#yeah ill add the x reader in there why not | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scuderiahoney · 2 months

Text

Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri, roommates!au

Masterlist

Summary: You, Lando, and Oscar are roommates. The three of you promise to take care of each other. It takes you all far too long to admit just how much you mean it. featuring dj!Lando for cece :) based on a blurb I wrote for my 1k celebration so if the first bit feels familiar that’s why! 7.4k words

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of vomiting (non graphic), illness, a breakup, and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

Lando’s not expecting the phone call he gets from you. It’s late, too late, really, for him to even be awake, let alone for you to be calling. Oscar’s sitting on the couch next to him, gaming controller in hand, and when Lando swipes to answer the call, he mouths the words who is it? Lando mouths your name in reply, and Oscar’s half asleep flat expression turns into a look of concern. The three of you are roommates, but you’re gone for the night. Lando didn’t ask where you were going when you left.

“Hello?” He asks, waiting for your response.

There’s a sniffle, then a hiccupy gasp for air that has Lando sitting up straight in his seat. “Lan. Could you- fuck, m’sorry, just- d’you think you could pick me up?”

Lando stares widely at Oscar for a moment, heart clenching in his chest. You sound upset- more than upset, really. He stands up, already searching frantically for his keys.

“Yeah, love, of course,” he says as Oscar follows suit and stands up. “Should I bring Oscar?”

You sniffle again. “Yeah, please, just…”

“It’s okay. Send me your location, yeah? Take a deep breath, we’ll be there soon.”

You mumble something, and then you hang up on him. Lando shoves his phone in his pocket and looks up at Oscar, who’s holding the keys to his car. That works. Oscar heads for the door, while Lando makes a pit stop in the kitchen. When he meets his friend in the entryway, Oscar’s staring at him with confusion.

“She’s crying,” Lando says in explanation, holding a paper bag close to his chest.

They make it across town in record time. Oscar groans when they pull into the apartment complex you’d sent the location of.

“Isn’t this her boyfriend’s place?” He asks, brows furrowed.

Lando doesn’t get a chance to answer, because you step out of the front door, and they’re both distracted. Oscar swears under his breath, and Lando follows suit at the sight of you- you’re in a t-shirt and shorts. There’s snow on the ground. Oscar pulls his hoodie over his head just before you make it to the car door.

You climb into the backseat and collapse in on yourself. Both Lando and Oscar are turned towards you, and Lando’s sure their facial expressions are matching looks of concern. They both hand over their items without a word- Oscar’s hoodie, and Lando’s carton of ice cream and a spoon. You pull the hoodie over your head and open the ice cream.

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Oscar says, voice low.

Lando nods. “Yeah. We can just sit here together until you feel up to anything else.”

You nod and chew on your lower lip, and the light from the street lamp outside catches on the tear tracks on your cheeks. “He dumped me. Can we just go home?”

Lando reaches his hand back to squeeze yours. Your fingers are ice cold. “Of course,” he says softly.

As Oscar pulls away, he and Lando exchange a look of worry and anger. They’ve never liked your boyfriend, but they hate to see you hurting, too.

“Thanks,” you add, voice small in the backseat. You hold onto Lando’s hand tightly. “I knew I could count on you guys.”

Lando squeezes your hand again. You’re quiet most of the way back, and he lets it go. Oscar’s right to not push you to talk about it. That’ll come in its own time.

Oscar drives back to your shared apartment, pulling into a parking space in the garage. He gets out before Lando and slips around to the backseat, opening the door for you. The Aussie wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side.

When you all get upstairs, you collapse onto the couch. Lando follows suit, not wanting to leave your side. Oscar isn’t far behind. He grabs the remote and turns on the TV, something quiet that Lando doesn’t pay attention to. He just watches you for signs of distress. You stare at the tv blankly and chip away at the ice cream with your spoon, leaning on Oscar as Lando leans on you. Slowly, the three of you melt into the couch, none of you wanting to break the silence and suggest going to bed.

…..

Oscar wakes up on the couch at 3 in the morning, and when he looks around, this awful feeling hits him. It’s like someone’s reached into his chest and clawed his heart out. You’re laying there, your head on his stomach, one of your arms over his thigh. Lando’s laying nearly on top of you- together, the three of you are like a stack of toppled dominoes. There are blankets strewn over all of you. Oscar can vaguely remember Lando’s attempt to cover all three of you up as you all began to drift off.

You’re fast asleep, and when Oscar peers down at you he can still see the tear tracks on your cheeks. He’s never liked your boyfriend- ex boyfriend, now, thank god- but breakups are awful no matter what. He’s got half a mind to go over and confront the guy, because who leaves their girlfriend- ex girlfriend- to walk out of their apartment in the dead of winter in a t-shirt and shorts? Even if you had broken up, he seemingly hadn’t given you the chance to put on sweatpants and a hoodie. Or maybe you hadn’t wanted to stay long enough.

Lando shifts in his sleep, pressing closer to you. It’s only now that Oscar notices Lando’s hand linked with yours, fingers knitted together on your stomach. A pang of something flares up in him at the sight, at how right it feels to have you both right here like this. He does his best to tamp it down. He brushes his fingers against your cheek tentatively, relaxing just a bit at the feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips.

You nudge into the touch, eyelids just barely fluttering. Oscar wonders to himself how anyone could ever let you go. The sight of you in the backseat, teary eyed in his hoodie, is burned into the back of his brain. He’d do anything to keep you from ever crying again.

When he wakes up again, it’s much later in the morning. You and Lando are both gone, and something about that makes his heart clench. But he hears noise in the kitchen- Lando, talking to someone, the sound of food sizzling on the stove. He sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes before trudging his way over there.

Lando’s at the stove, cooking something that smells awfully delicious and makes Oscar’s stomach growl. You’re sitting on the counter nearby the way you always do, still in Oscar’s hoodie, hands folded in your lap. You’re the first one to spot him- you smile, but it’s subdued. There’s a tinge of sadness to it. Something aching behind your eyes.

“Morning,” he finally says.

Lando turns over his shoulder with a smile. “I was just about to send her to wake you,” he says. “I made breakfast.”

Oscar nods. “Thanks. Smells really good.”

He takes his normal spot on a stool at the kitchen island. He passes by both of you on the way there, and you reach out to squeeze his upper arm. He brushes a hand over your knee and smiles at you.

You’re quiet. Usually, you’d be chatting their ears off. But Lando plates up the food and distributes it without a word from you, and it has Oscar feeling sick to his stomach. You stay sitting on the counter, and you push the food around on your plate with one hand. Lando sits next to Oscar and exchanges a look with him.

Both boys clear their plates without a word from you. You’ve only taken a few bites. Oscar clears his throat as he clears his and Lando’s plates. Your eyes flicker up to meet his.

“I stand by what I said last night. We don’t have to talk,” he says. “But if you want to talk, we’re here.”

You shift and smile just a little. “Not much to talk about, really. The breakup has been coming for a long time, I think. So. It’s fine, really. Just weird, you know? We’d been dating for a year- that’s a year of my life… not wasted, but. Weird to lose someone like that so quickly.”

Both Oscar and Lando nod in understanding. You nod back. That’s that. If you don’t want to talk about it more, they won’t force you. It’s enough to know you’re safe at home, really.

…..

When Lando has his first DJ set after your break up, he begs you to come and watch. Much to his and Oscar’s surprise, you agree eagerly. They’d both thought it would be a harder fight. Lando’s been getting bigger and bigger DJ gigs- not enough to quit his day job yet, but enough to get excited about. You haven’t been to them recently, which had been a bit of a sore spot for Lando, though he’d tried not to let it on to you. So. If you want to go, he’s not going to question you on it.

On the way there, you size him up in the back of the Uber. You tug at the collar of his shirt.

“You’re too buttoned up,” you say, nose wrinkled.

Oscar laughs and nods. “Yeah, lose a button,” he adds.

He reaches over and undoes the top button of Lando’s shirt with nimble fingers, and great, now Lando’s sweating.

“Or two,” you chime in.

When you reach up and undo another button, Lando thinks the blush must be obvious on his cheeks now. It’s probably running down his neck, washing over his chest, just like the soft touch of your fingers against his skin.

“Why not three?” Oscar says, smirking.

Before he can undo the third one, Lando bats Oscar’s hand away and glares at him. Oscar’s had a shot before they left the apartment, pregaming because he hates crowds and loud places and social environments. He’s definitely a little tipsy, and because of that, he’s a bit more daring. It’s going to be the death of Lando.

By the time he’s halfway through the set, Lando’s gone and lost both of you in the crowd. He won’t lie, it makes him a bit nervous. He knows you were there one second, and then the next time he looked, you were both gone. He knows in his head Oscar won’t have let you out of his sight, but it doesn’t stop his heart from clenching. He thinks of his phone, down under the stage, itches to have it in his hand so he can text or call or find you, somehow.

When he finally climbs down and grabs his phone, it’s lit up with a bunch of notifications. He swipes past the ones from Max asking how late his set goes, past the ones from friends who stopped by, telling him how good he did. In the middle, there’s a text from Oscar.

Call when you’re done.

He calls. When Oscar answers, he gives him directions to meet the two of you in a bathroom and then promptly hangs up. Lando would be more concerned with the two of you apparently hiding out together in a bathroom if Oscar hadn’t told him about it. He doesn’t have the energy to let himself get jealous. He just heads towards the two of you. He knocks on the single bathroom door, calls out to Oscar, and it swings open.

“She had a little too much,” Oscar says.

Behind him, you’re kneeling next to the toilet, Oscar’s jacket underneath your knees. It’s such a sweet touch that it makes Lando’s heart ache- there’s just something about seeing Oscar taking care of you. But he does his best to focus and steps into the bathroom. Your hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Your skin is pale, and when you turn to look at Lando, your eyes are bloodshot. He hisses and turns to Oscar.

“I know, I know, I said I’d watch her-“ Oscar says, raising his hands defensively. “She’s good at pretending to be sober. Until she’s way too far gone, and then…”

“Lan!” you call out, high pitched and wobbly. “I love you.”

Lando widens his eyes at Oscar, who nods.

“There’s been a lot of that. About both of us. She was not happy when I pulled her out of sight of you.” Oscar sighs. “I can’t figure out if it’s just- you know, she loves her friends, or-“

Oscar trails off. Lando furrows his brows.

“Lan,” you repeat again, and he turns over his shoulder to look at you, then tries not to visibly wince. “Can we go home now?”

“Yeah, love,” he says, softly. “You done throwing up, you okay to move?”

You shrug, then nod. Great. Not super convincing. When he turns to Oscar, he winces. Lando drags a hand down his own face. Interrogating Oscar will have to wait- the first priority is to get the three of you out of there, hopefully without you throwing up on them. He sighs heavily and makes a plan in his head.

Lando’s not sure what god he pleased, what good karma he’s earned, but the three of you make it outside without you throwing up again. He breathes a sigh of relief. Then he and Oscar spend 5 minutes debating on whether walking or getting a ride would be better- you’re drunk and wobbly, but at least if you threw up, it’d be on the sidewalk. Oscar hates that idea, is worried about you tripping and falling on the way, about how they’ll manage to get you all the way back. You stand there and watch them argue, Oscar’s hand on your shoulder to keep you from falling over.

“Boys, stop fighting,” you say hazily. “You’re both so pretty.”

Lando’s eyes go wide at that. He stares at Oscar, who seems to make a face that says I know. Lando turns to you. You’re smiling widely up at him, blinking glassy eyes and tilting your head. You reach out and tap your fingertip against his nose, then laugh. Lando swallows tightly.

Oscar uses his distraction to flag down a cab. Lando can’t find the energy to argue anymore. They’d normally put you in the middle, but this time they sit you next to the door, just in case you do need to throw up. You spend the entire ride with your head on Lando’s shoulder, and he can tell you’re starting to get drowsy just from the way you sag against him. When they climb out of the car, Oscar puts one of your arms over his shoulder, and Lando does the same on the other side.

By the time they get you up to the apartment and into the bathroom, you’re half asleep, leaning heavily on both of them. When your hand slips against the bare skin of his chest, he swallows tightly. Oscar puts toothpaste on the toothbrush for you, and Lando helps you brush your teeth, his hand wrapped around yours gently.

Then they head for your bedroom. Lando grabs you a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from your dresser. He sets them on the bed and gets ready to leave the room so you can change, and then slaps his hand over his eyes when you start to take off your dress before he even gets the chance. He hears Oscar’s hand hit his own face, too.

“We live together,” you say, and Lando can practically hear your eye roll. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Lando sighs. “It is, and you’re drunk, so.”

You laugh. “I guess. I’m dressed now.”

Lando groans when he uncovers his eyes and spots the pair of shorts still on the bed. He puts one hand over Oscar’s eyes, one back over his own, and says, “Shorts. Now.”

You grumble something about taking them off later anyways, which has Lando melting into a puddle over the thought. He hears you shuffling around, and then you grab both of his wrists and tug them away from his and Oscar’s faces. You’re fully dressed this time, and you collapse backwards onto the bed.

“Will you guys stay till I fall asleep?” you ask, softly.

Both of them nod and sit down on the edge of the bed. You curl up in the middle, each of them on either side. Oscar lays a tentative hand on your shoulder, while Lando brushes hair from your face. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, melting into the bed.

When you do, Lando nods silently towards the door. Oscar nods in agreement, and they both slip out of the bedroom. Lando looks back to check on you as he shuts the door. You look peaceful, finally.

Oscar heads for the kitchen, and Lando follows. He reaches into the fridge and comes back with two cans of sparkling water, which Lando accepts eagerly. He’d been unaware of just how thirsty he was until that moment. He drinks half the can in one go and then looks at Oscar expectantly.

“I don’t know,” Oscar prefaces. “I’m not sure about anything. But. She couldn’t stop staring at you up on the stage, and she told me about ten times how pretty you were. And then she said it about me, too. To my face. And like, right after that she threw up, but.”

“But,” Lando repeats. “You saw something. Different than her just being a drunk mess.”

“It felt different,” Oscar says, softly. “Just. I can’t explain it.”

Lando nods. He presses his lips into a thin line. Oscar follows suit, rubbing his hand against the smooth surface of the countertop.

“What do we do?” Lando asks quietly. He feels wildly out of his depth here. “I mean. D’you think she has feelings for…”

Me? You? Lando’s not sure what to say. He’s not sure what he wants the answer to be either. Suddenly, he feels sick to his stomach. In an ideal world, he knows what he’d like to happen here, but that’s a pipe dream. Unrealistic.

“She’s really vulnerable,” he says, before Oscar can even answer. “And like. That would really make a good roommate situation weird, right?”

Oscar laughs, but it sounds forced. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Lando says. “Okay. So. We just let it go.”

Oscar nods. There’s something in the look on his face that makes Lando think maybe there’s more to this. That they shouldn’t brush it off so easily. But it’s late, and he’s exhausted, and this topic feels so, so difficult to broach right now. So he claps Oscar on the shoulder with an open palm, and then disappears into his bedroom.

Lando’s avoidance of the subject doesn’t last long, because the next morning, before you wake up, Oscar corners him in the kitchen.

“We need to talk,” Oscar says, which is never a good sentence to hear at any hour, let alone before the sun has even risen.

Realistically, he should’ve known this was coming, because Oscar never willingly wakes up this early on a weekend. It’s still dark outside. Lando can barely make out Oscar’s facial expressions in the dim light. He flicks a light switch and watches the other man wince.

“Rude,” Oscar grumbles.

“Yeah, that’s what you get for starting off my morning with that sentence,” Lando defends. When Oscar frowns, he softens. “What’s up?”

As if he hadn’t expected to actually get to this point, Oscar shrinks in on himself. Lando leans against the counter and tilts his head. Oscar’s younger, but he’s usually the more mature one. It’s odd to see him so lost for what to say.

“Last night,” Oscar starts, chewing on his lip when he pauses. “She- I- I can’t stop thinking about…”

Lando’s gut wobbles. “About her. You like her. And you think she feels the same.”

There’s this weird jealousy in his chest. He’s jealous of both of you, he realizes, and he grips the counter behind him with his hand. He wants to be the one you like, and he wants to be the one Oscar’s into, too. He’s known it for a while, really, but this is the first time he’s had to confront it head on. And it’s - it’s a problem, probably. His best friends and his roommates. He can’t have both. Can’t have it all.

Oscar frowns and shakes his head. “No. Well. Yeah, but- it’s more than that. It’s.”

Lando tamps down the ache in his chest, plasters on a smile. “Oscar. It’s okay.”

“No,” Oscar says, dragging out the sound. “You don’t- you don’t get it.”

“You guys would make a cute couple,” Lando says quietly. “Like. Really, Osc, you’d be good together-“

“I don’t just want her,” Oscar interrupts, and Lando's heart skips a beat. “I don’t- fuck, it sounds crazy, but. I woke up that morning, after we picked her up, and you were both on the couch with me, and I just thought, yeah, this is how I want to wake up every day. And if that’s crazy then- forget I said anything, but-“

Lando clears his throat. “It’s not crazy.”

Oscar freezes, one hand halfway through his hair. “It’s not?”

Lando shakes his head and bites his lip. “No. I think I’ve been feeling the same. Just… I felt crazy, you know?”

Oscar nods. Lando can’t stop staring at him, at the red flush on his cheeks, the wide eyes. He reaches his foot out and nudges it against Oscar’s shin.

“I meant what I said last night, about her being vulnerable,” he says, and Oscar sighs heavily. “She needs friends right now. And she doesn’t need friends who are caught up in figuring out their feelings for each other and maybe her, too.”

Oscar huffs. “So we just…”

“Wait and see?” Lando asks sheepishly. “Feels shitty, I know, but our first priority is making sure she’s okay.”

Oscar nods. Lando nods back. And that’s that, for a while. And maybe for a while, it’s enough to know that Oscar feels it, too. To know he’s not alone.

…..

You know Lando well enough to know he’s not one to admit when he’s sick. You’d think he’d be the exact opposite, but he tends to try and tough it out until the very last minute. He hides it well, except when it comes to you and Oscar.

He’s getting ready for a DJ set nearly a month after the one where you’d gotten far too drunk. There’s loud music playing through the apartment as he eats dinner, dancing along to the beat. You sit on the kitchen counter in your usual spot, and Oscar stands next to you. You’re both watching Lando bounce around the room. He’s trying to convince you he’s fine without actually saying it. It’s not working.

He leaves the room for a moment, looking for his phone. Oscar looks up at you.

“He’s sick, isn’t he?” He asks.

You nod and worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Definitely.”

But Lando says nothing about not feeling well, so you do your hair and makeup and get into an Uber with him and Oscar to head for a club. You and Oscar exchange a glance when Lando presses his forehead to the window of the car. He’s mumbling along to the song that’s playing over the speakers. There’s sweat on his temple. You’re starting to worry.

He tumbles out of the car and into the club with you and Oscar in tow. Once the bright lights and loud music hit him, he perks up a bit. If you know him, you know it won’t last. He’s going to wear himself out during his set and then fall apart right after. He sends the two of you to the bar, tells you to put it on his tab. Oscar loops his hand in your arm to keep you close- you’re not complaining. Without saying anything to each other, you each order plain Cokes. Lando won’t question if there’s alcohol in it. You order him his go to drink- a gin & tonic, but ask the bartender to go light on the gin. You hand it off to him before he heads up for his set, and when he hesitates to kiss your cheek like he normally would, you eye him carefully.

“I’m fine,” he says, which tells you more than anything that he’s definitely not fine.

Next to you, Oscar scoffs. You press the back of your hand to Lando’s forehead and sigh. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. He’s burning up.

“It’s a short set,” he says, slurred but loud enough to be heard over the thud of the bass. “I’ll be fine.”

You watch as he walks away. Oscar takes your arm in his hand again, pulls you away to a nearby booth. Normally, you love watching Lando’s sets, love listening to the music he’s chosen, and watching his face light up at the crowd’s reaction. But now, as he takes his place, you just feel worried. You can tell Oscar’s worried too, just from the way he drums his fingers against the table in an unsteady pattern. Normally the two of you would find yourselves out on the dance floor, especially when Lando plays the songs he knows you both love, but you can’t find it in you tonight.

When he stumbles off stage from his set, he’s grinning ear to ear, but his eyes are half closed and there’s a thin sheen of sweat on his skin that you know isn’t from the dj-ing. You and Oscar stand to meet him, and you brush damp curls from his forehead to check his temperature again. He feels even worse. Oscar winces as Lando sways in front of the two of you.

“Let's get you home,” you suggest, and he just nods.

When you get back to the apartment, you deposit Lando on the couch. Oscar stays with him, pulling a blanket over Lando and propping him up with pillows. You head for the bathroom first and open the medicine cabinet.

“Lan, what’s wrong?” You call out.

You hear his disoriented grumbling. Oscar translates. “He says he’s fine.”

You lean out into the living room and fix Lando with a glare. “Shut up. You need medicine. What’s wrong?”

He sighs and sinks into the couch. “Sore throat. Headache. Little bit of a cough.”

You nod and return to the surprisingly well stocked medicine cabinet. You grab the cold medicine that describes his symptoms the best and head back to the living room. Lando has the blanket wrapped tightly around him like a cocoon, and he has his head resting on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar’s running his hand up and down Lando’s upper arm, a look of concern on his face.

You hand Oscar the medicine. “Here. Give him a dose, will you? I’m gonna heat up some soup or something.”

“M’not a baby,” Lando mutters.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Oscar teases gently.

Though the medicine cabinet was well stocked, the kitchen is less so. None of you like grocery shopping. You manage to find a can of chicken soup in the back of a cupboard, and it’s not expired, so you heat it up quickly. You return to the living room with the soup and a large glass of water.

Lando is fully tucked into Oscar’s side now, draped messily across the other boy. You sigh at the sight, at the way Oscar runs his hand through Lando’s hair, at the content little smile on Lando’s lips. Even when he’s sick, this is enough to bring him comfort. You wonder, then, if you could be enough, too. The memories pass through your brain- the way they’ve both taken care of you after your break up. Now it’s your chance to return the favor.

You sit down on the couch on Lando’s other side. Oscar takes the bowl of soup from you carefully, and then you hold the glass of water up to Lando’s lips. He sips carefully, then pulls away with a soft sigh. His cheeks are rosy red, and he shivers. You and Oscar both wince in sympathy.

“You should’ve told us,” Oscar says, quietly. “Should’ve canceled the set.”

Lando shrugs and elbows him lightly. “Got through it, didn’t I? Can’t go around canceling sets if I’m gonna make it big, can I?”

You roll your eyes and nudge the Brit slightly. “Your health is more important than you making it big,” you chide.

He turns to look at you, gaze hazy but still amused. “Mm. You won’t be saying that when I’ve got enough money to take care of the two of you for the rest of your lives.”

“Is that your plan?” Oscar asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

Lando closes his eyes and nods. “You two can be my sugar babies,” he asserts. “Never work another day in your life.”

“Okay, Norris,” you say, biting back a laugh. “Eat your soup.”

He does as he’s told, melting back into the couch as he holds the bowl and spoon in shaky hands. Oscar keeps his hands on the bowl, too, just to be safe. To show your support, you lean against Lando’s shoulder to help prop him up. As much as you hate to see him not feeling well, you think that maybe you could get used to this.

You tuck him into his bed later that night. Oscar’s next to you, having carried him into the bedroom from the living room. Lando was pretty much dead weight, high on cold medicine and his fever and so, so out of it. You pull the covers up to his chin and smooth sweaty hair from his forehead. You cringe at the clammy feeling, and Oscar laughs.

Lando blinks up at both of you with heavy eyes. “Meant it, you know.”

“Meant what?” You ask.

He lets his eyelids fall closed. “Gonna take care of you two. The same way you take care of me. I think abou’ it all the time.”

He yawns, turns his head, and falls asleep nearly immediately after that, lips barely parted, chest rising and falling smoothly. You feel frozen for a moment. He looks so peaceful. He wants to take care of you. Your heart is pounding.

Oscar wraps his hand around your elbow and squeezes softly. “He’ll be okay.”

He thinks you’re worried. You don’t know how to tell him that Lando being sick isn’t the problem. The what’s got you all mixed up inside is the way Lando says it so easily. Never work another day in your life. I think about it all the time.

You swallow and back away from the bed, because you have the strongest urge to crawl right in next to him and drag Oscar right with you, until you’re all curled up in a pile together. You can’t do that. Oscar leads you out to the living room. You think he knows something’s up, because he doesn’t let go of you the whole time, but he doesn’t say anything either. You need to shake this feeling. You can’t think about them like this. It won’t end well.

“I’ll make us some popcorn, yeah?” Oscar suggests. “We can watch Bake Off.”

You nod as you make your way over to the couch. You try to tell yourself you should keep your distance, should sit far away from him. But when he sits down and pulls you into his chest, you can’t help but sigh happily.

“When we inevitably catch whatever he has,” you say, “we’re gonna need more chicken noodle soup.”

…..

Oscar comes home from work one day a few weeks later, and finds the two of you in the living room- a pretty normal occurrence lately. You’re laid out on the couch, your ankles in Lando’s lap. You smile up at him happily, and he laughs. He’s glad to see you, honestly, both of you. He’s had a rough day. This is exactly what he needed to come home to.

“Comfy?” He asks.

You nod eagerly. “We saved some pizza for you. It’s in the kitchen.”

He snorts. “Gee. Thanks. Couldn’t wait till I got home?”

You pout up at him. “I was hungry.”

Lando nods in agreement. “She was being whiny, Osc, had to feed her.”

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, leaning over to ruffle your hair. You press into the touch, like a cat. “And then I’ll have dinner.”

“Ooh, take a shower beer,” you suggest.

Lando laughs. “I was gonna say the exact same thing.”

Without even thinking, Oscar leans over the couch and kisses both of your foreheads. “Geniuses, the both of you.”

Neither you or Lando seem to question it, or the blush on his cheeks, so he doesn’t even try to explain.

By the time he finishes showering, and finishes his shower beer, a bit of the stress has melted away. He sighs heavily when he steps out, towel dries his hair, and pulls on a pair of shorts and a hoodie. He eats a slice of pizza, cold, in the kitchen.

When he makes it back to the living room, you’re curled up in Lando’s arms, halfway in his lap. He grumbles, not even realizing he’s making the noise until you look up at him. You throw one arm out wide, beckoning him close. Lando looks up with a happy, soft smile and pats the open space on his chest. And really, Oscar’s had a shit day, and the spot between Lando’s jaw and chest looks quite cozy, and if he’s being invited, then-

He collapses into the two of you, slips his arm around you and presses the side of his face to Lando’s chest. Oscar takes a deep breath, smells Lando’s cologne and your perfume, the intoxicating mix of both of you, and closes his eyes. He feels someone’s finger drag down the slope of his nose, and another hand brushes his hair from his forehead.

“Bad day?” You ask.

He’s exhausted, and everything is a bit hazy feeling. Syrupy and slow. He could fall asleep like this, probably. You sound a million miles away, and also like you’re tucked away in his chest, like he’d like for you to always be. Close and protected.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Really bad day.”

A thumb brushes over his cheek. There’s a hand in his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He lets out a fluttering sigh.

“Poor baby,” you say. He thinks the hand on his face is yours, the hand in his hair, Lando’s. “We just gotta wait for Lan to make it big, yeah? ‘nd then me and you can be his sugar babies, let him pay for everything. Just like he promised.”

Oscar laughs and rubs his cheek against Lando’s chest in some sort of nod. He can feel Lando laughing, too, high pitched and breathless. His hand squeezes at your hip, where it landed when he sat down.

“I’d take such good care of the two of you,” Lando says, quietly.

Oscar knows how much truth the words hold, and suddenly his stomach aches with want. Because Lando already takes care of both of you and him any way he can, and Oscar does it for you and Lando, too, and they both wish they could do it even more so. Could kiss away your tears, could hold your hand when you cross the street. He wants it. So does Lando.

“You already do,” you say, even quieter.

Oscar feels Lando’s breath hitch in his chest. He opens one eye and finds your eyes closed, your hand pressed to his cheek. Lando’s hand, banded around Oscar’s back, squeezes softly. Oscar holds his breath.

You shrug, like you know they’re watching without even opening your eyes.

“You both do,” you add. “Picked me up when I called, checked on me ever since…” you sigh and bury your face deeper into Lando’s chest. Oscar reaches up and cups your cheek in his hand tentatively. “Couldn’t ask for more.”

Even on the worst of days, Oscar thinks that maybe you’re right. He couldn’t ask for more. He’s got everything right here.

…..

A few nights later, Lando wakes up to the creak of the door, and his eyes fly open. He turns to look and finds you standing in the doorway, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Love?” Lando asks, quietly. It’s the dead of night. “You alright?”

You shrug and sigh. “Can we cuddle?”

He blinks and nods, wonder fleetingly if he should go and get Oscar, because this feels unfair, but- then you step backwards, walking away. You must want to go to your bed, must feel more comfortable there. Lando slips out of his bed, takes his phone with him, and follows after you. His confusion grows when you don’t stop at the door to your bedroom. You walk right past and head for Oscar’s room. You open the door, and Lando looks past you to the warm glow of the lamp Oscar always forgets to turn off, to his sleeping form.

“You’re easier to wake up,” you say, softly.

Lando blinks wildly as you trudge your way over to the bed. “Love?”

“Want cuddles,” you state as you climb into the bed next to Oscar, who’s snoring softly. “From both of you. Come on.”

And, well. You should probably all talk about this, really. But you’re already tucking yourself under the blankets, and Oscar looks cute, and Lando’s so, so tired, and he wants cuddles, too, so. He sighs and makes his way over to the bed. You grin and roll towards Oscar, who finally shifts awake at the motion.

“Hi?” He says, confused, sleep coating his voice.

You don’t bother to explain, just slip an arm around him and curl close. Lando sits down on the edge of the bed and makes eye contact with Oscar, who seems frozen between confusion and happiness.

“She wanted cuddles,” Lando explains. “From both of us. I’m easier to wake up, apparently.”

Oscar shrugs and nods. He rolls towards you and throws his arm over your middle. His fingers motion towards Lando, who breathes a sigh of relief. Sure, they’ve talked, but there was always a chance Oscar changed his mind, or that this would be weird. But, if he’s offering…

Lando crawls into bed next to you. You let out a soft sigh when he lays down next to you, and he can’t fight the smile that crosses his lips. He slips his arm around you, his skin brushing against Oscar’s, too. Oscar presses a kiss to your forehead. Lando bites back a flare of jealousy, and he’s not even sure which one of you he’s jealous of. Then Oscar brushes his fingertips against his bicep, a soft, gentle touch that reminds him he’s part of this, too. Lando kisses the back of your neck and closes his eyes, already sleepy again.

…..

When Oscar wakes up the next morning, you and Lando are still in his bed. He breathes a sigh of relief at that, having been worried one of you would wake up and panic and leave. He watches the two of you for a few moments before he lets his eyes slip closed again. The weight of your head on his chest is comforting, and the soft rise and fall of Lando’s ribs under his hand is even more so. It’s rare that he’s awake before either of you unless he has to be up early.

He opens one eye again, just to look, just to take it in. Lando’s head is pressed against your shoulder, the top of his forehead and his mass of curly hair just visible to Oscar. He could get used to this. He’d like to wake up like this all the time, the three of you all wrapped up together. And maybe that’s wishful thinking, but for at least one morning, he gets to have it.

If he wasn’t so worried he’d wake you up and spoil the moment, he’d trace the lines of your face with his fingertips and draw patterns on your shoulders. He’d do it to Lando, too- shove his tank top up until he could touch the bare skin of his ribs, run his fingers over the bumps. But he wants this to last as long as possible, so he just lays there and stares.

Eventually, you start to stir, and with you, so does Lando. It’s strange, the way it makes Oscar’s heart clench in his chest. He wants so badly for both of you to just stay right here, with him. If he could hold you both in his arms like this forever he would.

When you open your eyes, you smile softly at him. Lando shifts behind you and opens one eye, and the same soft smile slips across his lips. You press yourself farther into Oscar, and reach a hand behind you to pull Lando close.

“My boys,” you say, quietly. “My favorite boys.”

And. That’s when it hits Oscar, like a punch to the chest. There’s something in the way you say it, something about the look on your face. He just knows. He knows because he sees it in himself, in Lando. He doesn’t need to talk about it right this second, doesn’t need to ask. He just knows you feel it too. So he leans up and over, hears the way Lando’s holding his breath. He moves his hand and presses his lips to your cheek, to your warm, soft skin. Then he does the same to Lando. You smile even wider. Lando, not one to be left out, does the same to you, then Oscar, leaving his skin burning. You follow suit, and your lips are warm against Oscar’s jaw. He thinks maybe he’s in heaven.

The three of you fall back asleep in a tighter pile, wrapped up in each other’s limbs. There’ll be time to talk later. For now, it’s enough to just know.

…..

A month later, you’re in the front of the crowd at Lando’s DJ set, watching with wide, bright eyes. He has three buttons undone, the work of you and Oscar during the car ride over to the club. He’s grinning down at you as someone hands him a shot, and then he tosses it back with a grimace. You wonder if he sees the stars in your eyes as you look up at him.

Oscar’s behind you, one arm wrapped around your waist. He has a drink in his other hand- your drink, taken from your own grip when you started moving your hands to the music. His nose is pressed behind your ear, and when he speaks, his breath tickles against your skin and makes you shiver.

“Y’know, he said he’d take care of us,” Oscar says, loud enough to be heard over the music, but just barely. “But all I can think of right now are all the ways I wanna take care of him.”

You laugh, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “It’s the unbuttoned shirt,” you tell him, gesturing at your other boyfriend. “S’like kryptonite.”

Never mind the fact that the shirt’s only unbuttoned because of the two of you. Oscar laughs and squeezes his arm around your middle. Lando tilts his head at the two of you, like he knows exactly what you’re up to.

“Yeah,” Oscar agrees. “But that’s less buttons for us to deal with later.”

You nod in agreement. “Good point.”

When Lando’s shirt is laying on the floor later, next to Oscar’s shirt and your dress, and you’re all slumped together on the bed in a pile, you remember what Oscar said earlier and laugh. Neither of them bother to ask what you’re laughing about. They just kiss your cheeks and join in with laughter of their own.

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @ggaslyp1 (if your blog is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!)

1K notes · View notes

literaila · 5 months

Note

I'd love to request a reader who's obsessed with love languages (me fr) and is trying to figure out what peter's is without directly asking him

obviously r gets caught in the act

Thank you so much!!

-🔮

stalemate

tasm!peter x reader

warnings: teasing, fluff, complex relationship issues (lying)

a/n: i do believe peter’s love language is physical touch/words of affirmation but that’s a conversation for a different time

“would you rather run errands with someone and hold hands, or run errands with someone and get kicked out of the store cause you’re ‘disturbing the other customers?’”

peter momentarily pauses his chewing, raising an eyebrow at you. “one of these scenarios involves me getting escorted out of the grocery store.”

“yeah, but because you’re having too much fun.”

he shakes his head. “no such thing.”

“clearly, there is.”

he rifles through the remainder of his food, like digging for gold, but his cheek is twitching, and his eyes are thoughtful as he looks down. “why cant i have fun and hold hands with you?”

“okay,” you point at him, leaning back. peter, though you’d put his food across the kitchen table, so you could sit face to face, was adamant that you were too far. so now there’s only a table corner separating the two of you. and these questions, of course, building up a careful foundation. “first of all, i didn’t say it was me—“

“who else would get us kicked out of a grocery store?”

“and second of all, because that’s not the question. holding hands or ribs-hurt laughing?”

“both of those sound equally painful,” peter keeps leaning towards you like he knows something you don’t. which he doesn’t.

you lean forward too, undeterred by his challenge. “so you’re a completely-silent-errand-running-with-a-healthy-five-foot-distance kinda guy?”

“we literally went shopping today.” peter gestures back to the kitchen, where bags of produce and sugary containers (peter’s pickings) remain. after dinner, you’d both swore, but you’re having a hard time finishing your food. “you know what kinda guy i am.”

so it goes, on and on. you asking peter the same type of hypothetical questions you’d been all day. he hasn’t seemed to question it, besides a couple of ill-fated looks.

and you do. know, that is. peter did almost get you kicked out of the store today, when he’d tripped over a sign and knocked down a whole shelf of boxes. this, he claimed, was the crime of a faulty layout. though, he’d bumped into the sign in the first place because he refused to let go of your hand, even when it was less than conscientious.

this, though, you don’t bring up.

“if i bought you a gift,” you continue, ignoring his carefully planned out bantering techniques. “would you want something expensive, or something heart-felt?”

“why is that a question?”

you stare at him, nonchalant, gesturing for him to continue.

“are you buying me a gift?” he asks, rolling his eyes at you.

“maybe. your birthday’s coming up.”

“it is november,” he says, dryly.

“good memory.”

peter snorts. “my birthday is in august. you know, like, two months ago?”

“hmm…” you lean your chin on a hand, staring into hard honeysuckle eyes with feigned confusion. “i must’ve missed it.”

“you got me a spider-man calendar.”

“don’t recall.”

“i can go get it,” he points over his shoulder, leaning, again, towards you. enough so that you can feel his breath, smooth and challenging. “it’s just in the bedroom.”

“answer the question.”

he sighs and leans back again, almost laughing. “heartfelt, obviously. like my very cherished spider-man calendar. which is for this year, i might add.”

“what a wonderful gift,” you smile too, adoringly, “you should thank whoever got it for you.”

peter furrows his brows, though not in confusion. “i did,” he says, softly, trying to break you.

but you remain where you are, smiling as cool as you’ve been all day.

which is to say, of course, that you’ve been dancing circles around peter and hoping that he hasn’t noticed.

you hadn’t even thought of it until two days ago, when out to lunch with your friend and she mentioned a book—fabled and probably recommended by some hot-shot magazine—about how to connect with your partner.

“love languages,” she’d said to you, “are the basis to every relationship.”

and this must have been true because despite a rough patch between her and her girlfriend, they were now as solid as always. and you could tell this, just from how at ease she’d seemed.

which, naturally, put you on edge.

not that you doubted peter, or your relationship with him. besides some run of the mill insecurities, peter was probably the loveliest person you’d ever met. so it was probably a bad thing that you had no clue—not a single suspicion, or thought—what his love language was.

thus, the questions began. and peter’s dubiousness doubled with every one you asked.

evident because he was still watching you. “are we acting out a scenario in which you need a visa and i agree to marry you?”

you kick him under the table. “what? i cant ask you questions?”

“i think this is the fortieth one today.”

“i’ve asked, like, three, and you haven’t even tried to answer any of them properly.”

“you know we’re in a real relationship, right? i know your favorite color and everything.”

you stand up from the table, grabbing your take-out container, and his, and walking to the kitchen.

peter trails after you, clearly noticing your evasion. “do you actually need a visa?” he asks, leaning against a counter, almost knocking over one of the grocery bags. “cause i think you’re supposed to tell the person you’re getting married to. so i can ask you some questions.”

“doesn’t seem like you’re having any problems with that.”

peter snorts and comes behind you while you grab something out of the first bag. his hands are warm as they wrap around your waist, resting on your stomach like a possession. “what’s up with you?”

“i’m unbagging the groceries.”

“you’ve been acting weird all day. do you need to talk to me about something?”

“no.” you pull away from him, putting some apples in the fruit bowl. “you’re crazy.”

“yes. i am the crazy one.”

you hum and walk around him, carefully not meeting his eyes.

after a couple minutes of this, with peter pretending to put things away, you break, uncomfortable with the silence.

“painting a room together,” you start, “or cuddling?”

peter pushes off of the counter, his teeth peaking behind his lips. “cuddling, obviously. you’re a terrible painter.”

he moves about a foot away from you, staring, again, like he knows something you don’t.

“what?” you ask him, closing a drawer. you cross your arms.

“nothing. nothing.”

but peter is grinning at you.

“what’s with your face?”

“what’s with yours?”

you roll your eyes at him, not moving. peter copies your stance, and the two of you remain as still as statues, testing one another.

finally, peter laughs. “you think i don’t know what you’re doing?”

“posing hypothetical questions?”

“i know what love languages are, baby,” peter steps closer to you. his hands just lingering by the seam of your shirt. “you’d make a terrible detective.”

despite the heat running through your body at being caught, you narrow your eyes at him. “me? it only took you all day to figure it out.”

“that’s cause i was giving you the benefit of the doubt. i thought you really wanted to know.”

“i do,” you cross your arms, bumping into him, offended. “i would’ve given up like three hours ago if i didn’t.”

“you’re crazy,” he says, simply. his look is amorous. “you could’ve just asked me.”

“no. i should know just from spending time with you. that’s couple 101.”

peter actually laughs. right in your face. he leans down, resting his chin against your head for support. “cant say i’ve ever taken that class.”

“well you should. it’s very informative.”

“okay, professor, then what’s my love language?”

you open your mouth. then close it. you push him back. “i’m not telling you.”

“oh,” peter tilts his head. “why not?”

“cause that’s cheating. figure out your own love language.”

“you think i don’t know what i like?”

“nope.”

peter shakes his head at you. “you just don’t know.”

“you just don’t know,” you poke his cheek. “you couldn’t even decide which cereal to get. we have three boxes now.”

“that’s called choice paralysis,” he informs you, as if you didn’t have this conversation earlier. “and you agreed to that.”

“sure,” you say to him, turning away.

“you’re a sore loser.”

“we’re not playing a game.”

“the elaborate ‘would you rather’ scheme wasn’t a game?” he asks.

“it was an informative questionnaire.”

peter gets in your way as you try to walk out of the kitchen. “then why hasn’t it informed you?”

you roll your eyes at him again. “c’mon, peter, you know that data can take weeks to process.”

he runs a hand up to your face, easily trapping you. “you just don’t know” he repeats softly.

he’s getting close again; resuming the game he’d lost earlier.

“you don’t know,” you say, stubbornly, not meeting his eyes.

“i know i like you,” he answers, breath marring your reaction skills.

and before you can even smile in response, peter is kissing you.

his lips are soft, pushing at you like he wants you to admit defeat. consoling you into a loss. convincing you to back down.

but you refuse.

you pull away, pushing his hand off of you. “that’s cheating.”

“we never set any rules.”

“well you’re breaking one.”

peter leans and let’s it go, crossing his arms as he looks at you, very arrogantly. “that’s okay,” he shrugs.

you attempt to catch your breath while peter stares at you, clearly thinking that he’s won.

“okay,” you say, pouting. “tell me. what’s your love language?”

peter smiles voraciously at this. he takes a step towards you, molding his body heat into yours.

then he shakes his head, his smile falling into something sweeter. “i don’t know,” he whispers to you, hand reaching down for yours, hair in his eyes. “physical touch, probably, before. but i like everything with you. i always want more, doesn’t matter what it is.”

you brush the hair out of his eyes, smiling.

though your intents are less than straightforward, there’s still a part of you that curls under this confession, like it just can’t take it.

“that’s sweet,” you whisper, leaning into him. he’s bent down so his nose is to yours.

peter hums, breathing in the smell of your skin, and pulling you closer and he stands there, lingering on the briefest of touches.

he tilts his head a bit, lips lined up with yours.

and you smile. “i’m not telling you mine,” you whisper to him, quickly pulling away and moving to the table, whistling as you do so.

you start to collect the trash you’d left there, hearing nothing for a moment, but peter’s heavy breathing.

you smile at the sound of his defeat.

“now that’s cheating,” he says, and you laugh.

1K notes · View notes

wayneskluv · 1 month

Text

it’s possible she wants you back ¡! ❞ | n. romanoff

summary: your super cool assassin gf broke up with you but she wants you back sooo win win ig | pt 2 with fluff/smut?

word count: 711

pairing: natasha romanoff x gn!reader

warning: mentions of alc/nat being drunk, use of petnames “love” & “baby”

authors note: i would let her do anything to me but i'd also give her a hug and tell her everything's gonna be okay & the use of y/n, i had to for it to make sense, please forgive me 🙏

NATASHA thought breaking up with you would be for your own good, she didn’t deserve you. She was always late for date night due to her duties as an avenger, she had consistent nightmares that kept you awake and she was jealous of anyone who, well, looked at you—she couldn’t really blame them though.

“Baby..” Her whines echoed from behind your front door, from where a slightly intoxicated drunk as fuck Natasha was located. She was too drunk to be able to knock on the door, but you knew she was there, you knew her voice.

You take a deep breath, before you place a trembling hand on your door handle and gently pushing down as if it would break if you looked at it. "Jesus, Nat." A small sigh escapes you as you register her pathetic state, your hand instinctively reaching out to prop her upright. You haven't seen her this drunk in years, and she, most certainly, was not a lightweight.

"C'mon." You gently guide her into your living room, being as delicate as humanly possible. You sit her down on your couch, though as soon as you let go, she sprawls out lazily. "Gotta sit up, Nat. Don't wanna be sick.” You sound like a disappointed parent berating your child, because as much as you were mad at your ex, you loved her with your entire heart, and you still cared about her immensely.

You begin to rise to your feet, to go grab her a glass of water, before a pitiful hand drapes across your arm. "Please, Don't hiccup leave me." If it was anyone else, you'd have pushed them off immediately but you couldn't ignore her pleading eyes. "Yeah, 's okay. I'll stay. 'm not going anywhere."

As you speaks, the thick stench of liquor floods your senses and you feel ever-so-slightly ill. "Nat, love, what happened?" The breakup was fresh, the pet-name was a slip of the tongue, but you couldn't go back now—it’s not like she'd remember in the morning.

"Miss you. So, so, so much." The words roll off her tongue in a drunken slur, and you wouldn't have heard them if you weren't paying careful attention to her. You felt sorry for her, in all honesty-sure, she'd broken up with you without telling you why, and sure, she'd been acting distant, but she seemed genuinely upset.

"You still haven't told me why you broke up with me." You let out a dry chuckle, your shoulders untensing subtly as you notice her slowly regain colour to her face. “Okay, I'll tell you, but you can't tell y/n." The drunken hush she tries to add to her elevated tone is adorable and you have to stifle a grin as you nod, mock seriously. "| promise."

Once she gets your confirmation, she pauses for a few seconds as her head throbs harder, but then it slows and her eyes meet yours. "I was worried I wasn't good enough." Oh. That's not what you were expecting. You were expecting her to say it was something you did, like put an empty peanut butter jar back in the cupboard or anything, really, she has a bit of a temper.

"Really? So it's nothing I did?" Your voice goes up three octaves as you glance down at her, nervously biting down on your bottom lip. "What? 'Course not." It's clear the alcohol is taking a toll on her, and she looks as if she's going to vomit all over you.

You let out a slightly overdramatic sigh, “You take the bed, l'll the couch.” Your arm loops down around her waist, carefully pulling her up off the couch—if you weren't holding her so tightly, she'd had fallen head first into the ground.

The sound of hiccups echo your apartment as you both walk into your bedroom, something she was rather familiar with. You took no caution in letting her drop onto your bed, though you made sure she was in a proper sleeping position to avoid choking on her own vomit.

She falls asleep almost immediately and it's the first time since you've broken up you've seen her look so peaceful. You stand in the door for a few more moments before reluctantly dragging yourself toward the couch.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel mcu #mcu #mcu fic #mcu x reader #wayneskluv

667 notes · View notes

mxqdii · 3 months

Note

ouuu a request! chris head cannons with a gf with (only if you’re comfortable) chronic illness. (anemia maybeee)

headcannons - c.s x anemic gf

pairings: chris sturniolo x reader

summary: headcannons

a/n: as an anemic girly, i feel u with this one 😭

warning(s): anemia

not proofread

it all started when you accidentally stood up too fast, your vision slowly clouding away from your poor little eyes

"woah, woah, easy there. you okay?" chris says, using his hands to grab your waist before you can fall down

"yeah im fine, sorry!" you say, walking off to do whatever you got up to do

you dont think much of it, but chris is left confused, he doesnt question it, until it happens again, and again, and again.

eventually, you tell him your anemic and what it is, what it means, etc

"ohh that makes a lot of sense" he says

"chris!" you say, slapping his arm

now he understands why you're so tired all the time, things just add up for him i guess

encourages you to take vitamins and keeps some in the house for you

doesnt mind when you randomly get tired and enjoys napping with you, whether its 10am, 3pm or 8pm, hes always down to cuddle

always latched on to you so you're grounded at all times (its also an excuse for him to grab your waist)

he'd take you ice skating and once you learnt how to spin, it was over for you.

eventaully getting dizzy turned into your eyesight fading again

"oh shit" he'd mumble, skating over to you and grabbing ahold of you, bringing you to the wall

"sorry i didnt eat today" you say like its nothing

you guys leave instantly and get food 😭

TAGLIST:

@opheliaofficial07 @stargirlv0id @strniolo @annaisabookworm @theperson-nextdoor @its-jennarose @thetriplets3 @gottamakemyhatersmad @luvsturniolo

#madispeaks!#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #fluff #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo headcannons #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo imagine #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo

549 notes · View notes

strawberrywonz · 5 months

Text

Your mine, aren't you?

🧸 :: Genre : Yandere Jungwon x AFAB Reader

PS: Reader uses she/her pronouns !

Wrd count ? : 858 wrds (shorter than i wanted it to be but this was kind of rushed because of my studies ! 😞)

>< :: Contains : Manipulation (Jungwon manipulates reader to beg for his cock even though she says its not gonna fit) , Obsessive behavior towards reader at the end and readers also obsessed with jungwon , Jungwon is rude but is really really inlove with reader , Jungwon refers to reader as little girl , name calling : stupid , silly , and gets compared to a whore but only once , Jungwon calls reader filthy and nasty , Jungwon kidnapped reader , THIS CONTAINS SMUT

🧋:: Smut warnings : Really rough sex , Breeding kink , Jungwon is huge and reader is small , Jungwon has a big dick , size kink , pussy slapping , Jungwon spits in readers mouth and on her cunt , cunnilingus , cream pie , squirting , Overstimulation , Jungwon calls reader little girl more than once , lmk if I missed anything else !

🤍 :: Now playing : Step on me - TheCardigans

Monday morning. Light shining down in your eyes and you're boyfriend's sleeping figure, Jungwon. You sit up and lightly shake him awake not wanting to anger him as soon as he wakes up.

"Jungwon? Wake up please" You say lightly, but he doesn't budge instead he stays asleep. "Jungwon please wake up" you start to tear up, a single tear falling from your eye and onto his soft cheek. He stirs in his sleep feeling the wetness pour onto his cheek feeling a little disturbed, he opens his eyes to see you crying.

"What are you crying for now little girl? Its not even 9:00 in the morning. Stupid silly little girl" he says wiping the wetness you created on his face away. "I-im not stupid!" you immediately reply back almost screaming at him pushing his shoulder a little,"Getting bold now aren't we little girl? Huh you wan' act so big and tough?". He fires back looking you dead into your eyes, you stare back as he leans forward into you. He grips your face and leans into your ear, "Remember little girl you're mine. Ill do anything I please to your little body." He says out to you, your frozen stuck in that posture not knowing what to say to him.

As he leans closer into your small figure he grips onto your neck, his long veiny fingers gripping onto your neck so he restricts some air from your body. He tilts your head back, "Open your mouth and stick your tongue out little girl.", you oblige and do what he says, sticking out your tongue and opening your mouth. "Fucking filthy" he whispers with a shit eating grin on his face, finally he gathers a wad of spit from his mouth and spits it into your mouth. "Fucking nasty, you like it huh? Being so fucking nasty for me? Yeah?" You grip onto his biceps through his shirt.

"M'not filthy!" you sputter back to him. "Yeah, you're not? Then why are you sticking your tongue out like a whore eager to feel my spit go down your throat huh?" He says pushing you down onto your back so you're laying down. He snakes his hand down to your cunt n you're practically dripping, "You're not filthy? You're s'wet only from me spitting in your mouth"

He rubs your clit from outside your pink little underwear, smirking when you squirm and whine. He slides your panties to the side and lowers his head spitting on your cunt, and sliding one of his fingers into your tight little pussy. "J-jungwon! Ngh i-it feels good!" You moan out your cunt squeezing around his fingers as he adds another digit inside of your hole. "It feels good? Yeah little girl?" he asks you, you immediately shake your head as he smacks ur cunt and after he gives it two smacks and as soon as your about to release he abruptly stops and manhandles you into doggy style. "J-jungwon s'not gonna fit!" You whine out feeling his mushroom tip of his thick and long dick running up against your entrance and also at your loss of orgasm.

"S'not gonna fit? I'll make it fit." he says pushing his mushroom tip inside of your tight little hole. "You want it little girl? Beg for it." And that's exactly what you do. You beg and whine until he stops you in the middle of your whining and fully slams hist thick cock inside of you, "Jung-won!". You stutter out his name, the feeling of the tip of his cock hitting your cervix has you crying. Feeling so good that you cum within seconds. "Already cumming little girl? I thought you could last a l-little longer." He says his hips stuttering you could tell that hes close too, but the overstimulation has you reaching your hands back and pushing his hips back. "Stop running from my dick n'jus take it little girl." he ruts into you pulling you back to your spot and continues to ram into you, finally his load fills your cunt and your thighs are shaking.

"Little girl wants to talk big and tough until she gets fucked dumb. Look at you so small and fragile cant even handle my cock." he chuckles out still ramming inside of you but he stops after a minute feeling himself get overstimulated, but as soon as he's about to pull out you squirt all over his bottom half soaking him. "Fuck little girl, you're squirting on my dick?" he goes to pull out but you hold him tight. "Please d-dont pull out..I want to stay next to you.." "Yeah you want to stay next to me? Even though i kidnapped you? Held you here against your will? Fuck you even tried to escape last Friday." he chuckles.

"Please don't let go.." You whisper. He looks at you then he wraps his arms around your small torso.

Next time you wont ever leave not when you can stay with him.

And next time, he wont be so friendly about you trying to escape after all your his right? You'll stay with him forever.

#enhypen smut #enha x reader #jungwon #jungwon smut #yandere jungwon #enhypen yandere #strawberrywonz #jungwon x reader #bres new blog

446 notes · View notes

sturnlova · 2 months

Text

First time ( C.S )

(Chris Sturniolo x Female reader)

( Warning : Smut, F & M receiving, kinda new to writing, not proof read all the way, pet names, fluff, i don’t know what else 😭 )

Chris : Orange

Y/N : Pink

Matt : Blue

Nick : Purple

Nathan : Red

(Word count : 900)

——————————————————

Me and Chris have been best friends for over 8 years and i’ve told him every secret expect one, i’m a virgin, but i didn’t feel the need to because he can’t do anything about it. well at least i thought he couldn’t

“Exactly bruh, Y/N when your fucking someone would u let them do anal cause i personally wouldn’t” i giggled at his comment and so did everyone else but i didn’t really now what to say since i’ve never done anything romantically like sex, it’s not like people didn’t want to do it with me i just wasn’t ready. Nate went on for a while about fucking girls and his own experiences until i grabbed my phone and hoodie and hopped off the couch to go to Chris’ room and lock myself in there until i was ready to come out. I heard Matt whisper yell at Chris to go check on me and find out what’s wrong.

“Y/N let me in please, i wanna know if you’re okay, what happened Y/N/N”

“please go away Chris it’s embarrassing it doesn’t concern you anyway.”

“ I’m not going away Y/N/N cmon we’re best friends you gotta tell me ill tell you a secret if you want me to”

A minute after i unlocked the door, Chris opened it to see me with a puffy face due to the tears of embarrassment i shed. “Wanna sit and talk about it, i promise i won’t judge ” Chris moved us to the bed and laid me on his chest for we could talk about why i was crying out of nowhere.

As we laid down and made ourself as comfortable as we could i let out a sigh and a whisper into his chest “i’m a virgin at my grown age, Chris i just don’t want to do it with someone i don’t connect with, you know.” Chris just runs his fingers through my hair as i talk about how i feel embarrassed about being a virgin and why i still am one.

A uncomfortable silence forms until Chris cuts it with a knife “if you don’t wanna do this we can forget about it but do you want me to help, like platonically of course.”

“Help?”

“Yeah help.”

“You will tell me how to do it?”

“Of course Y/N no one has to know if u don’t want people to know“

He stands up and asks if i’m 100% sure, “im 101% sure Chris” He takes of his top and i take this as a queue to take mine of to, chris is there with jorts on and i’m left with shorts and my bra on which he unclasp with a bit of a struggle, but it’s fine. He leans down to kiss me softly but passionately.

He lays me down on the bed and crawls on top me of me. He pulls down my shorts and panties, leaving me naked well he still has his shorts on. “Chris please can you take ur shorts off, or do something please, it feels weird being naked and ur not.” “yeah sweetheart i’ll take it off don’t worry” He takes them off as he speaks.

Sweetheart?

I have to be honest with Chris because after all we are best friend’s “what if it hurts Chris, many get a towel in case i bleed.” “It’s ok we don’t need a towel but i’ll be slow i promise and you can just tap my arm 2 times if u want me to stop, ok?” i nod my head in response. He spreads my legs open and places my ankles on his shoulders. He teases my pussy hole a bit making sure i’m stretched before anything more happens.

“Okay I’m ready Chris just go slow” he slowly adds his length to me, i hiss in response as this is a new feeling and his definitely not small “you ok? want to stop” “no no keep going” He finally adds it all to me and starts moving, i can feel his balls against my butt it’s a bit funny to me only because this is the same boy i used to force to let me practice make up on. He continues his thrust at a steady past well whispering praises in my ear.

I’m a moaning mess under him due to all the new sensations i’m feeling; his tip hits my cervix with every movement he does. Chris giggles, “what’s so funny lover boy?” “the fact you can barely talk ” “shut up” i say between my moans.

“Y/N i’m really close ok, i want you to cum all over my cock” he whimpers as he moves slower and sloppier. “Let go baby” we finish together and giggle at each other’s sweaty tired faces a couple seconds after. We lay in bed together naked in a comfortable silence.

“You did so good Y/N/N i’m so proud of you. Thank you for being comfortable with me.” he kisses my check “you want me to get ya dressed for we can go back down? Or you wanna stay here for a bit ” “Yeah can you please get me dressed before someone walks in, and also i know i don’t have to much experience but you’re good at fucking” Chris giggled and pulled out of me to add my clothes and his clothes back on.

Chris puts his clothes on then grabs me by the waist and puts my clothes on until Nate walks in our room.

“Did y’all fuck?”

“what?” i say with a tone that clearly had attitude to it.

“No we didn’t do that, she had really bad stomach pains and was crying so it might i’ve sounded like moans but it wasn’t..”

“Oh sorry than but why is she naked?”

“Nate get the fuck out”

Chris whispered in my ear “I’ll drop you off home baby” i started to blush and nodded my head and looked down.

✧༺✦✮✦༻༺✦✮✦༻✧

It’s been 4 months since Chris admitted his feelings to me after “helping me” and i couldn’t be more thankful. I now have the best boyfriend i could ever ask for, we also have an annoying but loveable Nate who saw us Post sex.

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #smut #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo fanfic

244 notes · View notes

aliaology · 6 months

Text

FRIENDS DONT

summary: it takes a night at home with your friends to realize you have feelings for your best friend, and hopefully you will find out if he reciprocates them.

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader

warning: just fluff lol maybe sum jealousy. the names lena, alisha, kaya and raine are used! if one of them is your name, change it as you please.

based on ‘friends dont’ by maddie and tae!

they dont cancel other plans. have conversations with nothing but their eyes. they dont hear each others names, and forget to concentrate. hits a nerve and lights you up like dynamite.

your friend scoffed, “there is no way you and quinn are just strictly best friends. no way.” she spoke.

you raised a brow as you leaned back onto your couch, the soft fabric rubbing slightly on your neck, sending chills down your spine. you look at all of your friends, seeing they all had agreed with her.

“lena, me and quinn are just friends. i mean come on, i’ve known him my entire life!” you spoke.

“babe, he cancels all of his plans just for you. literally he drops them.” alisha spoke. “remember when he had a date and left midway through because you told him you needed to talk to him after it?”

you sighed. “that was one time.”

“no, no it wasn’t.”

quinn picked his phone up, leaning against the bars counter, in the corner. a girl was all up on his side. “hello?” he spoke.

“quinny?” your voice broke through the phone. worry surged through the brunette. “are you busy?” you sniffled.

“no— no of course not, whats wrong?” he asked.

you let out a small sob, “he broke up with me.”

quinn’s jaw clenched. “ill be there soon.” he hung up the phone and walked away, immediately forgetting about the girl who clearly wanted to hook up.

his mind was on you and only you.

“that was one time and it wasn’t like he planned a date or anything. jesus.” you rolled your eyes.

“oh please— lets add how you two can so easily talk, but instead its with your eyes and not your words!”

you could admit that that was true. in every room, your gaze found quinn’s and it was almost as if you two knew what the other was thinking.

‘save me.’ ‘save you? save ME.’

no matter where you were, you and quinn were always linked in some sort of way.

you huffed and crossed your arms, “okay yeah, but we’ve known each other our entire lives, it’s normal!”

kaya looked at you with raised eyebrows. “so its normal to gaze into his eyes and forget the rest of the world around you..?”

“i do not do that!”

that hit a nerve.

friends dont call you in the middle of the night, couldn’t even tell you why, they just felt like saying ‘hi.’ friends dont stand around playing with their keys, finding reasons not to leave, tryin’ to hide the chemistry.

“there has to be something going on, girl. he literally will randomly call you in the middle of the night!” raine exclaimed.

“yeah— and he is currently doing it now.” alisha pointed at your phone.

your eyes widened and you grabbed your phone, quickly going to the kitchen. “hello?” you spoke into the phone.

“hi..” quinn said, softly.

“hey” you smile. “everything okay?” you asked.

quinn stumbled, head spinning as he heard your voice. he fumbled with his keys. “yeah yeah— sorry i uhm, i was gonna tell you something but it.. slipped.” he spoke, slowly.

lielielielielie

“its okay” you laugh slightly. “are you just getting home?” you ask.

he nods before remembering you couldn’t see him, “uh yeah— yeah. practice ran late today” he told. you could hear his keys jingle and then a door open.

“tired i assume?” you spoke.

he let out a breathy laugh. “a little.”

you smile. “ill let you go then, quinny. i think you need rest. ill call in the morning, okay?”

“okay” he spoke.

“bye quinn.”

“bye”

you walked back into the living room and sat down. “sorry” you smiled awkwardly.

“this is exactly what we mean, babe! plus he will stall for as long as he can just to stay here with you!” lena exclaimed.

drive a little too slow, take the long way home, get a little too close.

you yawned as quinn drove slowly through the rural side of michigan. his hand lied dangerously close to your thigh as his eyes focused on the road.

zach bryan softly played in the back as quinn took a small turn.

you looked over at him with furrowed brows. “where are we going?” you asked.

quinn stutters, “uhm— uh the uh— long way. i find it more pretty.” he got out.

you nodded and leaned against the center console. “better be pretty or you owe me, hughes” you grin.

they dont almost say ‘i love you’ when they’re downtown somewhere, just a little drunk. they dont talk about the future, and put each other in it. and get chills with every accidental touch.

“we can’t forget that one weekend when us girls went out” kaya stated.

raine groaned, “worst one of them all.”

you furrowed your brows. alisha looked at you, “do you not remember?” she asked.

you shook your head. lena sighs, “you got a little drunk, and called quinn, this was when we were all in the uber back. you called quinn to let him know you were on your way home because he asked you too.”

“you almost told him you loved him.” she finished.

you shrug, “i dont see the big deal, we say ‘love you’ all the time.

“babe, you almost said you were in love with him.” alisha clarified.

“then— all you did was tell us about how in the future, you only saw quinn. it was quinn this, quinn that.” raine explained.

“plus— we all see how you react when he touches you.” she added.

i keep telling myself this might be nothing, but one look in your eyes and god, there’s something. you can lie to me and say you dont..

there was no way. you let their words sink in. this was nothing, right? but then again, which pair of best friends acts like this? none of your girlfriends have mentioned stuff like this about their boy best friend.

imagining yourself with quinn was actively frequent and now you were starting to realize why.

“babes you can lie to us and say you dont love him, but honey we know you do.”

yeah, you do.

“i do. bu—but that doesn’t mean anything, guys. he has feelings too.”

then your phone went off.

‘can we meet in the morning?’

“i have a feeling he reciprocates them.”

lowkey love but lowkey HATE.

#quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #hockey #nhl imagine #vancover canucks #vancouver #nhl #nhl hockey

394 notes · View notes

ugh-yoongi · 1 year

Note

Hi. Can I request a drabble with Jungkook where they’re in a secret relationship and they think their friends are not aware of it but they’re actually really bad at hiding it. Thank you!

decided to combine these two. thank you both for the requests!

this one ran away from me but was really fun, so we're going to ignore the wordcount. hope you both enjoy! <3

obviously

pairing: jungkook x f. reader genre: secret relationship au, roommate au; crack, fluff warnings: two idiots engaging in idiot behavior, swearing, yoongi is tortured by reader's use of emojis, drinking/alcohol, one reference to jungkook wearing women's underwear but it isn't a thing, unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 3.7k

In retrospect, getting married at nineteen wasn’t your brightest idea.

Not your worst, either, because at least you’d chosen well.

There are undoubtedly far worse men to have as your ex-husband than Kim Namjoon, who had also gotten caught up in all those romantic cliches about young love; had also been inflicted with whatever illness made you believe getting married so young was smart and cool; had also woken up one day and thought what the fuck are we doing and asked if you wanted to call it quits.

You did.

And even though you loved Namjoon, over time it turned into that platonic life partner kind of love and not that all-encompassing, love of your life, eternal kind of love. So, Namjoon offered to pay for the divorce with his grad school stipend and took his name off the lease so you could find a new roommate and insisted on meeting up every other week for takeout and cheap alcohol because he had a whole thing about not wanting it to be weird.

Now, here you sit, years removed from the most affectionate and anticlimactic divorce of all time, and you wonder what could be more weird than your ex-husband making you a Tinder profile.

“I know what you like,” he insists, cheeks ruddy from the wine. Namjoon talks endlessly on a good day, but he’s nearly impenetrable when he’s got some merlot in him. “No one’s more qualified to do this than me.” You quirk an eyebrow at him. “Except you, of course,” he hurriedly adds.

“Have you ever stopped to think—”

Namjoon heaves an exaggerated groan, hand to his forehead as if he’s suffering a Victorian ailment. “You have no idea.”

You roll your eyes. “Have you ever stopped to think,” you repeat, “that there might be a reason I don’t have a Tinder? Or any dating profile, for that matter?”

“Yeah, you’re obviously still in love with me,” he jokes, laughing wildly at the absurdity of it; elbows you in the side as he wiggles his eyebrows. What could be weirder than your ex-husband treating you like one of his bros? “But alas, I’ve moved on, and so the time has come for you to also—”

“Either shut up or drink more,” you interject, filling his glass nearly to the brim. “You’re insufferable when you’re like this.”

Namjoon, seemingly out of arguments, simply hums in acknowledgment. Downs half the wine you’d just poured him, because out of the two options you’d presented him with, it’s the more realistic choice. Asks, “What’s your preferred age range?” before snorting another laugh and setting it from 18 to 50 for his own amusement.

“You know, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why not?” he retorts, and there’s no judgment there, just genuine curiosity. You know he’s just having a laugh, would delete it and never mention it again if you asked him to, but the thing is—

The front door opens, and there stands your roommate, arms full of bags from Daiso. “Hey, ba—”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks when he sees your ex-husband. Coughs to cover the pet name that nearly tumbled out of his mouth and lifts his hand in a wave. Namjoon watches the way the weight of the bags causes the muscles in Jungkook’s forearm to flex and shoots you a look. Maybe he does know what you like, after all.

“Hi, Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook says, polite but still awkward, even after all these years. Can’t seem to shake it, no matter how hard he tries. “What are you two up to?”

Namjoon is none the wiser, used to the hushed awe Jungkook always adopts when he addresses him. Polite and endlessly kind because his mother raised him to never be anything less, but only ever jittery around Namjoon. Doesn’t act like this around any of your other friends; takes Seokjin’s teasing in stride and dishes it right back, but never Namjoon. Would probably rather die.

So Namjoon just waves back, says, “Hi, Jungkook-ah,” before he returns his attention to his phone. Doesn’t look up when you abandon him on the couch to help unpack the bags. Says, “I’m signing her up for Tinder so she can finally get laid,” and also doesn’t look up when Jungkook chokes on an inhale and one of the bags splits in half.

Before he moved in with you, Jungkook lived with Hoseok.

It’d gone great, all things considered. Jungkook couldn’t have asked for a better first roommate, fresh out of high school and his family home and hundreds of kilometers from the salty air of Busan. He’d nearly been sick with anxiety, all green around the edges, and Hoseok had pulled him into a hug and calmed his fraying nerves. Helped him with his homework and taught him how to cook and pecked at his heels like a mother hen when his room got too messy.

Just like he’s doing now.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, not at all able to hide the surprise in his voice when he pulls open the door and finds Hoseok on the other side. “What are you doing here?”

Hoseok tuts. “I told you I was coming by this weekend to clean. I haven’t been here in weeks—”

“I know how to clean,” Jungkook argues, face growing warm from misplaced embarrassment, that Hoseok still thinks he’s a dumb kid who doesn’t know any better. “I said you didn’t have to come.”

His hyung’s face softens. “I know you know how to clean, Jungkookie, I’m just… I still feel responsible for you. You’re the first child I raised and released into the world.”

Jungkook sighs. Knows this is a losing argument. Opens the door wide enough to accommodate Hoseok and his bags of cleaning supplies, and doesn’t say a word as he follows Hoseok around the apartment even though he wants to say, I told you so. The entire place is spotless. There’s nothing to clean. No dust on the floor. Sparkling kitchen countertops. Laundry freshly-washed and hung on the drying rack by the window, warm in the midday sun. No toothpaste in the bathroom sink; no hard water stains on the shower glass.

All that’s left is Jungkook’s bedroom. That, too, is spotless, and Hoseok has never had a poker face and certainly can’t muster one now. “Why is it so clean in here?” he asks, taking in the bare floor, void of dirty clothes and whatever hobby equipment Jungkook had taken up that week; the pristinely-made bed with its hospital corners and fluffed pillows; the end tables that are suspiciously void of dust.

“Because I know how to clean,” Jungkook tartly replies, rolling his eyes. “I told you, there’s—”

“Are you even living in here?” Hoseok continues, either oblivious to or pointedly ignoring the way Jungkook starts to panic. “Because it doesn’t smell weird, either, and we all know that wasn’t the case before.”

“I have an air freshener.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hoseok continues his search. Actually praises Jungkook on the way he’d organized his clothes, the fact that everything in his drawers is folded and not shoved in haphazardly, that the few nice pieces he owns are hung in the closet. Kneels on the floor to check under the bed: empty, except for the XBox controller Taehyung had left behind the last time he came over to binge Valorant.

And Jungkook should’ve known—should’ve anticipated this—because it’s his Hobi-hyung and if there’s anything his Hobi-hyung is neurotic about it’s cleanliness and he’s got eyes like a hawk, makes him deadly efficient at spotting dust, so it’s really no surprise when he lets out a shrill a-ha! and pops out from under the bed with a pair of lacy underwear pinched between his fingers, but Jungkook should’ve anticipated it, anyway.

“And what do we have here?”

What Hoseok has here is Jungkook’s favorite pair of your underwear, but he can’t say that, so he just feels the way his face flushes with embarrassment again and wonders if he’d get out of the impending interrogation if he starts crying. “Um. Nothing?”

“Sure doesn’t look like nothing,” Hoseok continues, voice animated and lilting, the teasing smile evident even though Jungkook can’t bring himself to look. “Can’t believe my little Jungkookie is all grown up.”

Jungkook doesn’t feel grown up, he feels mortified. Feels like he wants to sink right through the floor, like he wants to disappear for three to five business years. Feels like an idiot for being so insistent on all this secrecy, because now he can’t tell Hoseok that the lacy underwear he’s inspecting belongs to you and that the two of you have been together for a while, that it’s great, Jungkook thinks this might be It, and all he can do is blurt out the first thing he can think of, which is—

“It’s mine.” Hoseok’s head turns so fast his neck creaks. “I’m, uh. Experimenting.”

Hoseok shrieks. Jungkook shrieks. “What the fuck,” Hoseok shrieks again as he drops the underwear to the floor and kicks it under the bed. “Why wouldn’t you just say that—”

“That’s what you get for going through my stuff!”

Hoseok doesn’t come over to clean again.

On the weeks you don’t see Namjoon, you spend your Fridays having game night at Jimin’s.

It’s always a raucous affair—wouldn’t be possible any other way with the friend group you’ve got, now seamlessly blended with Jungkook’s—and it’s always your responsibility to supply the snacks. You pop into the store after work, leave with your arms full of junk like you looted the place, and the man in front of you in line takes so long you miss the bus and have to wait for the next.

Which leaves you very little time to get ready, so you rush through a shower to rinse off the work grime and grab the first pair of leggings and sweatshirt you see, slip your feet into slides that may or may not be yours, and run down the hall to Jimin’s.

Laughter can be heard from just outside the door—Hobi’s and Jin’s louder than everyone—and it makes you smile. Warmth blooms in your chest, all affection, and it has you feeling terribly fond of this group you’ve cobbled together. Has you smiling wider as you punch in Jimin’s door code and let yourself inside. Has you dropping off the snacks in the kitchen and wanting to hug the first person you find, except one Park Jimin has other plans.

“Why are you wearing Jungkookie’s hoodie?” he says in lieu of a greeting.

You look down. Certainly is Jungkook’s hoodie, mixed in with the clean laundry you hadn’t gotten around to putting away yet, and you’re sure there’s no hiding the way your jaw drops a little. The man in question is across the room, stuck in a conversation about fuck knows what with Taehyung, and he sends you a panicked look that can only be an instruction to lie your ass off. So you huff, say, “What d’you mean? This is mine,” and paint on the most annoyed expression you can conjure.

“It absolutely is not yours,” Jimin retorts.

This time you look annoyed for real. “Ugh, who cares? Since when did you become an expert on our personal belongings?”

When you first met Jimin, you’d been tricked into thinking he was a sweet, innocent angel; the kind of person who would do anything for his loved ones, including not interrogating them over whose clothes they wear. Quickly, you learned this was not the case. Jimin is lovely and kind, but he’s also perceptive as hell and shameless, so he smirks knowingly and answers with, “Since I bought them.”

Which… makes sense, you can admit. You vaguely recall Jungkook’s last birthday and the way he’d gasped and insisted on Jimin returning the hoodie he’d gifted him because it was too expensive and the way Jimin had laughed and waved him off, because Jungkook has always been his favorite and he’s never attempted to hide it. The hoodie you’re wearing now could, theoretically, be that exact gift. It’s definitely soft enough to be made from something expensive.

“Oh,” you reply, changing gears entirely. “Well, you know how it is. Sometimes laundry gets mixed up. I’m sure you and Taehyung have worn each other’s clothes by accident, too.”

Jimin doesn’t buy it, you can tell, but he thankfully drops the issue. Watches you and Jungkook like a hawk for the rest of the night, just waiting to capitalize on any other slip-ups, but you purposely fall into a conversation with Yoongi that’s too boring for any normal human to follow along with, and Jungkook calls dibs on Mario Kart until someone can beat him, so there are no slip-ups to catch.

However, if the one constant of your friend group is that Jungkook is Jimin’s favorite regardless of Taehyung’s pouting, the second is that Jung Hoseok cannot hold his liquor.

He’s four mixed drinks deep, skin flushed and eyes half-lidded with sleep, when he stands on top of Taehyung and Jimin’s coffee table and shouts, for everyone to hear, “Hey, did you guys know Jungkookie started wearing women’s underwear?”

For once, this comes as a complete shock to you, too.

The thing about being in love, Jungkook finds, is that it’s nearly impossible to shut up about it.

He’s trying to be cool. He’s trying to be normal. He feigns delight and care when his coworkers talk about their partners, pretends he’s paying attention and not just waiting for his turn to talk about you. He prints pictures of the two of you off his phone and frames them and displays them at his desk, and all someone has to say is, “That’s a cute picture, Jungkook-ssi—” before all his affection for you erupts out of him like a volcano.

So far he’s been careful. His coworkers are sick of hearing about you, but they’re an outlet for everyone he can’t talk about you with. Like his friends, because he’d decided early on it was better to keep everything a secret for a little bit because he didn’t want things to be weird (and because he’s low-key terrified of Namjoon, because he’s gentle and clumsy but he’s still big) and now he’s regretting it but it feels like it’s gone on too long and he’s in too deep.

Really, it’s no surprise he slips up. Has probably been overdue for one like this for a while.

They’re at the arcade. Taehyung has sunk the last of his disposable income for the week into a claw machine stocked with LINE characters. Wants to win a Sally plushie for Jimin because he says they look alike. It’s cute, the bond they have, platonic soulmates the way you and Namjoon are, and Jungkook is starry-eyed and love-drunk when he heaves a wistful sigh and thinks out loud, “I should win something for her, too.”

The words catch Taehyung so off-guard his hand slips and presses the button to lower the claw. “Press it again,” Jungkook says. “If you double-press the button, it makes the claw stronger. You’ll get it.”

Taehyung is wary, still dazed from Jungkook’s slip-up, but he presses the button again anyway. The claw tightens around Sally’s head and drags her up and out of the pile, drops her into the chute and to Taehyung’s waiting hand. “Oh shit! Jungkookie, you’re a genius. Jimin’s gonna love this.”

“Yeah, sure. Didn’t know you didn’t know that trick or I would’ve told you sooner.”

His hyung nods absentmindedly, distracted with the selfie he’s sending to Jimin with Sally obscuring half his face. “Are you gonna try now?”

Jungkook swallows. “Huh?”

“You said you were gonna win something for someone.”

“No I didn’t,” he lies.

Taehyung’s face drops. Gets all serious when he shoves his phone in his back pocket. “Yes you did. Right before I won this,” he says, large hands wrapped around Sally’s poor neck, clearly strangling her. “You said I should win something for her, too. Who’s ‘her’? Are you seeing someone?”

“I said him, hyung,” he lies again. Is thankful for the garish arcade lights and the way they hide the blush creeping up his neck. “I meant Jimin-hyung.”

“You did not,” Taehyung insists. “You said her, and now you’re trying to gaslight me—”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. Feigns exasperation. Swipes his game card and stares his hyung right in the eye as he drops the claw and double-taps, somehow picking up two plushies. Tosses Brown to Taehyung and says, “Tell Jimin his favorite dongsaeng won him that one.”

Tucks Cony safely in his pocket to give to you later, thankful the universe came through for him for once.

You (10:42pm): babe

You (10:42pm): what time do you think you’ll be home?

You (10:43pm): 🍆🍆🍆

Yoongi (11:06pm): What the fuck

You (11:08pm): oh fuck

You (11:08pm): that was NOT meant for you

Yoongi (11:14pm): Fucking obviously

Yoongi (11:14pm): Please do not ever accidentally sext me again

You (11:15pm): gross yoongi

You (11:15pm): that wasn’t a sext

You (11:15pm): i need it for the bokkeum i’m making

Yoongi (11:17pm): At midnight? Fuck off

Yoongi (11:17pm): Trade proposal

Yoongi (11:17pm): You never accidentally sext me again and I won’t tell the rest of our friends you’re secretly dating your roommate

You (11:29pm): it’s not even midnight 🙄

You (11:29pm): but that sounds good to me, thanks!

Hoseok had taught Jungkook how to cook, but not how to bake.

They’d attempted it, once, not long after Jungkook moved to Seoul and was homesick and missing his mom’s yaksik something terrible. Just wanted something that tasted like home, something comforting, and Hoseok had felt so bad for him that he said fuck it, let’s try, what’s the worst that could happen, and the two of them learned very quickly that nearly burning down their kitchen and the rest of their building was, in fact, the worst thing that could happen.

They never tried baking a damn thing after that, individually or together.

Still, there’s a special occasion coming up, so Jungkook asks the only person he trusts to help him.

“You need a cake,” Seokjin intones, swallowing his smile when Jungkook nods and his mop of curls bobbles along. Takes out a notepad to jot down ideas. “What’s the occasion?”

“Um. Just an… occasion.”

Seokjin blinks owlishly. “You just need a cake for an occasion? Do you wanna try again and actually be helpful this time?”

“What does it matter if I’m paying you, hyung?” Jungkook whines. “Aren’t cakes all the same?”

“Not if you want me to decorate it—”

“I don’t.”

“—because what am I supposed to write on it? Happy occasion, person whose name Jungkookie won’t tell me! Do you see how that might not work out for either of us?”

“Again, what does it matter—”

Seokjin looks up from his notepad, brows furrowed. “Are you ordering this for the president? What’s with all the secrecy?”

Jungkook huffs, puts on his Very Serious Face. “I can just take my business elsewhere if you’re going to interrogate me, hyung,” he says, to which Seokjin rolls his eyes, used to Jungkook’s dramatics.

“Be my guest,” he calls his bluff, gesturing to the front door of the bakery. “No one else is going to give you as good a discount as me, though.”

“I bet Junghwan-ssi would,” Jungkook grumbles, low but loud enough for Seokjin to hear, because there isn’t much else Jungkook can say that’d get under his hyung’s skin as much as the mention of his arch nemesis. “I bet I could walk into his bakery right now and explain the whole situation to him and he’d practically give it to me for free, just so it meant you didn’t get my business.”

And it works. Seokjin’s eyes narrow, chest starts heaving. “You wouldn’t,” he accuses, and Jungkook just shrugs, nonplussed, daring Seokjin to find out.

What follows can only be described as a tense standoff: Seokjin behind the counter of his bakery, looking hilariously underdressed for this stalemate in his pink apron, armed only with a pen; Jungkook, looking smug and pleased on the other side, not even knowing what Junghwan’s bakery is called, let alone where it is. The bell above the door chimes and neither breaks eye contact to look, and it’d probably go on like this forever, knowing the two of them, except the person behind Jungkook clears their throat, asks, “Excuse me, are you in line…?” and Seokjin is forced to concede if he wants to stay in business.

The person orders a cake for their daughter’s birthday. Answers each of Seokjin’s questions with certainty and preparedness, and Jungkook doesn’t miss the looks Seokjin shoots at him. See how easy it is to answer simple questions? they say. Why can’t you be like this?

Jungkook can’t be like that because the cake is for your birthday. Which Seokjin knows, because he has all of his friends’ birthdays saved to his phone calendar, but he’s never gone out of his way to get you a cake before so Seokjin will absolutely know something’s up. And as he waits for the person to be done ordering, his heart aches a little, because he wants to tell Seokjin to make you the nicest cake he can. Wants him to pull out all the stops, because it’s your birthday and you deserve it, and he could say all those things if he hadn’t insisted on this stupid secrecy.

Guilt consumes him so entirely he doesn’t notice the person leaving. Doesn’t hear the chime of the bell above the door. Is halfway to spilling the entire story to Seokjin, gets as far as hyung, there’s something I— before Seokjin holds up a hand to stop him.

“What kind of cake would you like, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook deflates. Takes all those transgressions he was about to confess to and shoves them back inside his chest, locks them away. “Whatever you think is best, hyung. Just no nuts.”

And Seokjin smirks knowingly, because there’s only one person he knows with a nut allergy.

#work: 1kfm #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jewel answers #jewel writes

691 notes · View notes

talkdutchtome · 9 months

Text

You Should Have Said No Chapter Three- Death By A Thousand Cuts

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / pierre gasly x reader )

summary . . . when your fiancé cheats on you, you strike up an unusual friendship with one of his closest friends, who just so happens to have had a crush on you since he set eyes on you. chaos ensues.

inspired by the works of miss taylor swift )

genre . . . angst )

song . . .death by a thousand cuts)

warning . . . cheating, mental illness, angst, eventual smut, poorly translated french and dutch, swearing, mention of parent loss, emotionally abusive parent, slight social media au, kendall jenner as fc (potentially more i’ll add as i go along)

series masterlist . . . available here )

Once you had landed in Barcelona, you were greeted by an ample about of photographers and reporters taking photos of the three drivers. They knew who you were, you had accompanied Pierre to countless races, but you could tell they did not expect you to follow Max, Lando and Daniel out of the private jet, their eyes darting to the door to see if Pierre was going to follow you out; when they realized that Pierre did not accompany you, the clicks from their cameras became more intense. You knew the girlfriend of a driver being caught leaving a private plane with three of his rivals was a big story and the tabloids would go crazy for it. Thinking of Pierre seeing the photos made you cringe inwardly, almost feeling guilty for your budding friendship with Max. The rational side of your brain tried to shake that thought away, you were only friends with Max, even if it was anything else; you no longer owed anything to Pierre. Even still, you still felt slightly uncomfortable so you quickly thanked Max for his continued help and support before saying goodbye and walking towards the studio where you would be working that day. You weren’t sure of your full schedule for the day, but you were aware that the first session would be with the drivers from Williams and Haas. Most photography sessions with the drivers were usually done in groups of two teams, simply so the whole grid could be done as quickly as possible. Realistically you didn’t particularly want to be working, you still felt weak from the events of the weekend; but you knew that sitting around and wallowing in sadness wasn’t going to help anything, so you took a deep breath to compose yourself before taking the last sip of the Redbull Max gave you on the plane before beginning to get to work.

Max’s POV

Max watched you walk away from the group, unable to take his eyes away from you until you were no longer in his line of sight. Hearing laughter come from his two friends he looked back at them. “Mate what is happening to you?” he heard Daniel ask before Lando chirped in too. “Yeah, I mean, going to her house and cooking her dinner, inviting her in your jet, that is not the Max I know.” He was about to respond until he caught sight of Pierre walking towards them, looking like a man on a mission. Max was slightly thankful for this interruption; he truly had no answer for his friends’ questions after all. But mostly he was nervous as to what Pierre wanted to talk to him about. He wasn’t sure if Pierre was aware that it was him who told you what happened in the club, although once he saw the facial expression Pierre wore in his face, he was pretty much sure that he did know.

“So do you want to tell me which one of you told Y/N what happened with Sophia?” He addressed Max and Lando, knowing that they were the only people where there who knew what happened.

“Look mate I don’t think-” Lando started, trying to diffuse the situation but he was interrupted by Max.

“Yeah it was me, she deserved to know” he spoke up, having little patience for the French man stood Infront of him seething.

“And why the fuck do you think you know what she deserves. I know you’ve always had a crush on her, but I never knew you would stoop so low that you would try to sabotage my relationship. She’s my fucking fiancée man.” Pierre’s words made Max unbelievably angry, he didn’t want to continue this pointless conversation and he didn’t want to dignify Pierre’s ridiculous words with a response, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Yeah, and how exactly telling her that you slept with someone sabotaging your relationship, I’m pretty sure you there one that did the sabotaging mate.” Pierre laughed, reaching into his bag for something.

“Oh if that’s all you did then I guess this isn’t your jacket I found at my house today mate.” He spoke with venom in his voice, throwing Max’s Redbull jacket at him.

Max gulped, realising that he must have left it when he came round to see you, his actions were innocent, but they certainly didn’t seem that way to Pierre.

“Did you fuck my girl Verstappen?” Pierre asked with a look that would have had Max six feed under if looks could kill. Max was dumbfounded, Lando’s and Daniel’s jaws dropped to the floor in shock. “What no of course I didn-“ he started to reply, until Pierre’s fist connected with his face. Without even thinking Max immediately swung back at Pierre and went in for a second hit until Lando and Daniel got in between them, stopping them from hurting each other any further.

“Go fuck yourself Max. She’s mine.” Pierre called out, walking away as soon as he got out of Lando’s grip. Max opened his mouth to respond but Daniel pulled him away, encouraging him to walk away from this conversation.

The three drivers arrived in Max’s drivers room, looking in the mirror he noticed the split lip he had thanks to Pierre, he cursed him, knowing that he had media duties later, dreading the questions he’d get.

“Look Max you nee-“ Daniel started to speak making Max roll his eyes, Daniel was always trying to give words of wisdom, taking the fact that he was older than a lot of the grid very seriously.

“Seriously Daniel not now” Max dismissed Daniel, not wanting to be taught a life lesson right now.

“No Max I think you need to hear this. I know you like Y/N, you always have. But now is not the time to try anything. She is a very pretty girl, I get why you would want to but there is about a billion reasons why you shouldn’t, the drama that it would cause with Pierre for a start but most importantly, it’s not what she needs right now. That woman has just found out that the person she loved had sex with someone else, she is broken. She does not need anymore completely avoidable drama all because you want to shoot your shot. I love you man, but you can’t put her in that position” Daniel finished, looking at Max, trying to gauge if he had pissed him off with what he said. He usually prefers to stay out of the heavier topics, more than anything Daniel is an extremely positive person who would much rather make someone smile than serve them some harsh truths. Max knew this so he knew that Daniel was being completely serious.

“I do like her, I think she’s beautiful and funny and well.. she’s like a shot of espresso; she makes me feel alive, she makes my heart race. And I also think she deserves someone much better than Pierre, I always have thought that even before all this” he spoke as his friends looked at him with wide eyes, not expecting words like that to come out of Max’s mouth. He took a shaky breath before continuing.

“But all of that isn’t why I’m doing what I’m doing, I actually agree with you Daniel; my love is the last thing she needs right now. But what she does need is a friend. Think about it who do you see her spend time with around here other than Pierre? Charles, Charles’ girlfriend and Carlos, that’s who, What side do you think they’re going to take? She gave up her job to follow Pierre around and now he’s left her with no one by her side. So I’m going to be there for her, I’m going to be her friend. You both know what I went through with Kelly the way she left, if I didn’t have you guys I would have gone insane.”

Daniel and Lando shared a knowing look, before Daniel looked at Max, before reaching up and ruffling his hair; proud of his friends new found maturity.

Your POV

Work was hard, and long. You were able to put a brave face, even when Alex Albon asked you how Pierre’s celebration went with a wink. You knew he didn’t mean anything by it, he was a lovely guy and was just trying to have a joke with you; that didn’t make it hurt any less of course. Looking down at your schedule, you feel your stomach sink as you read the two teams you’re supposed to be shooting now. Redbull and Alpine. Closing your eyes, you fought hard to keep your lunch down; you really didn’t want to see Pierre right now, and you certainly didn’t want to see him with Max. Max’s actions and his niceness towards you confused you, he never really showed you any attention before, with most of the interactions you two have had with each other being in group conversations. To be honest, you had even thought on the occasions you did spend with each other that he didn’t actually like you, there had been a few situations where you noticed that if you were stood or sat too close to him he would move away, times where you would make a joke to the group and he would just look at you in a funny way. You tried, and failed, to steady your breath. Looking at the watch on your left hand, the watch that Pierre gave you when you got job with formula one. The clock hit 4, the time the drivers were due to walk through the door. Like clockwork, Max Verstappen and Sergio Perez walked through the door. Your eyes fell to Max, immediately feeling your racing heartbeat calm down, you smiled to yourself happy to see him. That shocked you, not expecting seeing him to make you feel that way. Your smile dropped when your eyes focused in on his lips, noticing it was split and bleeding. You had no reason to think so, but you just knew Pierre had something to do with it. That suspicion was confirmed when he and Esteban walked in the room and your eyes immediately saw that your fiancé had a black eye, or ex-fiancé, you corrected your own train of thought. The tension on the room was unbearable, nobody said a word. Checo and Esteban didn’t fully understand what was happening in the room but they were able to put some pieces together, the matching war wounds, both the ones on their faces as well as the matching bruised knuckles they shared; alongside the uncomfortable silence in the room, it was clear something happened between the former teammates.

The awkward silence sat for a few moments longer, nobody wanting to be the one to start speaking. That was until your boss Rebecca walked in.

“Okay people, we’re going to start with Max and Checo, we just need a few photo of you two together and then we’ll move on Pierre and Est-“ her instructions stopped when she saw the marks on the two men’s faces.

“Okay what the hell do you people think you’re playing at you both knew this was scheduled for today and you show up looking like-“ she began her rant, cursing out both men but you couldn’t hear what she was saying, instead you were too focused on Max’s lips. It looked sore you thought to yourself, almost trying to excuse why you found yourself unable to look away; although just for a second you couldn’t help to thinkable how soft they looked despite the sore, how kissable and plump they looked. You visibly shook your head, almost like you were physically trying to shake that thought out of your head, you had no right to be thinking thoughts you like that. You chalked it up to your brain still being fuzzy from the last few days of hell you had just endured and turned to face Rebecca, looking for instructions on what was going to happen now.

“Right well obviously Y/N can’t take photos of you looking like this so you can all leave and ill try and find time to reschedule it. I will be speaking to both of your team principals as this is just simply not acceptable. Y/N, that was the last shoot of the day so you can head off.” You winced at her tone, clearly very pissed off before nodding and leaving. You walked towards your office for the weekend, looking for somewhere safe before your equipment before you headed back to the hotel room.

“Mon chéri, can we speak?” you heard Pierre’s voice speak from behind you. You immediately tensed up, really not wanting to speak to him. Despite that, you gently nodded, knowing that you can’t live in this limbo forever.

“What is going on with you and Max?” he asked walking closer towards you. You scoffed at him. Unbelievable, you thought to yourself, he didn’t follow you into your office to apologize or see how you were doing after the worst few days of your life, he just wanted to talk about Max.

“Don’t make that noise at me Y/N, I know somethings going on so tell me. Are you fucking him?”

You saw red, you were enraged that after all he had put you through, he had the audacity to talk like you were the one who cheated on him. He was still walking closer towards you, he didn’t stop until there was a gap of only a few centimetres between your two bodies.

“Okay Pierre, first thing- no I am not fucking him, he has been a friend to me, you know since you broke my fucking hear, and secondly- if I was it would be none of your damn business; you lost the right to have an opinion on what, or for a matter of fact who I do, when you slept with a random women in a club bathroom.” You fumed at him, taking your ring off and pressing it into his hand.

“We’re through Pierre.” You told him but he didn’t say a word, instead he brought his hand up to your chin, pulling you closer to him before crashing his lips onto yours. You wanted to push him off you but you didn’t, you let him kiss you and you kissed him back. Your lips fit together like two puzzle pieces. Being in his arms again, feeling his lips against yours felt like heaven. You didn’t know how touch starved you were until he picked you up and your legs wrapped around his legs in an instant. Everything that had happened, everything Pierre had put you through was gone all you could think about was you and him and you both together here and now. His hands reached to your desk and cleared space to sit you down, his lips coming down to your neck causing a small moan to escape from your lips. You put your hands to the zip of his drivers suit, ready to pull it down to, desperate for him to keep touching you. Before you could do anything you heard your phone ring and it was almost you woke up from a trance. You pushed Pierre off of you, shaking your head. Not sure if you hated Pierre or yourself more from that encounter, you began to speak.

“That was a mistake Pierre. I don’t want anything to do with you. Please leave me alone we are done”

Pierre looked like he was about to cry but he did what he asked, walking out of your office without looking back at you once. Your phone rang again and you reached down to answer it, too flustered with you encounter with Pierre to even check who was phoning you.

“Hey bitch, where the hell are ya?” you heard a very familiar voice through the speakers. Lili. Your best friend since before you even knew Pierre. You didn’t very often get to speak to her, she moved to the UK a few years ago and you had only seen her a few times since then due to both of your busy schedules.

“So excited to hear from me you’re speechless huh? Look I was just phoning because I’m at the airport with a bottle of tequila and I need to know what hotel you’re staying at so I can order my uber.”

“Wait Lila? What?” you questioned genuinely confused.

“Charles called me, he told me what happened and that I needed to get here as soon as possible, so I caught the first plane I could.” You could have cried, there was no one in the world you wanted to speak

“I cannot believe he did that. What a fucking asshole.” Lila sat on your hotel room floor with you listening to you tell her the whole story, starting from the club in Monaco and ending with the encounter you had with Pierre. Half a bottle of tequila had been consumed between the two of you and Taylor Swift played though the speakers of Lilas phone, she knew exactly what you needed.

“This Max seems like a good guy though. You should have a go on him, show Pierre what he’s missing.” You laughed at her proposition, too drunk already to explain to her why that would be an awful idea. Lila began speaking about something else but you were too focused on the song that had just come on.

“I get drunk, but it's not enough

’Cause the morning comes and you're not my baby

I look through the windows of this love

Even though we boarded them up

Chandelier's still flickering here

'Cause I can’t pretend it's okay when it's not”

“Y/N, are you okay? Really though?” Lila asked, pulling you out of your Taylor Swift induced trance. You lay your head on her shoulder, half trying to steady you head, half just wanting to be close to your friend. You smiled, knowing the exact answer to her question.

“I'll be alright, it's just a thousand cuts.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes- I just wanted to thank everyone who’s been showing this story some love. I’ve truly been floored with the reception that this has received so far. I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as you did the others.

ALSO- I'm currently unsure what kind of format this story is going to go down. I personally prefer longer, slow burn fics but I’m not sure if I should go down that way or if people would prefer it to be a bit shorter. Let me know what you think!

Tag list -

@hiraethrhapsody @ironmaiden1313 @dudenhaaa27 @aundercover @dearlovelys @bicchaan @eugene-emt-roe @faithm120601 @ruleroftheuniverse @idkiwantchocolatee @simxican @reidsworld @icarus-nex @barnestatic @amalialeclerc @stargaryenx

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #max verstappen #lando norris #formula 1 #max verstappen smut #pierre gasly smut #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #max verstappen x reader #charles lecrelc #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x oc #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen x y/n #f1 fanfic #fanfic #f1 imagine

530 notes · View notes

chanspetpigeon · 3 months

Text

I’m scared…

Niki x reader

Best friends to lovers, fluff

Wc:480

Warnings: Kiss? (Lmk if i need to add something!)

A/N: Another drabble :) ill make a masterlist tmr :D im trying to write more longer things but i have like 0 ideas pls send requests haha

Masterlist

—————————————————————————————————————————

Your eyes scan the dark room you’re trying to sleep in. You stare at all the creepy silhouettes created by your best friend’s clothing scattered all over the room. You bury yourself deeper into the sheets, eyes squeezing closed.

“You ok?” Riki whispers behind you. You startle at the sudden noise.

“Yeah… ‘m okay…” you whisper back.

“You’re hogging the blanket again…” Riki turns to you and yanks the blanket off of you.

“Rikiiiii… Stop it!” you whine, trying to get under the blanket again.

“C’mon. It’s my blanket! I decide who gets it!” Riki argues back at you, chuckling at your feeble attempts of trying to get the blanket back. You can make out his teasing smile through the endless darkness of the night.

You roll your eyes and turn back around, laying in a fetal position trying to warm yourself back up.

“Hey… I’m sorry, come here,” Riki lays the blanket over your curled up body, laying closer to you.

You peek over your shoulder at him, you can’t resist his sweet smile, so you turn back around draping your arm around his waist.

“I can’t sleep, Riki…” you whisper against his chest. “I’m scared…” you continue.

“Why? What’s scaring you?” Riki asks you, running his hand slowly through your hair.

“I’m just scared of the dark…” you confess, lowering your gaze to his chest, embarrassed to still have such childish fears at your age.

Riki chuckles, petting the top of your head gently.

“What's so scary about it?” Riki asks

“All your clothes everywhere… They look like monsters lurking in the dark…” you whisper even more embarrassed now.

“Mmm… Don’t worry, Y/N, I’ll protect you from all the monsters lurking in the dark,” he joked, his hand cupping your cheek, forcing you to look up at his face.

Your cheeks start to heat up at the intense eye contact.

“Seriously, I will,” he further exclaimed.

“T-thanks, Riki…” you say with a sheepish smile on your face.

A comforting silence falls between you two, Riki’s hand still on your cheek, slowly swiping his thumb across it.

“Try and get some sleep now,” Riki whispers to you.

His voice brings you back to reality from wherever your thoughts were wandering off to.

“Yeah…” you quietly say, laying your head onto Riki’s soft pillows and closing your eyes.

“Goodnight, I love you,” the words slip from your lips automatically, used to saying it to your parents before going to bed. As soon as you register what you had just said, you tense up.

Riki chuckles lowly, “I love you too, Y/N,” he says back.

You open your eyes, looking back up at Riki.

He was already staring at you, a goofy smile on his face. He slowly leans down to press a chaste kiss onto your lips.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he says before turning around, leaving you stunned, staring up at the ceiling, processing what just happened.

—————————————————————————————————————————

A/N: hope u like it haha ik its not the best but im just trynna post stuff :)

#niki x reader #enhypen #niki nishimura #nishimura niki #niki nishimura x reader #nishimura riki #riki nishimura #ni-ki x reader #ni ki enhypen #niki enhypen #ni-ki enhypen #ni ki x reader #niki fluff #nishimura riki fluff #enhypen fluff #enhypen niki #enhypen niki x reader #Pigeon— Writing

237 notes · View notes

sophswritingthings · 5 months

Note

hi love!! i was wondering if i could put in a request for a hazel callahan fic where reader is chronically ill and is in a bad flare up so she hasn’t been to school in a few days so hazel comes over to take care of her and there’s just lots of fluff and cuddling <333

pairing: hazel callahan x chronically ill!fem!reader

a/n: I went and did a little research, and I hope I do this justice babe <33 please enjoy!

summary: you’re going through a bad flare up; you haven’t been to school in a while. hazel, your girlfriend, shows up at your doorstep with essential oils and snacks.

word count: 1,047 words / 5,645 characters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hazel was standing at her locker, pulling books and a backpack out of the long blue storage unit of a closet.

you hadn’t been in school the last few days; she could assume why. she knew of your illness; it wasn’t a secret you kept. you weren’t embarrassed about it, by any means, it was part of what she loved about you so god damn much. your confidence, your positivity.. they were things she didn’t have all the time. she admired you. as both a partner and a friend.

she practically slammed her locker shut, turning away with her backpack hanging on by one strap on her shoulder. she headed outside the school, the frosty wind hitting her face. she sighed, sprinkles of snow dancing on her hair and eyebrows. you always loved the snow; shame you weren’t to see it with her.

an idea pricked her mind.. she wanted to see you so, so bad. but was it right to go to your house, if you weren’t feeling well? she'd texted you, but you hadn’t responded. not that she excepted you to!

yet she still desperately wanted to care for you and love on you as much as she could; if that would make you feel better. she would do anything to make that happen.

hazel headed back to her own house, slipping in the house just to brush right past her mom and go to her room. she tossed her backpack on her desk chair, flopping down on her bed. she stared at the celling for what felt like hours; to which it was really only, tops, maybe thirty minutes.

her head was racing a million miles a minute.

how much pain were you in? was she wasting time just sitting here, when she could be there with you, easing your pain?

she groaned, rubbing her heads over her eyes. she jumped up out of her bed, grabbing her backpack again. she piled lavender essential oils into the bag, turning to a basket full of snacks. your favorite snacks, might she add, that she kept in her room for when you came over.

she piled those into her bag, too, and slung it over her shoulder again. grabbing her phone, she shoved it into her hoodie. which she'd probably have to remove later anyways because she planned to give her hoodie to you.

she sped down the steps, right past her mom again—who attempted to talk to her, but she swiftly ignored her and headed right out the front door.

your house, was luckily, not far from hers. it was maybe a block down; so she just opted to walk rather than waste her cars gas. that shit was getting expensive, anyways.

once at your house, she gazed at your front door for a minute. plain white door with a black circle window; the glass stained with color which she knew was all you.

she walked up to the door, knocking gently.

when a woman who wasn’t you answered the door, she put on her best smile, in case this woman was a doctor or someone who had been checking on you—or worse—your mother.

“ah,” the woman tapped her fingers against the door. “your (y/n)’s girlfriend, right? hazel?”

“uh, yup! o-one and only,” she chuckled nervously, her grip tightening on her bag strap.

“breathe. I’m her older sister,” she laughed, moving aside to let hazel in. “she’s upstairs in her room. not feelin’ too well.”

“yeah… I assumed,” hazel sighed, thanking her and heading up the stairs. a door that was covered in swatches of paint read “(y/n)’s room” painted in glitter rainbows and stars.

she smiled. she knocked with the back of her knuckles on the door, peering inside. the door wasn’t fully shut, cracked open a little—she assumed it was so people could check on you.

you were lying on your bed, your frame curled up against your pillows. your face was scrunched up in pain, your hair tied into a messy bun. your hands were straddling the pillow as if you were holding on for dear life. you had your headphones in, and couldn’t hear her.

“(y/n).. baby..?” she calls out to you, making your eyes open wide. you tug out your headphones, looking so relived to see hazel standing in your doorway.

“hazel!” you smiled as bright as you could, your expression still pained yet very happy to see her.

“hi, honey,” she smiles back, slipping into your room. she closed the door behind her, dropping the bag beside your door. “not feelin’ the best, I guess?”

“y-yeah, not at all,” you flinch, your body squirming in pain, “took some pain meds.. did some exercise, I-it didn’t really help much.”

“would cuddles make you feel better?” she cocked her head a little, raising an eyebrow.

“much better,” you slowly open your arms, making a grabbing motion at hazel.

she laughs at your gesture, tugging her black hoodie over her head. she’s left in a sports bra only; tossing the hoodie to you. you caught it with a smile, slipping it over your head.

she bent down to grab her back, dropping it beside the bed so you could reach it comfortably. she climbed in behind you, wrapping her arms tight around your waist. she held you close, pressing your back into her chest.

you plug your headphones back in, offering one to hazel. she does the same as you; pressing a kiss against your collarbone. she slowly and tenderly took your hand placing kisses from your hand to your arm. you were a beauty to be worshipped; and she would do just that for you.

“your too sweet, actually,” you chuckle, crunching on what looked to be a bag of pretzels. “how did I get so lucky, huh?”

she laughs back, pressing a soft kiss against your jaw.

“how did you get so lucky?” she scoffs, “how did I get so lucky! i mean, look at you, and than look at me. I’m like a lowly peasant and your a fucking goddess.”

you snicker, “your not a peasant!” you pat her head. “if I’m a goddess.. well your a goddesses girlfriend, than. see? not a peasant.”

she nuzzled into your neck, closing her eyes in the warmth, “guess I am, huh…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan #bottoms 2023 #bottoms movie #fic #fanfic #request #asked and answered

156 notes · View notes

soft-girl-musings · 3 months

Text

Comedy of Errors (MK Spring Bingo #3)

Steven Grant x GN!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: theater kid slander (affectionate), amateur references to Shakespeare, steven and reader teach high school, no use of y/n

wc: 1,341

fic summary: The course of true love never did run smooth. And neither does the play you watch unfold.

A/N: as a recovering theater kid, this was a fun one. enjoy!

_____________________

It's poor etiquette to laugh. Right?

How you ended up sitting in a high school theater on a Sunday afternoon, you have no idea. Well, that's not true: you never can say no to your favorite students. When they begged you to come to their closing matinee, you had no choice but to cough up the ticket money (with no faculty discount, to add insult to inconvenience).

So here you are, seated in the darkened auditorium, watching what could only be described as chaos unfold on your school's professional-grade thrust stage.

In the lobby you'd heard whispers of how last night's cast party had gotten a bit too rowdy, rendering a few upperclassmen unable to attend their final performance. It didn’t matter what circle you ran in at their age: you’d learned years ago that a “mysterious illness” following any high school party probably isn’t the flu.

Thankfully there were enough students to fill in the missing principal roles, but with only the morning to prepare, it’s a wonder they've gotten through each scene. Draped in ill-fitting costumes with scripts in hand, the students have tried their best to piece together one last staging of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. All you know about this play is that it’s a comedy, but you don’t think you’re supposed to laugh at every blunder and mishap.

(It’s very hard not to.)

Across the house you see Mr. Grant, one of the younger teachers on campus, whose face mirrors how you feel. He’s probably trying for a look of statuesque stoicism, but all he's managed to pull off is mild bewilderment.

You haven’t spoken to your coworker much– mainly because there’s rarely a moment where he’s without another colleague talking his ear off or hanging on every word of his (admittedly delicious) accent. He’s a newer hire, having come from London to teach a few history courses but was moved to the literature department the moment your principal saw the top of his resume. The modern education system, ladies and gentlemen.

The man is dressed to impress: black turtleneck under a sharp tweed ensemble, his usually wild curls tamed a bit as they grace his forehead, he certainly looks the part of a private school instructor. But there’s no denying the entirely unserious look on his face: he is one blunder away from losing his cool.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until his bright brown eyes connect with yours. In an instant you understand why so many students doodle his name in the margins of their notebooks: his exasperated stare has you instantly weak.

–which is poor timing, given the scene unfolding onstage between you. An unrehearsed kiss goes wrong, and the two of you slap your hands over your mouths to subdue your laughter.

The rest of Act I goes the same way. You try to follow along, but every so often your eyes drift to Mr. Grant white-knuckling his way through the rough performance. When your eyes connect again (and again, and again) you both struggle to contain your laughter. Knowing that tears are likely stinging your colleague's eyes the same as yours makes you feel like less of an ass.

The curtain closes for intermission and you rest your head in your hands. How is this only half over?

“Bit of a rough watch, yeah?”

Your head snaps up– those brilliant brown eyes widen at your expression, now only one row of seats between the two of you.

“Mr. Grant–”

“Steven,” he says quickly, offering his hand. You take it and smile.

“Steven,” you begin again, giving your name in return. “I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t some of these kids–”

“–in my Shakespearean Studies course? Quite a few, really.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But we’ve focused more on the historical tragedies. Don’t think a textbook can teach comedic timing.”

“Oh, I've laughed plenty.” You fidget with your program and look back to the stage. “At least they’re trying their best, I’m sure part of you is proud.”

Steven’s smile grows as he shakes his head. “I’ll be honest, it’s nice to know they’ve looked at the material for once.” He leans in. “Last week I asked them where the phrase ‘double, double, toil and trouble’ came from, and someone said Harry Potter.”

You laugh out loud for the first time all evening. It feels nice to not hide it. You miss how Steven takes in the sight of you, as well as his loss for words when you calm down.

“I have a confession to make,” you say hoarsely, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “I have no idea what’s supposed to be happening. I’m lost as hell.”

“Maybe I could–” he trips over his words and his feet as he clambers around the seats to sit next to you. “Maybe I could help you out. Bit of an expert, myself. What they pay me for, and all–”

“Sure,” you stop him with a smile. “I’d like that.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and settles in. Pulling out a pair of reading glasses, he opens his program.

“Right. So, A Midsummer Night’s Dream…”

The rest of your intermission is spent receiving a crash-course in William Shakespeare. You’re amazed at how he spouts the most minute details about recurring symbolism, character motivations, and even the historical context of the play up until the lights dim and the show resumes. You squeeze his forearm to silently suggest taking a break, and he chokes down whatever factoid was about to tumble out next.

Maybe it’s because the students have found their footing. Maybe your mini-lecture has filled in the gaps so you can better follow along. Or maybe it’s the sight of Mr. Grant– Steven– sitting beside you, rapt attention on the stage as his readers slide down his nose each time he laughs and leans in to explain the joke, drawing closer and wafting his subtle cologne your way between still-too-loud whispers. Whatever the reason, you’re enjoying the second half of this show much more than the first.

The play draws to a close with a happy ending. One of the fae characters comes downstage to address the audience as the rest of the cast departs.

“If we shadows have offended,

Think but this and all is mended:

That you have but slumbered here

While these visions did appear…”

“Star pupil, that one,” Steven whispers once more. “Deserves every bit of the spotlight.”

You squeeze his arm again, this time not moving your hand or looking his way. You both take in the last words of the performance in dazed silence.

“...Give me your hands, if we be friends,

And Robin shall restore amends.”

With that, the fairy bows and the stage fades to black.

The audience erupts into applause as the cast returns onstage. You and Steven cheer and swap last-minute quips about the performance as the standing ovation thunders around you.

You exit the auditorium together and are immediately swarmed by a handful of students– some yours, some his– who eagerly await your feedback. You each congratulate the cast, getting them to sign your programs to commemorate the day.

Finally you’re able to break away and step into the brisk evening air.

“Well that was… something,” you laugh.

Steven grins as he fastens his coat. “‘Least they’ll be tuckered out in first period, yeah? Might get a bit of peace tomorrow morning.” He pulls something out of his pocket and hands it to you. “Sorry, don’t want you to leave that behind. Could be worth something someday.”

You take your folded program back from him. “Oh, I'm sure.”

With an awkward wave, Steven steps back. “Right. Well, see you around.”

“See you, Steven.”

You turn to head toward your car. As you walk, you unfold your program to see a new signature on the back page, followed by a phone number.

Let me know if you need any more Shakespeare translated. I’m fond of the love poems, myself ;)

_____________________

A/N: mk bingo has been a blast, i'm grateful for the chance to put these guys in Situations. that's one for each of em now. we'll see who gets attention next...

also, some inspiration was taken from this post (rip)

as always, ty for reading <3

event tags: @moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro @queerponcho (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

#my works #mk spring bingo 2024 #moonknightevents #moon knight #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant/reader #steven grant x gn!reader #steven grant/gn!reader

111 notes · View notes