AN: Yes dear reader, he did order from the same Italian place he cancelled David's booking.
Summary: You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.
Set After:
Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.
Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.
An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.
THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.
Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you...
Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.
Doctor Dick - Brendon's day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.
Prequel to:
Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he's been keeping for almost a decade.
His Father's Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.
Your phone is blowing up.
Brendon can see it out of the corner of his eye as the two of you eat Chicken Alla Limone on his couch watching the Steelers struggle to hold the line without Trent Nathan.
“I can’t believe he broke his leg high off edibles, riding around on a fucking golfcart.” You say spearing a piece of chicken and putting into your mouth. “You guys are gonna have such a tough season now.”
“At least you’ll get to gloat about your beloved Ravens.” Brendon sets his plate down on the coffee table before picking up his bottle of water. Your phone lights up again, another missed call, another text. He clears his throat before angling his body towards you, his back pressing against the arm of the couch. “Are we gonna talk about why your ex is calling or are we just gonna pretend it’s not happening?”
“I find it interesting that you know he’s my ex considering I never told you that.” You lean back, placing your own plate on the side table behind you. “But I assume you worked it out with all that social media stalking you did when I was away.” You give him a shrewd look as you settle yourself into his couch cushions. “You liked a post from four years ago.”
Damn…
For a surgeon he has clumsy fucking thumbs.
Brendon sighs as he picks up your socked feet, guiding them into his lap. He grasps the right one in his hand, pressing the heel of his palm into the sole to alleviate some of the ache you must be feeling from another twelve-hour shift.
“I’m not proud of it.” Your body arches like a cat underneath his ministrations, a low purr erupting from low in your throat as he exerts just the right pressure.
“You think I haven’t stalked yours?” You ask him before jabbing him in the ribs with your left foot. “You’re basically a thirst trap.”
His fingers wrap around your ankle, returning your weapon of choice back to his lap. You have more to say he can tell, so he waits.
“He thinks we shared a moment at the conference.” You concede, sliding deeper into cushions.
“Did you?” Brendon asked, trying his damnedest to keep his voice devoid of emotion as he continues to massage your right foot. You throw your arm over your head and laugh and at first, he thinks it’s because he’s found a ticklish spot but then he realises you’re actually laughing at him.
“Look at you, trying to play it so fucking cool.” You respond, prodding him again with your toes. “We’ve been together a year Brendon, I can see you’re fucking foaming at the mouth.”
And this right here is the reason he fell in love with you. You cut through all his bullshit, you see the things that other people don’t.
“He tried to kiss me in Seattle.” You tell him, putting him out of his misery. “We had dinner with a couple of mutual friends, and I went outside onto the veranda to get some air. He seemed to think it was an invitation. It wasn’t… I was…” You sigh, placing your foot back into his lap. He picks it up, giving it the same treatment as the other by sinking his thumbs into the muscle. “I was trying to take a picture of the view for you. You said you’d never been to Seattle, and I thought you might want to see what it looked like all lit up at nighttime.”
He would have loved to see that picture. He probably would have packed a bag and hopped on a flight over there just so he could experience it with you the next night.
“He told me he’d accepted a job at Mercy, that he’d moved back to Pittsburgh. He wanted to try again, and obviously I told him that I wasn’t interested in that. I thought he got the message but then suddenly he’s the moonlighting physician in my hospital, my old coffee order is in his hand, and he’s telling me to put on something pretty because he’s taking me out tonight. Clearly, I have better things to do.” You gesture at Brendon and he can’t help but smile. You look so relaxed right now, all the worries of the day cast off your shoulders as you lay there on his couch in an oversized Ravens t-shirt, allowing him to take care of you.
“Was he bad to you?” He asks because he needs to know whether he’s kicking someone’s teeth in the next time he runs into that man. “When the two of you were together?”
“No, not bad.” You moan softly as his thumb digs into the pads of your foot. “David is very regimented, old fashioned. He likes routines and habits. It was book clubs on Thursdays, cello on Wednesdays, the same standing reservation at the same restaurant on weekends. It’s how he counterbalances working in the E.D. There’s so much you can’t control in there, so he exerts it in the other aspects of his life.”
“But not you?” His voice is sharp as he asks, an errant twang on a plucked guitar sting. “He didn’t try and control you?”
“Not in a traditional sense, it’s hard to explain.” Your brow furrows as you grasp for the words. “He’s not overbearing, it’s more subtle than that. Positive rewards for perceived good behaviour like coming home instead of going out after work, texts to see how my night was going when I was out with friends. An offer to pick me up but only at a time that would cut the night short. I know how it sounds…”
“It sounds like he’s a manipulative fuck.” Brendon responds, his palm settling on your ankle as he replays Whitaker’s words from earlier today.
You’ve always said that the kid was emotionally intelligent, Brendon just didn’t understand how much until this conversation. He had known there was something off with David, his questions, his assumptions. He’d picked up on the fact that man didn’t have your best interests at heart and come to Brendon because he knew that sometimes people don’t see how insidious it is, not when they’re in the thick of it.
He tunes back in because you’re talking again, sharing the rest of your story.
“When the fellowship came up at PTMC in Emergency Medicine, he didn’t want me to take it. I actually think that’s why he proposed to me, he wanted to change my mind, keep me close. A week after I agreed to marry him, I remember lying in bed, looking at that engagement ring and thinking, this is what the rest of my life is going to be if I don’t take that fellowship. It’s going to be some dull, laborious nightmare with missionary sex once a week and doggie style on special occasions. I ended things with him that morning, took the fellowship and he ran off to Philadelphia. I haven’t thought about him at all since then.”
“He clearly still thinks about you.” Brendon tips his head towards your phone which has continued to flash with messages throughout this entire conversation.
“That’s the thing, I don’t think it’s about me as a person.” You tell him, reaching out for the device and turning it face down. “I think it’s about being the one who got away, about him exerting control over something he didn’t see coming. It’s easier for him to reconcile it in his head if we end up back together than it is if I’m happy with someone else.”
“Did you tell him that?” Brendon asks you and you withdraw your feet from his lap.
You kneel up instead, your hands encompassing his face, tilting it up so he can look into your eyes. “This morning I told him that I was in love with a man who sets my blood on fire, that challenges me, takes care of me and lets me use his ridiculously expensive moisturizer without whining like a little bitch.”
“You did not.” He refutes, his hands coming to rest on your waist steadying you as your knees sink into the couch.
“I did.” You assure him, your nose trailing over his until your lips are barely apart. “That’s why he’s blowing up my phone, he thinks I’m lying to him because there can’t possibly be a man better for me than him.”
“You really told him that you love me?” He whispers, his mouth brushing over yours as his hand tangles in your hair.
“I did.” You confirm, kissing him. “Now this is the part where you say it back.”
Love Park the Shark? Don’t miss any of their stories by joining the taglist here.
Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.
max hatter | white queen descendant!reader | gn!reader |
wc. 1.2k | fluff |
a/n | wanted to post something before i started request so people get an idea how i write things! love this boy a lot really couldn’t help myself to make him first. lmk what you think!
border by @/dollywons
The first rule of Wonderland politics was simple:
Never trust anyone smiling at you.
The second?
Never trust anyone who wasn't.
You learned both before you could walk.
The White Queen's descendant sat at the edge of the castle gardens, one gloved hand balancing a delicate porcelain teacup while the other skimmed through a thick, white-bound book. Beside you rested an acceptance letter to Auradon Prep.
Every rose in the garden leaned subtly closer, eager to peek at its contents.
"Eyes on your own petals," you sighed, snapping the book shut.
The flowers immediately straightened, pretending they hadn't been staring.
A small laugh escaped you.
Peace. Quiet.
Exactly how you preferred it.
Exactly how you assumed it would remain...
...until it didn't.
A startled scream split the air overhead.
Your gaze lifted just in time to see a boy around your age plummet over the castle wall and disappear into a hedge with an impressive crash.
Silence returned.
For all of three seconds.
The boy burst upright, leaves tangled in his hair caught beneath the brim of an oversized hat. He looked wildly around the garden until his eyes found yours.
For a fleeting moment, the panic in his expression melted into something else. Curiosity — as though he'd stumbled upon something far rarer than an escape route.
A crooked grin spread across his face.
Then heavy footsteps echoed beyond the gates.
His grin vanished instantly, and his panic returned tenfold.
"Hide me... please." He begs.
You considered the request.
If he was fleeing the unmistakable march of royal guards, perhaps he deserved whatever consequences awaited him.
Yet desperation was difficult to counterfeit.
His eyes carried none of the arrogance of a criminal — only the urgency of someone truly cornered. Against your better judgment, compassion prevailed.
You gave a small nod and he hurried to your side.
"Do not make me regret this," you said evenly, rearranging the items on your tea table as though nothing were amiss.
You sprinkled another spoonful of sugar into your tea.
"You won't, I prom—"
You spared him no opportunity to finish.
Instead, you pressed the teacup gently toward his lips.
He took an involuntary sip.
It took only seconds.
His voice squeaked.
His sleeves swallowed his hands.
Until finally...
...he stood no taller than your boot.
You carefully gathered him into your palm just as the castle gates burst open.
The Queen of Hearts' Royal Deck marched into the gardens, armor gleaming and spears striking the stone in perfect rhythm.
Their eyes swept across the grounds.
You merely lifted your teacup with quiet composure.
"Ordinarily," you observed, "one receives notice before such a grand entrance."
Your calm gaze settled upon the captain.
"To what do we owe the pleasure of the Queen of Hearts' Royal Deck visiting the White Queen's gardens?"
Only then did they seem to notice you.
Every soldier snapped to attention.
One bearing six embroidered hearts stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"We apologize for the disturbance, Your Highness."
From within your hand came a tiny whisper.
"They're apologizing?"
You shifted your fingers ever so slightly.
The miniature boy understood the warning and wisely fell silent.
"We are pursuing a fugitive," the captain continued. "He fled through this area after vandalizing royal property. Under the direct order of Her Majesty, the Queen of Hearts, we must bring him in. Have you happened to see him?"
The soldiers slammed their spear shafts against the stone. The sharp crack made the tiny figure in your hands flinch. Without drawing attention to it, you subtly angled your hands farther from the soldiers.
"There has been no such individual within these gardens," you replied without hesitation. "Nevertheless, I shall instruct our own guards to remain vigilant."
A measured pause followed.
"What is this fugitive's name?"
"Max Hatter, Your Highness. Son of Maddox Hatter."
You inclined your head thoughtfully, using your teacup to cover your moves.
Opening your hand just enough to glance downward, you found the tiny boy tipping his hat with entirely inappropriate politeness.
"I appreciate the information," you said. "You may carry on."
With another bow, the soldiers departed.
The gates shut behind them.
Silence reclaimed the gardens.
Only then did you release the breath you hadn't realized you were holding.
You lowered your hand to the table, releasing the fugitive from your grasp.
The miniature Hatter walks around the table, looking up expectantly.
"...Now what?"
You glanced toward the roses.
They immediately began shaking their branches.
A sleepy hedgehog tumbled out from beneath the bushes, along with a neatly wrapped biscuit that had apparently been serving as its pillow.
You offered the creature an apologetic smile.
"My apologies, Serge."
The hedgehog merely gave an understanding snuffle before curling back into its nap.
You broke off a small piece of the biscuit and handed it to Max.
He accepted it with both hands.
One bite later...
He was full-sized once again.
Max dusted crumbs from his coat before looking at you with unmistakable admiration.
Without warning, he reached for your hand.
He bowed.
Then gently pressed a kiss against your gloved knuckles.
"Thank you, Your Highness."
He stepped backward toward the gates.
"A pleasure, Hatter," you replied. "Although..."
You tilted your head ever so slightly.
"Are you certain you wish to leave through the very gate those guards just used?"
"A Hatter never stays in one place for long."
He flashed that same irrepressible grin.
"Besides..."
He effortlessly juggled your porcelain teacup between his hands.
"No one ever checks the same place twice."
One elegant eyebrow rose.
"So."
Your voice remained perfectly level.
"You intend to add royal theft to your growing list of charges?"
For perhaps the first time since crashing into your garden...
Max hesitated.
He looked down at the teacup. The porcelain gleamed beneath the afternoon sun.
Then he smiled.
"I suppose I do..."
His eyes met yours.
"...if it means I'll have an excuse to see you again at convocation."
A challenge. A playful one.
You met it without the slightest crack in your composure.
"I shall be certain to greet you."
A tiny pause.
"Perhaps with several guards accompanying me."
Max laughed.
"Then I'll hold the Crown to it."
He tipped his hat dramatically.
"Adieu."
Determined to make a graceful exit, he strode backward through the gates only to trip spectacularly over the threshold. The resulting crash echoed through the gardens.
He sprang upright as though nothing had happened.
You couldn't help it.
A soft laugh escaped you.
Max looked back.
The grin he gave you this time was smaller.
Warmer.
Then, the marching echoed close again. With another wave and a smirk of mischief, he disappeared beyond the walls.
You remained where you were, watching the gate sway gently until even the sound of footsteps faded into the distance.
Maddox Hatter's son...
How curious.
A chorus of delighted squeals suddenly erupted beside you.
The roses.
You turned to find their white petals slowly blushing pink.
Your expression remained composed, though you sighed as you lightly brushed the nearest bloom with the back of your hand.
"Compose yourselves."
The flowers only giggled harder.
You closed your eyes for a brief moment.
It seemed...
Auradon Prep was going to make for a very interesting year.
Featuring all ghouls! (Some more detailed than others)
Categories: Unbothered Kings 😎, Visible Blush Damage 🍅, Reverse Uno ↩️,Since You're Here...😏, No Escape 🏃, Permanent memory 😵💫
(Did I search for pictures of their abs and screenshot all of them? Yes. Yes, I did☺️)
Unbothered Kings
Tohma:
You open the door without knocking.
Big mistake.
“I see,” Tohma says calmly. “I still have much to teach you.”
“I-I’m sorry.”
You leave immediately.
For a while there’s only silence.
Then, a quiet laugh escapes from the other side.
“Pfft...What an expression.”
Alan:
You open the door.
And immediately freeze.
Alan looks up.
For a few seconds, the two of you just stare at each other???
Being half-dressed around Vagastrom is nothing new to him.
But the way you’re looking at him (or more like his abs), is making him feel a little flustered too.
“...You gonna keep staring?”
“No! I wasn’t— or I didn’t mean to—”
You cover your face.
“Sorry!”
And escape as quickly as possible.
Ritsu:
You open the door.
“Oh, MC.” Ritsu glances up at you, then down at himself, evaluating the situation.
“It’s common courtesy to knock.”
You turn quickly.
“Y-you’re right. I’m sorry.”
You grab the handle.
“Where are you going? I’m not finished.”
HUH???
“I must educate you on the laws regarding trespassing.”
OH.
Fabric shuffles as he dresses.
“Entering private spaces without warning can lead to many misunderstandings but there’s also legal implications to consider—”
He pauses.
"MC."
"Y-Yes?"
"Please look at me when I'm talking to you."
He waits for you to turn around to continue.
"As I was saying..."
He doesn’t let you leave till he’s finished.
Haru:
You open the door.
He flinches in surprise. But immediately smiles.
“You’re here early.”
“S-Sorry.”
...
“Gahaha! What’s that look on your face? You gonna watch me change too?”
Visible Blush Damage
Kaito:
You open the door.
“KYAAA!”
Before you could process what's happened, Kaito put on his clothes with lightning speed.
“D-Did you see anything?
“N-No?”
“Good." He scratches his neck.
"J-Just so you know, my bodyisn’t in the best shape right now.”
"...I didn't see anything."
Lucas:
You open the door.
“M-MC.”
"Sorry!"
You turn around quickly.
He also turns away, covering himself.
The tips of his ears are red.
“W-What can I help you with?”
Rui:
You open the door.
He’s genuinely flustered.
“Wait! Wait! Wait! You can’t see me right now! I haven’t worked on my beach body yet!”
"Sorry?"
Afterwards...
He keeps casually bringing up old surfing photos.
"That one was last year."
"Don't I look so cool in this one!"
"This angle's bad but you get the idea."
Zenji:
You open the door.
“Ah— Girl.”
He covers himself shyly. Blushing a deep red.
“I see you’ve come to see art. But I am not a gallery.”
lol.
Lyca:
You open the door and enter without looking.
“What are you doing here?”
When you see him, you gasp.
“S-Sorry!”
“Whatever. It’s not a big deal."
Thankfully, it seems he didn’t take it too seriously.
But afterwards, when he walks out, he’s bright red. His ears tucked back.
“...Let’s go.”
Mio:
You swing the door open.
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
“I can tell you’re a craftsman.”
Wait. Did you just say that out loud?
Mio’s eyes widen. His cheeks blush.
“Thanks?”
You leave immediately.
Reverse Uno
Haku:
The door opens.
You take one step in and you hear a soft awkward laugh.
“Haha. Just wait outside. I'll be done soon."
Your eyes widen.
“Oh! Sorry!”
You shut the door fast.
Silence.
“So...did you enjoy the view?”
“I didn’t see anything.”
You can’t see it, but you know he’s smirking.
“Mm. Sure you didn’t”
“Haku…”
Leo:
You don’t even have a chance to react.
“Wow.”
You freeze.
“I didn’t know the honor roll was such a perv.”
Your soul leaves your body.
“I–I didn’t mean to!”
Leo smirks, completely unbothered.
“You just walked right in. Didn’t even hesitate.”
“I thought no one was in here.”
“Mmhm.”
“I swear!”
“Are you dragging this conversation out just to get a few more peeps in?”
You turn and leave with a grunt.
He doesn’t let it go for the rest of the day.
“You knew I was changing in there, didn’t you?”
Sho:
You swing the door open without thinking.
Half-naked Sho blinks at you. Frozen.
“Oh– Sorry!”
You flip around and exit immediately.
For a moment there’s only silence.
Then the door opens.
“Senpai.”
You freeze.
Sho leans against the doorframe casually, a few of his buttons left undone.
“If you wanted to see me naked, you could’ve just asked.”
Since You're Here...
Jin:
You open the door.
It’s a mistake you realize immediately.
“Don’t you know how to knock?”
“S-Sorry.”
You turn to leave when—
“Stop.”
You slowly glance back.
Jin takes a seat on his couch, half-dressed, looking amused.
“What are you doing servant? Come here.”
“I—no, I really should–”
“Help me change.”
Your brain stalls.
His lips curl into a smirk.
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Jiro:
You open the door.
“Hello.”
You gasp.
“S-Sorry. I didn't see you there.”
He glances down at himself.
"...I don't really mind."
He looks at his shirt.
He walks over to you.
“Could you help me with these buttons?”
Ed:
You open the door.
He looks at you like he expected you to be there.
“S-Sorry.”
You turn to leave but–
“Now, now. Don’t be in such a rush.”
He purposefully slips the shirt off his shoulders, showing off his pale skin.
“Help this old man with his clothes, will you?"
Elias:
You open the door.
You freeze.
“Inspector...Are you here for a performance?”
“S-Sorry.”
“Oh, I really don’t mind if you stay.”
“N-No thank you.”
He chuckles.
“Well…that’s a shame.”
Jo:
You walk in.
You see what you see.
And immediately cover your eyes.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were changing in here.”
Jo simply chuckles.
“Don’t worry. Come. You can change here too.”
"What? I couldn't possibly..."
They transform into the women form.
“Does this help?”
You blush even harder.
“...No. It doesn’t.”
No Escape
Taiga:
You open the door.
“Brave of you,” Taiga says lazily, “to come in without warning.”
Your brain blanks.
“I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”
You turn. Open the door.
But he shuts it just as quickly.
You look back to find he's already behind you.
“...Taiga.”
With his hands pressed against the door, he leans in closer.
“You can’t just come in and leave whenever you want. This is my territory.”
Instinctively you step back but there’s nowhere left to go.
“Come on,” his voice drags, “Entertain me, kitty-cat.”
Towa:
You open the door.
His face lights up.
“Towa?!”
“Dandelion~”
“S-Sorry. I didn’t mean to walk in.”
You turn to leave.
“Dandelion!”
You look back to see he’s already lunging at you.
You escape out of the room just in time, but you hear rapid footsteps from behind.
He laughs, chasing you with no shirt on and just underwear.
“Why are you running?”
“BECAUSE YOU’RE CHASING ME!”
Despite the head-start, he catches up easily.
He hugs you from behind, twirling you around.
“Got you!”
“TOWA!”
Shion:
You open the door.
Shion stands menacingly in the middle of the room.
“S-Sorry.”
You try to leave but–
“Vepar.”
You switch places with the cardboard box right next to him.
“Shion–”
“You barged in and try to leave? How irresponsible..”
He pulls you closer by the wrist.
“I like that look on your face. Show me more of it.”
Permanent Memory
Subaru:
The moment the door opens, something moves.
Fast.
You blink.
Was it a mouse? A cockroach?
“Subaru? Are you in here?”
You scan the room for the source of the sound.
Finally you look down at the corner. Beneath a desk. Subaru crouching.
He covers his chest with the shirt.
"I'm sorry!" he blurts. "I should've put a sign! Or locked the doors! Or-"
“Don’t apologize, I’m the one who barged in!"
...
And for the rest of the day, Subaru doesn’t stop apologizing.
"I'm sorry you had to see that."
“I hope your eyes are ok.”
Yuri:
You open the door.
He freezes. Reddens. And nearly collapses.
When you try to help him, he gets even redder.
“You insolent, indecent worm. Leave at once!”
...
Every time your eyes meet after that, he looks away quickly, immediately red.
Ren:
“S-S-S-Senpai???”
“S-Sorry. Haru said that–”
Before you can utter another word—
“GET OUT!”
He pushes you out himself and slams the door.
…
He’s in a terrible mood for the rest of the day.
Romeo:
You open the door.
“BB! Ever heard of knocking?!”
"Sorry!"
You leave immediately.
But your horrified expression lingers in his brain.
He clicks his tongue.
“What's up with that face?! You should be honored you got even a glimpse,” he mumbles to himself.
…
He's pissed off at you for a while and you don't know why.
summary: in leon’s line of work as a contract killer, weaknesses weren’t an option. luckily, he’d eliminated his… all except for one.
warnings: (18+) fem!reader, hitman!leon, ex!leon, re4 leon intended. discussion of murder, guns, bullets, etc. a loooot of blissful ignorance, porn with some plot, pet names, oral sex (fem. receiving), face sitting, unprotected p in v.
word count: 5.3k.
note: i tend to fuck up a nice “ex who is a raging munch” fic or two saurrrr this is basically my staple now
✧ masterlist | request
Leon isn’t sure why he’s here.
He hasn’t ever bid on a target as sought after as the one that he has now acquired. The target was only described as someone who simply ‘knows too much’ about something they shouldn’t. Vague, he thinks, especially because they remained nameless, genderless, and description-less otherwise. It was odd, for sure, but it was the highest contract that he had ever come by.
As a matter of fact, he’s positive that it’s the highest contract that anyone in his position has ever seen, let alone signed. He’s sure that he’s ruffled a bit of feathers by taking on the job, especially considering that he was still considered fresh meat among the other hitmen that he was distantly familiar with.
Leon preferred to stay out of the unusual politics that came with the underground world, and that meant taking on the jobs that no one deemed urgent enough to complete.
(Plenty of drug dealers, a few sketchy nightclub owners, and an awful bunch of politicians who he is 99% sure put the bounty on their own heads to avoid the scandal that was unearthed about each of them no less than two weeks after they were found with bullets in their brains. He preferred those hits. All men, all guilty of something.)
Nevertheless, he finds himself here, perched on the rooftop of an upscale bar with his sniper rifle angled over the ledge. His scope was perfectly aligned with the entrance of the night club across the street, his right eye narrowed while the other was completely shut.
He sighs, tapping onto his earpiece to communicate with his teammate that was a few buildings over. Alexander.
(Alexander was a tech-nut. He was responsible for ensuring that the coast was clear, that there weren’t an abundance of cops in the area, and that security cameras of the establishment were looped continually in order to ensure that no one could suspect anything more than someone being at the wrong place at the wrong time.)
“Reread the target description that was left for me,” Leon quietly commands.
“Aaand what’s the magic word?”
He heavily sighs. For a job like this, he figured that working alone would be the best option, but with the more he learned, the more experience he gained, the people he met—he was proven wrong. A team works more efficiently than a single person, even if the other half of his current team was a bit… annoying.
“Don’t piss me off,” he huffs, shaking his head as he closes one eye to look through the scope again.
Leon can practically hear Alexander’s grin on the other end of the line as he speaks. “Alright, man, jeez. Your g-string must be a bit too tight tonight, but that’s alright, I’m in no place to judge you.”
Before the blonde can even react to that unsettling quip, Alexander continues speaking, only this time, he does what Leon asks of him. “Bounty, bounty, bounty… where is the darn thing? Oh yes, here it is. Okay, it says that the target will be wearing a blue button-up shirt, a black coat, and black slacks tonight…. and that’s it.”
Leon hums, mulling over the very few words that were left for him by the person who had posted the contract in the first place. He’d never killed someone based on the description of an outfit alone, but then again, he’s never gotten paid this much for sending a bullet through a random guy’s skull. He’ll take it.
“Thanks,” he mutters, turning off his ear piece to drown out the voice of the male on the other end.
It feels like hours pass by in which all he does is stare at the entrance, watching as each attendee leaves the establishment periodically. Each time he saw the color red, he’d perk up, only to find that they were wearing jeans, or they were wearing a white blazer, which only left him feeling more annoyed as time went on.
And then, the door opens. He can practically feel the air flee his lungs as he taps onto his earpiece out of instinct. A blue button-up shirt, a black coat, and black slacks.
“Ooh. Pretty. We guessed wrong, didn’t we?” Alexander speaks through the earpiece, which causes Leon to raise a brow.
“What’re you…” his voice trails. His blood runs cold, his palms begin to sweat, and his eyes blow wide. “Holy… fuck.”
“I know right? Not only is she a woman, but she’s miiiighty fine,” his teammate speaks, his voice oddly humorous for the given situation. A moment of silence passes, and Alexander continues to talk, but he can’t hear a damn word.
Leon freezes like a deer in headlights as he watches you emerge from the dim nightclub with a man’s arm slung around your shoulder, though that hardly taints how angelic you look tonight.
Your hair frames your face so beautifully, so soft and feminine. The tip of your nose was flushed given the crisp night air that you’ve just stepped into, your smile was wide and toothy as you walked beside a man that he didn’t recognize.
You’re gorgeous, is all he can manage to think right now. It’s the first time he’s seen you since the moment the two of you broke up six months ago, and you look even prettier than when he pictured you each night to fall asleep. He dreamt of you often, but his lovesick mind was no match for imagining the beauty that you possess.
Suddenly, Alexander’s voice pierced through his haze, bringing him back to the current scene. “Earth to Leon? I get it man, she’s pretty, very much so. I’d hit that too if she wasn’t gonna die in like… two secs.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he hisses, his voice sounding just as venomous as he’d intended it to. “You aren’t going to lay a damn finger on her.”
“Woah, buddy. Big talk from the guy with a sniper aimed at her head.”
That is the moment in which everything clicks in the worst way imaginable.
It’s you. His target, the person who knows too much, the one who is supposed to die tonight—it’s you.
And then, he becomes acutely aware of the lines that are obstructing his view of you. His scope. The red dot in the center placed strategically on your temple, the bullet meant just for you waiting for a simple pull of a trigger.
Leon shudders, picking his head up. No. Absolutely not. Completing his task was not even a thought in his mind anymore, not if the target was you. His beautiful, sweet girl.
But he couldn’t leave the scene unscathed. It would raise suspicion, possibly even tie him to you in a way that you didn’t need. If he didn’t fulfill the obligation in some way, someone else would. He’d broken up with you to save you from all of this, and now, he’d unknowingly come here to make you familiar with his lifestyle in the worst way possible.
You were walking away, and it’s then that his trained eyes fall onto the man who has his arm draped over your shoulder in the way he used to all those months ago. His heart aches at the mere sight of you looking so happy in the company of another, but it gives him an idea.
Leon looks through the scope again, and within seconds, a loud gunshot rings through the air in the form of a thundering pop.
His jaw tenses as he hears screaming. They aren’t your screams though, because you’re not hit. They’re coming from the man you were with, because Leon has just lightly grazed his arm with a bullet.
He wasn’t insane. He wasn’t going to be killing anyone tonight, even if he desperately wanted to kick the living shit out of the man who is so close to you.
Well… was close to you. He isn’t anymore. Your date is writhing on the pavement all because of a flesh wound, and you’re standing above him with the most confused and concerned look on your face.
Leon can’t help but think that the man has no regard for you and your safety. For all this mystery man knows, more shots could be coming, and instead of trying to protect you, he’s rolling around on the concrete like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Such a man baby.
“What’re you waiting for? Holy fuck, uh… you still have the shot. Take the shot—”
Leon pulls the earpiece away, turning it off before he shoves it into his back pocket. He didn’t need to be scolded by anyone, let alone someone as useless as his teammate. He’d beat him bloody for how he had spoken about you if he weren’t already packing up his equipment to head over to your place.
He needs to check on you, first and foremost. He also needs to explain himself which was… going to be no easy feat, he supposes.
You don’t find your way home until about an hour later, keys jumbling about as you push it into the slot, twisting it with a tired hand.
To be shot at was not on your agenda for tonight, but being berated by your date for not reacting quick enough to help him evade a bullet you had no knowledge of was certainly not how you wanted to end your night either.
Annoyed, exhausted, and frustrated, you step into your apartment. When you begin to shrug off your coat, your body tenses. No. Fucking. Way.
“What the fuck?” you hiss, your voice rising in octave.
Leon stands from your couch, approaching you with his hands in the air, attempting to show you that he hadn’t come with malice. You knew he hadn't, but that didn’t mean you wanted to see him.
“Baby, it’s just me,” he says without thinking, the pet name slipping out before he could have a say in the matter.
“Yeah, I know it’s just you, that’s the problem!” you continue, hanging your coat up on the rack along with your purse. “Are you out of your damn mind? I—”
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “I am out of my mind, and you must be out of yours for still keeping your spare key under your doormat. I told you to move it years ago.”
Your brows knit together. “You little— you know what? I’m not even going to entertain that. How about this? You leave, and we forget this happened, yeah?”
“Can’t do that,” he tells you with a shrug, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “I need to talk to you.”
“Don’t do this, Leon, not tonight,” you huff, pinching your nose bridge. “I’m not in the mood, alright? I was—”
“Shot at?” he finishes your sentence. He immediately regrets it, pressing his lips into a line to keep himself from saying anything else.
Your demeanor falters at that. You tilt your head to the side, your eyes narrowing as you look at him from where he stands across the room. “How do you know that?”
He takes a moment to answer, his mouth opening without any words coming out. It spikes your frustration, so you speak again. “Damn it, Leon, how do you know that?”
Leon holds his hands up again, pleading his defense before he criminalizes himself entirely. “I was the one behind the gun, but it’s not what you think—”
Your jaw drops. “Not what I think? Not what I think? You tried to kill me!”
He shakes his head, his expression falling. “I didn’t, baby. I swear. Just let me explain, and—”
“You tried to shoot me in the damn neck!” you continue, your hand dramatically clasping into the side of your throat.
Leon closes his eyes for a moment, internally bracing himself for your outburst that he absolutely deserves. He opens them again, simply watching as you spew insults his way. He takes them without any hint of irritation.
“What the hell, Leon? Is that what you do now? You stalk your ex-girlfriend and try to kill her? Not only that, you missed. You missed! That’s almost fucking humorous, because how can you try to do something like that and then miss!”
Leon sighs, waiting for a moment to see if you try to continue, and when you don’t, he speaks instead. “I aimed for his arm, not your neck, or anywhere else that would endanger you—”
“Yeah, and you almost blew his arm off!” You’re more than aware that the statement was dramatic, but you don’t need to have any sense right now.
“It was a flesh wound, he’ll be just fine,” he tells you before he continues with what he was saying before. “And I wasn’t stalking you. Not knowingly, anyway. I would never hurt you. Not ever. Your date was just… collateral. I had no choice.”
He hopes that you don’t ask any more questions about that, because he won’t have any answers for you. It was for the better. All you knew was that his job wasn’t legal. It couldn’t have been, not with the copious amounts of money that rolled in while he hardly worked for half of the month.
The less you knew about what his line of work entailed, the safer you were. The further away you were from him, the safer you were. However, those last words now ring hollow.
“Look…” he whispers, taking a step towards you despite his brain screaming at him to leave. He couldn’t. Not when he was the only one who knew of your compromised position. “I know that much has changed between us. It’s my fault, I know it, but I can’t tell you anything more about my job. I just need you to—”
You need answers that you won’t be getting, and that sentiment alone makes you furious. When he gets too close, your hand moves to the leather harness that he has strapped around his broad chest, pulling a sharp-bladed knife from its sleeve. His eyes widen as you hold the blade up to him, his hands shooting up into the air yet again.
“You remember where I put my spare key, I remember where you keep your spare knife,” you taunt, the two of you standing so close now that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. “Guess we haven’t changed as much as you think.”
He huffs as the cool blade grazes his clothed chest, the metal so close that it nearly pierces his skin. Even then, you ensure that it doesn’t. It’s almost touching how you press such a sharp object to his heart of all places, he thinks.
Your situation is far more complicated than the both of you can handle right now. You have unresolved issues with each other, and that alone must be addressed before you can even begin to scratch the surface of the threats that now face the two of you.
“I still think you’re sexy when you’re mean to me,” he whispers, tilting his head to the side. “That hasn’t changed either.”
Was it the time for his flirtatious performance? Certainly not, but you were putting on a little performance of your own just the same.
You scoff, narrowing your eyes. “You’re disgusting.”
Leon shakes his head, his eyes narrowing just as yours did. “Disgusting? Oh, don’t romance me.”
“I’m not romancing you,” you huff with an eye roll. Your grip on the knife only tightens, but you have no real intention of using it. “I’m threatening you.”
He hardly finds you to be threatening. He’d liken you to an angry cat, but he wouldn’t dare voice that out loud. He’s letting you have your moment, truth be told. “Mm, even better.”
His calloused hand moves to shadow yours, slowly lowering the knife that begged to pierce his pale skin. You let him, which only gives him more incentive to pull it away from your grasp entirely.
He tucks the knife back into his sheath, moving to unbuckle the harness entirely. “Now, tell me. Who was that guy?”
A random guy you met on Tinder. “My future husband.”
You’re just trying to get under his skin now, and judging by the look on his face, it’s working. He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down at you, taking note of that smug grin that stretches over your lips.
He really just wants to fuck it right off you, but he doesn’t make that known. Not yet, anyway.
“Yeah?” he asks, tilting his head. “You gonna let him put a ring on that pretty finger of yours?”
No, you absolutely were not, but you’re enjoying this game. It’s what he deserves after scaring the shit out of you tonight. “Yeah, I am. Thinking about some baby names too, just for safekeeping.”
Leon doesn’t like the thought that you’ve just put in his head, not one bit. His hand finds your left one, bringing it up to his lips as he presses a kiss on your ring finger. “Huh. That’s what you want?”
You tilt your head, noticing how his lips linger on your hand for a moment too long. “You know what I don’t want? To be shot at.”
He hums, giving you a mocking frown. Of course he feels bad about that, but… you both know he hadn’t truly shot at you. Around you, yes, but not at you. His large hands find your waist, his fingers grasping onto the fabric of your shirt and slowly but surely, you find yourself being backed towards your couch.
“Answer my question,” he whispers, his voice now possessing a rasp that it didn’t have before.
You sigh, willingly sitting on your couch, even though you’re doing your best to front as though you’re totally disinterested. “Why should I?”
He shrugs, his lips tugging down as he tilts his head. You watch with blown eyes as he kneels in front of you, his palms gliding over your thighs.
“‘Cause if that’s what you want, I’ll give it to you.”
You tilt your head, eyeing him quite intently as his fingers move to the button of your slacks. You shouldn’t be turned on, but you absolutely are, and the damp fabric of your panties that he’s about to see conveys that pretty well.
“Give me what?” you ask, grinning slightly.
“A ring, a baby… both, neither,” he replies, his fingers hooking beneath your waistband. “Lift your hips for me.”
When you do just that, his eyes raise to find yours. He has a crazed look in his eye, one that you’re all too familiar with. “Whatever you want, baby, I’ll give it to you,” he whispers, leaning in until his soft lips just barely brush against yours.
Your eyes close, and you could have sworn that he was going to kiss you… but he doesn’t. When you open your eyes, you find him grinning. The same shit-eating grin that you love and hate to no avail.
“You just have to say the words,” he whispers against your lips.
You roll your eyes, your hand reaching out to rest on the back of his neck. He was already impossibly close, so all you truly did was hold him there. “I want to kiss you.”
Leon smiles, nodding his head in agreement. “Mm, like I said. Whatever my lady wants, she gets.”
His lips find yours in a searing kiss, his calloused hands smoothing over the soft, exposed skin of your thighs. Your lips move together in a gentle manner at first, as though you were allowing yourselves to get familiar all over again, but you were both quick to realize that gentleness was the last thing you needed.
Your breathing grows ragged as one of his hands cups the back of your head, tilting you just enough so that his tongue could easily slip into your mouth. The kiss was sloppier, messier, much more desperate. It was perfect, in your humble opinion.
He trails kisses down your cheek, jaw, neck… just about anywhere he could as he begins his gradual descent. His hands palm at your breasts through your shirt, and without hesitation, his hands grasp onto the fabric and yank it open. Buttons go flying about your living room, but Leon doesn’t seem to care with the way his face pressed into your cleavage.
One of his hands snaked behind you to undo the clasp of your bra, and the moment he saw a nipple, his mouth was already distracted once again.
“Leon, that was my favorite shirt!” you scold, glancing down at him.
He looks up at you with hazed eyes, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth before he releases it to reply to you. “Was it?” he asks, his reply lacking any care in the slightest.
You nod, narrowing your eyes at him, but your front doesn’t last long when his tongue swirls around your areola. He reaches into his back pocket, tossing his wallet beside you.
“Buy a new one, shit, buy anything you want,” he whispers against your skin, his hands grasping onto your waist. “Tits are so pretty, baby. I missed you.”
“Is that all you missed about me?” you ask, a huff of laughter leaving your lips while his trail down your stomach.
“Absolutely not, no,” he murmurs against your skin, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric of your panties. He looks at you as he pulls them down your legs, and he presses his warm lips to your inner calves and thighs as he makes his way towards you again. “Missed everything about you.”
You roll your eyes. “That’s corny—”
“Sh,” he tells you, holding one finger up while he uses his other hand to slip one into your sopping entrance. Your walls clench around him, which only forces a chuckle to leave his mouth. “Let her talk for a bit, yeah?”
He hardly gives you a moment to reply before his head dips, his tongue curling up to stimulate your clit before he sucks on it entirely. He unabashedly moans into your cunt, introducing another finger into your entrance simultaneously.
Your head falls back, your hand delving into his hair to hold him impossibly closer to you, even though he seriously would get closer if he could.
“Sweetest pussy,” he murmurs into your heat, his voice rumbling against your wet cunt that he continued to eat like he would die if he didn’t. “Do somethin’ for me?”
You pick your head up to look down at him, nodding without question. He opens his eyes to look at you in return, pressing a kiss onto your mound before he turns around so that his back is now pressed against the front of your couch, still sitting on the ground.
“Sit on my face,” he suggests, tipping his head back onto the couch cushion.
He reaches for your hand to pull you forward, and you pivot on your knee, your front facing the back of the couch. He lays a light smack on your ass before he pulls you down the rest of the way to make you sit on his face.
Your hand reaches down, clutching onto his hair yet again while you cry out in genuine bliss. His tongue softens as he gives you long, deep licks into your pussy, wanting to taste every inch of you on his tongue.
And when your hips start to rock, he seems to be even happier. Much more incentivized too. He lulls his tongue out of his mouth, flattening it to let you ride his face as you so pleased. You made a mess of his chin, his mouth, his nose—he hardly cares.
(In fact, he doesn’t care. Not one bit. You might even have to pay him to care.)
“Y-You know,” you whine, grasping a bit firmer onto his hair while your hips continue to roll on his tongue, “I’m still mad at you.”
He nods his head, which only stimulates your cunt even more. “Mm, yeah?”
It felt so good. Everything about this was absolutely ecstasy, you can feel your eyes pricking with tears from how stimulated you’re growing.
“Yeah,” you choke out, resting your palms on the back of the couch to brace yourself. “I’m really fucking mad.”
Leon can’t help but grin, his hands brushing along the plush of your thighs. “I’m not too sure, sweetheart. Not with you riding my face like you love me ‘n all.”
“Shut… shut the hell up,” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut as your movements begin to grow even more crazed the closer you get to your release. He was right, but that didn’t mean you had to admit that.
“Okay,” he complies, his eyes fluttering shut while he starts to greedily make out with your pussy, feeling the way you pulsate on his tongue. “Shuttin’ me up real nice with this pretty little pussy. Cum on my face too while you’re at it, pretty girl.”
Not nice enough, but you cry out anyway, your head falling while your legs tremble on either side of his head. “I… Leon, ‘m cumming,” you say through an airy moan.
His movements slow as yours do, his tongue eagerly reaping the benefits of its labor in the form of your sweet release. He lets out a content sigh, pressing a few sweet kisses on your inner thigh.
You slowly rise up from his face, and he turns around to face you again, licking his lips, not caring about the rest of your thin slick that coats his face. You chuckle, running your hand over his face to wipe it away.
“So…” he drawls, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You’re still mad at me? Tell me more.”
“Later,” you reply, hooking your finger into the loophole of his pants to pull him closer to you.
With a chuckle, Leon pulls his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aimlessly on the floor of your living room. He gently nudges you until you’re laying back on your couch, his hands then moving to undo his belt.
“Ah, I see,” he teases, pushing his pants and boxers down in one motion. He kicks them away before he settles in between your parted legs, his hand pumping his cock.
You raise your eyes from his cock to his eyes, and you give him the most weary expression alive. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit,” you say.
It’s been too long, you were certainly not used to his size anymore. Leon knew it just as well as you did, but he didn’t want to make you nervous by saying that.
His brows knit together as he leans down to kiss you, his fingers moving a bit lower to prod your entrance. “You flatter me,” he says against your lips, his head dipping a bit lower to kiss your neck. “But there’s no need to worry your pretty head, baby. It fit before and it fit just right, remember? I’ll take care of you just like I did then.”
You nod your head, one of your hands cupping the back of his head while the other rests on his strong shoulder. “Okay… yeah, okay.”
He nods too, moving one of his hands to meet the one that you have resting on his shoulder. He intertwines your fingers, pushing your hand back onto the couch while he uses his other one to slide his tip along your folds.
“I promise,” he whispers, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”
He always has. Even after the events of tonight, you know that he always will.
“I love you,” you say without thinking. A flush rushes across your face, and you close your eyes in utter embarrassment. (Seriously? A confession of your undying love while he’s actively entering you? Time and place.) “I’m so sorry, I—”
“Nothing to apologize for,” he whispers, pushing his cock further inside of you until he bottoms out. “Mm… I love you so much,” he replies without a care in the world. “And I’m not sorry about it.”
Your eyes soften at that, and a small chuckle leaves your lips. “Well… that’s good, isn’t it…?”
His eyebrows knit together, laughing softly at your awkward reply. “You’re such a dork, baby,” he whispers, dipping his head to plant a kiss on your lips while he rolls his hips into yours. “A pretty one, though.”
Your eyes flutter shut as he presses a kiss on your lips, and they stay shut, even when he opts to just rest his forehead on yours. “Your dork,” you say, a bit breathlessly with a smile on your face.
“Mhm,” he nods in agreement, a toothy smile stretching across his face. “My dork.”
Such a lovely interaction that you nearly forgot that he was fucking you like there was no tomorrow, because the moment he falls silent, your eyes widen. “Oh, God…”
He smiles, kissing your cheek while he continues to thrust inside of you, his cock being swallowed whole by your pussy in a way that made him feel like he was finally home.
“See?” he whispers in your ear, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re taking me so well, pretty. So well.”
That makes you chuckle, but your laugh doesn’t last for long when the head of his cock rams into you even harder. Your hand smooths out along the expanse of his back, dragging your nails back up.
“You’re crazy,” you gasp out.
Leon smiles. “Crazy about you, sure.”
You laugh through an airy moan, tilting your head to the side as your eyes flutter shut. “Sooo corny,” you whisper.
He shakes his head with his same toothy grin, using his free hand to tilt your chin towards him again. His thumb brushes along your bottom lip before he kisses you, and it is just about the sweetest kiss that you could have ever asked for.
“You love it,” he murmurs in reply, a bit breathless as an overwhelming heat pools in his lower stomach.
You shake your head. “I love you.”
Leon clicks his tongue at that, giving your hand a squeeze. “And I’m the corny one?”
That makes you laugh, which makes him laugh. He loves hearing you like this, so happy yet so utterly ruined by the way he feels inside of you. He knows that the feeling is mutual, which only amplifies how much he’s enjoying this. Having you again.
He softly moans in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “Pussy was made for me,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. “You were made for me.”
After a few more strokes, he truly begins to lose himself. His cock twitches inside of you, and he dips his head into your shoulder. “Mmh, ‘m gonna cum,” he rasps.
He pulls back, but you only pull him closer. It’s been so long, he hadn’t truly thought that you’d be okay with that. But here you were, his favorite girl. Always surprising him. “I love you, sweet girl.”
You nod your head, wrapping your free arm around his neck while the other gives his hand another squeeze. “I love you more.”
He grunts when your walls clench around his length, his lips pressing a longing kiss to your shoulder. “Cum with me, baby, c’mon. I need it, honey, please.”
You’re in no position to deny him or yourself. Your body trembles beneath him, a gorgeous moan ripping through the air while he buries himself deep inside of you, stuffing you full of his cum while you find your own release on his cock.
The two of you lay there for a moment, out of breath and entirely engulfed by one another. He slowly pulls out of you, pressing a few chaste kisses along your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, until he eventually kisses your lips.
When he pulls away, you smile up at him. You chase his lips once more, giving him a tender kiss before you lay your head back down.
“Now, as for why I’m still mad at you…”
✧ masterlist | request
note. yeahhh i need him bad in a way that’s concerning to feminism. anywhoooo interact if you enjoyed i rly like writing for him :D thank you so much for reading!
oscar is kinda obsessed with lando's huge dick. it starts as just normal banter between lads, you know? everybody's going around slapping each other on the dick in the paddock. but oscar just can't shake the feeling of it from the back of his hand. it must feel so different, to go through life so well-endowed that it's absolutely impossible not to notice it. he just wants to know, for the sake of comparison, how it would feel in his palm. luckily, lando's not shy about it and is willing to satisfy oscar's curiosity. but secretly he's obsessed with oscar's small dick, too, though he's afraid oscar will be too embarrassed about it to return the favour of satisfying lando's curiosity.
(prompt inspired by the premise of @mitchmatchedsocks's get cocky which mitch generously allowed to apply to other fandoms too and i feel like you would've been the right fit for it considering the piercing fic and i know this ask game and prompts in general are meant to be shorter but i'm not so good with my words to make it succinct so i'm sorry if this is too excessive)
i wish you would write a fic where...
thank you for this! don't worry about it being a long prompt hehe, it's a fun idea and i'm always down for landick and lil oscock :) here's a drabble that's somehow 1.5k, enjoy
It's not that Oscar's gay. He's at least seventy per cent sure that he's not; he's had plenty of sex with women, and it's all been - well, mostly been good. Great, in some circumstances. And he's just never really seen men in that way, honestly - there was that one time at boarding school, but. That was nothing, really. Everyone was doing it.
It didn't mean anything.
But - he's willing to admit that it at least seems a little gay that he can't stop thinking about his teammates cock.
At first, he tries to tell himself that it's only natural. Human instinct; curiosity, if anything. It's no secret that Lando's packing something distinctly sizeable down there, and Oscar's never seen anything above seven inches. Not in real life, anyway - porn is something else altogether, but he doesn't really think that counts as real life.
It just makes sense, that he'd be interested to see it up close and personal, find out for himself exactly what that looks like. If it's as intimidating as he suspects it'll be.
If it's as hot as he thinks it might be.
And yeah, that's... that's less easy to explain away with the curiosity angle. That, and the fact that he's been thinking about how Lando's dick might look in his hand -
Well.
Oscar might be a little gay.
-------------------
Turns out, there's really no easy way to ask your teammate if you can look at his dick.
For once, there isn't even a Reddit thread that might help, and that tells Oscar everything he needs to know about his situation and how unique it is, really.
Lando's the one that brings it up, more perceptive than anyone ever wants to give him credit for. He's collapsed into the sofa in Oscar's drivers room in a position that can't possibly be good for his back, his spine a question mark and his shoulders curved upwards towards his face. Tapping away on his phone, fully immersed in whatever it is - or at least Oscar thinks he is, until Lando looks over the top of it, brow raised as he catches Oscar staring at him.
Fuck.
Oscar coughs awkwardly, scratching at the heat creeping up the side of his neck, looking away far too quickly to pretend he wasn't looking at all.
"Osc," Lando says lazily, waiting until Oscar looks at him again before he continues. He's smirking, the bastard. "What's going on with you? Been weird all weekend, mate."
Mate.
Oscar can't figure out whether that makes it better or not - being Lando's mate. Like, is it okay to want to see a mate's dick because you're mates? Or is it weirder?
He reckons it's probably pretty weird whichever way you slice it.
"Nothing, just," he feels himself flush, toes curling against the soles of his trainers. "Remember that ice bath, a few years back?"
And that really wasn't where he'd thought he was going. He sort of wants to crawl into a hole and die, especially from the incredulous expression Lando is wearing now; looking at Oscar like he's gone a bit mad.
He might've, actually.
"You said," Oscar can't seem to stop himself from barreling forward, even as every neuron in his body screams at him to stop. "Just - like, about losing inches. With the ice."
He knows he isn't making any sense, and his voice is coming out all strained and awkward, and it really would be the best for everyone involved if someone could come along and knock him out cold. Immediately.
"Right," Lando's clearly still confused, but there's a touch of amusement to it now. "My cock?"
There's a noise, strangled and almost like a moan and Oscar is mortified, suddenly, to realise that it came from him. He clears his throat, an awful attempt to cover it up that he knows Lando sees right through, from the way his smirk bleeds across his face, lazy and easy.
"You been thinking about my cock this whole time, Osc?" He tuts. "That's dirty."
Oscar shakes his head. "No, I - it's not like that."
Because he hasn't.
Only for the last like - two weeks or so. When he'd given Lando a taste of his own medicine, swiping at his dick in the paddock and feeling a lot more than he'd bargained for in the process.
Jesus. He realises, with a sinking feeling, that Lando's dick is pretty much the only thing he's thought about other than F1 for a fortnight, at least.
That's got to constitute as more than a little gay, right?
"If you want to see it," Lando's saying, drawing Oscar out of his mildly panicked thoughts for a moment. "You only have to ask."
"Well," Oscar tries to keep his voice level, all too aware of the tremor in it. His throat feels dry, devoid of any liquid, voice cracking down the middle. "Can I, then?"
it seems to take Lando by surprise even though he just said it, and Oscar feels that wave of anxiety cresting again, settling into every nook of his body. He holds his body tense, waiting for Lando to call him a freak, to tell him he was only joking, but -
"Yeah, alright," Lando blinks at him.
And Oscar can work with that.
"Gotta see if you were lying, haven't I? About the size."
A flimsy excuse, and one that he knows Lando sees right through. But Lando chuckles anyway, accepts it like he could possibly believe it, and then he's folding his body up and out of the sofa, large hands coming to his waistband.
Oscar doesn't realise he's been holding his breath until Lando's stepping out of his shorts - and of course he'd be going commando, Oscar wants to scream - and it leaves him in a ragged rush of air, so intense it's almost painful.
Even soft, Lando's dick is big.
It hangs between his legs, heavy and long and thick; rising from a thatch of neatly trimmed curls. It's as dark as the rest of Lando's golden body, and huh. Oscar didn't expect that, really, but he supposes it makes sense. The head is just poking down, pink and soft, and Oscar could almost swear that he can see Lando filling up right in front of him, like he's turned on by Oscar looking.
He shouldn't be surprised. Lando's always been an exhibitionist - Oscar just didn't know until now how far that went.
"Can I," he breathes, stepping closer, fingers flexing at his side. He bites his lip, thinks about leaving and running, but he's come this far, hasn't he? What's one more step? "Can I touch it?"
The breath Lando releases is half groan, and yeah, he's definitely turned on now. Oscar's mouth opens with a wet pop at the sight of Lando's hardening length, the way it gets bigger - it shouldn't be possible, he thinks wildly. It's already easily the biggest dick he's ever seen outside of porn.
And it's real. And here.
"Yeah," Lando sounds strained now, his jaw tight. "Go on, then."
It isn't that different from touching his own dick, really, except that Oscar can't feel it like that. He can barely get his hand around Lando, and he extends well past the loose curl of his fingers, up further than Oscar's palm can reach and - Oscar's always known he's got small hands, as far as men's hands go. But seeing it like this - Lando's cock only half covered, his fingers stretching around the girth of it.
"Fuck," Lando groans.
Oscar feels him pulse in his hand.
"Yeah," he agrees, feeling light-headed, eyes still trained down.
"What about you?" Lando says breathlessly.
When Oscar looks up, Lando gestures towards the front of Oscar's shorts, where he's just barely tenting the front of them and shit. He hadn't even realised how turned on he was, but it's clear - as clear as it can be, given. Well.
"This is fine," he says hurriedly, face hot. "We don't have to -"
"I want to," Lando curls his fingers around Oscar's waist, digits dipping just beneath the waistband of his shorts. Dangerous. Tempting. "Come on, show me."
It's too tempting. Oscar feels seconds away from giving in, but the truth - the embarrassment of it all - it's enough to have him leaning back, hand still firmly attached to Lando.
"I'm not -. It's -," he swallows, teeth digging into his lower lip, unable to meet Lando's gaze. "You're, like. A lot bigger."
Lando snorts, though it doesn't sound like he's laughing at Oscar, at least.
"Well, yeah, Osc, I usually am."
Fair.
Oscar sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. "A lot bigger than me, Lando."
There's quiet, a silence that stretches. He can't bring himself to open his eyes, not until he feels Lando's fingers tighten against his skin; his dick twitching drily against Oscar's palm.
A sound that could almost be a moan.
He cracks his eyes open, heart racing at the sight before him. Lando, looking at him with hunger in his eyes, like he's seeing Oscar for the first time, in a totally new light. Something almost predatory lingers in his gaze as he steps forward, completely unashamed in his nudity; his tongue flicking at the corner of his mouth, catching Oscar's attention mercilessly.
"Show me," Lando's voice sounds gruff, injected with an arousal he can't possibly fake. "I want to see."
Omg hi i saw ur last repost (the one who's prompt was like how would each of the guys would react to you saying "hey, can you hold this for me for a minute?" and then just putting your hand in theirs) can you do that for edd, tom, Matt n tord plsplspls🙏🙏🙏 ty!!
Hey, so sorry it took me a while to get to this, but I hope you enjoy it! :,) no tord cuz im going to save him for a longer fic (with this same prompt), as someone also requested one with him and I decided I’d put the two requests together! Hope that’s ok :)
On that note: This is around 1,8k words combined/overall total! Averaging 500 or so words for each one? Hopefully that's enough :)
HOLD MY HAND! With Edd, Matt, and Tom
------------------------------------
EDD
“How big is your attic…?”
“Uh, normal-sized? Why?”
It was not, in fact, normal.
Edd sought you out one fine and sunny morning to help him tidy up the attic, considering that everyone else is out or busy. You’ve liked him for quite a while now, so how could you say no to such an opportune moment? What you didn’t expect was the unconventional contents you’d find in the mess and the sheer mass of them.
You watch as Edd rummages through the piles, seemingly looking for something. He throws items behind him. A few of them being a literal skull, a hamburger, and one of the many photoframes of Matt in a certain angle.
“What are we looking for exactly?”
“I had an old sketchbook I never used. I hid it in the attic for the one day I might use it but then Eduardo and I got powers, we fought, and amidst it all, messed up the attic.”
“What?” You pause. Surely, this must be one elaborate joke he’s setting up. You look up at him to make sure. He looks sincere but ultimately so casual about it like said shenanigans are the norm in their household.
“I know. It’s crazy, right? I mean, why would he drag the attic into it?” Oh, he’s dead serious. You opted to not comment nor reply and instead, simply continued to scavenge alongside him.
An hour has possibly passed and you both have only cleared out one section of the room, yet there’s still no sight of the aforementioned sketchbook. You’re both huddled in the corner, sitting amongst the piles of trinkets and memorabilia in a shared fatigue.
“Wow. We're never finding it.” Edd chokes out a sheepish laugh, slumping. “Sorry for dragging you into this. Seems like I wasted an hour or something in your life.”
Now, this isn't exactly the most appropriate time to be thinking about it, but the sun has descended at a very specific angle that basks him in a warm hue. His cheeks are flushed slightly red and he's got the cutest grin plastered on him right now. It would be criminal if you didn't at least try to cheer him up right now.
“No, definitely not. In fact…” You paw at a random space in piles, pretending to look through them. Edd seems to shuffle closer, hovering and trying to figure out what you're trying to do exactly.
You turn around to face him, holding your empty hand out. “Here, can you hold this?”
He blinks. “There's nothing there.”
“Exactly. I'm offering you a helping hand.”
It's pure silence, before his face twists into genuine amusement. “Pfft.”
“What? No loud ‘Hahaha'? No standing ovation?”
“It was pretty terrible.”
You scoff, feigning offence. “That's a lot coming from you!”
You're about to pull your hand away, but Edd intertwines it with his just in time. You look up immediately with wide eyes as Edd stares back with a soft smile and knowing eyes.
“Don't worry, in jokes, terrible is basically equivalent to perfect. You really know the way into my heart.” Edd snickers, as if that sentence alone didn't make your heart skip beat in milliseconds.
You don't notice how the door to the attic was left slightly ajar, letting the rest of the boys catch a peek of your shared moment before they sneak away.
“Why didn't he ask us for help? We were just out getting gas–” Matt whispers when they're out of earshot.
“Please, he probably wasn't even looking for actual help in the first place.” Tord snorts.
Whether it was luck or suave, strategic planning on Edd's end, the boys couldn't tell, but what they do know is that the sketchbook ‘of utmost importance’ had been long forgotten afterwards, replaced with the comforts of Edd and his presence like it was meant to be.
------------------------------------
TOM (Established relationship)
“Jeez, it’s freezing.” Tom grumbles through gritted teeth, rubbing his hands together like a simple housefly.
It was the first week of December. By cruel coincidence, according to their ‘chore’ rotation at the house, It was Tom’s turn to head out and buy groceries for the entire gang. Tom took the liberty to take his partner with him.
“It’s so you can suffer with me.” He said, dragging you out and towards the nearest grocery market. ‘Nearest’ being at least 30 minutes away by foot due to the fact that the car they share as a group is in repairs. Well, that wouldn’t have been the case if Edd knew how to parallel park.
Tom loathed December, not only for Christmas, but for how inconvenient the weather is. Not even his usual blue hoodie could fight against the raging power of zero-degree weather.
“We could buy you some gloves.” You nodded towards one of the aisles as you both entered the grocery. Tom continues to shove his hands into his pockets, shivering slightly as the cool, air-condition breeze greeted him.
“I had gloves, but Tord hid them.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Who else would love to make my life unbearable?” It was a common habit for Tom to blame Tord for any inconvenience in his life– Partly in jest, and other times, in total seriousness– but, truthfully, Tom couldn’t care about who or what has responsibility over his misery right now.
“Well, can you hold this for me? Just for a minute.” You instead asked as you picked out some cans from the shelves while Tom held a basket in his other hand.
“Yeah, sure, whatever.”
It was warm. Familiar– Like how it would feel to loiter on his bed, wrapping a blanket over his shivering body and relishing in the smell of its cotton. It’s like all sense of crisp chill in his body left the moment he grasped whatever it was he’s holding.
Tom began to furrow his eyebrows together as they circled different aisles. ‘I still need a carton of milk, some bacon but not the brand with the green text–’
You stared at him as he’s deep in his contemplation. It’s been 10 or 15 minutes since you’ve slipped your hand in his. Tom doesn’t even notice how he squeezes it from time to time like a stress ball when he’s trying to recall which specific facial cream Matt asked him to buy at Aisle 7.
This continues even when you’re past the cashier. By the time you’ve reached the doors of the mart, you think Tom still hasn’t noticed until he looks down. Others may mistake that flat, assessing look for indifference or boredom, but you see how the tip of his ears and nose go red, and it’s certainly not from the cold.
“Real smooth of you.” He murmurs.
“I figured it would warm you up.”
You don’t miss how the sides of his lips quirk up, ever so slightly. Then, he gives your hand three squeezes, like a finality that ends the trip on a good note. Even on the walk home, he doesn't let go, and suddenly, the Winter season doesn’t seem so bleak anymore.
------------------------------------
MATT (Established relationship)
“I’m telling you, it has to be that man in a yellow hat! He’s the killer!”
“No way. He was in the kitchen, he has an alibi! It’s gotta be the purple guy.”
Movie nights with Matt were fun, especially if it came with a little bet. Thursday nights are often reserved for Mysteries and Thrillers where the both of you were snuggled, sides pressed together on the couch with the typical bowl of popcorn in one hand and some drinks on the other.
“--Oh! Okay, if I’m right, you have to hold my hand!”
“Well, I propose… that–” Matt says slowly, looking around the room as if scouting for some kind of leverage to use on you. You can see the exact moment the invisible light-bulb above his head lights up.
“Is that supposed to be a bad thing?” You snort.
“It’s supposed to be a consequence. If you win, then.. Well, I’m at your mercy!”
Matt glances at the bottom right, eyeing the remaining time left for the movie. They were already 30 minutes in and every second felt excruciatingly painful on his end. At some point, Matt simply stopped paying attention for good, opting to daydream about how good it would feel once he gets to clasp his hands onto your own.
“Come on, Matt. You lost.” You say, shifting around to face him.
The movie was decent, mayhaps, a little predictable on your end as the Purple guy ended up being the culprit. Matt spent at least a good 5 minutes gawking at the credits before waving his arms around, trying to come up with some flimsy arguments as to why the movie was wrong and that he totally won–
“Nonsense. Honestly, I think I was a little misguided that’s all, and besides, I had pretty good suspicions and intuition, it just so happen to be slightly misplaced–”
“Hey, can you hold this for me?”
You let him continue his tangent– After all, he has a fairly lovely voice– but primarily do so to catch him by surprise. It was the one thing everyone in the group knew about Matt: When he’s focused and totally zoned in, he lacks awareness for anything else, as if tunnel visioning with fervent passion.
“Yes, of course–” He holds his hand out, “Anyway, back to what I was saying…”
“I was hoping you’d do that!” He laughs, running his thumb over your knuckles. “I knew it. You would never have passed on an opportunity to hold my hand.”
You put your hand on his, giving it a slight squeeze and it’s as if you’ve snapped him out of a trance. Matt blinks once, then twice, before his expression breaks into one equivalent of pure glee. His grin stretches wide, as he tugs you closer.
Matt moves your arm closer before pressing a firm peck on the back of your hand, all while staring into your eyes with an easy confidence screaming that he knows you don’t mean it. He may not be a super sleuth of some kind, but he certainly knows how to navigate the mysteries of your own heart like breathing.
“Don’t let it get to your head. I could revoke your hand-holding rights in this instance.”
How about a pining Sam Winchester and an oblivious male reader request? Where it eventually takes for Dean to absurdly announce Sam's affection or Castiel bluntly point out Sam's care and consideration in front of the male reader.
I'm thinking Sam goes on a long winded rant, so much so that Dean leaves after a few minutes to go be anywhere else (to eat pie) and male reader just politely continues to listen, nodding along and genuinely being curious about what Sam is going to say next. Or Sam remembering some uniquely one-off fact about reader and he just shrugs it off as a best friend thing. Or male reader and Sam going on hike to relax for once - Dean thought it was stupid to take a walk in a boring forest so he didn't show - and male reader twists his angle so Sam must bridal carry him back down the trail.
This might be too much for a single fic😭 so take a pick or do whatever you want please!!! Any fic of the moose man is all I want, and if you were to create one I will worship it in a shrine.
Oblivious Pinning
Sam Winchester x Male Reader
Summary: You were a keen observer, particularly in your line of work as a hunter. That's why it was so surprising you didn't notice Sam Winchester was flirting with you.
A/N: This is great, I'm so used to oblivious Sam and not oblivious reader. Won't even lie I was multiple beers deep while writing this, so I apologize if it's ass.
TW: Fluff
The musty scent of ancient paper and the metallic tang of old blood are as familiar to you as the scent of your dad's perpetually lukewarm coffee. Another Tuesday, another demon. Dean grumbles about the lack of decent pie in rural Kansas, and Sam, bless his giant heart, is meticulously cleaning his knife, even though the last demon dissolved into a pile of ash hours ago. You consider yourself a decent judge of character. Observant, you might say. You can tell the exact moment Dean is about to launch into a lecture on classic rock, or when Bobby was about to tell you "idjits" one more time.
What you can't tell, apparently, is when a man is head-over-heels for you.
Your ankle still throbs a little, a phantom ache from that werewolf hunt last year. You'd gone down like a sack of bricks after a stray claw connected, and before you could even think about hobbling, Sam was there, scooping you up. He hadn't just offered an arm; he'd insisted on carrying you all the way back to the Impala, a good quarter-mile through uneven terrain. You'd just figured he was being his usual chivalrous self, the kind of guy who'd help an old lady cross the street and then bust a ghost with a smile. Bobby, on the other hand, had just raised an eyebrow at Dean, who’d bitten back a grin. You'd missed the memo.
Then there are the coats. Every damn time you shiver, whether it's the biting wind in some godforsaken graveyard or the artificial chill of a motel room, Sam’s coat is draped over your shoulders before you can even rub your arms. He'd just shrug and say, “You looked cold.” You always thought it was just him being the responsible older brother type, making sure you didn't catch pneumonia. Dean, meanwhile, would just snort into his beer.
And the bunker. Hours upon hours spent buried in lore, surrounded by dusty tomes that smelled of forgotten languages and spilled coffee. You often ramble, excitedly pointing out some obscure fact about a rare mythological creature, or hypothesizing about a new way to trap a demon. Sam, instead of tuning out like Dean often does, would lean in, eyes bright, hanging on your every word. He'd ask follow-up questions, his genuine interest a stark contrast to Dean's feigned attention, which usually involved checking his phone under the table. You'd just thought he was a good research partner, keen on learning. Bobby had simply shaken his head, muttering something about you being "as thick as a brick."
Even when you mentioned your latest fascination, deep-sea cryptids, to Sam one evening, his face had lit up like a Christmas tree. He’d spent the next hour pulling up articles, excitedly discussing the possibility of undiscovered species, completely ignoring Dean’s groans from the other side of the table about wanting to watch some terrible B-movie. You’d just thought, "Wow, Sam really gets me!"
Looking back, it's all so glaringly obvious. The way his gaze lingered a little too long, the soft smiles he reserved just for you, the subtle shifts in his body language that screamed "attention." Hell, even the time he'd practically skipped when you said you’d stay an extra day at the bunker to help him organize research notes. You, the observant son of Bobby Singer, had managed to be utterly, completely, beautifully blind to the fact that Sam Winchester was pining for you, and everyone else knew it.
The cheap motel room hummed with the drone of a bad monster movie, a stark contrast to the quiet, contented bickering between you and Sam. You were sprawled across one of the beds, legs tangled in the crisp, but oddly scratchy, sheets. Across from you, Sam sat cross-legged, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips as he slapped down a 'Draw 4' card.
"Seriously, Sam? Again?" you groaned, eyeing your rapidly expanding hand of Uno cards. The bed around you was a battlefield of scattered lore books, crumpled maps, and empty coffee cups – the aftermath of a particularly nasty ghoul hunt. Your own shirt, currently balled up somewhere near the overflowing trash can, was a grim casualty of the fight, splattered with what you hoped was just ghoul guts and not, you know, something worse.
You’d pulled on one of Sam’s shirts after your shower, the sleeves a little long, the fabric soft from countless washes. Dean's shirts would have fit better, but you didn't argue, a shirt was a shirt. You hadn't thought twice when Sam, after hearing your muttered complaint about your ruined clothes, had practically bounced up from his own bag to offer you a clean one. You’d just figured he was being helpful. You were completely oblivious to the way his eyes had lingered on you when you’d taken it, or how he’d cleared his throat a little too loudly.
Now, as you glared at your cards, Sam chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the cheap mattress. "All's fair in love and Uno, Singer."
Dean, who had been seemingly engrossed in a scene involving a rubber monster and a screaming blonde, shifted on his bed. His eyes, however, weren't on the TV. They flickered between your exasperated face and Sam's smug grin, a familiar knowing glint in their depths. He took a long swig of his beer, a faint smirk playing on his lips, before turning back to the screen with a shake of his head. You just thought he was judging your terrible Uno skills. You completely missed the way his gaze lingered, the silent communication passing between him and Sam that spoke volumes you couldn't hear.
"You're a menace," you declared, playing a card just to get rid of it. Sam just grinned, and the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the playful spark in his eyes. You, as always, were just focused on not letting him win.
Sam laid down his final card, a triumphant "Uno out!" echoing in the small motel room. You groaned, throwing your hand down in defeat. "That's it, I'm done. You cheat."
He just laughed, a rich, warm sound that made the exhaustion of the hunt feel a little less heavy. "I don't cheat. I just play smarter." He stretched, his long limbs uncoiling with a soft creak of the bedsprings, and then propped himself up on an elbow, looking at you. "Ready to call it a night?"
Dean grunted from his bed, the flickering light of the TV playing across his face. He'd been quieter than usual tonight, which you put down to the rough ghoul. Sometimes a straightforward hunt could be more draining than a complicated one, just because of the sheer nastiness of it. You missed the way his eyes kept drifting over to you and Sam, a silent communication passing between them that you were, as usual, completely oblivious to.
"Yeah, definitely," you mumbled, pushing yourself up to lean against the headboard. The borrowed shirt, still smelling faintly of Sam's cologne and something uniquely him, felt comforting against your skin. You were just grateful for a clean shirt after the day's events. You didn't notice the way Sam's gaze lingered on the shirt, or the almost imperceptible flush that crept up his neck.
Sam reached over, gathering the scattered Uno cards, his fingers brushing yours for a fleeting moment. A spark, a tiny jolt, went through you, but you dismissed it as static electricity. Just tired. He stacked the cards neatly, then started to gather the books and papers, organizing them with a quiet efficiency that always impressed you.
"Think we got everything on that ghoul, then?" you asked, rubbing your eyes.
"Pretty sure," Sam said, without looking up. "Though I think we need to double-check the local lore for any follow-up on that specific breed. Just in case." He glanced at you then, a faint, tired smile on his lips. "Unless you're too exhausted to even think about it?"
You shook your head. "Nah. We can look tomorrow. Tonight, I just want sleep."
Sam nodded, a soft, understanding look in his eyes. He finished tidying the table, then moved to his own side of the bed. You both settled in, the only sounds the low hum of the air conditioner and the muffled dialogue from Dean's movie. As you drifted off, you were dimly aware of Sam shifting, adjusting his pillow. You had no idea that he was still subtly facing you, watching you breathe, a soft, almost imperceptible smile gracing his lips. You were, as always, completely oblivious.
The morning light filtered weakly through the grimy motel window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stale air. You were hunched over the main table, a map of the county spread out, circling potential ghoul nesting sites, while Dean, still in his sleep-rumpled t-shirt, methodically wiped down his gun. The aroma of stale coffee and cheap motel cleaner hung heavy in the air.
"Alright, so that last one really was it," you confirmed, tapping your pen on a marked spot. "No more weird disappearances, no more missing livestock, no weird chills reported."
Dean nodded, snapping a clip into place. "Good. About damn time. This place was starting to get on my nerves. Too many weirdos."
Just then, Sam, ever the morning person, strode in from the bathroom, looking remarkably put together for someone who'd battled a ghoul hours earlier. "I'm heading out to grab some coffee," he announced, already reaching for his keys. "You guys want anything special, or just the usual black?"
You glanced at Dean, who just grunted. "Black's fine, Sammy."
"Same here," you added, pushing a hand through your already tangled hair. "Thanks, Sam."
Sam smiled, a genuine, easy grin that seemed to brighten the dim room. "No problem. Be back in a bit." He gave you a quick, lingering look, then headed out, the door clicking shut behind him.
As soon as the door closed, Dean tossed his cleaning rag onto the table, his eyes narrowing on you. "You know," he began, his voice low, "sometimes I seriously wonder about you."
You blinked, confused. "Wonder what?"
"How you can be so damn dense," he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's like you're actively trying to be oblivious."
You stared at him, genuinely bewildered. "What are you talking about?"
Dean leaned forward, his elbows on the table, fixing you with an exasperated glare. "Sam. Sam's pining for you. Hard. Like, head-over-heels, sappy romance novel levels of pining. How in God's name do you not see it?"
You blinked again. Then a slow, incredulous laugh bubbled up from your chest. "Sam? Pining? For me?" You stared at him like he'd just suggested ghouls communicated through interpretive dance. "Dean, what are you even talking about? That's... that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
Dean threw his hands up in exasperation. "Oh, my God. You are truly, monumentally, breathtakingly stupid." He dragged a hand down his face, groaning. "The coats, the carrying you back to the Impala, the way he lights up when you even breathe in his direction, how he hangs on your every word in the bunker... It's all right there! It's practically screaming at you!" He pointed a finger at you. "Even Bobby sees it! He just sighs and mutters about 'dumb idjits' every time Sam gets all moon-eyed around you."
You just continued to stare, your mind trying to process the idea. Sam? For you? It was such a foreign concept, so utterly outside your understanding of your relationship with him, that it felt like he was speaking a different language. "But... we're just... we're just friends. We're hunting partners." You felt a blush creep up your neck, despite your disbelief. "He's like an older brother."
Dean snorted, a sound of pure disbelief. "Yeah, an older brother who stares at you like you hung the moon. You know what? Forget it. Just... forget I said anything. You're hopeless." He stood up, shaking his head, and walked over to the mini-fridge, pulling out a soda with an audible pop.
You watched him, a strange, uncomfortable feeling stirring in your gut. Dean wouldn't just make something like that up... would he? Could you really have been that oblivious? The thought was absurd. And yet... the way Dean had looked at you, the sheer frustration in his voice, it felt real.
The sudden roar of an Impala engine pulling into the parking lot signaled Sam's return, pulling you from your swirling thoughts.
The sound of Sam's familiar footsteps approaching the door, followed by the click of the lock, jolted you from your bewildered state. You were still grappling with Dean's accusations, the idea of Sam pining for you echoing ridiculously in your mind.
The door swung open, and Sam stepped in, a carrier of coffee cups in one hand, a small paper bag in the other. He smiled, that easy, genuine smile of his, and for the first time, you actually looked at it. Really looked at it. Not just as Sam being Sam, but as... something more.
"Got the usual," he announced, setting the carrier on the table. Dean grunted from his spot by the fridge, already reaching for his black coffee.
Sam pulled out a cup and handed it to you. "Here you go."
You took it, your fingers brushing his. The warmth of the cup seeped into your palm, and then the scent hit you. It wasn't the bitter aroma of black coffee. It was rich, sweet, and distinctly familiar. Caramel. Vanilla.
Your favorite.
You stared at the cup, then slowly, your eyes drifted up to Sam's face. He was watching you, a slight tilt to his head, that same soft, expectant look in his eyes. He knew. He knew exactly what he'd given you.
"But... I said black," you murmured, the words barely a whisper.
Sam just shrugged, a small, almost shy smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, but I figured you could use a treat after last night. Besides, you always look like you're about to fall asleep when you drink black."
Your gaze flickered to Dean, who was now openly smirking at you over the rim of his own cup. He raised an eyebrow, a silent, "See? I told you so," in his eyes.
A slow, burning heat crept up your neck, flushing your cheeks. It wasn't just the coffee. It was everything. The way he always offered his coat, the insistent carrying, the way he listened, really listened, when you talked. The casual touches, the knowing glances. And now, the exact, precise coffee order you never even told him you liked, because you never thought he'd remember, let alone care enough to get it.
"Son of a bitch," you murmured under your breath, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. It wasn't a curse; it was pure, unadulterated shock. You had been so incredibly, monumentally oblivious. Every single instance Dean had mentioned, every subtle gesture, every kind word—it all clicked into place with the taste of caramel and vanilla on your tongue.
Sam, oblivious to your internal meltdown, just chuckled softly. "Something wrong? Not sweet enough?"
You just stared at him, the coffee cup warm in your hand, feeling like the biggest dumbass in the entire world.
You just stared at Sam, the weight of the caramel-vanilla coffee cup heavy in your hand, and the even heavier weight of Dean's smug, knowing smirk on your face. The air in the motel room crackled with an unspoken tension, at least for you. Sam, of course, just looked…patient. Expectant, maybe.
You took a deep breath, the sweet scent of your coffee filling your lungs. No going back now.
"Sam," you started, your voice a little shaky, "are you… are you actually in love with me?"
Sam's eyes widened, just a fraction, before a soft flush crept up his neck. He looked from you to Dean, who was now openly grinning, and then back to you, a small, almost shy smile touching his lips.
"Yeah," he admitted softly, his voice a low rumble. "I am. I thought… I thought it was pretty obvious."
The words were barely out of Sam's mouth before a loud, booming laugh erupted from Dean. He practically doubled over on his bed, slapping his knee, tears of mirth streaming down his face. "Oh, my God! He actually asked! And he actually said it!" Dean gasped between fits of laughter. "You two are the most clueless idiots on the planet!"
Without thinking, you crumpled the empty coffee cup in your hand and launched it at Dean's head. It bounced off his forehead with a pathetic thud, but he barely registered it, still caught in his fit of hysterics.
You turned back to Sam, a fresh wave of mortification washing over you. How in the hell had you missed this? How had you, the supposedly observant hunter, been so spectacularly blind? It wasn't just Sam's little gestures; it was everything. Every long look, every shared laugh, every late-night conversation. It all clicked into place, painting a picture you'd been too dense to see. And the worst part? You liked Sam. Had liked him, in fact, for as long as you could remember. Not just as a friend, or a hunting partner, or even the brother you never had. You liked him, liked him, in the way that made your stomach flutter and your palms sweat, a secret you'd buried so deep you'd convinced yourself it wasn't there.
Sam, his laughter now subsiding as he watched your internal turmoil, reached out a hand, his fingers hovering hesitantly near your arm. "Uh," he hummed, his voice soft, a hint of concern in his tone. "Did you… you really didn't know?"
You finally met his gaze, the overwhelming rush of emotions making your eyes sting. "Are you kidding me?" you blurted out, a mix of disbelief, embarrassment, and a sudden surge of exhilarating hope swirling within you. "Sam Winchester, if I had known, if I'd had even the slightest clue, I'd have kissed your stupid, giant face a million times over by this point!"
The words hung in the air, raw and honest. Sam's eyes widened again, this time with something akin to shock, and a slow, beautiful smile spread across his face, brighter than any motel room light. Dean, bless his heart, had actually gone quiet.
The words hung in the air, a confession and a revelation, leaving Dean in stunned silence for once. Sam's face, usually so composed, broke into a wide, disbelieving smile.
"You... you would?" he whispered, his voice thick with a mixture of hope and astonishment.
You launched yourself off the bed, stumbling a little over the scattered lore books. In two strides, you were in front of him, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. His cheeks were warm beneath your palms, and his eyes, those big, expressive hazel eyes, were sparkling.
"Are you kidding me?" you breathed, your voice rough with emotion. "Sam, I've been half in love with you for years. I just thought it was the 'found family' thing. The 'I look up to my tall, ridiculously smart hunting partner' thing. Never once did it cross my pea-brained mind that you might actually..." You trailed off, lost in his gaze.
Dean cleared his throat loudly from the other bed. "Well, don't let me stop you two lovebirds," he grumbled, though the edge of a smile played on his lips. "Just... try not to make out on my clean sheets, alright?"
You ignored him, your focus entirely on Sam. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. "So, all those times..." he began, a soft laugh escaping him, "you really had no idea?"
"None!" you practically yelled, a fresh wave of mortification and relief washing over you. "Not when you carried me back to the Impala after I sprained my ankle, not when you constantly offered your jacket, not when you lit up like a Christmas tree whenever I talked about some obscure historical fact! I just thought you were a really, really good friend!"
Sam chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through your chest. "I guess I was being too subtle," he murmured, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Subtle?" you scoffed playfully. "Sam, you were about as subtle as a brick through a window, and I still missed it! I blame Dad. He raised me to be observant, but apparently only for demons and faulty wiring, not for giant, pining Winchesters!"
Sam's smile softened, turning into something tender and incredibly vulnerable. His gaze dropped to your lips, and the air between you thickened with unspoken desire. You felt your breath hitch. This was it. This was the moment you'd unknowingly wanted for so long.
He leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, but you didn't. You met him halfway, closing the small distance between your faces. His lips were soft, hesitant at first, then firming as you kissed him back with all the pent-up longing of years of obliviousness. It was a kiss that tasted of cheap motel coffee, lingering fear from the hunt, and the overwhelming, undeniable truth of finally seeing what had been right in front of you all along.
When you finally broke apart, breathless, Sam's forehead rested against yours. His eyes were shining, a depth of emotion in them that made your heart ache in the best possible way.
"So," he whispered, a happy grin spreading across his face, "does this mean I don't have to be subtle anymore?"
You laughed, a joyous, relieved sound. "No, Sam," you said, reaching up to thread your fingers through his soft hair. "Absolutely not."
The quiet promise of a new beginning hung in the air, a silent understanding passing between you and Sam. Dean, bless his exasperated heart, had actually pulled out his phone, pretending to be engrossed in it, giving you both a moment of privacy.
synopsis→ the silly compiliation of the adventures of sae and his roommate.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ a warm greeting
if sae could describe his living conditions in one word it would be chaos. and all the chaos he faced could be derived from one spawn point, his beloved best friend. but what could sae do? he was stuck with you.
yet when sae really sat down and thought about it, what possessed him to move in with you? clearly his must of been hypnotized by your intense gaze high that day.
sae walks into your shared apartment after a long tiring day of attending sport science classes, his places his duffle back near the entrance only to hear music being blasted from the highest volume.
there you were piping icing on to cupcakes while screaming the lyrics to nct127's whiplash. you were so concentrated on singing with your arms flailing all over the place that the piping bag flew out of your hand and nearly smacked sae in face.
"oh shit, my bad. are you okay." you say concerned, your eyebrows furrowing in concern as you walked past sae to pick up the piping bag.
"so you're not going acknowledge the fact that your piping bag almost hit me?"
"you're acting like it hit you."
you walk back to continue your baking venture, you find the perfect angle and squeezing the perfect amount of buttercream to create the world's best piping work you've ever seen. it looks like years of watching bake-offs payed of.
you feel a breath tickle your neck and a head on pink hair peeking over you shoulder, "who are making those for?"
"some charity fundraiser to raise money for receding hairlines. i thought of putting in the effort, y'know? it's only a matter of time before you're affected."
"well whoever's eating them better have a emetic nearby, lord knows they'll need it."
"i'm surprised you even know what that is considering you skip half classes to go to practice."
"touché."
⊹ ࣪ ˖ spring cleaning
a rest day, one of the day where sae had nothing planned, no practice, no classes just a nice day of relaxation.
today he had planned to spend his day sleeping and binge watching chibi maruko-chan but his plans were foiled by you.
at the early time of 6 am you burst into sae's room clad in bright yellow gloves, your tied back, in an old shirt and most notably loud music playing in the background. this could only mean one thing—you were spring cleaning.
sae did what any normal person would do in this situation, he shifted the blanket to cover his face and pretended to be asleep. a moment of silence pass, then sound of your footstep leading out of the bedroom were heard.
unfortunately he underestimated you and your determination. the moment sae flipped the sheets off his face for air he was met with the sight of you leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a stern look on your face.
"don't even fight it, get up." you mutter, small sadistic smile etched on you face as you mentally planned the chores you'd make him do. a groan escapes sae's lips, if he didn't cooperate he'd probably be smothered in his sleep.
an thats how he found him self pulling and removing every compartment of the fridge to clean it, lifting the long l-shaped couch to clean underneath it and best yet, cleaning the may rugs that littered your many halls.
occasionally he would receive comments from you like, "don't clean like I forced you to do it, put your heart into it,"
"sae i can see streaks on window, it's not that difficult to do,"
"for someone who likes looking at asses you like half-ass your cleaning,"
"god forbid it would be anything soccer related, im sure you'd clean the atomic structure of materials of a soccer ball."
and before he knew it half the day was spend with the two of you bickering back and forth as you cleaned your space.
a/n: i was going to write more, like sae being sick, them going grocery shopping but like when do i ever choose peace on this blog 🥹✌️
