neck as he lifted her by the waist.

"We are actually... having pizza and drinking soda for the celebration, and... whatever else you might have in mind."

Aria giggled as he carried her through the suite, making sure to discard her backpack somewhere on the floor. They did this every now and then, even on nights that could’ve turned into wild parties. While the other RB-MC duo might be headed to the club, these two would be headed to the couch.

They had known each other since their karting days, when it all started with a humble Oscar and a small-but-fiery Aria. He had always been too nice for the go-kart tracks, and she had felt the same protective instinct around him; a special kind of care he sometimes felt unworthy of.

Then things grew, just like they did. Formula 2, testing in better cars, and finally, the dream became a reality. They were still there for each other, spending nights together, celebrating wins, or keeping vigil after losses.

A lot had changed since the beginning — not just the karts evolving into complex, expensive machines. Like the way their lips touched so naturally now. Aria cupped the Aussie’s face before pressing a quick kiss to his lips, a simple peck they always played off as a joke. They handled things better that way.

"Alright, Mr. First-Win, put me on the couch so I can lay down and watch our new edits. Let’s go." She tapped the boy on the shoulder, prompting him to carefully place her on the sofa.

"Taylor Swift songs as requested." he teased, kneeling on the couch, his knees on either side of Aria’s body before he laid his head on her chest, waiting only a second before her fingers found their way into his hair.

Physical intimacy — that was them. They had their moments with no clothes on, nights that vanished too quickly, or touching each other in ways that ignited a fire. But there was something special about moments like these, too.

Just existing around each other, finding comfort amid their crazy, rushed routine — being each other's safe place. That was it, simply put.

"Yes, yes. Taylor Swift songs. ‘Daylight,’ please, dear Lord. Let a teenage girl edit us to the bridge of ‘Daylight,’ please." Aria joked as usual, while Oscar giggled on top of her, watching her TikTok before she searched for their names in the search bar.

"This is just crazy. Do you ever think about it?" Oscar’s voice dropped at least an octave.

"About how cute we look on podiums? And talking to each other in the paddock?" she teased, her fingers tracing soft lines on his scalp as his hands rested on her sides.

"About how people think they’re making things up about us when it’s actually... real."

They had made a deal ever since their friendship started including kisses and waking up naked in each other’s beds. It was easier without the public's eyes on their personal lives. But still, people insisted on "making up" a relationship for them.

They did it with any two drivers who ever looked at each other, so why wouldn’t it happen to the one duo that was always together? Driver’s parade? Leaving the paddock? There was even a clip of Aria waiting outside McLaren’s motorhome as if she were Romeo waiting for Juliet.

However, she had only one thing in mind. "Real."

"So we’re real." A little smirk tugged at her lips, which Oscar couldn’t see, but there was no way he didn’t know her well enough.

"Stop smiling." he chuckled, his own lips curling up. "We were always real, Aria. Quit this talk."

"Real like... edits of us with that Zayn song? Look at us, look at us!" She shoved her phone in his face, the screen flashing edits of their moments earlier that day, set to the song.

But Oscar was quick to notice things, especially when it came to Aria. She ran from deep conversations and would joke her way out of anything, even if she had to joke all the way to heaven to avoid uncomfortable topics.

"Real like real. Real like really, really, really real." It had been on his mind ever since the cool-down room. It was.

"Hmm... Yeah." Aria mimicked the probable hours of footage of Oscar making these same sounds, and he couldn’t help but laugh softly as he raised his head just enough to see her. "What do you mean, Osc?"

Oscar was trying to get to three simple words.

But Aria made it so hard to get to that point. They had said it before, they did every now and then. The challenge was fitting the words into what they truly meant.

Not as a friend, not as someone who grew up with you, not as the fan they were of each other — none of that.

"You don’t?" He raised his head a little more, moving up her body in a funny way just to be closer. "Aria, you know I would’ve had a very, very strange first win if it wasn’t for you, right?"

"Nah, I just did the world a favor by soaking you in champagne. You won the race, remember?"

"Stop joking, Ri. I’m serious." His thumb caressed her chin, his eyes roaming over her face. "You’ve been doing this for me for years now — you’re always there."

"Because I always win." A forced, playful smile tugged at her lips as Oscar lightly rolled his eyes. "That’s what we do for each other, Osc. Stop. No need to say anything."

"Hmm?" At this point, he was lost, focused on how her eyes crinkled when she smiled, how her lips moved with her Italian accent, and how it felt to be on top of her. Just existing. "You know what, Aria? I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a—"

No need to finish. There wasn’t a need to say it because they had always known. Her lips crashed into his like a car into a wall. Everything went silent as her hands found their way back into Oscar’s hair, caressing the soft locks as his body lifted slightly.

The kiss deepened, a rush of emotions pouring into it. A tender feeling, yet filled with passionate intensity.

He was still on top of her, but no longer lying down. One hand balanced on the sofa, while the other hooked around the girl's neck, their bodies pulled closer, as if afraid to let go.

Every second seemed to stretch, filled with the sweetness of the moment as they melted into each other, the kiss saying everything Aria didn’t let Oscar say.

"I know you love me," she whispered, still close to his lips as they both gasped for air. "Because I love you too."

ʚïɞ