#something deeply wrong with him (affectionate)

[moscatosin]

🖤 taste tests - mattheo x reader x theodore🖤 bored reader. oral (m! rec), public spaces, have a sprite. mdni, (2.3k).

“You two are both absolutely, fucking deranged.”

Coming from anyone else, the comment would have stung a little, like a quick witted insult with clearly no through process put into it, but slipping off the tongue of one Theodore Nott; the words were delivered as a fucking compliment – one wrapped, mind you, tastefully within the perfection of his somewhat rare, yet rather amusing comedic flare.

Your knees – they ached. God, did they fucking hurt at this point, all bruised and battered and bloodied on an almost artistic scale from the rough stone floors you’d been kneeling on for now what felt like forever, but let’s be real – the uncomfortable feeling and pain you were going through was a rather small price to pay for a sliver of illicit thrill.

There were three months left until graduation. 3. That equated out to roughly 60 days of classes and exams, or better still – eighty four days trapped within the castle walls of Hogwarts until your undeniable freedom from the education system you’d been held hostage within. Not that you weren’t grateful for what you’d learned; no, this wasn’t the case – you’d had the absolute time of your life, but it was time to move on. Time for bigger and better things than what Hogwarts could simply offer.

Until then though, you needed something to keep yourself relatively sane amidst the chaos of final exams, petty courtyard drama and dormmates you’d be oh so happy to never see again. The ache for something different, something unique and something that you could make undeniably yours is what brought you to this point: hair slicked back into a high ponytail and on your knees between the dimly lit rows of shelves at the back of the library, participating in something that over time you’d affectionately dubbed as ‘The Taste Test’. A story, rumour, myth that had rather quickly lingered throughout the school.

The concept? Simple enough. Sometime between mid February and the end of June, you’d made it a mission to give head to every sixth and seventh year boy in campus and rank them – both solo and by house from one through forty six based on the categories of taste, texture and overall satisfaction. Easy enough right? Ha! Wrong. Not when Slytherin of all houses was fucking involved, and not when you’d left them, intentionally until last. Let’s just go out on a limb by saying that their reputation for intensity that had been rumoured around the castle and whispered in riddles by portraits as you strolled by wasn’t just ‘talk’, and that you, over the last few evenings; had found that out firsthand.

Feeling fingers deeply knot into the length of your ponytail before being wrapped rightly around a palm, you managed to barely stifle an innocent little giggle at Theo’s comment, only for it to near immediately morph into a dangerous yet delicious choke as the tip of Mattheo’s cock roughly hit the back of your throat, causing you to splutter and gag. With eyes delicately watering, you glanced up at him from waist height with a feigned expression of both innocence and vulnerability you knew he’d see right through but threw out there anyway.

“Oh c’mon Princess, don’t give me that sweet little doe-eyed look”, Mattheo barely managed to drawl out as a sick little smirk threatened to tug at the corner of his lips, “You’re the one who wanted to try every guy and well.. low and be-fucking-hold, you’ve saved the best two for last.”

A quick slap at your cheek which caused the skin to bloom an immediate shade of pretty scarlet red, Mattheo’s eyebrows cocked up, his bottom lip brought almost seductively up to be caught between his teeth as he continued to thrust into your mouth setting a relentless pace that you hadn’t yet experienced from any of the other subjects involved in your little project.

Gagging, a hollow whimper escaped your lips that burned the edges of your tongue as it rolled out; your hands braced hard up against his thighs, half hoping Mattheo would slow down, mind already wondering how much you’d have to swallow and if skipping dinner tonight was fucking worth the empty stomach. Every other boy you’d been with prior had been in private – their dorm, a vacant broom cupboard, empty classroom, blah blah but this; oh this just had to be different. Nearby, Theo lounged comfortable, sprawled out on a chair he’d dragged over from a study area, watching on with an amused grin as he flicked through the pages of your little leather bound notebook and tried to decipher everything you’d recorded.

“Little miss researcher has got this all figured out Mattheo – point system and fucking everything”, Theo snorted, twirling his wand casually between his fingers, “Taste, texture, satisfaction – Merlin, it’s almost like a bloody Michelin guide.”

You managed to pull back just enough to catch your breath – just enough that you could talk and narrowed your eyes near menacingly. “It’s called having a scientific approach, Nott. Something I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.”

Mattheo chuckled along; his hand tightening back into your hair to guide you back to where you should have been focused; tip of his cock parting your lips a little easier than you’d have liked to admit. “Scientific huh? Less focus on Theo, more focus on the task at hand yeah?”

Rolling your eyes back heavily, you complied, focusing on the task at hand – just as Mattheo wanted. The library for the most half was silent, save for the faint rustle of pages from a forgotten book a student desperately flickered through last moment in an attempt to find something smart to quote into an assignment, and well, the occasional muffled sound from your efforts that you’d prefer to keep that way. A library – of course it had to be in the fucking library.

The Slytherin boys had been the final hurdle in this little experiment, and fuck – they hadn’t disappointed. Each brought something rather… different. Draco, a rather attractive arrogance. Blaise, a smooth confidence. Goyle ugh… breathmints; thank christ. Enzo, the intimacy of platting your hair as you went down on him. Theo, lounging around like a bored king was next; and you already knew from the dead eyed look he always wore and shot you that he probably couldn’t have cared less.. but Mattheo; fuck, the way his hips snapped up against your cheeks, it was a damn performance.

The rules overall, were simple. No bias. No favouritism. You’d worked your way through all students or well.. subjects – systematically. The Gryffindors – earnest, yet predictable. The Ravenclaws – surprisingly experimental. The Hufflepuffs – sweethearts, but rather lacking edge and now… these fucking serpents.

Feeling Mattheo’s pace slow, his grip in your hair began to loosen as he let out a low growl, pulsing and spilling into your mouth without much warning. There was a shift in his stance; weight switching from left leg to right as the telltale sign that Mattheo was close. Pulling back slightly, you teased your tongue flat against his shaft to draw the feeling out. No need to rush a finale. Swallowing each spurt, tears that had formed in the corners of your eyes running rogue down your face mixed in with mascara which ever so gently dyed lines into your cheeks. “Who’d have thought that mouth you run in classes would be fucking good at this?”

Chuckling, you skimmed your thumb across your lips to clean up and snatched your notebook out of Theodore’s hands to scribble down the score you felt Mattheo earned. Tilting your head, you hummed softly pretending to consider as if you hadn’t just been thinking about these scores for the last nine minutes.

“Taste – a solid eight. You eat way too many chocolate frogs – I can almost taste them. Texture – seven and a half. Standard. Nothing special. A little gritty. Satisfaction...” You paused, smirking; knowing that this would either make or break his confidence into tiny, pathetic little shreds. “Let’s go with nine. Always room for improvement, Riddle.”

Almost barking out a laugh; Theodore shook his head and bit his tongue between his teeth, buying himself some time to think of an appropriate reply before interjecting what had just been revealed.

“Brutal M. However, that would make it my turn now hey? Let’s see if I can’t top Riddle’s nine.” “Yeah – good luck asshole. She’s a fucking harsh critic.” Mattheo managed out, shooting Theo a glare as he stepped back to adjust his trousers before taking a seat on the edge of a nearby desk.

Sliding off the chair he’d been so comfortable in, Theodore sauntered over with that lazy, arrogant confidence that just made him oh so infuriatingly charming. Crouching down for a moment, his fingertips – soft and gently pushed up beneath your chin so that your eyes could meet his – the exchange of gazes glinting with undeniable mischief.

“A harsh critic? Nah, this little dollface is just discerning. Aren’t you love? Ready to meet your champion?”

Snorting in response, you tucked some loose hair which had fallen in front of your face from how rough Mattheo had been behind your ear and smiled. “Awfully cocky Nott for someone who hasn’t even stepped up to the challenge yet. You ready?”

“Oh, I am more than ready”, he confirmed; getting up, back straightening and feet widening with perfectly polished shoes as Theodore undid his belt with a theatrical flourish and guided you to tug his zipper down with your teeth, complimenting you with the whispered phrase of good girl that made not only your mind fault for a second but your inner thighs begin to burn.

The next few minutes on your knees were an absolute fucking blur; a battle ground of Theodore’s teasing commentary as his cock ran tender between your swollen lips and your own determination in trying ever so hard to stay focused. He was different – different from Mattheo, different from the other boys. Less intense, far less worried; much, much more playful, guiding you with soft murmurs breathed in both an eclectic fusion of Italian and English as well as, the occasional cheeky remark, reminding you to keep your eyes focused on him.

Unlike others; Theodore gave you fair warning – something only the Hufflepuffs funnily enough had done; prior to sinking his fingers into your hair and holding you close as he could before spurting warm and salty into your mouth. By the time he was finished with you, your knees were screaming; ready to call it a night. Thighs still irritatingly warm though. Damn – perhaps you should have convinced them this little project was a fuck study rather than a suck study. Leaning back, you swallowed hard; catching your breath with further flushed cheeks before you felt around for that notebook of yours and flipped it over to the last page, scribbling down Theodore’s scores before you could forget anything.

“Well?”, he asked, attempting to peer down over your shoulder, “Gonna keep me in suspense or tell me that I’ve bet Riddle?”

“Taste – nine”, you gasped out, licking your lips. “Rather savoury – it was nice.” You tapped the feather of your quill against your chest and continued to scribble. “Texture – seven point five; I’m starting to think this is a standard. Oh and satisfaction; you were the only one polite enough to warn me that you were coming so.. eight. You could have been a little rougher with me. Not bad overall though.”

Clutching at his shirt in mock offense; Theo sighed and furrowed his brows. “Not bad? Girl, I’m wounded – I was aiming for legendary, not the same fucking score as Riddle.”

“Better luck next time Italian Stallion”, Mattheo managed to choke out in between laughs, pushing himself off the edge of the desk he sat at watching rather intrigued.

Closing your notebook and tying the thin straps around it to keep the pages concealed, you reached a hand out, having Theodore help you onto your feet as you swept the material of your skirt down flat against your thighs and smiled; pulling your hair out of it’s updo to casually cascade down over your shoulders.

“That’s it – the taste test is now officially complete”, you chirped, walking out of the library with both boys past some rather curious and bashful looks from studying students.

“So who’s the winner?”, Theodore asked, falling into pace beside you. “Don’t tell me some Gryffindor with a hero complex.”

“Nah, surely it’s a Slytherin”, Mattheo piped up, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked out into central hall.

Holding your notebook close up against your chest, you shrugged and twirled some hair around your fingers lazily, “A girls got to have some secrets fellas – I mean c’mon.”

Nudging the shell of your ear with his nose, Mattheo chuckled softly, warm breath creeping down along your jaw that made your inner thighs burn with further more regret. “Pretty please princess – just give us a hint. How about overall? Slytherin took top spot – didn’t we?”

Shrugging again, you wriggled yourself out of his hold and shook your head, taking a few steps ahead before turning around with a spin on your heel to face them.

“Maybe, maybe not.. you’ll both just have to wait until graduation.”

The boys grumbles and groan at your answer, but nonetheless don’t bother pushing it any further. Not yet. Not now. They’ve got heaps of time to gruel information out of you. As you slip through the darkened corridors of the castle back to your dormroom, you can’t help but grin. This whole experiment had been a ridiculous, reckless way to pass the time, but hey, it had done its job. You’d survived your final few months of being stuck in the castle with a story that no one would believe, and a notebook full of secrets you’d take with you to your grave…

… or at least the ten year class reunion.

unedited - i'm sorry. short but i hope you enjoy xoxo

[khys-treasure-box]

AN: Needed this one out of my system for a while to be honest. I love Kaeya to bits and so I really needed to yap about him anyways, but I've needed this off my chest because of the literal years worth of watching certain parts of the fanbase misinterpret him to absolute death. I see far too much that boils him down to being toxic and a manwhore or otherwise flattens him down to being flirtatious and fails to acknowledge the flaws he would actually have. Getting this out makes me feel like maybe I'm clearing the air a bit. :')

By no means does that mean this post is meant to be an insult to anyone or how they write him though! Just my own addition to the pile of who knows how many stories and thoughts about him that are out there! <3

CW: I fear I don't know how to put it in any way other than Kaeya-typical angst. In this case, specifically how said angst affects his love life. (I swear guys, I will write something happier about him later. This is just what came to me first. ;-;) Reader is only ever referred to as you, so therefore they're gender neutral!

Let's just go ahead and rip the band-aid off; loving Kaeya isn't always easy.

it isn't because he's a bad lover though. For the most part, he's absolutely lovely, actually. Attentive, charming, endlessly affectionate; the list goes on. There's not so much as a single doubt that he's absolutely smitten with you and would move mountains to make you happy if he could. It's rather likely that quite a handful of people are jealous of your relationship. He is yours, and you are his. Neither of you could imagine life without each other at this point.

But that unfortunately doesn't mean that being with him comes without problems.

For as much as he loves you, it's hard not to notice after a while that he seems a bit cagey with you at times. He always finds a way out of talking about his life before being taken in by the Ragnvindrs, and even when speaking about his life with them he seems to gloss over anything that he feels sounds unpleasant. He seems to do the same when speaking about work too. Of course, to a degree that's understandable. Surely there's some of his work that's confidential seeing as he's currently second-in-command to the Acting Grand Master. He would inevitably have to leave some things out or change details around. It's just strange because you know how much he loves to tell stories, yet he doesn't tell many grand tales about his work-related adventures. Even on the rare occasions he does, the stories he chooses to tell seem almost suspiciously mundane. It all adds up at a certain point.

Despite being his lover, the one who should arguably be the closest to him, it's as if you know both everything and nothing about him at the same time. You've slept at his side dozens of times, you know what his favorite meals are down to the exact way he prefers them made, you've picked up on who knows how many little habits of his that he may not even realize he has. You share such a deep, intimate bond with him and yet you know so little about who he was before the two of you met. Gods above, he won't even speak fully openly about his life here and now. It's a struggle. A true, honest struggle. You love him, so it's natural that you want to know everything and more about him, but he just won't budge. He's like a frozen wall sometimes and it hurts.

Truth is, he's actually deeply afraid. Terrified of saying too much. Terrified of saying the wrong thing. Terrified of losing you, his everything. He skips over so many important things about himself because he fears that you would leave, and that is a thought he just can't stomach. He hates to do it, truly. He knows you're smart enough to know something is amiss and he knows that it hurts you. The guilt of having to lie to and hide so much from his beloved is enough to consume him at times, but it's a necessary evil, isn't it? It's selfish of him, of course, but he's convinced himself that this is for the best for you both.

He does try to make up for it in his own ways. For every lie he tells or truth he hides, he finds an excuse to dote on you even more than he already does. An unprompted kiss, an offer to help you with something, or, so long as he can make time for it, he'll gladly arrange an almost needlessly wonderful date. The man will go the absolute distance to make up for the mountain of words left unspoken. Anything to ease the pain in your heart; to soothe the aches he's causing you. To anyone else, these things appear like nothing more than simple, casual acts of romance, but they mean that and so much more. They are acts of both love and apology.

Don't take any of this to mean that he never considers just telling the truth though; he most certainly does. There have been so many instances where he's truly considered sitting you down on a day that he has free and telling you everything. Of course, it would likely take hours worth of spilling his guts and trying his best not to let his emotions get out of hand, but... maybe it would be worth it? Perhaps it would, even if only slightly, ease the burden he carries and bring peace to your poor heart. However, that's where the fear comes back and makes him recoil. What if you were disgusted by what you'd hear? What if you'd turn out fearful of him knowing what he was capable of? What if you'd think less of him knowing why he was even here to begin with? The doubts never fail to be almost sickening. He loves you and trusts you more than he could ever put into words. He knows you deserve the truth, but no matter how many times he tries to convince himself to tell it, he just can't bring himself to disturb the peace he has with you... but maybe one day he'll find it in himself to take that risk. Who knows? Maybe it'll be sooner than later.

In many less words, to love Kaeya is to be patient with him, to give him grace, and most importantly, understanding. Give him that, and he may just be able to find it within himself to truly bare himself to you; to let you see all the things hidden beneath the veil.

[kensatou]

happy year of the dragon from this guy…

[benanazauce]

hi mic test 1 2 3. prowl is more of a cringefail than anyone on his team

[saryasy]

I actually can't stop thinking about this since rewatching Buck, Actually. because imagine you're OLD and GAY and your soulmate just DIED in such a brutal way. and you're reminiscing about your love to the firefighter who was supposed to help save him, and that firefighter goes "well EYE hope to find something like this too."

[luvoat]

regular vs. horror edition

[eggsbenedictinurmom]

🫵 for the ship bingo

barry the quokka/ian jr/gadget the wolf/infinite the jackal :3

WOAH. That’s a lotta people !!

[angry-eevee]

Uh huh, you sure about that, hun?

[willlmesh]

ohhh i get it now. he has the comically large fork.... to eat the comically large salmon.........

[flovverworks]

after a billion yrs i added a lil line about my gbf verse.....<3 one day i might flesh it out to something in-universe, but since gbf is so "oh ure from another world? ya that happens..." i....am gonna keep w that..........(also cuz i do think discussing the different ways of magic, moon-enemy & this n that is more fun like this

[spring-lxcked]

evil evil man but he can't date sb who doesn't enjoy physical affection from him because he's so damn needy. he sees his partner sitting down and he either has to be in their lap or as close to them as possible. even if he falls asleep next to his partner not cuddling, they'll still wake up with him half on top of them. kisses as greetings and goodbyes and because he's bored and yes there's a 43.25% chance he'll try to turn it into a makeout even if they're busy with something. partner is like "you're distracting me" and he's literally rubbing his face against theirs like "no i'm not." and he'll start this shit in the pre-dating """Platonic""" phase too if the person will let him and he likes them enough.

[beeribas]

My friend during a discord call: Hey, how did you know you were polyamorous?

Me, sitting on the call with the man who made me realize I was polyamorous: Uhhhhhh…

[youling-the-ghost]

y'know that's actually the most accurate description of Tom I've ever heard actually

Tom, describing being roasted: I really like that most of those were like “Tom’s almost really handsome… but something’s wrong”

[bakug0uzb1thc]

First time calling him Katsuki.

Paring: Katsuki Bakugou x GN! Reader

Summary: after finals all Katsuki wants to do is cuddle.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

When you first got with Bakugou you thought he wasn’t the cuddling type. You thought he hated affection and anything on the lines of it. Oh did he prove you wrong.

It was a Saturday afternoon and the dorms were far from quiet. Finals had just finished and everyone was having a day to just relax and unwind from the chaotic week.

While you and some of the 1-A girls were hanging out it clicked in your head that your hot-headed boyfriend wasn’t in the commons.

“Hey has anyone seen Bakugou?” You inquired your peers in hopes they’d have some sort of clue on where he could be.

“Nah, I think he’s still in his room” Kirishima peaked over the couch as you walked around still darting your eyes around.

“Hm.. okay..” you trailed off making the decision that you would check his room. Sure enough, when you knocked on his door you could hear a faint grumble.

“What do you- oh hey..” he opened the door with force unknown to the fact it was you at the door.

“Hey I was just wondering where you were” You gave him a soft smile, watching as he looked down to your lips and back up to your eyes. This move going unnoticed by you.

“Whatever.” He scoffed and grabbed your hand hurrying you into his room.

Once he closed the door you noticed his room a bit unorganized which seemed very unlike him, but before you could make any sense of this he picked you up and laid you on his bed with a slight thump. Which was continued by all his body weight against you.

“Baku-gou…” you said in a breathy tone as his weight crushed you.

“Don’t call me that.” He sneered into your chest.

“Huh?” You said not knowing what you should do in this situation.

“Don’t call me that..” he said again in a deeper tone.

“What should I call you then?” You mentally laughed at the question you were asking him.

“My name.” He said, like it was even a question.

“Katsuki?” You said in a soft tone which made him burry his face more and more into your chest.

It made your face warm up but at that point it wasn’t what you were thinking about. It was how he had his arms wrapped around you, not in a possessive way. His hold on you was sweet and caring. Something you weren’t expecting from him.

You knew he liked you, but you weren’t sure if he loved you.

You returned his embrace and hugged him back, if not tighter. Katsuki wasn’t very affectionate so him voluntarily cuddling you made you wanna eat every part of this up.

He sighed, feeling almost relieved at your touch. He didn’t quite grasp how stressful the past week had been until he was in your arms. He didn’t have to do anything besides hug you back. Finally, he could relax.

That day you found out that Katsuki and Bakugou were two different people. Katsuki was soft, caring and affectionate in a silent way and Bakugou was a hot head who was extremely opinionated. Though it seemed he had two alter-egos, he was still your boyfriend that you cared deeply for. Even loved.

[beloveds-embrace]

(More of designationless reader based on this idea)

You had always been less.

Less noticeable, less intrusive, less of a presence that mattered, and you learned early on that your family didn’t want you too close. Their scents were for each other, their touches were reserved for those who belonged. You were something other, something they tolerated rather than accepted.

It started small- your mother shifting away when you tried to curl up beside her, your father keeping his voice clipped, distant, like warmth was something you hadn’t earned. Then it became something more. You weren’t allowed in the nest, weren’t allowed to linger where they laid together in a comforting tangle of limbs and scents. You could watch from the doorway, but never enter. Could exist near, but never within.

And so, your body adapted to your family- and now it it was adapting to your pack.

Once more, it started with small things.

The way Ghost would stand a little closer than usual, his hulking body looming just within reach. The way Gaz would brush his fingers over your wrist whenever he passed by, lingering like he was trying to confirm something, brows furrowed. The way Soap had developed the sudden habit of hooking his chin over your shoulder, inhaling deeply before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.

You thought nothing of it at first. They were tactile- it wasn’t unusual for them to be close, to press up against you like you had a scent they could bury themselves in. You had never complained about it before, so you assumed it was just… normal.

But then Price had done it.

He wasn’t the type to be overly affectionate- comforting, yes, steady and there,, but not one for unnecessary touches even if sometimes he’d hold you tight and close. And yet, when you had handed him a cup of coffee that morning, he had taken it and your wrist, holding you still for just a moment too long. His fingers had tightened, just slightly, like he was resisting the urge to pull you closer. His nose flared subtly, lips parting before he let you go with a slow exhale.

You frowned at him, but he only took a sip of his coffee and looked away like nothing had happened.

It started escalating after that- after you joined their nest and arms regularly of your own will.

Ghost wasn’t just standing close anymore- he was standing behind you, his chin nearly brushing the crown of your head as if debating whether to bury his nose there. Soap had stopped using pillows entirely, opting instead to just tuck himself against your side, his face pressed somewhere against your shoulder, your throat, your hair. Gaz had taken to curling around you when you were sitting together, nuzzling shamelessly, inhaling against the skin of your neck like he was trying to memorize something.

And the worst part?

You could feel it.

There had always been something missing, something hollow where others had instincts- some part of you that had never quite woken up. You had learned to live without it, learned to ignore the way packs moved around you instead of with you, the way scent markers never quite stuck no matter how much time you spent pressed into someone’s arms. You had long since accepted that whatever part of you was supposed to respond to this kind of attention had simply been burned out of you long ago.

But now-

Now there was something stirring, something faint and new and wrong.

A deep itch beneath your skin, something that made your stomach curl and your head swim every time one of them leaned in close. Something that made the back of your throat tickle whenever you rested with them, calm and content.

It wasn’t a scent, not really- more like the promise of one, something so faint and elusive that even you couldn’t quite catch it.

But they could, because they had noticed before you did.

That much became painfully clear when Ghost backed you into the corner of the common room one evening, pressing close, his head tilting as he breathed deep, slow, deliberate.

“…The hell are you doing?” Your voice came out unsteady, but he didn’t move, only leaned in closer, eyes dark and fixated like he was trying to map something beneath your skin.

“You smell different.” He murmured.

Your heart lurched.

“No, I don’t. I don’t have any smell.”

Ghost just huffed, a sound that was almost a growl, but not quite. Behind him, Soap shifted where he sat, his nose scrunching, his brow furrowed like something was bothering him.

“I noticed it too,” Gaz muttered. “It’s… new. But it’s there.”

Price had been silent up until that point, but when he finally spoke, his voice was careful.

“…It’s not strong.” His gaze pinned you, assessing, like he was searching for something just out of reach. “But it’s there, love.”

Your stomach twisted.

You had lived your whole life thinking you were empty, thinking you had simply been born wrong. And now-

Now they were telling you it had been there the whole time?

You- you couldn’t believe it. You refused to believe it, refused to accept it after everything, but-

That night, you barely got a moment to yourself.

Ghost wasn’t just standing close anymore- he was practically wrapped around you, his face pressed against your throat, his breath hot and deep as he inhaled in his sleep, mouthing at your neck. Soap was sprawled over your stomach, arms locked around your waist, while Gaz had curled up at your side, face tucked into your shoulder. Even John, John, who had never been one for unnecessary indulgence, had you caged, his body curled around the entire mess of you, nose buried in your hair, lips pressed against your temple.

It was suffocating. It was overwhelming.

It was the safest you had ever felt in your life.

Omegaverse Masterlist

[p1astr81]

hii! i saw you're taking requests and i was wondering if you'd do one for oscar piastri with a reader whos like really affectionate and whos love language is physical touch but maybe she thinks its too much for oscar so she stops like touching him all the time and kind of pulls away? i’m sorry my explanation doesn’t make much sense but i’m sure with your writing it’ll be really good (please make it like really really angsty)

Your first mistake was reading your hate comments under a post about you and Oscar. Taken without your knowledge, the video showed you clung onto Oscar’s arm as you exited a restaurant.

Your second mistake was listening to the comments and believing them.

The seed had been planted, sprouting the idea that so much physical affection wasn’t Oscar. It wasn’t what he wanted and you forced it onto him. Perhaps you even made him uncomfortable.

“You almost ready to go?” He had one hand on the car door, the other was occupied by his phone. He looked back at you with a raised brow in question.

You were busy reapplying your lip gloss. “Yup!”

You walked side by side into the paddock. Strangely, you had yet to take his hand in yours. His hand brushed against yours like an invite. Instead of taking his hand, you occupy your hand with your purse instead.

He noticed, rendered it as strange, but didn’t comment on it.

Your strange habits continued through the day. You didn’t move your chair closer when you sat down. You didn’t kiss his cheek before he got in the car for qualifying, not so much as a hug even. When he qualified on pole, you smiled, but you didn’t hug him. Everything was strange with you. He knew something was up.

As you left for the night, he put his hand on your lower back. Conveniently, you’d dropped your water bottle right after. You crouched down, Oscar’s hand slipping from you. When you stood up, you put some distance between the both of you so that I would be awkward for him to try to resume his hold on you.

This was more than strange. Something was deeply wrong. That became evident when you only pecked his cheek before going to bed.

He’d decided that he would wait for tomorrow. Perhaps it was just an off day.

When you casually dodged his kiss the next morning, he knew it wasn’t just one off day.

He had to clear the air before the race.

He stood in the suite, leaning against a wall located across the room from you. You were singing softly to whatever song was in your head. “Did I do something?” He asked suddenly. No lead up. Just silence and then a bomb.

You put down your straightener, chuckling. “Yeah. You put it on pole and now you’re going to win.”

He shook his head, measured steps crossing the room. He stopped next to you, leaning against the desk you were sat in front of. His hands were in his pockets, virtually relaxed but mentally shaken. “That’s not what I meant.” He adverted his eyes to the window before his gaze found your soft and confused eyes again. “Did I do something to you? Or say something?”

You laughed again, shaking your head.

Oscar could tell the sound was fabricated.

“No. Why would you think that?” You tilted your head.

He sighed, shifting his position against the desk. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Laughing, you tried to dismiss him. “I haven’t been-“

“Yes you have. All day yesterday. You’re usually all over me but yesterday… nothing. Not even a real kiss.”

Chewing on your lip, you picked up your straightener again. He watched as you ran the hot tool through your hair. You still hadn’t said anything. You continued to straighten your hair, flattening three more strips before the silence killed him.

“Will you say something? Please?”

The hot tool was dropped onto the table with a loud clatter. “Maybe I realized I’m too clingy for you.” You only glanced at him, then your eyes trained on the desk. Jaw clenched, breathing measured.

He scoffed, offended at the accusation. His hands left his pockets to cross over his chest. “And who put that idea in your head?” When you stayed silent for too long, he held your face in his hand and forced you to look at him. He softened when he saw your eyes brimming with tears. “Oh. Was it me?”

“No.” You hiccuped, still trying to hold back your tears. “Do you still love me?”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate. “Why would you think—where is this all coming from?”

“Your fans.” You felt the first tear slip. He wiped it away before you got the chance.

“What?”

You hiccuped, more tears falling as the memories of their words echoed. “They- I- you- they said that I’m too clingy and that you obviously don’t like that or me in general.”

He wanted to be angry at people. He wanted to find who they were and tell them off to their faces. But his heart was aching in his chest. “Honey, they don’t know you better than I do. They don’t know me.”

“But-but- they-I saw you. in the- in the video.” You could hardly get your words out, hiccuping like crazy.

He tilted his head and crouched down beside you. “What video?” He was so gentle, so caring.

But you didn’t see any of that through your hysterics. “The video! After we left the restaurant on our date. Someone video’d us and- and you looked to annoyed.”

He took your hands, led you over to the bed to sit you down. “Aw, hon, I was annoyed. But not at you. Never at you.” He shook his head. “They gave us the wrong wine again.”

A sharp exhale left your lips. A sound of disbelief. “What?” Your quiet voice squeaked.

“I didn’t say anything because I hadn’t thought you noticed, and I know you hate correcting people.” He smiled and squeezed your hands. “I love how clingy you are. My day isn’t complete if you’re not attaching yourself to my arm or texting me a million times.” He held your face in the palm of his hand. Your cheek was slick with tears and warm from blush. “I spent all of yesterday spiraling because I didn’t have my koala climbing my arm.”

You laughed at him and found a home in his chest, burying your head there. He stroked your hair and muttered reassurances in your ear, telling you over and over again how he loved you and your clingy ways.