#the season has only just begun after all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

disneyprincemuke · 3 months

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basement noise * fem!driver

logan starts to feel a little left out

pairings: logan sargeant x fem!driver, sebastian vettel x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver

notes: hey surpRISE AND EARLY UPDATE WAHOOOO i'm trying to finish up her 2023 year before i start moving onto her 2024 season <3

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

logan stares at the unanswered text message in their group chat, clicking his tongue as he glances at the time at the corner of his phone screen. it’s been an hour since he sent his text message.

he’s not saying his friends are ignoring him, but it is slowly starting to seem that way. his call time to the paddocks isn’t as early as theirs and that’s why they’ve arrived way before him.

he sighs. since the season had begun, it hasn’t been easy to integrate himself into the grid unlike his two other friends. oscar’s gotten along with lando and is doing great with his team. meanwhile she’s done exceptionally well, and even if she wasn’t, max and some of the older drivers seem to have taken quite the liking to her.

which shouldn’t be all that surprising to him. she had already found herself a new group of friends even before the season had started. from the kickstart of the pre-season testing, max had already paraded her around like he was a proud older brother.

sure, he has alex. by default. because they are teammates. but realistically, alex will always find himself preferring george’s company to his. they’re best friends, after all.

logan presses his lips together as the team car slowly comes to a stop right outside the paddocks. he glances at benny, focused on his own phone, texting his wife.

so he just keeps to himself as he alights the car. hopefully, he’s kept busy enough this weekend not to notice the distance that might go unnoticed by his friends, but is very prominent for him.

just as he walks through the gantries into the paddocks, he watches the smaller girl walk past him unknowingly, engaged in serious conversations with marta and susie. she’s turned the other way, so she doesn’t even notice him.

when he approaches the livelier areas of the paddocks, noticing oscar walking around with lando. oscar does notice him, smiling at him politely before he makes a sharp turn into the mclaren garage.

logan just sighs again, navigating his way to the williams garage with a weight in his chest.

“i’ll see you again later before your race! i promise!” she shouts, waving her arms in the air as she leaves susie and marta. she runs through the paddocks, truthfully unaware of where she is heading.

when sebastian had asked her to meet him somewhere, it could be anywhere in the paddocks. it could very easily well be at the aston martin home where fernando is hanging out, or their own.

she feels around in her pockets for her phone, halting in the middle of the crowd. she turns around, ready to chase susie to ask if she’d left her phone in her office by chance. but she can vividly remember where she left it in her driver’s room right before she bolted out, late for a lunch date with some of the drivers from the f1 academy.

she clicks her tongue, picking up her feet to start running again. she hears max calling out for her but she’s late, from what she can tell.

if only she was better at restraining herself from staying extra minutes just to hear the latest paddock gossip over lunch. but she couldn’t help herself as she increasingly got invested, giggling in her mind about how she’s going to tell logan everything in the evening when they leave the paddocks to get ice cream.

she arrives at the aston martin home, chest heaving as she approaches the one person loitering outside the building. “lance!”

the canadian whirls around at the call of his name with wide eyes, shocked that the younger girl is calling for him. yes, he is terrified of her, but that’s a story for another time.

“yes?”

“has my race engineer been kidnapped by your grandpa?” she asks, hands on her hips and slightly hunched over as she tries to catch her breath.

“my,” lance takes a deep breath, “grandpa?”

“fernando. has fernando kidnapped my race engineer? he told me to meet him, but i don’t know where.”

lance presses his lips into a thin line. “have you tried texting him?”

she sighs, shaking her head. “no, i left my phone in my room. i don’t have the time to go and get it.”

“oh!” lance perks up, reaching into his back pocket and offers it to her. “here, you can use my phone.”

she mutters a soft thank you as she takes the phone into her hands, navigating lance’s contact list. she raises an eyebrow and looks at him. “you saved my number as grid princess? really?”

“we all have your number saved as that.”

“i-“ she shakes her head, finding for the number she needs. “not important.”

she presses the phone to her ear as it rings, hoping that sebastian answers his phone. hopefully he’s not as forget as her.

“lance?”

“no.”

“you sound different, lance.”

“seb! it’s me! i left my phone in my room.”

“oh, (y/n)!” there’s a pause. “why are you using lance’s phone?”

“i can’t find you,” she mutters, shaking her head in shame as lance watches her. “tell me where you are or i’ll be even later for our meeting. was it over a cup of coffee or what?”

“coffee. come quick.”

“come on, mate.” logan stares at alex blankly, watching the older driver tug at his hand towards the door of his room. “you’ve got to join us for a snack. george is buying food.”

“i don’t feel like eating,” logan mutters, retracting his arm immediately. he lies on the massage table of his room, moving his hand under his head. “go without me.”

“i can’t!” alex frowns. “your best friend told me to take care of you. i can’t grab food and leave you here by yourself.”

logan shrugs. “if you’re only inviting me because she told you to, i don’t wanna go.”

“what?” alex tilts his head. “no, george asked me to bring you! we’re sneaking out of the paddocks for a bit to get food! come on! the local food here is amazing.”

“i don’t want to go.”

“logan.”

“alex?”

“i’m telling james you’re locking yourself inside your room again. he won’t be happy.”

logan looks at alex without moving his head, the glare shooting daggers at the older driver. alex raises his eyebrows with a small smile, never having seen this emotion in the rookie.

“i don’t care if you tell him.”

“fine, be that way,” alex sighs dejectedly. he doesn’t want to use more names as a bargaining chip, but it seems that he will have to resort to exactly that. “i’ll just tell oscar and (y/n) you’re being like this.”

logan scoffs, dropping his phone by his head. he breathes out exasperatedly and rolls to lie on his back. “as if they’d care.”

alex, already halfway to the door, stops in his tracks and turns around. “mate,” he trails off softly, “what do you mean by that?”

“it’s so obvious,” logan sighs again, turning to face the wall. “she’s always with max or whoever. i’m alone.”

“i’m here with you right now.”

logan furrows his eyebrows. that’s not what he means. alex probably knows that too. “i just wanna be alone right now, alex. i’m sorry.”

“oh, okay. i’ll bring you something back.”

logan turns around quickly, chasing for alex’s presence. “alex, wait.”

alex turns around just as before he is able to close the door. he’s hopeful that logan would join him and george for some food — the rookie often spending time with his two best friends means that he doesn’t get many opportunities to get to know him outside of team content and meetings.

“don’t tell them i said that, okay?” he sighs before looking down to avoid the curious brown eyes. “i don’t want them knowing i feel that way.”

alex hums. sometimes he sees his younger self in the rookie. the rookie’s often introverted demeanour makes it very easy to sympathise with him, especially when he had a rough couple of years in another team all by himself. he knows what it feels like.

perhaps what logan needs is space. hopefully he opens up soon, and then alex can finally put his mind to rest with some reassurance. because it’s not like his performance is helping him out with his confidence. he’s been there, done that.

“okay,” alex nods. “your secret’s safe with me.”

lando hums, looking around the paddocks. his eyes lands on his teammate, who is simply staring off blankly at the grandstand as he chews away on his sandwich.

“what?” oscar asks monotonously, still looking ahead with his eyes half open. he’s sunk into the small seat situated at the edge of their garage with his leg over the other. “i can feel you looking at me, mate. what is it?”

“oh,” lando says softly, chuckling to himself. he sinks into his own seat and turns away to take a bite from his own sandwich. “nothing. i was just wondering where dumb and dumber are.”

he sees oscar perk up with realisation, turning to look at him slowly. his eyebrows are furrowed at the sheer realisation of what’s been missing the entire day. he lets out a soft “ah” before he turns to look at the grandstand again. “i don’t actually know. we’ve been so busy today — i hadn’t even noticed.”

the older driver laughs, nodding along. “yeah, we only get busier from here, mate. i haven’t texted max back still. actually, i don’t even know where my phone is.”

oscar laughs, licking his lips. “neither do i. i barely even got to have a 5 minute phone call with lily this morning. i had to leave so early.”

“just one more interview and we’re free,” lando sighs, shaking his head. truthfully, he’s grown quite tired too. for someone like him, running out of energy to be talking to everyone doesn’t come often. but it feels like the day is finally getting the best of him.

he’s simply dreading the next interview they’ve got. he doesn’t know how many more fake laughs and forced smiles he’s got within himself. he doesn’t want to do small talk anymore. he just wants to head back to the hotel and get some sleep for what friday has to bring them.

“getting ice cream with the powerpuff girls tonight?”

oscar laughs with a simple nod. “of course. she’s not going to let a weekend by where we don’t try some local ice cream.”

“alright, good meeting,” sebastian grins at her, slowly closing his laptop. “so you know what to do this weekend, kid? confident you’ll score some points?”

“of course,” she laughs with a small nod. “i’m ready to tackle the weekend.”

sebastian stands up, holding the laptop against his chest. “good! so, where are you headed to now?”

she smiles. “hopefully off to take a shower and start getting ready for my ice cream date with the boys.”

“ah! exciting,” sebastian grins. “well i’ve got one more meeting. you’ll be okay on your own?” she nods. “okay, well, if you leave before my meeting ends, let me know, alright?”

“of course!” she beams with a grin. she spots a familiar shade of blue across the paddocks, beaming when she spots logan in the crowd of williams personnel. she tries to push past sebastian, who’s now opening the door, and attempts to dart out to stop logan for a quick conversation to confirm their ice cream date that evening. before she can make it to the top of the steps, another familiar face pops up in front of her with a wide smile.

sebastian greets max before quickly excusing himself, leaving the girl with the older driver. “hi?”

“hi!” max greets her with an excited wave. “are you busy? i need your help.”

she opens her mouth, deciding her answer as she peeks over his shoulder. she answers with a soft ‘yeah’ as she watches the crowd of blue walking away and disappearing from her sight. “what is it?”

“we’re going to the uk for a vacation this summer and p’s coming along with us. i wanna plan something — she really wants to meet you.”

logan sighs to himself, leaning up against the railing of the stairs leading up to the andretti racing home. he looks around the paddocks and then glances down at his phone for the time. everybody is late. could it be possible that plans were cancelled without him knowing?

could it be that her and oscar agreed to call raincheck without remembering to let him know? which would them simply confirm his suspicions that he is slowly losing his best friends.

but there’s no other time but tonight to get ice cream together. unless she’s planning to get it with somebody else? he huffs to himself and pushes himself off the railing to start his journey back to his hotel room for a lonely night. that was, until he hears a voice calling out to him.

“oh, logan! are you waiting for her? why don’t you come in and sit down while you wait?” sebastian smiles, letting the door close behind him. he walks down the steps, immediately noticing the sadder aura around the boy.

sure, he knows that logan is typically soft spoken by himself, but he believes that he knows logan well enough now that he is comfortable being himself. “is something wrong? the media picked you apart again today, kid?”

logan looks up and quickly shakes his head. he rubs the back of his neck and hisses softly. “no, it’s not that,” he laughs sheepishly, trying to ignore the heavy weight on his chest. “have my plans been cancelled, seb? did i not know?”

maybe he should try opening up to sebastian? if anyone knows what it’s like falling out with a friend, sebastian is definitely one of those people, right?

he watches sebastian process his words. he immediately regrets opening up to him. “ah, forget it.”

“no, no! i’m glad you’re opening up to me,” sebastian snaps out of his trance and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “i’m not judging you. i get it. are you feeling okay?”

logan shrugs with a soft frown. “i don’t know. just a little weird — my text in the group chat from this morning’s still unanswered.”

sebastian stares at him, trying to come up with the words to try and make him feel better. until it hits him. “oh! is that what you’re concerned about?” sebastian laughs, pulling logan into his side for a hug. “she wasn’t ignoring you! she left her phone in her driver’s room and never had the time to go back in to get it. we were riddled with interviews and meetings all day. then max hijacked her early in the evening to plan something with penelope.”

logan looks at him, skeptism written all over his face. “are you serious?”

“i’m serious, kid,” sebastian confirms with a firm nod. “and i ran into oscar and lando earlier. they were super busy too. oscar even told me he can’t wait to finally sit back and relax with you guys at the ice cream parlour.”

as if on cue, oscar pops up from the corner of the racing home with his bag lazily strung over his shoulder. “why are you guys hugging?”

sebastian frowns. “what’s wrong with that?”

oscar shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “nothing, i suppose.” he rubs his eyes and groans. “i’m just a little tired, probably. i can’t wait to get some ice cream.”

logan feels the weight slowly lifting from his chest. logan slumps his shoulders slightly with a grin. he tries to confirm sebastian’s allegations. “i haven’t seen you all day, mate. busy day?”

“busiest i’ve had in a while,” oscar yawns, covering his mouth. “i haven’t even gotten to talk to lily at all today.”

the door swings open with a loud shriek, their body suddenly knocked back by a body throwing itself against them. he looks down in shock at the smaller girl who has her arms thrown around his and oscar’s bodies. “hey!”

she hops back excitedly, hair pulled back into a new hairstyle. “ice cream?” she nods excitedly at logan and then she turns to oscar, repeating the question.

oscar throws his head back with a laugh. he wraps an arm around her shoulder, and smiles. “of course. i’ve been looking forward to ice cream with you guys all day.”

sebastian finally steps away from him with a small smile and a thumbs-up. he returns the gesture, his warm smile finally putting the older man at ease. it would be a shame to watch a friendship as genuine and great as theirs fall apart. as much as he can, he would like to make sure that their authenticity never ever leaves them.

“come on! i wanna go and walk around town after we get ice cream,” she shrieks, reaching out to pull logan along with her. she glances at sebastian. “would you like to join us, seb?”

sebastian laughs, politely declining her offers. “i just want to take a nap after the day we’ve had.”

she nods, wrapping an arm around logan’s torso as they start to walk to the exit of the paddocks. “which one of you’s driving tonight? cause it’s definitely not me.”

“i’ll drive,” logan nods willingly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a soft squeeze. “i heard you left your phone in your room all day. how’d you survive being apart from your phone for that long?”

she throws her head back with a groan. “barely! i can’t believe i went the whole day without chatting with you guys!”

oscar scoffs. “clingy.”

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forzaferraris · 2 months

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NOTHING MATTERS — op81

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! engineering intern! reader

summary: the best way to get over someone who broke your heart is to get under someone else and (unintentionally) break theirs. / inspired by nothing matters by the last dinner party, listen on spotify here !

style: primarily written with a single smau element at the end.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, smut, unprotected sex ((p in v) please wrap it before you tap it)), oral (m! receiving) finger sucking, sub/don undertones but nothing serious, i swear on my life oscar piastri is a grunt and groaner but simultaneously considerably vocal during sex (i will die on that rock), afab! reader, readers kinda uncaring about who she hurts because she’s hurt, reader is referred to as she/her, miscommunication trope, oscar piastri has been in love with reader since the beginning of the season and just assumed one-sided pining. authors refusal to write with capitals, you can pry them out of her cold dead hands.

faceclaim: sofia dirado, although feel free to imagine reader as anyone else.

word count: 4.1k +

YOU WERE NO STRANGER TO HEARTACHE.

you fear it followed you around more often than not, like a dark cloud that covered your entire existence in this bubble of heartbreak that nothing ever felt good to you, nothing was ever worth it. from your parents divorcing after years of suffering in a loveless marriage to every single relationship you’d ever been in never making past the first time you sleep together — you’ve genuinely felt about giving up on life, going so far as to consider a life as a celibate nun or maybe not, perhaps just the life of a girl who burns through multiple packs of AA batteries using her rose toy.

however, when you’d met levi, your first year of finally being allowed to leave the mclaren technology centre to shadow tom stalland during the 2023 f1 season. you genuinely thought this man had reshaped your entire perspective of love, he made love easy, made loving him feel less like a sport and more like a hobby you could never get sick of, being with hom felt like you’d been going through all the “firsts” all over again, like a cheesy romance movie monologue.

and yet, here you are, sat in your hotel room after the japan gp, suzuka has always been your favourite gp to watch and unfortunately for some reason, instead of standing in the mclaren garage doing your job, you’re sat clad in your team clothes (a stark contrast to the white bed linen) and sobbing over a text message paragraph explicitly telling you that levi has decided to break up with you after he fell in love with someone else during the summer break, someone who “rewired his brain chemistry in a ways you could never do.” you want to get angry, you wish you were an angry person, instead when you got angry you cried, when you got too happy or even just laughed too hard you cried, you were a crier.

your heart is heavy, as you scroll through the other woman’s posts, she’s gorgeous, and that’s where you begin your myriad of self deprecating comparisons of you to her. you doom scroll for what feels like forever until you spiral even further down the heartbreak rabbit hole, your attention drawn to the fact that levi had both unfollowed and removed you as a follower at some point between when he said goodnight and then broke up with you the next day. you watch as stories of their summer break spent together is shared and your jealousy sends you into a blind rage that you block the both of them; because ultimately you knew that he will hold her life he used to hold you — for levi was boring, a one trick pony you’re only just now coming to terms with.

your disheveled appearance and self imposed seclusion from the events of the day were not left unnoticed, you’d resigned yourself to just stand on the outskirts, occasionally moving to sit down and watch the screens as the friday practice begun, you’re uninterested, unmotivated and trying your dandiest to not cry, for the sole reason of simultaneously not wanting to draw unwanted attention to yourself and the fact that the mascara you’re bought at the duty free at the airport was most definitely not waterproof.

the good thing was that you’d be in japan for the rest of the weekend, the worse thing was you knew not s language lick of the language — sure you could probably call someone an idiot in japanese thanks to the sheer amount of one piece you’d watched eith levi during days he didn’t want to do anything you had planned or suggested; however, the single knowledge of know the word idiot in japanese will not get her very far. you’re almost too zoned out to notice the first free practice had finished, oscar’s team engineer tom standall dismisses you, tells you that whatever happened before you came to track is to be sorted out before it potentially jeopardises a race and without a word or argument against hai decision you shuffle out of the garage and into the paddock.

“name, hey wait — wait up” a voice you’ve only heard considerable muffled by a racing helmet and through large oversized noise cancelling team gear headphones when you got to play pretend engineer whenever it was during his practice laps and his qualifying laps, it sends a shiver up your spine, always has and you’re unknowing if it always will.

“oscar? hey! you did so good today, from what i say, p3 is so awesome how are you not more elated about that!” you’d found yourself smiling, wide across your face and sinking into the gentle rhythm of the conversation with oscar. the smile he returns is equally as wide as if his whole face were smiling, you want to punch him — the cuteness aggression playing devil on your shoulder.

“oh nah, i am actually it just hasn’t like kicked in gully yet, i’m waiting for the full body visceral reaction i’m about to have,” he pauses for a brief moment, hands itchy to fiddling with something snd find solitude in dragging one hand after the other through his tangled and sweaty hair. “like just, honestly, jesus christ and in japan of all places fuckin’ hell” he seems both simultaneously out of breath and ready to compete in a marathon.

had it not been a considerably formal setting you swore you can picture him jumping up and down on the spot whilst trying to contain all of his excitement, you allow him to be excited not wanting your own mood and misery to overshadow his complete and utter elation at his podium win. it’s the first time in the few days you’d been moping about that the smile you give off reaches your eyes and oscar’s always paying attention to these things, unbeknownst to you of course.

“your excitement is infectious, surely the team have planned something celebratory for you! you’ve gotta celebrate this i’m sure lando is!” you can’t help but practically beam, you’re mesmerised by the excitement the unashamed amount of happiness this boy is oozing and the bitter feeling in your stomach over it all is just barely going by unnoticed.

oscar shakes his head, overs a tiny shrugs and barely gets another word into the conversation you teo ate having before he’s whisked away by the team to be dragged off towards the podium, you watch as he shakes the bottle of champagne onto lando and max. any and all brief untouched moments of happiness are immediately replaced when your phones buzzes, a notification alert from your ring door bell and the video supplied of your now ex boyfriend grabbing whatever stuff he’d left at your apartment. the situation just breaks your heart even further than when with the whole of the mclaren team being called upon for s group shot with both the boys and their podium wins you ignore it and decided you’d had enough of it all.

the hotel’s quiet as you tap your keycard against the inside of your hand waiting for the elevator to come back down, the traffic from the track back to the designated hotel meant you’d wound up leaving just as all the other drivers had and whilst you weren’t in the mood to face anymore interactions you were lucky to bypass the small group of fans loitering in the hotel lobby. the elevator itself is slow, like most and the way your stomach drops at the incline is almost akin to how you felt when you’d first received that break up text at the start of the week.

if there was one thing you were thankful for, it was the fact the hotel had a bar just off the lobby, which is where you’d found yourself, skirt a little too short, shoes a little too high and too the perfect amount of booby that you won’t get in too much trouble but also attract someone willing to take away the ache in your chest for the night.

you’d been sat at the bar for just under an hour, occasionally chatting to some of the other patrons but mostly the bartender herself; the paper straw mushy and impossible to drink out of sits on a napkin as you sip on the glass uncaring or the lipstick mark on the rim or the smudging it does to your own lipstick — in fact you’re hoping something else smudges the lipstick further if the night doesn’t continue to progress as slowly as it is.

“can i get a beer, whatever you’ve got in the bottle and another one of what she’s drinking” there it is again, the chill on your spine and the heightened sense of the hand that brushes past your ear to give the bartender a bank card. every single nerve ending in your body is on fire when the stool beside you in moved and a body now begins to occupy it, perhaps you’re a bit drunk, you’d already had two of these and what if the different alcohol consumption laws you’re unsure how much alcohol is actually in the fruity little cocktail you’d ordered.

“oscar piastri, i thought i told you to go celebrate your podium with lando, why are you still at the hotel?” there is is, a tone you’d never thought you’d use with someone who wass essentially your bosses boss, which therefore makes him your boss, and yet here you are — sultry tone and lips loosened by the alcohol in your system, shamelessly flirting with him.

“well, you see, i’m more of a pub person than i am someone who prefers nightclubs and being touched and bumped into by random strangers, i fear that’s more of a lando thing than my own” oscar laughs, the way he’s relaxed and carefree shows signs he did however, get roped into pregaming with lando beforehand, the neck of the beer bottle sits between his index and middle fingers, a comfortable position one you're sure would feel weird if you so much as tried to mimic.

you fear you're done for when it comes to watching the way his throat bobs as he takes a swig of the larger, it's a japanese brand one you've never heard of nor tried and you can tell oscar hasn't by the way his nose scrunches at the taste, he still continues to drink it though. time seems to float by, growing continually more comfortable with one another to the point you'd sauntered away from the bar stools and are sat perhaps not even an inch apart in a booth in the corner.

"favourite race destination, so far?" "monaco. most definitely, melbournes a close second, but that's just because of a personal bias" "personal bias?" "yeah. . . you."

you'd never thought to combine the flavours of japanese beer and strawberry liqueur, and yet here you were, back-pressed and arched up against the wall beside a hotel room that not yours, the elevator ride was one stop too long to have it be that you'd gone back to your hotel room, hands, not your own, are roaming places never thought to be touched, the bluntness of their nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs has your separating from the kiss to lean your head back and full indulge in the simple pleasures received in this moment. arousal builds when soft lips find the pulse point in your neck, your choice signature scent perfume the most aromatic in that area brings a subconscious reaction from oscar, the thigh between your legs juts up and you also convulse right then and there, your own hands ove from holding the back of his neck to drag through his soft, product-free hair, tugging on the last few strands that slip through your fingers.

the beep of the room door unlocking pulls you to your senses, and a hand tight around your waist drags you inside, you cling onto him in the worst way possible, you can see the smudges of lipstick on the corners of his mouth and god, does he look beautiful. you're unsure for a moment, even if the alcohol had loosened you up a little, you still didn't know how to react around oscar, he's looking at you in a way you can't describe, it makes your stomach flip and you're eager, thighs clenching to distribute the friction of your building arousal. you want his lips on yours again, there's zero space between you, you're simply sharing each other's breath.

his hand finds the back of your neck, tangled in your darkened locks and pulls you back in for a kis, is soft, he must moisturise your brain supplies before it fizzes out, the kiss is messy, all teeth, tongues and spit. you whimper into the kiss, knees buckling, your own hands are on a mission sliding under the hem of his shirt to perfectly feel the warmth that radiates off his skin against your cold hands, you can feel the exact moment your cold touch makes him hiss into the kiss and it finally ignites the fire in your stomach. this is what you want.

you two remain lip-locked until your chest hurts and you've traded the same breath back and forth that it's completely died, when you pull away, you finally take notice of the blown-out pupils staring down at you. his a look entirely of lust, desire, arousal and it shows, especially with the bulge in his pants. your bottom lip finds sanctuary in between your teeth when you raise an eyebrow and one of your hands slips out from under his shirt to palm him through the cargo shorts he'd donned to wear.

if oscar's voice sent a shiver down your spine, the way he groaned at your touch against his bulge chilled you from the inside out, the noise rough and gravelly like he'd not uttered a word in weeks, it's deep and low in his chest that you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't practically flush against him. your hand continues to palm him, making riskier moves as your other hand moves to dip your fingers into the waistband of his pants, you don't wait, you don't even need to ask for permission when his own hands are practically shucking off his own clothes for you.

he looks so gorgeous standing right in front of you, the wet patch you can only assume of precum on the front of his boxers has you licking your lips involuntarily, you try to ignore the voices, fight the urgers but you're but a simple girl, eager to please, that you're flicking your gaze up at him as your sink to your knees, the carpet is soft enough against you but you know better and are already seeing the red marks you'll have the next morning.

oscar looks confused for you in the briefest of moments, your nails dragging along his thighs, soft blonde hairs tickle your finger tips and you bite back the sweet giggle you want to let out as you're finally tugging his underwear down. a moment of shock halts your movement, eyes flicking up and down between oscar's gaze and his cock, tip pink, throbbing and leaking — it's a sight to be seen and you're the one who gets to gaze upon it.

your hand wraps around him, fingers barely meeting at the girth and you moan, can feel the saliva pooling in your mouth, your oral fixation working into overdrive, a single flick of your wrist has a louder groan rolling out of oscar's mouth, a quick "fuck" followed after it that as you once again clenching your thighs. your hand sets an easy rhythm, tried and true, one that allows for long strokes at a steady pace and your thumb to swipe between the slit on his tip that has his stomach clenching. his own hand grabs at your hair, both for something to hold onto and to keep it out of our face when you inch closer and allow your tongue to tease his tip with small kitten licks.

"fuck, fuck, name, fuck suck my cock"

the verbalised plea is all you need to finally wrap your lips around the swollen head, the saltiness of his precum mixing with your spit as you moan around him, your tongue swirls around his tip every time you pull back, only to resume bobbing your head and matching the movement of your hand to the pace you set as you take more of him in your mouth, your mouth feels so full and you can practically feel his dick pulse against your tongue when your other hand moves to squeeze his balls.

"holy shit — where did you learn that, fucking hell"

you smile when you pull away, uncaring of the drool that rolls down your chin, oscar seems not to mind either when he's pulling you back up to kiss him, your hand still stroking him slowly. he can taste his pre cum still on your tongue and as someone who'd assumed he wouldn't be fond of the idea, seems more or less enjoying it solely because it's coming from your mouth. his tongue overpowers your own and he's licking in your mouth with such severity that you can feel your own wetness pooling in your panties, had you been horny before you were now basically unbearably horny at this point.

your clothes feel bothersome, and your top and bra come off rather quick once your legs meet the edge of the bed you'd been pushed back against. the cool air of the hotel room meets your nipples and you gasp out once oscar's hot mouth chooses to settle on one and his hand favours the other. it's magic, that's what you can choose to blame it on, with the way oscar's fingers tug and twist one nipple all whilst his mouth and suck away on the other, your back arches up against him when his teeth graze the sensitive bud and you swear you could achieve your first orgasm of the night just from that alone.

his mouth switches to give the same treatment to the other nipple and yours that tug and pull on his hair only urge him on more, whining and desperate and what you want to happen is not happening. you need him, you crave him, you desire him.

"please oscar, fuck me"

there is it, the words oscar had been waiting to hear since you'd kissed him, and who would oscar be if not someone who listened when he was asked to do something. he sits up on his knees, jerks himself a couple of times as he watches you, skirt rugged up to your hips, a perfect picture, a sight for sore eyes, so beautiful, all for him to bare witness too. you back arches, your eager and needy and positively soaked you don't even need to touch yourself to know, your panties are finally pulled off and you hiss at the air that hits your center. you're clenching around nothing, sticky and sweet, eager, he looks up as your and you nods a final confirmation before you supply a weak "please" before his tip is aligning with your entrance and he's sliding in.

the stretch is everything to you, he is perfect, your hand stretching splayed out against the pillow as the tiniest whine falls from your lips, oscar grunts, face and chest flushed, you can hear exactly how we you are just from the squelch when he finally bottoms out and you moan loud enough that if anyone had been walking past the room they would have heard. oscar doesn't move, allowing for your pussy to stretch and get comfortable around him before you nod, rolling your hips to signal him to move and move he does.

"you're so tight, holy shit."

his hips rock back and forth into you, it's slow and sensual something you hadn't expected, your legs shift and wrap around his hips and your body rocks back against his thrusts willing him to move faster. unlike past partners, oscar seems to get the hint almost instantly as he pulls out and shifts slightly, hand holding onto your hips before he's sheathed himself back into you entirely in a singular thrust.

you moan out, toes curling and your legs wrapping around him so tight as if you'd practically become some sex-fueled boa constrictor. you swear his muscles are working overtime as his abdomen flexes with every deep thrust inside you, your body abuzz with electricity, the fire in your stomach scorching as a particular thrust has him hitting your g-spot and your back arching receptively.

in a world where you'd thought this was ever possible, all imaginations and scenarios have proven wrong already as oscar's thumb finds solace on drawing circles on your clit, causing your pussy to clench around him and a hiss to drag itself from his lips. to oscar you feel amazing and the flush on your face perfect evidence of his inability to be shy about telling you so and all you can do is ooh and ahh in return. something pulls in your stomach when he bottoms out in you again, your leg twitches and you're hyperaware that you'd just orgasmed around him, vocalising how it feels and your back arching however, his hips remain relentless only to come to a halt as he pulls out; your words are stopped as you're flipped over with a gentle tap against your thigh.

arms stretched out in front of you and your back arched, give oscar the perfect view to just take a moment to stare at your fluttering pussy, clenching around nothing as you suffer through a partially stunted orgasm. fingers drag through your folds and your body jerks at the sensitivity, the dip between them, pumping in and out similar to the rhythm he kept previous, his middle finger hooks and your face is thrown forward into the pillow as it hits the spongey feel of your g-spot, you gasp out hand white-knuckling the pillow as he focusses his fingers on that one particular spot

"fuck osc – fuck want you back inside me"

you don't bother with caring much about how whiney and desperate you'd begun to sound, throat dry from the gasping and the continuous noises he pulls from you, your tempting him, ass swaying as he chuckles, pulling his fingers out, he coo's at you as you whine to mourn the loss of the feeling, teases you as he slips the tip of his dick through your flushed red folds and bottom out with a quick hard thrust. you scream out, the pleasure perfectly combining with the sudden stretch to make the sweetest mixture of pain and pleasure you'd ever felt and to silence you, the fingers he'd just fucked you with had found the way into your mouth and if there was one thing you were, it was a good girl.

the sounds reverberating around the walls of the hotel room are borderline pornographic, the new pace oscar has set, deep and hard, skin slapping against skin as he practically bounces off you, his free holding your hip steady as your own knees buckle and you can feel the way his dick pulses inside you, the way his movements become sloppy yet still hitting your pleasure spot every time. the fingers in your mouth licked clean of your own arousal now replaced to be covered in your own drool. oscar grunts, his hips snapping against you in a final thurst as he slumps forward to press the most delicate of kisses to the nape of your neck as he feels you up and you cum around him for a second time.

it's messy, whatever hadn't spilt inside you now jerked off onto your back as your knees give out and you slump against the bed. worn out and woozy you're hardly paying attention to oscar cleaning up, the warm washcloth drags along your hot, sticky and sweaty skin in a way that twists your brain and brings out the regret that seeps into your stomach, had your legs not been feeling like they weren't attached to your body you would have scrambled to get dressed and done the walk of shame back to your own hotel room; however, you stay, regretfully.

you don't cuddle, oscar tries not to act hurt about it as you roll over and away from him when he finally climbs in himself. to you this didn't matter, you fucked him, like nothing matters. come the morning you'll be gone before he wakes. because this didn't mean a thing. to you as least.

yourusername just posted . . . ♫ nothing matters . the last dinner party

liked by lando.jpg, yourbestfrienduser, lolatung and 11,219 others yourusername and i will fuck you, like nothing matters. load more comments

oscarpiastri oh.

authors note: please excuse my smut skills, i'm rusty a lil ngl. i love a bittersweet ambiguous ending. if this gets enough recognition and asks, i'll definitely more than likely make a part two or even multiple parts. reminder, if you weren't tagged it means i couldn't find your account.

add yourself to the taglist here !

taglist: @iluminaya @therealcap @marshmummy @@im-an-overthinker @a1leexxa @chasing-liberosis @marauderssworld @nesssywrites @valntynebaby @larastark3107 @justtprachisblog

#𐙚 paige’s works #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagines #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one imagines

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wren-kitchens · 3 months

Text

i used to know (but i’m not sure now)

1298 words cw: panic attack

maybe joel should talk to scar. it- there’s no way he actually meant for joel to spiral into.. well, whatever joel has begun to spiral into. relatively close to a panic attack, probably, but joel can’t remember any of the techniques mumbo told him about for calming down after he and pearl started freaking out about being kicked out of the mounders- okay, he’s noticing a theme here. that’s- that isn’t the point. he’s just- well, what if he goes to find scar to ask him about what he meant, and scar did mean to reference last life, and he’s- he’s mad at joel, or doesn’t wanna talk to him at all, and then joel has to leave again and he-

joel’s train of thought is interrupted painfully as he smacks the top of his head on his ceiling, and he realises that he’s been slowly flying upwards since he started spiralling. at least hitting his head managed to ground him. actually- can you call that grounding when he’s not on the ground?

joel is freaking out about past alliances. turns out, he’s not the only one

if I actually wrote/finished all the ideas I have in my head right now, i’d be posting daily istg

winter is the season of writers block however so you get this <3

if you’re going to like, please reblog!

joel is being dumb.

there’s no way scar was referencing magical mountain—he just saw a mountain and magic was alliterate with the word mountain, so he said magic mountain before he could remember about the almost identically named alliance they had, and by the time he remembered it was too awkward to change it. that’s- it has to have been that. that’s a very scar thing to do- it’s a very joel thing to do, in all honesty. if scar hadn’t said it, joel probably would have, and then he would be having pretty much the same dilemma—just a little to the left.

it was a slip of the tongue, and everyone moved past it, and- it might be their team name now, but that’s fine. is it a team on hermitcraft, or is it like.. a group? it’s not like they’re teaming up against each other this time, so they can’t be a team—or an alliance, on that note. it’s probably a group name then. maybe joel should suggest a different name next.. meeting? okay, he really doesn’t know as much about hermitcraft as he thought he did.

and that’s- well, that’s an entirely different freakout he’s probably gonna have soon, but- what if the naming of this mountain was a kind of.. omen? what if it all goes wrong, and it turns out joel isn’t welcome here anymore, and then he has to go find somewhere else to stay- and everyone has already established their neighbours and their groups and joel will be like the odd one out- and it’s his first season, it can’t go wrong this quickly. joel might be having two freakouts at the same time now- that’s probably not a great sign, huh?

maybe joel should talk to scar. it- there’s no way he actually meant for joel to spiral into.. well, whateverjoel has begun to spiral into. relatively close to a panic attack, probably, but joel can’t remember any of the techniques mumbo told him about for calming down after he and pearl started freaking out about being kicked out of the mounders- okay, he’s noticing a theme here. that’s- that isn’t the point. he’s just- well, what if he goes to find scar to ask him about what he meant, and scar did mean to reference last life, and he’s- he’s mad at joel, or doesn’t wanna talk to him at all, and then joel has to leave again and he-

forcing himself to breathe slowly, joel lands back on the floor. okay. he should probably talk to scar, considering he’s getting this het up about everything. besides, since when has scar actually done anything like that for no reason? never, that’s when. probably.

it takes a moment for him to hype himself up enough for joel to even approach his front door, but he gets there after a minute. he puts his hand on the doorknob, pushes it down, pulls the door open and-

-and finds himself face to face with an equally nervous looking scar.

scar jumps, making a noise like a suppressed yelp as he realises what just happened. “I- joel. you’re- hello!”

joel has seemingly forgotten how to form any coherent words, because all he can do is stare as scar starts to ramble about wanting to give joel something that he must have forgotten at home because he can’t seem to find it on him-

“are you-“ joel says suddenly, surprising both scar and himself. his voice is embarrassingly rough, which- okay, he didn’t actually cry or anything, why does he sound so bad? “is- I don’t know how to. say it.” he huffs in exasperation. “is this about last life?”

“I-“ something akin to fear flickers across scar’s face, and joel immediately regrets bringing it up until scar says, “it’s not.. not about last life.”

for a moment, neither of them say anything—the silence so loud, joel feels like he’s about to lose his mind. then, simultaneously-

“I shouldn’t-“

“you weren’t-“

scar looks like he’s about to cry, and joel wants to hug him but has no idea how he would even try- or if scar would even want that. “you- you can go first.”

“I- i’m sorry. for being so pissy to you after- after I turned red, I mean-“ joel throws his hands out in exasperation. “I was red- those were the rules! you couldn’t team with me, and I just- I took it harder than I should have, and then I took it out on you. and you didn’t- you don’t deserve that.” joel’s voice breaks embarrassingly at the end of that, and he clears his throat.

“oh.” scar has tears in his eyes, and his voice wavers and- fuck, did joel say something wrong? but then the smallest of smiles ghosts across his lips. “I thought- I was gonna apologise for kicking you out for no reason. I thought you were gonna be mad at me.”

joel gives a huff of a laugh, slightly incredulous. “wh- I thought you were mad at me, I didn’t- why would I be mad at you?”

“‘cause- well, it’s a little hypocritical of me, right? me and grian in third life were breaking the rules, and then I didn’t break them for you.” scar’s ear twitches. “are you honestly not mad?”

“I mean- I was.” joel admits. “but not- I wasn’t mad at you, though. I thought- y’know, was it me?” he tries to keep his voice steady, but it wavers against his will, and he glances away from scar’s gaze. “i’d- in third life, I didn’t have a team. and then I teamed with you, and in a week, I was alone again. i just,” he shrugs in an attempt at nonchalance as he looks back at scar. “but then I had boat boys, and then the bad boys, and then the mounders, and- I wasn’t mad anymore.”

scar’s smile turns a little sad. “I.. i’m not exactly a stranger to that feeling. so- i’m sorry I contributed-“

“oh, no- jimmy did this too, you don’t get to apologise for my problems.” joel slaps a hand over scar’s mouth, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “and, on that topic, i’m sorry if I made you feel like that in secret life- no, i’m allowed to say that because I actually did fuck up.” joel says as scar starts to protest. he moves his hand away for fear of being licked. “you always belong with us, you know that right?”

“I- joel, if you make me cry, i’m gonna be so mad.” scar laughs, already crying as he pulls joel in for a hug. joel freezes in surprise for a moment, but before scar can start to pull away, he hugs scar back. “thank you.” scar mumbles into joel’s hair.

“I mean it.” joel says, muffled against scar’s shoulder. “if you ever start feeling like you’re alone on this mountain, my door is always open. it- pretty literally, actually, it’s built so the door is open.”

scar snorts. “you’re ruining the sappy moment.” he tells him, hugging him tighter. “you can’t be vulnerable for one second, can you?”

“wh- okay, i’m working on it.” joel scoffs, and scar cackles. “I only see you guys in death games, give me a break.”

“I forgive you.” scar says, voice soft all of a sudden, and joel smiles to himself. “i’m happy you’re here. i’ve missed you.”

#magic mountain #magical mountain #hermitcraft #hermitcraft s10 #joel smallishbeans #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #smallishbeans #wren writes

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latenighttalking00 · 7 months

Text

A Work of Art

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader

Summary: You are a Marchioness from france and your mother is adamant that you wed. She is a very close friend of the Dowager Vicountess Bridgerton who has so generously agreed to be your sponsor for the season. Perhaps in doing this, she has unknowingly found her son's perfect match as well.

Warnings: slow-ish burn, friends to lovers, smut, 18+, minors dni, hair pulling, possessive/dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving). This is just porn with a plot.

Word Count: 2k

Author's Note: Hi! This is my first time writing, so apologies if it's a bit rough; English isn't my native language. Hopefully, you all absolutely drool over Benedict the same way I do. enjoy!

Once the social season had begun its approach, you and your family make haste on your return from france. Due to your newly given title, you are projected to be quite the diamond this season indeed.

As a close friend of the family, the Dowager Viscountess, Violet Bridgerton kindly offers to sponsor your debut this season, meaning that it is now of the utmost importance to arrive promptly at the Bridgerton home in London before the season is to begin.

As you sit in the drawing room, awaiting the next potential suitors you will inevitably send on their way, the clear and evident dread in your expression does not go unnoticed by your mother. A quick swat to your knee from her fan catches your attention, a visible look of warning on her face as your eyes meet hers.

"I do hope that attitude of yours is quick to dissipate." She sighs, "Men will find you quite inadequate to wed if you are to continue this ridiculous behavior. It is quite unladylike." Your mother's words cut right through you as if she had taken a hot paring knife to both of your ears. Not being able to withstand it any longer, you quickly stand from your seat and interrupt her.

"Mother, this gown and the line of men outside the door are quite suffocating enough; no need for your incessant nagging as well." You take a moment to pause, regaining your composure.

"I believe I am feeling quite faint; perhaps I've seen enough suitors today." You threaten rather than suggest, "I will return to my chambers and perhaps get a bit of rest seeing as the sun has already began it’s departure from the sky."

You bow and quickly excuse yourself before making haste out the door, walking as fast as your feet can take you, right past the men who are practically begging for just a minute of your attention.

You race directly to your bedroom, entering quickly and not even fully shutting the door before you are pulling down the zipper of your gown and letting it fall to the floor. "This retched thing must come off immediately," you mumble to yourself as you pull at the laces of your corset, loosening them just enough to slide off your body. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you slip off your stays and slip on a beautiful white nightgown you purchased from one of the most talented modiste in france.

Shortly after the maids come to collect your gown, you are quick to wander down the halls in search of a cure to your relentless boredom. you find what appears to be an art studio and you are instantly overjoyed. you quietly sneak in through the door left ajar.

Art was your pride and joy; your sketches and the ability to produce beautiful works on canvas were the only things keeping you from becoming a mad woman.

Unbeknownst to you, Violet's second-eldest son and the owner of said art studio had just returned home from the gentleman's club. As he makes his way down the hall, prepared to return to his studio and peacefully finish up some things he started the night prior, he is met with complete and udder surprise at the sight of a woman flipping through his sketchbooks.

He feels as if the air has been knocked right from his lungs. Never once has a woman looked so real, raw, and simply ethereal to him in nothing but a simple yet elegant night gown, the pages in between your delicate fingers, the way in which you sit, your effortless and beautiful features, and the way they change and turn to show your focus, the true and utter intrigue at the charcoal etched on the paper is more than enough to bring a man directly to his knees.

He watches as you adjust your position, your nightgown sliding up your thighs as you cross a leg over the other. He feels as if he might faint.

“those are from my time traveling.” he points, making his way in to the room.

So lost in thought, you are quickly brought back by the sound of the deep and sultry voice coming from the hallway, it sends chills down your body, you are unable to fight the butterflies in your stomach and are completely unprepared for what you’re eyes are met with the second they dare to leave the pages in front of you. He is perhaps one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen, the way his features darken in the dim candle light could cause scandal merely on its own.

As he makes his way over to you, you scramble to find any sort of words to not appear as a complete and udder fool. “désolée, my Lord. All this beautiful artwork caught my eye and i could not help myself.” your voice only making his new found attraction grow even stronger.

“Benedict Bridgerton..” he says just loud enough for you to hear. He is quick to take your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Miss y/n y/l/n” you respond, a blush creeps over your cheeks as your eyes meet his. Your name and accent are both very quick explanations as to why a very random beautiful woman was wondering in

his family home.

“Ah yes, the Marchioness from France. My mother has done quite a bit of boasting upon your arrival, i can now see why she was so keen on you being the diamond of this social season” he chuckled lightly “merci, Lord Bridgerton.” you offer him a warm smile as you place the sketch book in his hands.

Your hand grazes his and you feel as if your body is set aflame. You quickly fumble to stand, attempting to leave before any further scandal is to happen. he is quick to catch you by the arm, his light grasp more than enough to keep you in place.

“Please, stay as long as you’d like.” He offers, taking a step towards you, but you are quick to shake your head, knowing staying any longer may very well affect your title and rank during this very precious season.

“You are more than kind.” you place a hand over his and squeeze lightly. He leans even closer, your face mere inches from his. his scent fills your nose and you cannot control the heat that consumes your body, the sheer need you have for him in this very moment. “I must- i uh-..” he raises an eyebrow at your words. though his proximity fogs your brain, you attempt to compose yourself. “Perhaps i can show you some of my art in the duration of my stay here.“ he smirks, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip as he nods “if what you create is half as beautiful as you, my art will never hold a candle to yours.” he compliments.

Your breathe catches in your throat as his words. “..Benedict- Apologies, Lord Bridgerton..” you quickly correct yourself, the use of his first name not going unnoticed by him. “I’m sure both your and my Mother will have quite the earful if i am found in here, i must go.” Before he is even able to protest, you are gone.

As the days pass, You begin to consume his every waking thought, the sound of your voice, the feeling of your skin on his is burned in to his memory and he cannot shake his want for you.

Anthony is quick to notice his admiration, the wandering stares and close proximity immediately become apparent in Anthony’s eyes. As the family settles in the drawing room, Anthony is quick to pull His younger brother aside “You’ve grown quite close with Marchioness” Anthony offers his younger brother a warning glance and Benedict simply smirks in return “Brother, are you suggesting that i’ve compromised Miss y/l/n?” he laughs. Anthony in no way finds this amusing “See to it that your intentions are well thought out and you are thinking with your brain rather than something else. She is a Marchioness, toying with oversea affairs may be more than risky, even for a Bridgerton.” Anthony notes, the clear and evident weariness in his voice wipes the smile right off Benedict’s face

“Brother, do remind me. Did you not ask for one Sharma’s hand in marriage and then proceed to marry the other? You need not inform me on scandal for i am more than well aware of what i am doing.” he place a hand on Anthony shoulder and squeezes light before walking away.

time skip

Benedict does everything in his power to gain every fraction of your attention when it is available. The two of you spending more time together than any of the men attempting to court you. This new grown fondness blossoms quickly and Benedict soon becomes one of your most trusted friends. Spending late nights in his art studio, promenades in the garden, pall mall with his family. You’ve never felt more at home than with your dear Benedict and his lovely family. This fondness grows very quickly to something much stronger. Knowing Benedict’s stance on courting and marriage in general, you shake the thought. Knowing your dear friend will never see you as anything but.

While enjoying another late night in his studio, you can’t help but feel different. You both are well aware your time together is coming to end. Suitors begin growing impatient and proposals begin rolling in faster than the tide.

“I quite like Lord Lumley, he is handsome and he finds interest in poetry.” Benedict is quick to laugh “Lord Lumley is a dimwit after nothing but your title.” you wince at his words “Clearly he’s much more of a gentleman than you.” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?” he asks, the change in his tone sending heat right between your thighs. He rises from his place on the stool and saunters over to you, his large frame towering over yours.

“Repeat what you said.” he orders

“Ben i was merely kidding i-“ you stutter, his proximity making your skin feel as if it were on fire.

“Do not make me ask you again.” he warns, a smirk on his face

You are a bit taken a back by his demeanor but the insatiable desire in your body fills you with a sudden surge of confidence. “Lord Lumley is more of a gentleman than you, Lord Bridgerton.”

Benedict lets out a low chuckle before leaning down, his mouth right by your ear.

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps Lord Lumley isn’t plagued by the same un-gentleman like thoughts that fill my head the moment you step into a room.” he sighs, his breath on your skin only making matters worse.

Your hands find his half buttoned shirt and you press your hands lightly to his chest “Benedict.” you warn.

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes with his own. Your noses practically grazing as he speaks. “Tell me now that you do not desire me.” His hands rest on either side of your face “Simply speak the words and i will respectfully withdraw and allow you to be with whomever you like but first you must tell me you do not desire me and you wish for me to leave you alone.”

“Ben.” You mumble quitely. Every feeling or emotion that the second eldest Bridgerton has ever caused immediately rises to the surface. At a complete loss for words, you do what you feel is right in the very moment and you bring your lips to his.

The kiss quickly fills with passion, weeks of hidden adoration and care comes bubbling over the surface.

“Marry me.” he say breathlessly as he breaks from the kiss. “You have shown me what is it truly like to admire a woman. To look at her and feel inspiration. To delight in her beauty. So much so that all of her defenses crumble and that you would willingly take on any pain or burden for her. To honor her being with your deeds and words. You make me feel what only a true poet describes." his works nearly bring you to your knees as tears threaten to escape your eyes. “I would move the heavens down to earth for you if i knew it would make you smile.”

“Benedict.. Je vous aime.” you reassure him “I love you mon chéri, more than the moon loves the night sky. You are my everything, my best-friend. I would give anything to be your wife.” He pulls you back in for another kiss which very quickly becomes heated.

He trails hot kisses all over your jaw, neck and bosom. “My beautiful Fiancée.” he mumbles, his wandering hands sliding their way up your thighs, threatening to breach the hem of your nightgown. You are immediately reminded of your current location and you push the dark haired boy back “Ben.. not here” you breathe out, The second Bridgerton son just smirks before kneeling down in front of you.

Unsure of what he’s planning, you remain silent, eyes trained on his as he begins trailing kisses up from your ankle to your inner thigh. His hands trail up the back of your legs, giving your ass a playful squeeze as he reaches it, causing a gasp to escape from your lips.

The mere sight of him like this sends heat directly between your thighs, all logical thinking thrown out the window as he begins to tug your panties down your thighs. A blush creeps over your cheeks and your hands find his hair, tugging lightly. Benedict continues with no hesitation, pressing light kisses all over your inner thighs, leading right up to your aching core. You’re unable to fight back the sounds that leave your lips as you feel his tongue pressed against your clit. “Christ Benedict… you’re going to be the death of me.”

He wastes no time, lapping, kissing and sucking at your soaked heat as strong hands grip on to your thighs, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. You lean against his desk to keep yourself upright while quiet moans and whimpers escape your lips, your hands pulling and tugging at his messy black hair, only encouraging him more. He pulls back only for a moment to look up at you “You taste fucking divine, my beautiful work of art.”

He is quick to return to your soaked heat. As his tongue works relentlessly on your clit, he slowly pushes two fingers inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust before slowly thrusting them in and out. Shortly after, you feel an unfamiliar knot form in the pit of your stomach and Benedict is aware immediately due to your incoherent mumbles and the way you clench around his fingers. “That’s my girl..” he says breathlessly “just like that..” After hearing his words, you completely unravel, shaky moans escape your lips as one hand grips on to the table and the other with a tight hold on your Fiancées hair.

Once your body has relaxed, he gently pulls your panties back up before standing to face you. You watch as he brings his fingers to your mouth “Open.” he commands and you immediately oblige, opening your mouth as he slides his fingers past your lips. The unfamiliar taste and the sheer sight in front of you causes a blush to fall over your face. He removes his fingers with a groan and offers your a smirk “You, my dear Fiancée are going to be the death of Me.”

A/N: Hi guys! I really hope every likes this :) if you have any request, feel free to send them to me :)

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x fem! reader #benedict #bridgerton #smut #anthony bridgerton #benedict smut #benedict bridgerton smut

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

Anhedonia 2/2

Word count: 5,5 k (part 1) and 4,4 k (part 2)

Pairing: Ghost x F!Reader Tags: SMUT 🔞🔞🔞 Literally just unadulterated, deranged filth, plot is there for decoration. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Mutual pining, sexual tension (duh), blood & injury, p in v sex, oral sex (m receiving), mutual masturbation, cum all over the place, light humiliation, dirty talk, some praise, swearing, mask stays on, fluffy/reconciliatory ending. Summary: Reader is a Task Force 141 operator and a terrible brat (and suffers the consequences of it later). Enemies to lovers/toxic relationship that takes a healthy turn in the end. Read PART 1 here

"Wha' a good girl you are now…"

His first words hit you like a moan-inducing massage, but you stay silent and steady in your resolve.

"Good soldier, too. We just need to get you to follow orders so that you don't get hurt," he speaks gently.

There it is, finally – a good girl and a good soldier. You have to mentally bind your hands behind your back and place an imaginary gag in your mouth not to chirp and bounce up from joy. It's pathetic, but it's also harrowing: Ghost never meant to fuck with your head; he only wanted to keep you safe. But then he causes another riot in your brain with the next thing he says.

"Such a beautiful sight… You'd make a fine pet."

- - - - - - - - -

You go to offer your apology the next day after sleeping on it.

You feel like you're the most horrible person in the world. And yet, when you knock on his door and call yourself in when only a silence answers, the scalding gaze that locks into you like the sights of a gun remind you why you said what you said.

It's like the man has struck a knife in you, and twists it just to see you squirm. And you do: it's a telltale sign that you've been claimed when you kneel in the middle of his office while he sits behind the same desk he rutted you on less than 20 hours ago.

He says nothing. You wait, equally as quiet, like you're waiting for a pardon from Caesar.

The atmosphere is mellow: his shutters are closed but one window is creaked open, allowing birdsong and summer wind on trees to pass through to his otherwise stale office. It stirs the softest, small smile on your lips as you look at him, adamant and all locked up.

Your knees hurt, but he eventually breaks first: something you hadn't even calculated might happen. The brimstone of his eyes steal a breather to the side, then come back to you with a tinge of confusion in them.

Then he lifts his chin, lifts a hand, a command for you to approach.

Your smile only softens as you go around his desk, and he pushes the chair away with one foot, turns to meet you as you fall on your knees again, then on all fours before starting a slow crawl to him.

His eyes go wide, his head draws back as if you approaching him like a housecat is the most threatening situation he has ever been in.

You have planned this through, and he has the instincts, the sixth sense of a seasoned hunter as he opens his legs wide to make space for you.

He certainly doesn't stop you as you free his erection from the sturdy cargo pants and offer your apology by taking him in your mouth.

He knows what's coming but still gasps and grabs the arms of his chair with white knuckles. You're on your knees, seemingly domesticated, but he's the one begging for mercy before you have even begun. He's heavy in your mouth, but you welcome the weight with greed and a hot tongue.

His thighs travel wide and far, just like yours did last night. The first moan is divine. He eases into the chair while the muscles on his stomach and thighs twitch and shudder.

A pair of boots echo in the hallway behind the door, the sound soon disappearing into the distance. Anyone could walk in at any given moment, and the notion makes your head feel dizzy.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't disclose in any way that he is considering forgiveness.

But eventually, he starts to melt upon your tongue like a snow-covered mountain ridge basking in the sun. Something in the way with which you work him slowly and with gusto makes him send a hand on your head. It strokes your hair softly.

"Wha' a good girl you are now…"

His first words hit you like a moan-inducing massage, but you stay silent and steady in your resolve.

"Good soldier, too. We just need to get you to follow orders so that you don't get hurt," he speaks gently.

"Such a beautiful sight… You'd make a fine pet."

You give him some teeth for that. Just the lightest scrape as you arrive near the base of his cock. He hisses, then laughs.

"Careful, love."

It's the first time ever you've heard him properly laugh. The sound implements itself into your core, your spine, your DNA. It's genuine and hearty, and the summer brushes past the open window to your face in a reviving breeze. Combined with the dark musk of his laughter, it makes your heart flip, and a small, tickling giggle bubbles inside you too. It arrives muted against his cock, but it's a magnificent moment – you two laughing together, even if for a second, even if yours is just a huff of an exhale against his pelvis.

"You don't like the idea?" He asks you a question as if you didn't have your mouth full of him.

His offer is alluring – of course you'd like him to take you as his pet. You could get good food and caresses, get to curl next to him when he goes to sleep. He could show you off like a domesticated animal if he wanted to. He could parade you down the street on a leash, and you would only purr as you go.

But while the proposition is enticing, you leave him with no answer, knowing it will only intrigue him if you don't say yes.

"I would be good to you," he starts to slip, and you up the pace a little. Open your jaw as far as it can go to accommodate him as much as you can, the soft hood of his cock meeting the back of your throat.

"So good– nh..." You can almost hear how his head rolls back, and you catch yourself worrying if he might hurt his neck because the chair has no headrest.

You do it again, and again, almost choking while trying to show him how good you are, how well you can take him and what your tongue can do too. You nearly stumble while you're at it, so lost in him, and you have to reach for support to prevent yourself from falling.

Your hand finds his leg, clutches the khaki that hugs a broad thigh. You flinch when a hard, heavy palm descends on top of yours. It brushes a thumb over the back of your hand as his sighs travel through the stagnant air, rampant and unchallenged through the fabric of his mask.

"Be my pet, sweetheart," he prays, growing weaker by the second. It's like a charm that transforms you into a priestess, a Babalon whore, a scarlet woman who adores men before sending them off to war.

His hips buck, he starts to clutch your hand like you're a rope that's going to save him from drowning. The other hand is more gentle in grip, but mercenary in demand as he grabs a fistful of hair to guide you along his length. Your gag reflex almost shoots him out of your mouth, but he is relentless.

He knows you can take it.

"That's it–that's it, luv," he rasps, and every other noise gets shut out of your brain as you go deaf to the sonic world. You can feel his thighs bunch and tremble around your head, the earthquake under your fingers pressed against hard, lifeless textile when they should be scraping his skin instead. He opens like a woman, massive legs spread hungry and wide as he shoots a load in your mouth. Ample, abundant, even if he just filled you to the brim not too long ago.

You drink him dutifully, greedy for the praise of a job well done, but such a thing never comes. He just breathes heavy over you, sounding happy, the happiest man on earth. You lick him clean, although there's really nothing to clean except your own saliva. The cock glistens, jolts happily one last time after you're done.

"I can make you scream on that desk," he offers while his hands release their death grip on you. Your hair gets tucked behind your ear, he even squeezes your hand briefly like you're his most trusted companion. His cock is flaccid, so you assume he's offering his fingers, perhaps even his mouth to you.

You'd like nothing more than to know if he has a stubble under that balaclava. To see if he would kneel on the floor too to shove his face between your legs while you're splayed over that desk. If he would forget about the door too, making it possible for anyone to catch him with his nose up your cunt. For Soap or Gaz or even Price to see how the broody commanding officer is just a thirsty hound dog on a bowl.

But then again, you just worked yourself up to a shattering orgasm. Two times, actually – deliberately, before you came here. The taste of his cum on your tongue will have to suffice; hell, it's almost better than him finally fucking or licking you into a deranged bliss.

You sense another opening, can't just help yourself…

"Thank you, sir. But that won't be necessary."

- - - - - - - - -

You begin to fear that you're the narcissist here. The way you make him twist and turn like a corkscrew, the way it makes you feel to see how he spirals deeper into madness. Even your eyes are too much for Ghost, who avoids your stare on missions but hunts you down at the base.

"What does it take?"

He ruts you whenever and wherever he can, in the toilets if need be, too busy to haul you into his room after a mission. You just so happened to pass him by, and it was the nearest space with a lock on the door.

"What the fuck does it take?"

The static hum of the bright, unyielding light and the smell of chlorite oozing out of tile seams is everything but a romantic setting as he drives into you from behind and watches you through the mirror on top of a small sink – watches how you give him nothing.

You're trying to take support from the white porcelain even though he's holding you firm against his chest with that inked arm wrapped around your middle. You want to spread your legs for him but can't, since he barely had time to rip your pants down before getting himself out as well to fuck you, so you settle for admiring how vulnerable he looks while he tries his all to please you.

"Do I have to take the mask off? That it?" He's far from a calm and collected lieutenant as he sweats black paint and despair. "Ya want my mouth? Just say it. Promise I'll make you cry."

You laugh at him through the mirror. It's an involuntary, spontaneous action, and you can't really help it. The man is absolutely adorable… And here you have been, fearing him for weeks without realizing he's just another lonely soul.

He doesn't know your strategy. He doesn't know that it's just you and your hand that are his worst enemy.

"What're ya laughin' at?"

You bite your lip, allow him to see mischief and a quivering smile, wet, adoring eyes paired with simple silence. He could force and command and bully you, but he doesn't do it.

Who's the pet now?

"Obviously, you like my cock," he grunts. "Always wet 'n' ready to go, like a fuckin'–"

It ends in a huff before a potential slur comes out.

Truly a gentleman…

"You let everyone 'ere have a go at you?"

He ticks like a time bomb inside you.

"I'm the last to get to fuck you? Huh? I get the fuckin' scraps, is that it?"

He doesn't need slurs to tear you down, but on the other hand, Ghost only reveals more of himself with the insults and assumptions he hurls at you.

He's desperate, crying for it, longing to be the one who makes you cry and scream and purr. Be your one and only.

"No," you hum. "I'm all yours, Lt."

He blinks a few times, exhausted lids fall to cover most of his eyes, and the stare tells you he has entered a dreamworld.

"I'm–," he groans with a broken voice. "I'm… Fuck–"

You shiver with ecstasy – his orgasm is a better reward than anything else he could ever give you. He collapses again, even more humiliated than the day before, or the day before that. He doesn't seem to care anymore. His hips press you against the cold sink, and you fear the porcelain is going to break under your combined weight. He doesn't slip out. Instead, Ghost tucks his mask on top of his nose to catch breath.

He has a shadow of a stubble, a stern jaw, and the notion makes your walls pulse. Thin lips part to gasp for air, his blazing chest heaves behind your back, threatens to topple you all over the sink and against the mirror already misty from your mingled heat.

And the mask was lifted for a whole other reason than to catch some precious air.

He presses his lips against your bare neck, breathes you in with mouth slightly open. Pants, like a tormented beast.

"You almost got killed," he whispers on your skin. Your heart leaps, and he still doesn't slip out…

"Took that blast and those bullets f' me."

Your heart flutters; it competes in rapidness with the blinks of your lashes. He's gentleman enough not to raise his head as you swallow some panic.

"Why did you do that?"

You can't tell him it wasn't even that heroic. That the ultimate reason was just to get his attention. To get him to proudly acknowledge what a good, talented little soldier you are. His girl.

The thick, softening heat inside you is too much. It shouldn't be this close, he shouldn't be this close. Tears are not allowed; they would be the end of you. The end of the fucking world. Your doom.

Claustrophobia makes it a shaky business to tiptoe him out of you, to slither and struggle out of his embrace and yank your pants up, fight your way through the cramped space and out of the door.

- - - - - - - - -

He suspects something.

And of course he does: the man is not a clandestine operations expert for nothing.

You usually do this in the morning, knowing you won't get another chance before he steals a moment with you. But this morning, you slept in and know that you're in the biggest danger ever. If he catches you before you're satisfied and immune, you're dead.

Everything's been fucked up ever since you met him. He's like a sickness, and you've fallen ill. You're practically bedridden because of him.

You have to use a toy because your hand is not enough anymore, and you fear that one of these days you will climax while he's inside you.

The funny thing is, you forgot to lock the door.

Maybe it's a subconscious wish – to end this sickness and receive some healing.

And the perfect healer walks in like he owns the place. Owns you.

Your heart shoots up your throat at the sound of a door opening to your most sacred space while you're most relaxed, spread naked on the bed, nipples perked up and pointing to the sky.

You forgot to lock the door…

The chant arises right before he emerges like a dark mountain after opening that weak, thin piece of plywood that separates you from civility and prudence.

You forgot to lock the door you forgot to lock the door–

He freezes the exact moment his eyes hit on you. He's a northern slope that never catches sunlight while you're at your weakest, most vulnerable, leaking around a toy made out of plastic, trembling naked and full of goosebumps from the sudden cold he emits.

"You fuckin' little…"

His chest rises and falls, then he slams the door shut, locks it without ever taking his eyes off you.

He understands the mystery to the full. It unravels before him clear-cut like the steps of a mission he knows by heart before even entering the field. You can't move, can't speak, but you clench around the lifeless substitute of him, far smaller and a thousand times more tame than what he has on offer for you. The throb is simply a reaction to how he looks at you while he realizes the entirety of the childish trick you've managed to pull, a game – some stupid little antics of a stubborn, lovesick girl and nothing more.

"Alright then. Let's hear it."

"Mhm-"

He takes a step, chest puffed up and shoulders wide, eyes burning under the chalked white skull.

"Go on then. Get on wit' it."

You obey like never before. He watches how you push the lavender-colored toy fully inside, up to the hilt, and let out a shy, sad whimper. The first of many cries to come.

Ten soldiers in one man approach your bed, stand tall all around you as you gaze up at him like he's a god. He's panting by the time he gets himself out of his jeans. His eyes scourge you as he takes his cock in hand and starts to pump in sync with you.

He makes more noise than you do at first. You make him falter by changing the speed from slow and languid to shallow and quick. He tries to keep up with you like it's a race, eyes darting from your quivering mouth and wet stare to your soaked pussy.

You sigh and moan, fuck yourself sloppy, dirty, and he looks like he's about to lose his mind and burst.

"Good girl," he says with a charred voice, a soft rasp that hits you with a delicious heat. "Such a good fuckin' girl."

You swallow tears and love, give him moans and sighs, even a high-pitched mewl or two.

Somewhere along the way, you notice you're following his cue and rhythm instead of your own, and the way the angry bulge of his tip disappears into and reappears from his fist dries your mouth right up, makes your eyelids heavy. You're breathless and incoherent, far too close to the mountaintop — already were before the actual mountain even walked through that door.

You have to slow down to brace yourself for the pleasure that swells.

"Oh– oh my god…"

Your sigh is a final admission: how he is a literal god to you. His hand claps against his balls as he pleasures himself, angry as fuck and as relieved as anyone could be when they find out that their heartthrob is just a delightful little minx instead of a cruel, heartless woman.

Everything shakes and quakes and shifts, your insides shudder, your walls grip lavender when they want to grip a man. The skull tilts, the man who compels you is like an avatar of death, but his eyes are hazel longing.

The scream is celestial, wreathed in needy pain, and his shoulders sigh and shake as he watches you come for him.

"Yeah… That's it, fuck that's sweet." He doesn't slow down, quite the opposite: he beats his flesh like a maniac as you slowly but surely come down, squirm on the bed, still clutching the toy as your pussy throbs around it. If it was his cock, you fear the grip would never release him.

"Here comes," he gives an announcement, weak and breathless, rough and mean. Ropes of cum hit your breasts, neck and face, and his eyes are those of a fallen angel. Your chest rises and falls in shock and adoration as he works himself to the last of it, drips of heat dropping on the sheets, the last spurts not powerful enough to reach you from where he is standing.

When he's done, he raises his hand, like the strings of hot lust are some sort of an art piece you're supposed to gawk at.

"There ya go luv," he wipes his hand clean with you, on you. The sticky semen coats you from face to navel, and you half expect him to smear it all over you.

But he doesn't.

He forces the heavy, teary cock back inside the confine of his pants like he's mad at himself and not you.

Then he drops down like a shadow, making you quail again – one hand sinks with a fist on the pillow next to your head, the other sweeps all gentle across your belly and down over your mound. He takes hold of your hand, uses it to ease the toy slowly out while leaning over you, keeping you as a prisoner with his hawklike stare. He pulls more than just the small, harmless toy out of you: a moan or two, a final confession, but he's not pleased. You two are far from even, and he knows it, and he's fucking done. You can see it in his eyes that he's ready to quit.

He leaves you empty and barren, with just a toy to keep you company, heads for the door like a storm cloud.

"Simon…"

He walks away, much slower, but still. Leaves a memory of your shared hate and love on the doorknob as he turns it, as you start to panic.

"Don't leave," you wheeze.

Don't leave me.

Tears prick and burn your eyes as the room turns into a dismal, empty space at the very thought of living without him from this day forward.

"Please."

He opens the door a crack. Probably to let the ghosts out, because after opening it and hearing your heart-wrenching, helpless sob, he closes it.

By the time he turns and walks back to the bed, you're crying like a baby. Finally crying for him, utterly exposed. It's not the way either of you had meant for things to go, it's not the sobbing and wailing he wants.

Still, you expect him to feast on your tears as well, watch with glee how you curl into a fetal position while covered in his cum. You don't want to see it, so you close your eyes before he rapes you with his stare.

"Sweetheart."

But his voice shatters a heart. So tender that it washes over you in waves as you repeat it inside your head like a lullaby.

"Sweetest…" he trails off into somewhere, some obsidian space that stretches out before you, between you, until you cross that space with no effort at all. Meet him in the middle.

"Yes, love..?" Your own shaky voice is a mirror of his compassion as you pledge yourself to him. A warm hand brushes your cheek not seconds after, dries a tear away, adds to the heat that pangs on your face.

You open your eyes to dare a peek up. He has the same wet look in his eyes as he did when he found you in the rubble, bleeding for him.

"You did well today," he says, voice laced with love. You don't know if he means you did well at work or on this bed just now. What makes the praise scary is that it's authentic, the way he adores you with both word and touch. It breaks you into smaller pieces still, and your voice comes out as a needy whimper.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

You hope he would take you in his arms, just the way he did weeks ago. You still remember how it felt to succumb to his warmth and the soft tang of gun oil and smoke that always surrounds him. Now you're only shrouded by the scent of tears and salt.

"Must be due to a good leader," you whisper.

He cocks his head, the hand halts, hovers over you, a last suspicion.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your hands are crossed over your chest, palms on opposite shoulders, shielding you from him. But you open them as he lays down and settles beside you, takes you in his arms, and presses your head to rest on his heart, underneath his chin. The massive palm covers half of your head, but the predatorial weight is gone. He only feels like home.

"Look at you, ya silly little thing… Always gettin' yourself into trouble." He brushes your beef off with a few words and an imply that you're just a blameless, stubborn little thing who he can't be mad at even if he wanted to. And it feels like the sickness finally starts to pass, that it was just an odd inflammation, a passing fever that made you so delirious. You anchor in, slither an arm under his to take support of the bedrock of his back.

He caresses you, makes you sob in his shirt from the sudden overdose of gentleness. His cum dries somewhere between your skin and his clothes as he swallows, then asks you about the mission that went wrong.

"Why did you do it?"

He's not an idiot. Surely he knows why by now. He only wants to hear it because he's stubborn like you, but also in desperate need of love and affection.

"I think you know why." You're exhausted, only able to breathe through your mouth, but the bitterness from your tone is gone. Lost, somewhere in his shirt that smells of ferrous solitude. You wonder what your combined scent, your togetherness, will smell like. It must be something sweet. Promising, like a refreshing summer rain.

"Yeah."

He caresses you slowly now, until his hand comes to rest on top of your head, making sure you won't escape his sanctuary.

"Never do it again," he commands, so soft, voice only a smoked whisper. "Love. I need you to promise me."

"Mh."

"Promise me."

You're feeling sleepy and spent, and he's to blame for it – he simply feels too good. You decide that your first kiss can wait just a little while longer. It's only wonderful; to have something lovely and pure to wait for.

"I promise…"

You drift off to sleep, cradled by the safe slopes of his mountain.

#ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #ghost x female reader #simon riley x female reader

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agustdiv1ne · 6 months

Text

❦°｡9:51 p.m. (m) — choi soobin

genre: dark content, mdni!!! ageless blogs dni!!!! serial killer!soobin, fem!potential victim!reader, thriller, light smսt

wc: 3.5k

warnings: talks of murder (but none actually occur), slight coercion, oral (m receiving), drugging, violence, weapons, blood, general insanity....

this fic contains dark content. please heed all warnings above and read at your own discretion.

soobin’s favorite color is red.

he’s quite obsessed with it, really. his favorite shirt is a maroon button-up, his phone case has crimson details…he tries to look for it everywhere when he’s out and about, he surrounds himself with it at home. his favorite time of year is when the humid summer fades into mild autumn, as the change in seasons brings with it ruby leaves and dying trees — oh, death. in addition to the fiery shade, soobin finds himself enamored with eternal rest. it’s just oh so freeing, an end of a cycle, a path to purity. there is nothing more pure than the act of shedding the mortal skin to find a higher meaning — to be reborn.

soobin likes helping people be reborn just as much as he likes the color red.

but only people he finds worthy: the innocent ones, the ones who have placed too much trust in a world that is wrought with cruelty and had their hearts ripped out in the process. those are the ones who need saving, he thinks, and he finds great happiness, an overwhelming sense of pride, in being the one who can save them. it’s fate that brings him into these people’s lives, after all. something has chosen him to guide these people towards a greater path, to help the weak and downtrodden, the ones looking for betterment. there is no doubt in his mind that would cause him to think otherwise.

he adores helping people, but he wishes that they were just a bit more sympathetic to his cause. it’s not as if he enjoys hurting them, but his methods are the only way that any of this can be accomplished. no matter how much he tries to explain, they always scream and cry and beg to be let go, they always try to run away even if they’re bound…they don’t understand that all he wants to do is take them to a better place, yet they make it so difficult for him to be nice, to keep his composure. they always make him resort to extremes — but at the same time, he can't be too disappointed when they struggle.

blood is unequivocally beautiful to him, after all.

the city has faded into darkness since he’s begun unwinding from the work week. soobin’s office job provides him with little joy and nothing to look forward to, so he often spends his nights taking walks about the city. sometimes, he’s looking for something, someone; and sometimes, he simply allows the cool air to soothe him, wandering without a particular goal in mind, just living. breathing. being.

tonight, however, the former rings true. it’s been too long since he’s last aided a stranger. his previous succor occurred over three months ago, and the empty, unfulfilled feeling within his chest has chipped away at flesh and bone until nothing but a gaping cavern remains. it’s time to fill that aching void up again. he loves people, he loves helping them. it’s the only thing in his life that makes him feel truly alive. doing this is as vital as his need to breathe, to eat.

as he continues to stroll along the fog-shrouded road, he eventually spots his next potential project: you’re stumbling along the sidewalk in front of him, sobs ripping themselves from your throat so loud that he can hear them despite the significant distance separating himself from you. dressed in a creamy white coat and light wash jeans, you look like an angel from behind. he wonders what your face looks like, fresh with tears and red-rimmed eyes. where are you headed at this hour — alone, no less? more importantly, what’s gotten you so worked up? do you need his help? evidently, you might. it wouldn’t hurt to check on you.

quickening his pace, his long legs begin to close the distance between you and him. despite his intentionally loud footfalls, you do not seem to acknowledge his presence behind you as he approaches. you should be more careful; you never know who could take advantage of your vulnerable state, although he is grateful that he is the one to find you. he has only your best interests in mind, unlike the rest of the selfish population of this city. you don’t turn around even when he’s finally a mere few feet away, so lost in your own little world that its real counterpart has all but fallen away.

“miss?” he calls, deep voice ringing out into the chilled air. an air of friendly concern is apparent in his timbre, and it’s not a lie. he really is concerned for you. “are you okay?”

your entire form jolts, feet coming to a halt as you spin around to face him — and oh, you poor thing. streaks of watered down mascara mar your cheeks, eyes round and bloodshot and glinting with tears beneath the streetlight above. your hands come up to wipe under your eyes in a weak attempt of hiding your current emotional state. evidently, it fails, gray spreading further across your face as he blinks at you, wrinkles forming between his brows while he waits for a response.

“i’m— i’m fine, thank you.” while your words are meant to placate his worry, your quiet, warbly tone is less than convincing. he decides not to pry too hard — you look halfway ready to flee as it is — instead opting to remain in place as he drinks you in. indeed, you look like an angel. even with your puffy eyes and kicked puppy expression, he finds you lovely, your voice soft and delicate like wind chimes. the overwhelming urge to wrap you in his arms, to keep you safe from the world, flashes through his body. he pushes the feeling away. he can’t scare you away if he wants to learn more about your situation, whether or not you are worthwhile.

“are you sure?” he gently asks. for a second, your eyes blink up at him, less guarded now. soobin is well acquainted with his effect on women, the softness he holds in his voice and gaze, the openness of his features that must scream trust me. he can tell that he’s got you when you toy with your bottom lip for a moment, gaze trailing off towards the side of the side as you decide to continue this conversation with him. you easily could have walked away, or even told him to leave you alone, but you don’t. you don’t, and he feels his heart pound in excitement because of it.

staring down at his shoes, you murmur, “yeah, it’s just— it’s stupid, actually, nevermind.”

“well, it surely can’t be that stupid if it made you cry.” and your upset mask cracks just the slightest bit. so pretty. so, so pretty. your smile causes every single nerve ending in his body to tingle. a smile forms on his own face, and something in the air between you changes in that moment. a mutual understanding that you won’t be explaining the reason behind your tears right now, but some company would be nice.

a convenience store lies maybe twenty feet up in the road, and he falls into step with you once you ask if he’d like to grab something to eat there. he quickly learns that you prefer the veggie triangle kimbap over any other flavor and that you have a borderline strange obsession with banana milk, but he still hasn’t learned your name. as you continue talking, the realization eats at him. he likes you, he thinks that you’re sweet and kind — too kind for this world. you deserve better. if he continues to get close to you, maybe you’ll be understanding enough to accept what he’s trying to do here. soobin can be quite patient, after all, and you seem more than worth his time. however, his first step in this plan is to learn your name.

leaning against the counter next to him, you beat him to the punch. “i never got your name.”

fuck, your voice sings so prettily in his ears, and you look so shy, so demure just asking that. how sweet you are. all he wants to do is wrap you up and protect you, hold you close and shield you from everything terrible. instead, he swallows down a mouthful of ramen and gives you a charming smile. “soobin. choi soobin.”

“that’s a nice name,” you say, innocent eyes peering up at him. the redness has receded to the edges of your scleras, the puffiness of your face slightly calmed down. he’s made you feel better, but he knows he can eliminate all sorrow from your life, if you’ll allow him to.

“i’m sure yours is prettier,” he says, voice trailing off at the end. with a playful roll your eyes, you provide your own, and his grin grows wider. “ah, i was right.”

the flustered press of your lips is enough to tell him that his plan is working so far. your naivety is endearing to him. it makes everything easier — even better, when he asks to walk you home after citing potential danger, you accept without a single hint of doubt, eyes wide as you comment that you hadn’t thought of that. so sweet, so trusting. no one else will be able to hurt you now that he has set his sights on you.

“would you…like to come in?” you ask as soon as you reach your building, shyness returning in full force. hope drips from each word, your fingers nervously fidgeting at your sides. he can’t help but accept your offer. he’d honestly be a fool not to.

your apartment is a modest one-bedroom with a small living room, a living room in which he finds himself in as you busy yourself in the kitchen. trying not to stare too hard at your form over the small island that separates the two rooms, he busies himself with picking at a loose thread on the couch. for some reason, nerves eat at his stomach, festering there like a swarm of wasps. he’s never had someone invite him into their home so early on. this is new, different — he’s not sure what to do with himself.

“could i offer you some water? or tea?” you call. he swivels his head to find you looking at him while waving a teapot in the air. the moment you realize what you are doing, you drop your arm, your free hand coming up to scratch your cheek.

holding back a chuckle, he offers a kind nod. “tea sounds wonderful, thank you.”

this seems like the correct choice, if your wide grin is anything to go by. would you look the same if he tells you what he plans with you? would you understand? he’s not sure yet, but he will learn with time. so far, you’re his favorite, even if he’s known you for less than an hour. you are the closest to being untainted. perhaps it’s a selfish desire, but keeping you around for a bit longer than the others wouldn’t be so bad. he ponders if he should just take you with him now just as he did with all the others. he’s got a packet of pills in his trouser pocket waiting to be used, it would almost be too easy to slip one into your drink given your acute lack of awareness. at the same time, he has learned from his past mistakes; patience will bring his plan to fruition. this is just the beginning.

a mug of tea appears before his eyes, and he swallows down a flinch before he’s reaching out to take it from you. your fingers just barely brush against his, nearly making him drop the mug. your skin — it’s soft, warm. he wants to feel it more, have his palms run over every one of your curves, feel your chest against his as he takes you…he swats those thoughts away as he shifts uncomfortably.

silence fills the space between you, a blanket over his head meant to suffocate him. he takes a sip of the steaming hot tea, a dark, cloudy amber in a pompompurin mug that just seems so you. the tea itself blooms sweet on his tongue, notes of honey and lavender coating his taste buds, his muscles relaxing into the couch as he continues to sip the liquid, eventually downing the rest. he glances over to find that you have shrunk into yourself, sock-clad feet curled up onto the couch while your hands grip your own mug close your chest.

“i’m going to go to the bathroom, i’ll be right back,” you say suddenly, placing your mug on the coffee table before scurrying off. the bathroom door slams shut, the lock clicking immediately after, leaving him alone. he stares at your mug. the item taunts him. come on, put something in there. mix it up and take you now.

he shouldn’t. he should be patient, but the opportunity is right here for him to take. you’ll be understanding once he explains everything to you. you’ll be different from the others.

so he slips a pill from his pocket and drops it into your mug, watching the capsule dissolve into the transparent liquid. the slight change in color and opacity doesn’t worry him — it’s not as if your perception is that acute. when the sound of your approaching footsteps forces him back to his side of the couch, his heart begins to pound against his ribcage so hard that he fears it may burst. keep it together. you won’t notice.

instead of plopping onto your original seat, you make the bold decision to sit down right next to him, facing him. biting your lip, your eyes flit to the floor, then back to him. an invisible magnet pulls you closer. once mere millimeters separate your faces, he pauses, staring down at the way your chest stutters, so close to his own. he should stop this — he just met you, but the way you trust him so easily is doing things to him that he’s never felt before. this twisting feeling in his stomach…it’s so sweet, and you’re just so cute. he wants to protect you. he wants to use you.

it’s unclear who commits first, but his lips are pressed against yours. softness is the first thing that he registers, then the uncertainty that freezes you against him. a hand moves up to cup your jaw, holding you close to him as he moves his lips gently against your own. slowly, you begin to reciprocate, lips parting to allow his tongue to slip into your mouth. slow, soft...it’s everything soobin has wished for in his lonely life. this kind of connection, this gentle intimacy that is now filling that empty hole in his heart that has always yearned to be filled. he has kissed others before, yes, but he’s never felt like this.

the feeling is quickly becoming too much for him, especially now that your hands are sliding their way towards his waistband. pulling away, he grabs your hands, holding them as holds your gaze. “you don’t have to. i know we just met—”

“but i want to,” you pout, wide, pitiful gaze burning through his as you slip off the couch and onto the wooden floor, your hands leaving his to rest on his thighs. “don’t you want it too?”

he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but the sight of you on your knees between his thighs with a cute little pout gracing your lips makes him wonder what you would look like with his cock shoved down your throat, tears streaming down your face as you choke on him.

pawing at his thighs, you plead, “please, soobin? you helped me feel better, i want to make you feel good too. please?”

you might just start crying if he doesn’t let you — and he would hate to be the reason why, so he gives in with a nod, helping you unzip his trousers and shove his boxers down his thighs, revealing his hard dick to your eager eyes. your hand looks so small compared to him, barely able to wrap around his girth as you begin to pump him, lips wrapping around his cockhead and your tongue slipping into his slit to taste the salty precum gathered there. he groans, head thrown back against the couch as he resists thrusting up into your mouth.

“so good, fuck,” he groans, his voice trailing off into a moan as the pleasure begins to build, your hums against his cock sending him straight towards euphoria. suddenly, your head lurches forward, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can, your hand pumping what you are unable to fit. his eyes roll back into his head, staccato moans leaving his lips while you bob your head up and down, your throat contracting around his cockhead before you’re pulling yourself off with a cough.

he tries to move his hand to caress your hair, to give you some semblance of comfort, only to realize that he can’t. his arms won’t move, nor will his head, or his legs — or anything. wait, what the fuck? what’s going on with him? all he can do is sit there and watch as you continue to pump him faster, licking up his precum at his tip until he cums in weak spurts into your mouth. he can’t even cant his hips, and he can barely feel his orgasm wash over him, numbness spreading across his body. humming, your eyes flutter shut as you swallow his release. when you look up at him again, the glint within them has changed. darker, cunning.

“i know your secret.”

when he doesn’t respond — his mouth won’t move — your smile grows sharp, predatory. moving to stand between his legs, you lean down to his level, brow raising when his attempt to speak results in unintelligible groans. “aw, cat got your tongue? that’s fine, makes all of this easier for me.”

all of this? what the hell are you talking about? why can’t he move?

you seem to recognize the confusion swirling in his umber irises, booping his nose with a manicured finger before you’re turning around and reaching for your mug. inspecting it’s contents, you take in the cloudy liquid before your focus returns back to him, amusement apparent in your tone. “you tried to drug me! that’s so cute!”

setting the mug back down, you slink back over to him.

“y’know, soobin, i thought you’d be smarter than this,” you pout, sitting next to him and throwing your legs over his lap. no matter how much he wills himself to move, he’s frozen. all feeling has left his body, not even the sensation of your nail gliding along his cheek registers. “drank all that tea and didn’t even notice, you poor thing. can’t speak, can’t move, whatever are you going to do now? can’t kill me like the rest of them now…”

oh, fuck. you know — you’ve known this entire time. you’ve lured him into your trap, and he fucking fell for all of it, didn’t even question why you invited him in so easily, why you weren’t worried about a complete, potentially dangerous stranger being in your home. he couldn’t have planned for this outcome if he tried.

“you got too cocky, baby,” you giggle, right hand reaching between your legs and into the cushions, coming up with a large knife. “never thought someone like me would pull a stunt like this, did ya? isn’t it exciting being the victim for once? i just love the thrill.”

“and you know what else i like, binnie?” you coo, tracing the silver blade against his jawline. muscles melted into the couch, soobin can only emit fearful grunts as you dig in and break skin. blood bubbles up to the surface of the wound before spilling down his neck. fuck, you cut him deep, but he can barely feel the pain.

a snap of your fingers guides his attention back to you. “i love red, just like you.”

swiping a finger through the blood dripping down his neck, you bring it up to your lips and suck, moaning at the iron-rich taste. you’re the farthest thing from the innocent lamb he painted you as. you’re fucking psychotic, pupils dilated and grin so wide your lips may split at the corners as you climb into his lap, knife now pressed against his throat. he’s completely at your mercy — your prey. cornered, nowhere to go.

“i think we’re gonna have lots of fun together,” you coo, pressing a venom-laced kiss against his lips, the bloody blade cutting into him once more. “don’t you think so too?”

masterlist

#txt smut #soobin smut #txt x reader #soobin x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #soobin scenarios #txt scenarios #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #soobin hard hours #soobin hard thoughts #agust.nsfw #💌 — soob

555 notes · View notes

sterredem · 18 days

Note

Hey, I can't find if your requests are open (if they aren't please ignore this). Can you do an arthur leclerc x fem!driver!reader where she gets into f1 and he doesn't (angst!!) and she comforts him?

Unfair

First ending

Face claim: Pinterest girls/Barbara Palvin/Bianca Bustamante + other women in motorsport.

(That I use these people doesn’t mean that I know or support them, I just use them because Barbara has a lot of good pictures in the spoor and Bianca has good pictures in the car and on the podium)

Summary: The request

Word count: 2549

Warning: Angst, lying(?), happy ending, fluff at the end

A/N: this took a bit to write but u really like it. It is a bit different then the request (a bit more Angsty) but I think it is my best yet (which isn’t hard with this being my 3rd fic). I hope you enjoy and don’t forget to like/comment/repost and please give me feedback🫶🫶 Btw sorry for the long wait.

The other ending will be posted soon!

Also I hope you like the graphics, it took literally hours to make😭😭

They both knew that this could happen. That was the risk with dating your coworker in a motorsport. And especially formula 2.

So when y/n heard that next season she would drive in formula 1 with Porsche, she was really excited. Of course she was. She was going to be the first Women in a few decades to drive in Formula 1. And for a relatively new but very good team. With Porsche being in F1 since the 2019 seasons it was the newest, but unlike HAAS they were actually good.

And she was happy that she got a contract. She would drive a few of the best names of motorstoprt. And her team printable, Sebastian Vettel had promised her big things.

But when she actually thought about what this all meant she begun to get scared. She would need to tell Arthur. Arthur who always wanted to be in Formula 1. Arthur who is her best friend and her boyfriend.

How could she tell him? How could she tell him that she would get to live their dream? How could she tell him that he would drive alongside his brother before him?

This was all a mess. And the worst part was that she sined a NDA so she couldn’t tell him until the announcement was up. The only people that currently knew where; her family, her trainer and her manager.

She tried to do everything she could so she can tell him. But she just couldn’t, so she needs to live with a big secret for a few months. And when it is announced that she would go to Formula 1 she doesn’t know is he will ever forgive her.

And not only because she didn’t tell him and they promised they would tell each other everything. No but because they promised to get there together, to both get into F1. And now, Y/n would get to drive there and Arthur would be left behind in F2.

So she would need to live a secret until it was revealed to the world. The only thing she could get out of the contact is that she could tell Arthur a day before the announcement. Which she still wasn’t happy about but it was something. So when the time came to finally tell him she was a nervous wreck. Understandable.

The day before the announcement finally came. And Y/n was really nervous. So when Arthur finally came home she made some of his favourite food and got mentally ready to tell him.

And to say Arthur was confused was an understatement. He came home to his girlfriend cooking his favourite food and looking very nervous. So of course he was worried. Would she brake up with him? Dis something happen? But he wanted to wait for her to say something. And that happens after they were done doing the dishes and were laying in the couch.

“Hey Arthur can we talk?” Y/n nervously while playing with her fingers and not really looking at Arthur.

“Yes mon ange what is wrong?” Arthur asked relieved that she will finally talk about what is wrong. He tried to look at her but couldn’t lock eyes.

“Promise me you will hear me out before you react of get mad.” She said while finally looking in his eyes. But they aren’t filled with the usual adoration or love, no the where filled with nerves and a bit of fear.

“Of course mon ange. What is going on?” He asked growing more and more worried. While trying to grapple with his hand. And failing.

“So you know that PREMA is dropping me right? Well when it was announced some people reached out to me and offers me something…” she slowly said while looking at him for his reaction.

“Well one of those people was Sebastian Vettel and he offered me a place on Porche in Formula 1. And as you can understand I couldn’t refuse, so we got talking and they gave me an amazing offer.” She said while looking at his reaction. Which wasn’t the best, it got from worry to confusion to some sort of mild anger.

“So last August he gave me a contract and I signed it…” she said falling a bit silent at the end. And before Arthur could talk she began again.

“And I really wanted to tell you before, really. But they made me sign a NDA and I could only tell my manager and close family and some of the other team for legal reasons. And I tried everything, and initially I could not tell you until the announcement but I made a deal and I could tell you the day before. And now that is, so today is the day before. And again I am so sorry. Please don’t be mad.” She ranted while tears formed in his eyes while seeing him become more and more mad.

“Y/n… what? Is this some sick joke?” He asked while slowly fake laughing and looking at her with betrayal in his eyes.

“Baby please understand that I could not tell you.” She said slowly looking away.

“Don’t baby me! I know you couldn’t tell me after the contract, but you could tell me that you had an offer! And how could you take it? You know how much I want to get into F1?” He asked with betrayal in his voice.

“What was I supposed to do? Not take the offer and never get in Formula 1 just so you could have it or that we could go at the same time? And I could not tell you about the offer because I didn’t even know until I talked with Sebastian, my manager hid it from me because he didn’t want to get my hopes up!” She said now with tears going down her cheeks.

“I understand that but please! Did you even think about me?” He asked a bit louder.

“Of course I did! I just told you! I wanted to tell you the minute I got the offer! But I couldn’t because of that stupid team! I wanted to you to have a seat for F1! For whatever team, but I can’t! If I can I would give you my seat! But Arthur you need to understand that I need to think of myself sometimes! This a big deal for me! I will be the first women in Formula 1 in a few decades, and I will be the first women to be in the middle or upper field! I could be the first to be in a podium of even win!” She said now almost fully crying.

Arthur was silent for a bit while thinking about what she said. “Y/n i know all that. But you also need to understand that it is hard for me. Charles is in F1, Ferrarie dropped me, Jules and my dad died and wanted me and Charlie to drive, and now my girlfriend, who is also my childhood best friend, lied to me for months and you expect me to be okay with it? Merde Y/n you can’t expect this from me. I think I need some time alone.” He said trying to stay calm with tears in his eyes.

Y/n looked at his shocked about what he said. Did he want to break up? Did he want a part time break? Was he going to leave? She knows that she can’t hold him accountable for it, she did lie to him after all.

“Arthur please. I understand what you say. And I don’t hold you accountable for that, but please don’t leave.” She said now with them both full on crying.

“Mon amour, I won’t leave you, I am just going to go to my mom for a bit. Think about everything and then we can talk about this in a few days.” He said while wiping her tears away.

He slowly stood up and walked to there room to grab a few of his things. She still sat on the couch thinking if she should stop him or just let him go.

She decided on the later one, because it was better to give him time to think about it before things were said that they don’t mean.

A few minutes later Arthur came downstairs with a bag of his stuff. He grabbed his coat and keys and looked at Y/n again. “I will message you when I am there. Please understand that I still love you and I am not breaking up, but I just need some time.” He says with a half smile.

“I understand, please take all the time you need. And when you are ready to talk I am here.” She said while also half smiling with more tears forming in her eyes. “I love you, please be safe”

“I will” he says while walking out of the door and closing it. Y/n slowly slid down the wall with her head in her hands thinking everything over again.

Was this the right thing? Was she selfish for accepting the offer? Would she lose Arthur? Were they ever going to recover?

With all this on het mind she slowly stood up and walked upstairs. She got into the bathroom and did her night routine. After that she looked at the time and saw how early it still was so she decided to just watch some Gilmore Girls (you can chose whatever this is just my comfort series) while laying in bed trying to distract her from the argument they had earlier.

After watching it for a few hours she decided that it was getting late and decided to sleep and see what the day would bring tomorrow. The day that it would be announced.

Instagram

Liked by Susie_Wolff and 3.115.785 others

F1 BREAKING: Y/n y/l/n will be driving for Porsche the 2025 season!

We all welcome her to the grid and are excited to see her!

#y/n_y/l/n #Porsche #F1 @Y/n_y/l/n @Porsche

Comments

User1 OMG I AM SO EXITED

User2 so happy to see she got a seat after PREMA dropped her

Susie_Wolff So happy for you! I am happy to see more girls in Formula 1

Yourusername Thank you Susie! Exited to see you again!

Yourusername I am so happy and thankful for this opportunity!

User3 we got a women in f1 before gta 6

User4 So exited for more women in motorsports!

User5 women shouldn’t be in motorsports! It is a man dominated sport for a reason!

User6 why is Arthur not simping over his girlfriend like usual?!

User7 he could just be congratulating het irl don’t make a big deal out of this

User8 I agree with user7, just because he isn’t in the comments on a insta post doesn’t mean something happened. We shouldn’t speculate on there lives with absolutely no information about them at the moment.

After the announcement was finally up Y/n felt worst then the slash before. Her and Arthur still hadn’t talked. And it welt like weeks (it was only 10 hours). She missed him, missed his laugh, his boyish smile, their useless conversation for hours, his kisses and hugs. Everything.

So when she finally got a massage from him she was happy to say the least.

|———————————<3—————————————|

See you then*

|———————————<3—————————————|

For the next part there is a bit of explaining necessary. You can: keep reading this and then you have how the request is (with a fluffy ending and comforting) OR you can klick in the link and that will take you to the alternative ending (you will need to scroll down again until this part and then you have the Angsty ending)

Angsty ending

|———————————<3—————————————|

After a few more massages back and forth they decided to meet up at their house instead of the cafe. So when the next day came she waited for Arthur to come back.

After a few hours of watching Gilmore Girls she heard the front door open. She paused the show and stood up from her bed, she walked downstairs and came face to face with Arthur.

“Hey” she said a bit awkwardly. She looked in his eyes and saw that he looked very tired and had red eyes. He had probably cried, the same with her.

“Hey, how are you?” He asked with a tired and raspy voice and the French accent.

“I’m doing okay. Want something to drink?” She asked trying to fill the awkward silence.

“No I’m fine. Could we just talk? I think it is the best if we just get it over.” He said trying to get to the point as fast as he can so they could make up again. He had missed her a lot, while he was at his maman she had given his a long and good scolding for leaving her and not listening her out. He realised that it was indeed a bad choice to leave her, he was just angry and upset so he did the only rational thing in his mind.

“Yeah of course.” She said while slowly walking to the living room. She looked back at him to see if he followed her and he did. She walked to the couch and sat on one end of it, wanting him to decide if he wants to sit next to her or far away from her.

He sat next to her.

“Okay so first of I want to say I am so sorry that I left, I know it was the wrong thing to do. But I was just angry, confused and upset with everything and then I said stuff and you said stuff and I just couldn’t anymore. But now I am ready to hear you out.” He said tampering a bit while fiddling with his hands.

“I understand that and it is completely okay, again I am really sorry I didn’t tell you but I can explain it to you.” She said while looking in his eyes.

“Okay so as I said; Kate, my manager, got a lot of offers from teams after my contract with PREMA expired, but she didn’t want to get my hopes up so she told me nothing. I only knew about it when she set up a meeting with Sebastian, we talked and he had a really good offer. A long contract, good money, good car and a good team. So I couldn’t say no. But then it came to PR and telling people, I asked who u could tell and I could only tell my team and my parents, I couldn’t even tell my siblings or friends. I asked if I could tell you but I couldn’t, they wanted to keep it low-key so that it would be a big surprise. The only thing I fixed is that I could tell you the day before. So I did and you know how that turned out. I really wanted to tell you but I also needed to sign a NDA so I couldn’t tell you about the contract or the car. And this may sound really bad and it may sound like I chose a bad team but no; they only did it to protect us. Me because if it came out before there could be serious danger for me. And for you so you could many still enjoy F2 and get into you’re dream team. But now I realise that how I handled it was really wrong and I am so sorry. I hope you can forgive me because I really missed you.” She said the last part a bit out of breath.

Arthur looked to be deep in thought. He thought about everything she said. And he understood it. But now he was really upset with how he reacted.

“Mon amour I am so sorry. I should have heard you out earlier” he said while grabbing her face. “I and so sorry for how I reacted. I hope you can understand why. I as just confused, jealous and upset. I was confused because for me it came all of a sudden and upset because again why would you tell me? And I was really jealous because you wou get to be in F1 and drive with my brother before me.”

“I completely understand my love, and I understand it about the jealous part, I would too.” She said while grabbing his face.

After talking for a few more minutes they decided to go to the bedroom and watch something.

“Hey love do you want to watch that French series that you talked about?” Y/n asked while playing with his hair and cuddling.

“Yeah for sure mon amour” he said with a smile on his face. He looked up at her and admired her beauty. “You looked beautiful ma belle” he said with a slight blush.

“She looked down at his and smiles “wel thank you handsome. You don’t look that bad yourself.” She said blushing.

After watching a few episodes of the show and talking they decided to go to sleep.

But before she fell asleep she heard Arthur whisper something.

“Je t'aime mon amour, merci pour tout.” (I love you my love, thank you for everything.)

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wardenparker · 4 months

Text

First Christmas

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 10.6k Warnings: Established relationship, mentions of sex toys/gagging, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cuddling, fluff, picturesque family stuff everywhere. Summary: A whirlwind relationship has led you to marrying Marcus before a lot of traditional landmarks in the dating realm. Now it's time to meet the Pikes, and you'll be doing it on their absolute favorite holiday. Notes: Please enjoy some seasonal fluff! While Marcus and the Pikes are obviously depicted as celebrating Christmas (duh, that's the plot) there aren't any references to the family being Christian, or to reader's religious identity. This is just some good old fashioned all-American Marcus fluff for the holiday 🧡🎄❄

“I talked to my Mom this morning.” Marcus shucks his jacket, buoyed by his news, although he’s had every reason to grin when he’s coming home to you every night. “And I managed to book the last two tickets. Had to get first class, but I used miles, so it wasn’t that bad.” He leans in and drops a kiss on your lips before he turns to hang his coat on the rack. “Figure we fly out a couple of days before Christmas and we can fly home the day after. We only end up needing to take a day or two maximum out of work that way. What do you think?”

“What do I think about three days with your entire extended family when it will be the very first time I’m meeting them all?” Marrying Marcus had been a whirlwind, and while you’re immensely happy together and have no regrets for the situation— it is a little intimidating. Marcus is incredibly close to his family and you are the exact opposite. “Honestly, babe? I’m intimidated. But I’m all in. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure they like me.”

“It’ll be great. They will love you.” Of course there had been a million and one questions when Marcus had called with the news that he was married. That he couldn’t wait to plan a wedding, and that you and he had just decided to go to the court house. “Get the embarrassing stories and baby pics out of the way before the rest of the family descends on the house.”

“Cramming into that twin bed in your Mom’s house is going to be fun,” you tease, a slight snort following your grin as you start taking leftovers out of the fridge to warm up for dinner. Last night’s Chinese take out order was more than a little over the top.

“Just means we get to snuggle really close.” He hums, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms around your middle as he presses close. The honeymoon phase hasn’t even begun to fade, and he hopes it never does. “But I think she did trade it for a queen.”

“We’ll still cuddle.” That’s a promise, and you lean back against his chest with a comforted hum that’s so blissful you just let your eyes fall shut and enjoy it. “Though it might be good if she did trade up. A new bed will squeak a hell of a lot less than an old one.”

His cock twitches, but he’s pretty sure that was the entire point of your comment. You love to see how easily you turn him on. “But then we still have to keep you quiet, baby.” He ducks his head and nips at your neck. “Can’t be screaming my name for the entire house to hear.”

Turning your head, you bat your eyelashes at him innocently and make your eyes extra wide. “Should we pack my gag, then?”

“Fuck.” He hisses quietly, twitching against your ass again. “You want to be gagged and fucked hard in my childhood bedroom?” He rasps out.

“Only if there’s really embarrassing posters on the walls.” The evil little teasing giggle that bubbles out of you comes with a full-on grind of your ass against his rapidly hardening cock. It’s not hard to rile each other up, but it is so much fun.

“Want me to show you how hard I would fuck you?” His hands slide under your shirt and cup your tits through the bra you loath and he loves to take off of you.

“Hmmm.” Even pretending to think about it makes you grin harder and you turn around in his arms to wrap your arms around his neck. “The egg rolls take five minutes to warm up in the oven. Think we can get off that fast?”

“You doubt my abilities?” He pouts at you playfully, even as he moves to start unbuttoning your pants. “Baby, I’m hurt.”

“Maybe I just know giving you a challenge always gets results.” Your hands move to his belt as he starts to pull your own pants open.

“Brat.” His grin is infectious as he pushes your pants and panties down over your hips.

“Yeah, and you love it.” You shove the tray in the oven and practically smack the timer in your haste to set it, ready to hop up on the kitchen counter in the idyllic little house you share with your husband and let him fuck the life out of you.

His chuckle is warm and his hands don’t pause as he slides his hand between your thighs to touch you as his other works his belt buckle. “I do love it.” He admits easily.

Whatever clever comeback you have dies on your lips, too focused on your husband’s large hand and quick fingers at the apex of your thighs to do anything but quickly kick off your pants and panties so you can slide back onto the kitchen counter with your legs open.

“Fuck, I love the way you are so eager.” Marcus is always just as eager, but he doesn’t focus on his wants. Having you in front of him demands that you be pleasured and that’s what he’s going to do.

“For you? Always.” It’s been this way between you since the beginning. Since the day he waltzed into your undercover operation posing as your husband who could forge any painting. The spark was immediate and mutual, and soon the lines between role and real life were blurring for both of you. Now, of course, things are less complicated. But the want is no less real.

Marcus hums, leaning in to kiss along your neck like he had quickly discovered you love. Lips and teeth working together to make you moan while his fingers slide inside you.

“Baby.” Managing to moan anything coherent while he’s touching you is a miracle, but you gasp out when he starts to crook his fingers inside the tight walls of your pussy. “Need you, baby. Need you to fill me up.”

“I’m gonna fill you up.” He promises, grinning at the way your jaw is slack when he pulls back to look at you, “just as soon as you cream all over my fingers, baby.”

A whine seems to seep out of your throat unbidden and you glance over at the kitchen timer as your hips rock against his hand. “Four minutes and thirty-two seconds,” you warn with a grin.

“So we have time to have a drink.” He chuckles as he increases the tempo of his fingers as he works them in and out of you.

“Fuck, baby.” Marcus knows exactly how to work you into a frenzy with seemingly zero effort, and he delights in putting that ability on display just as much as he loves taking you apart extra slowly to make you beg. The man is devastatingly talented and you are the happy beneficiary of all that laser focus.

“That’s what I’m gonna do.” He teases. “Fuck you. Been thinking about it all day while working on paperwork.”

Being on your best behaviour at work does mean that you haven’t had him fuck you on his desk yet, but you’ve been craving it. The kitchen counter will have to serve as a substitute for just a little longer, it seems. “Yeah?” You pant, feeling yourself get closer and closer under his expert touch. “Bet you had to stay hidden behind that desk all day so no one would see how hard I make you.”

“Soooo fucking hard.” He agrees, reaching up and squeezing your tit through your shirt and bra. “Just have to think about how I woke you up sliding inside you this morning.”

“Best way to wake up.” Your head falls back, thumping against the kitchen cabinet but you barely notice.

“And I love to see your eyes turn glassy before you even wipe the sleep away.” Marcus curls his fingers up and leans in to press his lips to yours. “Cum for me baby.”

It should be impossible for him to command it like that and yet as soon as the words are out of his mouth you are gasping in pleasure and feeling the coil at the base of your spine pull tight right before the stars explode behind your eyes. Marcus groans as he watches your eyes flutter closed, your head tilting back against the cabinet and your sweet little pussy just soaking his fingers with the slickest, hottest cum he’s ever had the pleasure of feeling. “That’s it, baby, shake for me.”

“So fucking good.” Drawing in that first deep breath after cumming is always like the first breath of fresh air in the morning. As soon as the heaviness lifts from your limbs you’re surging forward to kiss him, wrapping one hand around his cock to draw him in closer and beg silently for him to fuck you.

It’s Marcus’s turn to groan and his hips rock forward, chasing your grip as you pump his cock. “Fuck baby, need you so bad.” He moans into your mouth and shuffles closer, his fingers digging into your hips to drag you closer to the edge of the counter.

No one could ever doubt the passion in your marriage, that is for damn sure, and you lean back on the counter so Marcus can line himself up at your entrance – moaning softly when he starts to push inside. "Fuck I love you so much."

“I love you too.” An undercover op that had meant to be a means to getting Teresa Lisbon – now Jane – off his mind, had ended up being the best thing that ever happened to him. You are the best thing that ever happened. “So fucking much.” He pushes until he’s buried to the hilt and immediately pulling back to rock into you again.

When the two of you are worked up like this it never takes long. For a couple who routinely fuck an average of twice a day, anyone would think that it would be taking longer by now. It's not like you're pent up after a week of not seeing each other or anything. In fact, you see each other constantly — always doing your best to even line up your lunch breaks whenever you possibly can. No, it's just passion. Plain and simple. Top of FormHe has zero problem slapping his thighs against the counter as he works into you. Panting out your name breathlessly as you clench down on him. “Fuck.”

“That’s it, baby.” With one arm twined around his shoulders and the other holding blindly to the counter, your legs have wrapped around Marcus’s trim waist to encourage every thrust. “Feels so fucking amazing.”

“You—your pussy.” He grunts out, biting his lip and then rocking his hips forward with a particularly harsh thrust.

“It’s all yours.” And with as fiercely as his hips slam into yours, it’s a wonder that your pussy doesn’t ache more than she does. But the only aching you ever seem to feel is from wanting him as close as possible. Like right now.

Every push of his hips is complete bliss, groaning as he leans in and presses his lips to yours. “Love you.”

“Love you.” Even mumbled against his lips it’s so true that it makes your heart swell, and you tilt your hips so he can thrust a little deeper each time. He won’t last much longer and the timer must be almost up anyway. “Cum for me, baby. Fill me up.”

“Rub your clit.” He orders. “Cum for me again. Want you to cum again.”

There is nothing you want more in the world right now than to obey, and in barely a Moment more the two of you are panting and moaning into each other’s kiss, careening toward the edge of pleasure. It’s like magic, the way your fingers immediately make your core seize up around him. That little bit of pressure ripping you over the edge and making you cry out his name.

He tumbles over the edge second later, your shaking legs wrapped tight around his waist and keep him deep inside you while he paints your walls with hot cum. It's the perfect way to unwind after a long day at the office, and you groan without restraint. The kisses you press all over his lips and jaw and neck are instantly giddy, the adrenaline rush of cumming taking over the second the crashing orgasm subsides. Marcus groans, tucking his head into your neck the second he can and chuckling as the timer for the oven starts to buzz. “Perfect timing.”

******

“This is it.” The Pike house is on the corner of two main streets in his Nebraska hometown, where the old Victorian rises up from the sidewalk like a proud pillar of the old community and you can perfectly see Marcus growing up here as a little boy. His wholesome, corn-fed, all-American childhood is perfectly framed here. “Right here.” The warmth in his voice is unmistakable, matching the grin that is on his face as he looks up at the house. “Home sweet home. Mom should be here, waiting to pounce on us.”

“You’re excited.” It’s sweet, and you know he’s missed his family something terrible. “Let’s go inside, baby. Time to introduce your wife to your mother.” His second wife, technically, but that’s neither here nor there. His divorce was years and years ago now, even though she is very much still part of the family.

“She’s going to love you.” The fact that he hasn’t had you two on the phone together is just a matter of scheduling but it will quickly be corrected. “Let’s go.” The engine is cut and he opens the driver door to the rental car that was crazy expensive but worth the autonomy of being able to take you around the town.

Like any son, Marcus doesn’t bother to knock at the door but pushes inside, calling out to his mother as soon as it is half open. The first thing that catches your eye is the line of photos down the staircase to your right, and you shift to look at them all right away. Marcus’s two siblings’ wedding photos. A collage frame of each family featuring their children at different ages. Marcus’s graduation photo from the Academy. And his parents’ wedding photo that is now some forty years old.

“Marc?” The voice rings out from the kitchen and there’s the general clanging of pots and pans as she hustles out the doorway, wiping her hands in the dishrag. “Oh Marc, you made it!”

Julia Pike is a tall and fairly slender woman with grays streaked heavily through her dirty blonde hair and laugh lines that speak to a lifetime of joy with her family. But more than all of those things, she is a hugger. Her arms envelope both you and Marcus as soon as you’re within reach and she hums so happily that anyone could be easily forgiven for confusing her with the family cat. “How was your flight, sweetie? The food was probably terrible, right? Airline food always is. Come in, come in! Leave your things here and I’ll get you some lunch.”

“Hey Mom,” his arms are just as tight around his mother as they are when he hugs you. “We didn’t even risk the airport food, so we are starving.” He pulls back and gives her his best puppy dog eyes. “Please tell me you are making my favorite?”

“Do you think I would just skip out on your first meal home in more than a year and not make you chowder?” She tuts as if she’s insulted and turned to you conspiratorially. “Of all the things in the world, it’s always been corn and potato chowder. Who knows where he picked that up from but the first time I put bacon in it he started begging for it constantly.”

“Because bacon is probably the only thing that beats pancakes.” Marcus leans in and kisses his mother’s cheek. “And Mom makes the best corn and potato chowder you will ever have.” He promises you, letting go of her so he can wrap his arm around your waist. “Why don’t you two go into the kitchen and I’ll bring in the bags?”

“Thanks, honey.” It’s just a squeeze of his hand in yours before he slips back out the door, but you already feel more at ease. His mother is so incredibly sweet.

“Don’t worry a bit, I won’t bite.” Julia promises, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and giggling quietly as she guides you to the kitchen. “I’ll quickly fill you in on his most embarrassing stories.”

“I’m sorry we haven’t been able to meet or talk before.” That’s really the first thing you want to say, knowing how much Marcus loves his family. “It’s all happened very fast, and we’re still wrapping up this case that our departments are working on together.”

“Don’t worry.” She smiles indulgently. If she had been a lesser woman, she would have been upset or insulted by the quick wedding and no communication, but she was secure in her youngest child’s affection. “You’re in the honeymoon phase and who wants to talk to your mother-in-law when you can be cuddling your new spouse?”

"Unfortunately, work doesn't give us a lot of downtime. Even getting a few days off for Christmas was something of a coup d’état." Following her into the kitchen, you look around the well-appointed space and note buttery looking rolls sitting on a baking tray nearby and the whole place smells like absolute heaven. "I really can't thank you enough for having us here a few days early. He's been so excited to come home and see everyone again."

“I have so looked forward to meeting you.” She waves away your thanks. “The way Marcus has talked about you when we chat, I just knew that we would be good friends.”

"He is...completely remarkable." The warmth that rushes to your cheeks at that admission is immediate, but it's honest. You won't shrug it away or apologize for it. "I know our meeting was pretty unconventional, but it was like we knew each other instantly. He's really...he's my best friend, on top of everything else. So I've really been looking forward to meeting all of you. To see how he got to be the amazing man I married." It sounds cheesy, like you're sucking up or something, but it's all so true. And since you are every bit as sentimental as your husband, you don't mind saying it out loud.

“Marcus has always led with his heart.” Julia acknowledges and turns back towards the stove to start dishing up large bowls of the chowder. “It has sometimes led him to heartbreak,” she tells you, turning around with the first bowl. “But somehow I think he’s got it right.”

"I love him so much." And you won't hesitate to shout it from the rooftops, either, which has a smile spreading over his mother's face as she works. Immediately jumping in, you pick up the empty basket beside the tray of rolls and stack them inside. She's set the little kitchen table for the three of you to eat at, so that is where the basket will end up. "I already can't imagine how I ever kept my head on without him, and I can't imagine a single day of my future without him in it."

“The perfect thing about it, is that I think you mean it.” She tells you, handing you a bowl of chowder. “In fact, I would bet money on it. I have a feeling about these things.”

"You're the one he gets it from." Accepting the bowl and setting it down, you take the next from her as well and make sure everything is set out. The opening and closing of the front door says that Marcus has returned and that makes your smile brighten reflexively. "He has a reputation for it at work. His sixth sense."

“Of course he does. He’s a hard worker and he follows his feelings.” She shrugs slightly. “Sometimes it is faulty, but I blame that on the other people involved.”

"People largely follow patterns, but the human ability to be unpredictable really does throw a monkey wrench in case work sometimes," you acknowledge. Of course, it can also be what makes your job so interesting at times. When Marcus comes down the hall to the kitchen you can't help the way you beam, leaning back for a second so he can help his Mom with the last bowl and get a pitcher of something to drink from the refrigerator. "It smells amazing, Mrs. Pike." Until she's given you explicit permission, you're not presuming to call her by her first name. You've known too many friends who got on their mother-in-law's bad side off the bat for being considered too informal or disrespectful because they tried to be friendly.

“That is just the best compliment I’ve ever had.” Julia can’t help but melt slightly as she pulls out a chair and motions for you to sit down. “Now, I won’t insist that you call me ‘Mom’, but I also don’t want you to call me ‘Mrs. Pike’. That’s your name too now. So, please call me Julia?”

"Julia, then." Sitting down at the table with Marcus and his mother feels a hell of a lot more comfortable than you had worried it might be. But so far? So far, so good. "Although, since you mention it, having two Special Agent Pikes at work has been fairly entertaining. We keep accidentally getting each other's deliveries from the mailroom."

She laughs, well aware of the confusion and commotion it would cause. “You might have to start adding your first initial to your mail.” She snorts, shaking her head. “Or…do nothing and use the mail mix up as a good excuse to steal a kiss on the government’s time.”

"That's..." You glance at Marcus and you both grin unapologetically before everyone digs into their lunch. "What we've been doing so far. But once Marcus gets his promotion it won't be a worry anymore. His title will change and the mix-ups will be over."

“I still cannot believe that they have not moved you into the role you went to D.C. for.” Julia huffs, frowning fiercely. It seems like that is just wrong to her and it is. Her baby was supposed to be the head of his department by now, but something about delaying retirement on the outgoing head had pushed back Marcus taking over the role.

“Technically, they have,” you assure her, not wanting his mother to think that Marcus isn’t being fully respected at work. “He is running the task force that he was promised. The decision to move him up to head of the department came after he had already accepted the transfer, so it’s on a different timeline. But it’s all on track. The current department head just wanted to finish out the calendar year and he’ll retire at the end of the month. It’s just a matter of weeks now.”

“Well…that’s good, I suppose.” Like any mother she knows, she’s protective over her children and their lives, even when they’ve long left her nest. “And Marc tells me that you work in another department? How are you enjoying it?”

“I work in the white collar crimes division,” you nod, managing not to moan out loud at your first taste of the soup. No wonder this is Marcus’s favorite, it’s like a giant hug. “Mostly I work on fraud cases. Forgeries are my specialty. Which…is how Marcus and I met. I needed an art consultant on a case I was working on, and he’s the best of the best.”

"He is the best." She beams as only a mother can and grins. "Although, at one point, he wanted nothing more than the be a rock star with his band."

“I keep telling him he should start up again.” The grin you throw your husband is nearly victorious. You just know his mother is going to take your side. “A couple of guys in my department need a new bassist for their band and he would be perfect.”

"If he would enjoy it, I have his old bass in the attic." She supplies immediately. "There is no reason you shouldn't take it back with you. I know it's in good condition, I have to keep Kelly's oldest from sneaking it out of the house every time he comes over."

“What do you think, babe?” It’s entirely up to him, even if he never wants to join another band you still want him to have music in his life. “We can absolutely bring your bass home with us if you want to.”

"If you don't mind." His eyes slide towards his mother again, While it was his bass, it had been a last gift from his father and it was something that he could not take with him when he moved out for good. All of the kids had left the last gifts that he had given them in the house they had lived in with him. A kind of living memorial to a man who could never be replaced.

“It’s totally up to you, honey.” His mother promises. “Your brother has been hinting about his little girl being interested in Grandpa’s baseball gear when she’s old enough, so I think it’s time.”

He mulls it over, taking another spoonful of the chowder as he thinks. "I will take it home." He decides after a Moment. "It would be good to start playing again and one day—" His eyes slide warmly over to you. "Maybe it will be passed down to the next generation of Pike."

Julia raises one manicured eyebrow at that and gladly notes the way your expression turns a little dreamy at the idea. “I take it that topic has been bandied around a little at home?”

"We've talked about it." Marcus admits, setting down his spoon and picking up your hand. "We want to spend a little time together first, and figured that we would return to the conversation when I've settled into my new role." That’s what you agreed upon together, but Marcus won’t deny that if it happens sooner rather than later, he’ll be over the moon.

“I have to say.” The smile she aims at both of you is proud and bright. “It sounds like you’re enjoying being married, and that is half the battle in the beginning.”

"We are, Mom." Marcus agrees easily, squeezing your hand and looking over her with pure adoration in his warm brown eyes. "I had one hell of an example with you and Dad, and I think that we would make both of your proud."

******

Celebrating his long-overdue return to his hometown means that Marcus takes you to his favorite little family restaurant for dinner that night and by the time you’re falling into his bed, you’re both feeling relaxed and incredibly sleepy. Getting to see parts of his past is a window into his soul that you’ve never gotten before, and you curl around him in your pjs with a contended sigh.

Marcus has a habit of stroking your bare back until you fall asleep. Since you’re not sleeping nude tonight, his hand slides under your pajama shirt to touch you. “So what do you think?” He asks softly, wanting to know how you feel about his town where he spent his formative years.

“It’s the perfect little slice of Americana,” you tell him with a grin. “I can absolutely see you running around here as the happiest little kid in the world.”

“I had my teenage angst.” He admits with a chuckle, thinking back to how naive he had been about what was truly heartbreaking. “Like most kids do. Rebelled a little.”

"Grew your hair and became a little rock star?" The pictures of teenage Marcus with long curls and shredded t-shirts didn't last for a very long period of his teenage years, but they definitely seem to be among his most treasured memories.

Marcus huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.” He admits. “Almost got a tattoo. Although I’m lucky I didn’t have a scar when my nose ring came out.”

"I'm sooo bummed I missed that entire phase," you giggle into his side, having now seen a plethora of photos from Marcus's younger years. "I would've been all over you in high school."

“Yeah?” He hums, grinning into the darkness. “You would have been my little groupie?”

“Oh totally.” He sounds so utterly pleased that you giggle. “I would’ve been swooning at your feet.”

“I would have let you.” He admits, his fingers trailing up and down your spine. “Given you a private performance.”

Another giggle becomes a snort, and you rest your chin on Marcus’s chest to look up at him. “Your mother might not have liked me so much as a sixteen-year-old groupie, but I woulda been stuck to you like glue.”

“She was actually pretty cool with boyfriends and girlfriends.” He tells you. “She would have just made sure we were being safe.”

“Mmkay,” you hum and laugh. “So it would have been finding refuge here after my parents forbade me from seeing you anymore. Got it.”

He hums. “I could still impress the parents with my manners.” He promises. “No forbidding going on.”

“I just would have snuck out to see you.” It’s a fun little game of pretend to play, and you press a kiss to his chest. “Nothing could keep me from you, babe. We’re stuck like glue.”

“We are stuck like glue.” He smiles at you, ecstatic about that fact, that he’s gotten it right. “Me and you babe.”

******

On Sunday morning, his siblings and their families descend on the house early. All the Pike kids are morning people, apparently, and even more so when mornings include Christmas movies. The clattering downstairs is what wakes you, and you huff a groan into your husband’s side when you realize he’s silently stroking your back in your sleep. “Early.” You mumble, knowing it’s later than the time you get up for work but early for vacation wake up time.

“I know.” He’s eager to get downstairs, but he’s also eager to stay by your side. “But I know Mom will have coffee and fruit strudels downstairs.”

“Tempting.” But it’s not nearly as tempting as morning kisses, and you shift up the bed to snag some.

Marcus hums, smiling against your lips as he holds you close. “Morning.” He whispers between soft and sweet kisses. Enjoying the intimacy of the moment with you before the chaos begins.

“Morning, my love.” There are few things better than these quiet morning moments, and you savor them when you can. Work days are far too busy for cuddling so weekends are precious and holidays? Even more so.

“I’m so glad you agreed to come.” He admits quietly. “They are crazy and loud, but they are my family and I love them.” He grins. “Almost as much as I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Being held against his chest and wrapped up in bed with him is your safe place, but the morning is calling with loud voices so you place a kiss over his heart and stretch. “So exactly how many of your million cousins are coming today?”

“All of them?” He poses it as question and then laughs. “I think after the news I was bringing my new wife leaked, everyone decided to turn it into a family reunion.”

“Ahhh.” That makes you nod in understanding. “So it’s a really good thing that I packed nice clothes for this trip. Got it.” You had prepared for it, expecting to be a little bit on display, but you know how excited he is to be home. It made you want to work extra hard to make a good impression on his family.

“Don’t worry, they will absolutely love you.” He promises. His hand slides down and he pats your ass. “We need to get up and get the day started though.”

“Come on, handsome.” You haul yourself up with a groan after one more kiss. “Let’s get dressed.”

He chuckles as he watches you grumpily get up. You never like to leave a bed without a few good groans and it’s positively endearing to him.

“My body knows it’s a holiday,” you grumble good naturedly, as if you don’t groan about getting up for about three or four sentences every morning regardless. “It’s protesting.”

“Of course it’s protesting.” He shakes his head, climbing out of the bed with far more enthusiasm and starting to make the bed. “You would sleep for twenty-three hours out of the day if you could.”

“Only since adulthood.” Getting ready together is a nice, soothing little ritual and you pull your clothes out of your suitcase with precision. “When I was younger I could just go, go, go. But now?” You shrug and offer him a smile. “Why wouldn’t I want to be in bed these days? You’re there, too.”

He grins and winks at you. “You know, I think I like your thinking.” He flirts shamelessly with you, enjoying how easy it is.

“My logic is unflappable.” You boast, grinning at him and giggling, mood lifted immensely just by his smile. “But we need to get dressed, sir. You have a football game to play, if I remember my Pike family traditions correctly.”

“That’s true. It’s always best to come to the table with black eyes and bloody noses.” He chuckles and strips off his sleep shirt to pull on a sweatshirt.

“How do you expect me to function properly with the mental image of you being rugged and athletic and then the real image of you shirtless? It’s just unfair.”

He hums, smirking at the pouting tone of your voice and he bites his lip. “You’ll have a good view from the kitchen window.”

“Kitchen window?” Even though you know that’s where you’ll be most of the time — what with his mother loving to cook and his sister Kelly running a restaurant in the nearest city with two of their cousins — you still make noises. “My ass is going to be on that porch with a mug of something warm for a front row view.”

He snorts and walks back over to kiss you before he changes from comfortable boxers to more secure boxer briefs. Less chance of his brother ‘accidentally’ hitting him in the groin again this year. “Don’t worry, I’m sure all of you will be out there at some point.”

"I will be sure to spearhead that viewing party." You promise him before patting his ass with a smirk. "I will be watching very disrespectfully."

"What will I get when I score a touchdown?" He waggles his brows at you suggestively.

"Something that is not family friendly." And that is an absolute promise. "Now come on, handsome. I have a whole lot of Pikes to meet."

"Damnit." Marcus hisses quietly, reaching down to readjust himself in those boxer briefs before he slides on his sweats. "Now I want to go back to bed."

"Love youuuu," you sing-song, sashaying back across the room to your stack of clothes.

******

Downstairs is the general chaos that Marcus had expected and he's halfway down the stairs when he hears his brother Alex shouting. "SHUT UP, stop talking about them! They're coming!"

It throws you into an unexpected fit of giggles, and you have to pause mid-stair to compose yourself before hitting the ground floor just behind Marcus. "Nothing bad, I hope?" You ask, coming around the corner to where the living room, hallway, and kitchen are overflowing with your husband's extended family.

Alex, an older, slightly more rugged version of his younger brother with their mother's nose, grins at you. "Oh, just taking bets on if you were making a baby or freaking out about meeting this nut house of family members." He admits shamelessly.

"I am that dreaded thing known as a Night Owl," you admit with your hand on your heart, as if you were admitting to some dreadful sin. "It takes me a couple of extra minutes to get going in the morning. Nothing nefarious, I am sorry to report."

"Ohhhhh nooooooo, Marc – say it isn't so?" Clutching his hand to his chest, he looks at his brother in horror. Always the comically dramatic one of the bunch, he plays it up for all he's worth considering that the entire family is focused on all of you right now. He grins and winks at you just in case you aren't aware that he's not serious. "Take her back! Take her back to the wife store!"

"No returns." With a smirk and a smothered laugh, you wave your ring in the air — earning you some whoops and hollers from the assembled women of the Pike family. "Now I'm gonna get some tea, you boys play nice."

"Damn, she's way too good looking for your ugly ass." As soon as you sail by him, Alex grabs Marcus and pulls him in for a bone crushing hug that only brothers can give. "Fuck, it's good to see you."

"We all missed you." His sister Kelly is on the other side of him immediately, smacking Alex's arm away so she can hug their baby brother.

"Miss you too." He laughs, looking over her shoulder as he hugs his favorite sibling. "You, not Alex." He clarifies and grins when his older brother shoots him a bird.

"No one misses Alex," she laughs, sticking her tongue out at the oldest of the Pike siblings with glee. In typical middle child fashion, Kelly had become loud and active and attention-grabbing in her own right. All of which might have also been a survival tactic for having two very individual brothers. "You're good, Marc? Not working too hard? Mom said they still haven't given you your damn promotion."

"It's coming." He promises with a nod of his head. "Right now, I'm just riding out my time as a flunkie so I can spend more time with my gorgeous wife instead of balancing department budgets late into the night." He tells her with a grin as his eyes slide over the kitchen, hoping for a glance of you.

"Ugh," his sister groans, fully teasing. "He's still in the honeymoon period."

"Hope it never ends." Marcus rolls his eyes when he looks back at her, but he's not lying. He hopes your marriage is just as strong as his parents’. They were in love until the day his father passed and still his mother will happily say that he is the love of her life.

"Gross." Alex chimes in, grimacing at his brother for full effect. It doesn't matter that he and Kelly are both happily married to supportive spouses that they love with all their hearts. They have to tease Marcus.

"Yep." Marcus smirks at his older brother. "She gave me cooties." He warns childishly.

"It's supposed to be the other way around, ya know." Alex ruffles Marcus's short hair and needles his younger brother with glee. "You're supposed to give her cooties. Or did you not pay attention in sex ed?"

He takes the ruffling of his hair with only a small groan and chuckles as he dodges another swipe. "Oh, I paid attention." He promises. "I'm a Boy Scout, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," Alex rolls his eyes. "You never let us forget. Perfect youngest child with his perfect extracurriculars and now his perfect job." Though the older brother might gripe, they're all very proud of Marcus. It's just more fun to make fun.

"Don't forget, perfect wife." Marcus adds. As much shit as they give him, they were also his biggest support system when he was going through his divorce. They had kept him sane and he loves them for it.

"Do we call this 'the third time's the charm'?" Kelly asks, lightly teasing but so incredibly glad to see their little brother happy again. And happier, if this morning is any indication, than they've seen him with any partner before. "I'm gonna tell her all your most embarrassing stories while you guys are playing football. The ones that Mom doesn't know."

"I've already told her." He lies through his teeth, aware that he's not come close to telling you all his embarrassing stories, but he has to put on a brave front. Any and all fear will be utilized against him if he doesn't stand strong. Shrugging, he pretends to be unconcerned. "So go ahead."

"Gonna call your bluff, little brother," she announces before hustling off to find you in the kitchen.

"Shit." He hisses under his breath, dreading what stories she will spread. Alex chuckles and shakes his head. "You're in for it now, little brother."

The kitchen is a different sort of chaos on this Christmas Eve morning, but the sound of the kids watching A Muppet Christmas Carol in the living room is a welcome soundtrack to all the fuss. "It's their tradition," Julia is explaining to you, talking about the next generation of young cousins and their movie choice. "Their parents and some of the older siblings get in on the lawn football game, but they like to watch Christmas movies all morning until we're ready to break out the stuff to make gingerbread houses after lunch."

“Ohhhhh wifey.” Kelly trills as she floats into the kitchen, stopping by the fridge to pull out the bottles of Prosecco she had put in there when she arrived. “It is my duty as your sister-in-law – the best one – to ply you with alcohol and tell you embarrassing stories about my baby brother.” She grins as she holds up the bottle. “Now, OJ or cranberry juice?”

The laugh that bubbles out of you with Kelly's appearance is honest and light, and you finish your last sip of tea before attempting to speak. "It’s a little too early for alcohol for me, but makes yours with a little bit of both." The suggestion is full of absolute certainty and you add, "Trust me," when she tilts her head at you with curiosity. "One part OJ, one part cranberry, two parts bubbly. It's perfect. I’ll just have equal parts orange juice and cranberry juice for now. That’s also absolutely delicious."

“Alright…sounds pretty good. I’ll give it a try.” Her eyes slide over to Julia and she raises a brow. “Mom? Are you in?” She asks mischievously.

"You two have fun." Julia shakes her head, bowing out in favour of letting her middle child and the family's newest member have some one-on-one time. "I'm going to get lunch in the oven early, I think. So we can all relax a little."

“Of course.” Kelly rolls her eyes and looks at you with a grin. “You’ll love Mom’s lasagna. It’s a tradition.”

"I've heard nothing but amazing things." In fact, Marcus has been raving about his mother's cooking. "I hear it's on the menu at your restaurant, too? The famous family recipe."

Kelly nods and shrugs slightly as she snags two champagne flutes from the cabinet. “Still can’t make it as good as Mom can.” She admits shamelessly.

"That's Mom Magic," you hum, not quite admitting out loud that it's the type of magic you want to have one day.

“Also probably the secret ingredient that she’s not telling me about.” Kelly teases her Mom, knowing there’s no ingredient, but loving to rag on her.

"Patience," Julia tells her definitively as she starts to bustle around the kitchen again. "It's patience. And my kids all love instant gratification."

Kelly snorts as she pours the juices into the glasses. “Of course we do, Mom. Why do you think you have grandkids?”

"Could always use some more!" She sing-songs, glancing in your direction with a smirk before turning back to her task at hand.

“Mom, don’t scare her off by being greedy.” Kelly scolds her mother playfully. “If they want to give you more grandkids, they will do it on their schedule.” It’s important that you understand that they will tease and play but they will never be those obnoxious in-laws that demand you do things their way or give them what they want for your life. It was always what Marcus’s ex-fiancée had claimed, that they were too pushy, when they had just been asking questions about their future.

“It’s okay,” you assure both women, not scared off in the least. “We do want kids, just not quite yet. We’re enjoying the honeymoon period a little too much to want to change anything just yet.”

Even though you’re talking about her brother, Kelly grins and winks at you as she picks up her mimosa and hands you your juice. “Practice makes perfect, right?” She jokes.

It’s not even worth hiding your smirk or the mild embarrassment in your face, since she’s absolutely right. “Something like that,” you agree with burning hot cheeks.

“See? You’ll have more grandbabies in no time, Mom.” Kelly taps her glad to yours. “Welcome to the nut house.” She welcomes you. “We don’t bite…hard.”

If it was his friends instead of his family, you might tease that Marcus does bite hard, but his mother and sister don’t need to know about the tender marks on your inner thighs. “Thank you for having me,” you joke instead. “I’m very glad to join this particular nut house.”

“We are happy to have you.” Julia promises as she carefully covers the massive lasagna in multiple layers of aluminum foil. Not wanting the top to burn. Luckily, she had already put it together the day before so it’s ready to go.

******

You were warned about the football game. You really were. Marcus had tried to impress upon you how over-the-top he gets with his brother and brother-in-law and cousins. You had thought touch football on the front lawn was a sort of cute, insanely all-American tradition to have. Even in the snow it had sounded quaint. Now that they’re halfway through the game, though? You can see the people who really have fun with this tradition are the wives and girlfriends. The group of you are up on the porch with mugs of wassail either shouting encouragements or giggling to yourselves in appreciation of attractive men tackling each other (partially) for your amusement.

Even though it’s colder than hell, the men have nearly all removed their shirts. Panting and sweating as they try to their hardest to beat the shit out of each other for sport.

“I love football.” Alex’s wife chuckles when she comes up beside you and Kelly and hands you both iced gingerbread cookies.

“Pass interference!” Marcus shouts, shaking his head and huffing after his cousin shoved him out of the way. “That’s bullshit!”

“Forgot how to play dirty, Fed?” His cousin laughs it off, having discarded his Omaha Fire Department sweatshirt on the porch railing. “Fight back, Marcus!”

“Aren’t you the one who had to have a pack of peas on your nuts last year?” Marcus taunts back. “Thought you were gonna use those tiny peanuts to make a baby?”

“Twins on the way, baby!” The cousin – Ryan – cheers back, like somehow he was extra virile enough to cause twins, rather than it being entirely up to his wife’s anatomy.

“Alright, alright, focus up assholes.” Alex calls, bringing the two men back into the fold of the game. Good natured smack talk is all part of the fun, of course.

“He’s just mad he can’t throw.” Ryan shouts from the other side, grinning when Alex shoots him a bird. “Most interceptions of all the QBs.”

Shaking off the heckling with a laugh, Marcus waves at you and blows a kiss up to the porch as he jogs by to retake his position. “So you’re Marcus’s new…fiancée?”

You hear the question from elsewhere on the porch and you turn to face the speaker. “Wife.” It’s his cousin Ryan’s pregnant wife, of course, and you steel yourself with a forced smile. Marcus’s cousin Ryan had married his ex-wife years after the divorce. Honestly you can’t quite figure out how the whole family seems okay with it, but they are. “I’m his wife.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widen and her hand stops rubbing her rounded stomach. “That’s— I hadn’t heard! Congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you.” She actually seems to mean it instead of having some underlying sarcasm, and that soothes you right away. “It was recent. I guess word is still getting around.”

“I’m sure Julia wanted to make a big toast tonight.” She bites her lip and sighs. “I’m Vanessa. I hope you don’t hold it against me.”

“Honestly?” A small laugh bubbles out of you, surprising you both. “I ought to thank you. If you hadn’t divorced him, then I could never have married him.”

Staring at you for a second, she grins back at you. “You’re welcome, then. Part of the cousin-in-law package.” She snorts. “Free of charge, of course.”

While you don’t think Marcus ever would have lied to you about what happened, it seemed a little too straight forward to you. Like maybe he was leaving something out to spare feelings, which is definitely something your sweet and generally gentle husband would do. “I hope it really was as painless as Marcus says.”

“Oh, Marcus was – is – amazing.” Vanessa insists immediately, having enough affection for Marcus that she is still willing and able to come to his defense. “We met freshman year of college, decided it was love, and didn’t have a clue what love really was.” She shakes her head. “We adore each other, just— as friends and not partners.”

“I admit, I couldn’t really understand why the whole family seemed totally fine with everything.” Deciding to be honest, you just shrug and take a sip of wassail. “But it only takes thirty seconds to realize that there’s no ill will, and that’s…it’s a big comfort.”

“I met Ryan when I was working on my masters.” Vanessa admits with a sheepish grin. “He had been in the military and deployed when I was with Marcus. I didn’t even know until we were talking about meeting the folks.”

“It would have been a very awkward surprise.” Being able to laugh together is a relief, one that you’re not going to take for granted at all. “I’m glad to see that everyone has ended up happy. That’s so rarely the way, and it’s a shame.”

“It is a shame and I hated that Marcus was having a rough go for a while.” She frowns fiercely and shakes her head. “I don’t know what that Lisbon lady was thinking but she could have done so much better breaking things off with him.”

“She doesn’t have the greatest reputation around the office.” You admit, though the whispers have gotten to you through backways, and only since you started seeing Marcus so you’re sure you only hear the bad stuff. “Either way, everyone is happy. That’s what matters.”

Vanessa nods after a moment, her frown turning into a smile. “I understand if you find it odd, or don’t like me on the principle that I’ve slept with your husband, but I hope we can be friends.”

"It doesn't make any sense to be upset with you over something that happened years before Marcus and I ever even met." Putting your hand out to her, the offer of a handshake is your formal show of a truce. No hard feelings. Not from your end. "I'm happy to be friends."

“Well, that went better than I ever hoped.” Amy admits, coming out of the kitchen with a fresh bottle of Prosecco. “Top off on mimosas, anyone? The juice content is getting a little high.”

A few people around the porch take her up on the offer, but you politely shake your head and decide to stick with wassail. The game seems to be wrapping up as well, which means it will soon be time to do the traditional Pike family Christmas Eve gift exchange before dinner. At some point Marcus's mother had read about the Icelandic tradition of receiving a book to read on Christmas Eve and loved it so much that it has become tradition.

“Whoever gets ’Beautiful Secret’….” Vanessa hums, waggling her eyebrows. “You’re welcome.”

"Welcome to the real tradition," Kelly jokes, looping her arm through yours as the group from the porch starts to pour back into the house in advance of the football players. "Most of the books exchanged between the adult members of the family are a little...saucy."

“Mom pretends she doesn’t know any of them.” Amy snorts, grinning knowingly. “But that woman has a stash of trashy romance novels from the seventies in the attics and somehow, those boxes are multiplying.”

"Marcus clued me in," you promise, following your two sisters-in-law inside. "I brought my best offering, I promise." The choice you made was very specific, and really has one recipient in mind. Even thinking about it just makes you nervous for what’s to come.

“Of course he did.” There’s a grin tossed your way. “Marcus was the one who was always reading Mom’s books when she wasn’t looking.”

"I'm not even mad about it." A laugh bubbles out of you that you don't bother to stifle, and you shrug. "It's purely educational for him, I swear."

“Ugh, I don’t want to know about my brother’s bedroom habits.” His sister shudders playfully before she points her finger at you. “As long as he’s taking care of you.”

“Oh, I promise.” He’s more than taking care of you. Marcus treats you like a queen. But Kelly doesn’t want to know that so you just smile and let the happy, hazy expression on your face do the talking for you.

“Ohhhhhhh.” All the women in the kitchen making a knowing noise and grin at you. “That answers that.”

“Answers what?” The oldest Pike sibling is the one to lead the charge into the kitchen and Alex makes his way over to his wife to kiss her before going for a bottle of Gatorade from the refrigerator.

“If your brother is taking care of his responsibilities.” The kiss is accompanied by a cheeky grin.

“I thought you couldn’t talk about the case yet?” Alex looks back at Marcus, who comes into the kitchen behind him.

Marcus frowns in confusion and props his hands on his hips as he catches his breath. “Huh?”

“Not that,” you laugh, reaching to give your sweaty husband a hug. “We were just talking about the book exchange and got a little off-topic.”

“Oh?” He eyes his sister and sister-in-law with playful suspicion. “Don’t believe a word they say.” He jokes.

“Sure, honey.” You snicker lightly. “But they should believe me.”

“Of course.” He scoffs, leaning in and dropping a soft kiss on your lips with a grin. “Federal agents are held up to a high standard.”

“Yes, we absolutely are.” It earns him another kiss, and those familiar butterflies in your belly that have been so active lately swell up again at just how much you love him.

“I’m gonna jump in the shower.” Marcus tells you. “Kicking ass made me sweaty.” He grins again.

“Hurry back.” Partly because you miss having him at your side, but also because it’s almost time for the book exchange, and you’re just as excited as you after nervous for that.

Marcus winks. “Of course, sweetheart. Ten minutes, tops.”

“Then we’ll start the book exchange in ten minutes.” His mother decides. And the kids can go first, just in case he takes a few extra minutes.”

“And so they are reading.” Vanessa snorts. “Less likely to pay attention to our books.”

“Probably better for everyone,” you agree, offering a smile and a knowing laugh.

******

Marcus is true to his word, bouncing down the stairs with wet hair and fresh clothes nine minutes later. The spicy, musky cologne he’s wearing is one that you picked for him and he loves it. “I’m back. So stop talking about me.”

“It’s only good things, babe.” When he plops down beside you in the living room window seat, he has a wrapped gift in his hand that looks like the size of a standard novel and it makes the thick volume in your lap feel even heavier. No turning back now…you remind yourself silently.

Mistaking your slightly tighter grip on the book as nerves, Marcus reaches over and takes your hand. “They love you, babe.” He whispers confidently. “My brother was already telling me he likes you more than he likes me.” It was a joke, but it makes him happy that you are so easily accepted into the fold.

“Alex seems easily swayed,” you tease, leaning into Marcus’s side. “All I had to do was promise to listen to all of his favorite embarrassing stories about you.”

“Thanks, creep.” Marcus scowls at Alex, pretending to be mad while his brother hams it up. “Anytime man!”

“Alright, alright.” Julia comes back into the living room with her own parcel in her hands. “Kiddos first. Everybody circle up!” The grandkids and cousins scramble to comply, all sitting around together knee to knee after strategically choosing who to sit next to like their lives depend on it. When Grandma Julia gives the word, everyone passes the book in their hands to the person to their left.

“Now. Exchange the book with the person across from you.” Julia grins as the shuffle starts.The kids eagerly comply, giggling gleefully, and then again when Julia tells them to pass their books two people to the right this time. Around and around, the books pass, each kid squealing when the brightly colored package they want gets closer. “Alright just two more moves.” She warns. The books get passed across the circle diagonally and then once more three people to the left before Julia says to go ahead and open their gifts, and then she turns to the adults with a grin. “Ours is less complicated,” she promises. She likes to get the kids riled up but the adults are always already so tired that she just turns on a Christmas song and announces that the game is ‘musical books’. “Just pass it to the right until I tell you to stop or the song ends.” White Christmas begins to play and you anxiously hand your wrapped book over to Marcus as they begin to go around the circle.

Marcus grins as the groaning from the adults starts. The jokes and the laughter as they try to shove the books into the person next them as fast as they can. “It’s fun!” He promises you.

It is fun. Or it would be, if you weren’t praying that his mother remembered her end of the deal that you made last night after Marcus had shooed you both out of the kitchen to wash up after dinner. You had admitted that your book gift was specifically for your husband and she had assured you that she would make sure it ended up in his hands. You just hope she sticks to that.

“Okaaaaaaaay.” Julia is watching the book like a hawk. Making sure that it’s close. “Aaaand…stop!” She orders.

Your heart leaps when the large book ends up in Marcus’s hands, and you breathe a deep sigh of relief. “Everybody open up!” Kelly laughs excitedly, but you can’t. Frozen in your seat beside your husband, you watch as he peels the carefully folded and taped wrapping paper to expose the bright yellow cover of the book you selected for him. At this point you’re just holding your breath, not realizing the entire room is watching you.

Marcus reads the book’s title and frowns for a moment. This was your gift. “I— babe?” He sputters, looking up at you with the most hopeful expression on his face.

“Open it,” you murmur softly, already starting to tear up at the light in his eyes.

“But you said—” he doesn’t want to admit how he had wished you had said you were ready when you kept saying it wasn’t the right time, but he wasn’t going to push you. “Okay.” Opening the book, he finally looks away from you.

The dated sonogram is staring him in the face when he pulls open the cover of We’re Pregnant! The First Time Dad’s Pregnancy Handbook accompanied by a handwritten note in the deep blue ink of your favourite pen.

“Meeting you was a surprise, falling in love with you was as easy as breathing. Marrying you came like wildfire, and now being parents is our next great adventure. The tiniest Agent Pike is expected in July.”

“Oh my God.” Marcus chokes out, barely able to breathe as he stares at the tiny little nugget on the picture. “Babe…we’re gonna be parents.” It hits him and the book is dropped into his lap as he surges forward to kiss you.

The entire crowd of Marcus’s family around you have exploded into a ruckus of gasps and shouts and cheering, but your world has narrowed down only to him. You’ve been sitting on this secret for two while weeks and barely managed to contain your own excitement. Sure, you had said you wanted to wait. To enjoy being married first. But that baby was having none of it. It bypassed your birth control like a champ, and from the moment your doctor told you it wasn’t stress or a seasonal flu running you down, you’ve been ecstatic.

“Baby, baby.” Marcus can’t help but giggle and grin against your lips as he kisses you over and over again. “I love you. So much. I can’t—”

“Breathe, baby.” And yet you can’t help giggling, breathless right along with him. “Can’t have you hyperventilating on me. We’re gonna have to get through a whole lot in the next seven months.”

“I— I thought you wanted to wait.” He shakes his head, trying to understand when this happened, how. Even if he logistically knows how.

“I thought I wanted to wait, too.” You shrug, though, laughing through giddy tears. “But I’m so excited, honey. I can’t believe I actually managed to keep it a secret.”

“Oh my God.” Marcus pulls you close, everyone around him fading to the background as he focuses on you. “I can’t believe you did either.” He admits, unable to stop beaming at you. “This is— you can’t ever top this Christmas present.” He decides with a laugh.

“Nope. Never.” Wrapped up in him is exactly where you want to be, but first you wipe the tears from under his eyes and press kisses to his cheeks. “But I have no problem with our first Christmas being our best.”

“I love you so much.” Marcus can’t even stop himself from caressing your stomach, in awe of the knowledge there’s your baby inside.

“I love you, too.” You’ve already lost track of how many times you’ve had your hand on your unchanged stomach since you found out about the baby, and you know that that’s only going to increase now that you can do it together. “And I love this little peanut so damn much.”

“You’re gonna be a Mom.” He chuckles. “And I’m gonna be a Dad.” He’s always wanted to be the father that his own was. Continuing the legacy of Pike dads.

“Merry Christmas, love.” Murmured against his lips, you kiss him one more time before his whole family descends on you with shrieked glee and hugs and a deluge of congratulations. Your first Christmas with the Pikes will probably never be topped, but that’s okay. It’s the perfect next step in your perfectly imperfect life.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #pure fluff #Christmas fic #all-American softie #The Mentalist #Mentalist fanfic

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 2 months

Text

Lessons in Anatomy and Affection (Hunter x reader)

Summary: You decide to put Hunter's anatomy knowledge to the test.

Warnings: 18+ minors begone, here be smut; f!reader, unprotected PiV, creampie, switch!Hunter and switch!reader, teasing, lots of teasing

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Hi guys! I'm alive! I meant to post this months ago, but I've been busy, so with the new TBB season finally airing, I figured this would work now. Enjoy, ya heathens. (If you've sent me an ask, I've seen it! My inspiration has been very low lately, but it's on my radar <3). Originally a gift for @vimse

Hunter exhales a shuddering breath as you blow a stream of cold air over the stripe you’d just licked up his neck. His hands rest lightly on your waist, his touch warm and comforting, and you delight in the way that his fingers dig into your side just the slightest. Throat bobbing with an audible gulp, Hunter turns his head to find your gaze. His eyes are half-lidded and blown with lust already, and they gleam in the soft, warm glow of the fairy lights of your bedroom. His dark curls splay around his head in a halo.

“Cyare,” he rumbles.

You shush him gently, pressing your lips to his. Under your wandering hands, the expanses of his bare, toned body flex and ripple, goosebumps trailing in your wake. Mouths moving together at a slow, unhurried pace, you can’t help the soft moan that escapes you when you curl your hand around his stiff length.

“Kriff,” he breathes. “N-Need to touch you, cyare, please.”

“I know, Hunter,” you murmur. Trailing kisses down the opposite side of his neck, you lavish extra attention to the sensitive spots you know drive him crazy. When you’re rewarded with a shaky sigh, his head tilting away from you to grant you better access, you smile against his skin. “But you have to wait. Think you can do that for me?”

After a moment, his hands fall away from your sides. Pulling back, you study his features. His teeth worry his bottom lip, but his eyes find yours again, steady and dark and desperate. In the twinkling fairy lights, Hunter’s skull tattoo shifts and dances; though you know its base function is camouflage, to you, it’s always been beautiful.

Glancing down the rest of his body as he’s stretched out on your bed, your mouth waters. The tattoo drips down the entire left side of his body, every bone etched into his skin with precise and accurate detail, from the large, sturdy femur to the smallest, most fragile phalange. He’s always been beautiful to you. And when he’s like this, relaxed and pliant, his beauty is nearly radiant. Anticipation curls in your lower belly and nestles deep, tightening your core with desire. You remove your hand from his cock before you lose track of the game you want to play.

“I need to hear you say it, love,” you whisper, cupping his face.

“Please,” he says. “Whatever you want. Just so long as I get to touch you at the end of it.”

“Always.” Pressing a sweet kiss to his chin, you shift so you can kiss down his body easily. “Ready for the rules?”

Hunter nods.

“Good. I’m going to touch parts of your tattoo—” You ghost your fingertips over the inked-in fifth rib as if to prove your words “—and you’re going to name the correct bone. Get them all right, and you get your reward.”

His nipples stiffen from your touch and the sultry promise of your words. “And if- if I miss any?”

Tweaking one of his nipples, you hum while you think. “Miss one, and you can only hold my breasts. Miss two, just my hips. Miss three or more, and you don’t get to touch at all while I take my pleasure from you. Understood?”

“Y-Yes,” he gasps out. His hips stutter up in anticipation.

Sitting up, legs tucked under you, you let your gaze wander Hunter’s form once again. Sweat has already begun to collect in the dips and valleys of his muscles. At his sides, his fingers twist into the soft cotton sheets in anticipation of the sweet torture you’re about to enact. His chest rises and falls with deep, labored breaths; at the apex of his thighs, his cock bobs gently with each beat of his heart.

When he begins to fidget, you take mercy on him.

“What’s this one?” you murmur, trailing your touch along the gentle curve of one of the tattooed ribs.

“Third rib,” he answers immediately.

“Very good.” Featherlight, you glide your fingers across his heated skin. “And this?”

“Sternum.” His voice is only the slightest bit shaky.

You move up to his throat and lightly tap the bisected cervical vertebrae that covers the central bump of his throat. “This?”

He swallows, his throat bobbing under your touch. “C5.”

Delight skitters over your skin at the way that his voice has already begun to drip with raspiness. Catching your lip between your teeth, you take a steadying breath, trying to ignore the way your pussy flutters with need.

When you’re ready, you move on again. You sweep your thumb in a soothing semicircle over the swell of Hunter’s shoulder, and wait for him to answer.

“Th-That’s the scapula,” he says, a waver in his voice. “The front edge of it.”

Warmth rushes through you, a heady mix of pride and lust. “Very good, Hunter.”

Tired of simply touching him with your fingers, you shift down on the bed to press a kiss to one of his arm bones, lips warm and soft against his skin.

His breath hitches. “Radius.”

Another kiss to the other bone earns you a sigh of, “Ulna.”

A pleased hum vibrates through you. Bypassing his hand, you shimmy lower still on the bed to place a kiss to his kneecap.

“P-Patella,” he rasps, voice catching.

Gazing up at him for a moment, your mouth waters at the way that he’s not even looking at you. His neck is strained and his eyes are squeezed shut. Closer at hand, precum beads at the tip of his cock, practically begging to be licked. Tempting though the idea is, you force yourself lower yet again.

You target one of the tiny bones of his foot, and flick your tongue against it. A groan punches out of Hunter’s chest as his fists tighten in the bedsheets. Mouth working, no words sound from him.

You lick the tattoo again. “What’s this one called, love?”

“I- I don’t know,” he admits.

“That’s too bad,” you say, words full of syrupy regret. “One missed. What does that mean again?”

A strangled sound claws from Hunter’s throat. “It— It means I can only touch your breasts.”

“Good boy,” you murmur. Pressing a fresh kiss to his foot, you smirk against his skin. “Now, tell me this one.”

Chest heaving, Hunter squirms. It takes him a long, tense moment, but finally he gasps out, “Second metatarsal!”

“Atta boy.”

Crawling up his body, you intentionally let your hand brush his cock.

“Fuck!” he swears, voice cracking. “Please, cyare, please.”

“Please, what?” you say. Tilting his face to you, you search his expression for any hints of distress. All you find is desperation and need.

“Please, just...” He swallows thickly. “Need you.”

“Just a few more, love,” you promise, “then I’ll give you what we both want.” Skimming your knuckles over the blank space of his cheekbone, you raise your eyebrows expectantly. “Tell me this one, Hunter.”

“Skull,” he says, but his voice is hesitant, guarded. “Zygomatic.”

You kiss his opposite cheek, humming your approval, then reach for his inked hand. He releases the sheets to let you lick a thin stripe up his entire pointer finger. “In order.”

His hand squeezes yours. “Distal, middle, proximal phalanges.” A shuddering breath leaves him. “Then the metacarpal.”

He’s done so well for you; you just need one more answer from him. Your own arousal is getting more and more difficult to ignore as slick makes your thighs slippery. Nudging his wrist with your nose, you make sure your breath fans over his skin, warm and comforting.

“Trapezoid,” he breathes out.

“Oh, Hunter,” you coo, brow furrowing in mock pity. “I’m so sorry, that’s not the right one.”

“W-What?” His head shoots up, a frantic look in his eyes. “Yes—it is, look it’s—”

He points to the one you just nosed over, frown overtaking his features. You let him process the information for as long as he needs—which is a few long moments, given the way his irises are nearly black and his skin has retained its goosebumps for several minutes now. When you see the realization dawn on his face like the sun, you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“S’okay, love,” you mumble against his mouth. “That’s the trapezium, but you were so close. And you can still hold my hips while I ride you.”

A broken groan slips from Hunter, but his hands immediately fly to grasp at you. Swinging your leg over his waist to straddle him, you catch his gaze and hold it as you line his cock up with your dripping entrance and—

Matching moans echo throughout your room as you take him inside you. Dropping your forehead to his, you lower yourself inch by inch onto his cock, until your pelvis rests flush with his hips. No matter how many times you take him, it’s still a stretch, his cock filling you in ways that make you feel complete. Whole.

“Thank you,” he sighs, eyes locked onto yours. His nails are blunt but no less painful where they bite crescents into your skin. “Stars, you always feel so good. So warm, so tight.”

Bracing yourself with your elbows to either side of his head, you roll your hips instead of answering him. Hooking your feet over his powerful thighs, you set a lazy pace, driven only by the intense, burning need to make him finish with you. His hands never stray from your hips—always a dutiful partner, always willing to listen and follow orders to their conclusion—but even so, his touch burns into you, scorching your very soul.

You turn your head to rest it on his shoulder, working your hips a little faster. “I love you.”

“Stars, I love you too,” he murmurs. His fingers squeeze your sides. “Love this pussy, too.”

Chuckling, you flex your core just to hear him grunt. “That all?”

“‘Course not,” he says. He’s close; you can tell just by how clipped his words are, how strained his voice is. “Love your ass. And your thighs, your tummy, your hands—f-fuck—your eyes.”

His words drive your hips faster, making you chase a release that suddenly rears its head. Pleasure thrumming under your skin and sliding through your veins, you moan at his praise. You bite into his shoulder, whining.

“Love how you take care of me,” he continues, voice softening. “Love the way you care about us. I just love you, cyare.”

“Maker,” you gasp out. “Hunter, I- I’m—”

“I know, mesh’la,” he murmurs.

His grip turns almost painful as he takes control, dragging your body back and forth over his. Toes curling, your moans muffled against his skin, you delight in the way that he knows exactly how to move you, to make you see stars.

Somewhere in the symphony you two compose together, of moans and sighs, whimpers and groans, you find the edge of shattered bliss. Hunter can feel it, and he presses his hips up into yours just enough to shove you right over the cliff. Body locking up, you cry out for him, walls fluttering as he fucks you through your orgasm. Pleasure burns through every nerve ending; your ears ring, vision black at the edges for a moment, as you let Hunter give you what you both needed. Through the haze, you’re dimly aware of the way his hips falter as he cums, too. Warmth spilling within you, Hunter pants against your skin, nails digging into your flesh.

When you both come down, you raise your head to meet his gaze. His eyes crinkle in a soft smile.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” you mumble. Sleep already begins to curl around your senses. “Thank you.”

He releases your hip to cup your face. “What for?”

“I dunno.” Biting your lip, you offer a smile. “Just being you.”

Hunter brings you down to kiss you, a sigh of, “Always,” fanning your lips.

Because Hunter is your always, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ragu: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @littlemissmanga @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @dickarchivist @a-single-tulip @lem-hhn @thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831 @mssbridgerton @isaidonyourknees @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins @dangraccoon @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl @originalcollectionartistry (if I can't tag you, please check your settings! Sign up here!)

#tbb hunter x reader #hunter x reader #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #the clone wars x reader #rhiwrites #hunter bad batch #hunter the bad batch

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0oolookitsme · 2 months

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Like Gold Dust

Hii everyone! This one is kind of different than most of my fics. There are lots of descriptions and lesser dialogues and she's an angsty one! Lowkey poetic too, I think? I don't know! You tell me! I hope you enjoy reading <3

Verse - Footballer!Harry x Art Director!Y/n (uni era)

Word Count - 3.1k

Warnings - This fic is about Harry dealing with Seasonal Depression and he doesn't deal with it in this fic very healthily. So, if that, in any way, seems like it might be triggering for you or you don't wanna read about it, I totally understand! Close this fic and take care of yourself, I'll see you in the next upload! Sending love <3 (Also, there's miscommunication as well because of course, they are in uni!)

Winter has come knocking the wind out of Harry's lungs, and happiness has begun feeling like gold dust to him -- everybody seems to be chasing after it, but rarely catches it. But while Harry deals with the harshest Winter he's ever had, Y/n seems to have begun hating her favourite season.

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With her head lowered defeatedly, Y/n slapped on the door with her palm for the fifth time. "Harry," she exhaled a breath that she had held hostage in her lungs so that she wouldn’t miss his reply. "I know you're in there ...let me in, please," her voice went meek towards the end, eyes moistening making her screw them shut, tighly.

She let her head rest on the door, sniffling a few times when she feels the sudden tiredness overtake her senses once again.

Maybe he's asleep, she thinks to herself just to get herself moving. Nodding at her own thought, she fisted the hand that was still pressed against the cold shut door and put it back in the warmth of her coat’s pocket.

This was nothing new. Every morning she'd come to his dorm, knock and knock and knock, and get teary eyed when he wouldn't open up. She'd catch him on the campus sometimes, walking in the same clothes she'd been seeing him in since the past three days, his head low and eyes avoiding any and every gaze.

"Harry!" She'd call after him and run up to match her steps with his. "I went to your dorm; thought you were sleeping but here you are!" Halting in her place she'd exclaim. Then, she'd mumble sadly -- "looking all pretty," running a little because he hadn't stopped with her.

She'd walk with him quietly then, cautiously weaving her fingers through his rough ones. He'd squeeze her hand three times in return and hold on tightly until they'd reach the point where they needed to part ways for their classes.

Truth be told, those little encounters seemed to be the only thin thread she was hanging by. His simple touches, holds, and cold lips pressed against her forehead. It made her believe that he didn’t entirely hate her, that she wasn’t as useless as she felt.

Y/n felt like she was lacking somewhere. That she should be the one he should be talking to in moments like these, that she should be the sole source of comfort he had but it seemed like he kept his distance from her as much as he could. And that made her feel like maybe she wasn’t his favourtie person, after all.

She knew that it wasn’t the truth in her heart. That Harry did still love her, and found his safe haven in her – the smallest actions he made were assuring …but they weren’t enough to prevent Y/n’s opposing, combatant mind from exceeding its thinking capacity.

Every night she found herself doubting herself – her capacity to love, especially. Was her love not enough for the both of them to sail a little longer? At Least until Spring came and Harry’s sunflower plant became full of life again?

She feared that their relationship was withering away, just like his sunflower, and she was sat in his room on his window sill with the plant in her lap, frantically giving it sunlight and air and water and better soil but it just won’t stop shrinking in size and fading in colour.

Doing everything she could, still Y/n was always feeling helpless and in despair. It was like she was screaming but Harry wasn’t listening…whether intentionally or not because, from Harry’s point of view, no sound seemed to be coming out of her scream – maybe because he was under water.

"I'll see you soon," she'd tell him and get up on her tiptoes to hug him close to herself, pressing a kiss on his unshaved cheek. And with that, she'd walk away, her hand a lingering touch until she had walked far enough, and she, yet again, proved to be insufficient and not enough.

Walking against the brittle wind, she caught sight of the on-campus cafe. Walking inside, she looked up at the jingling bells above the door and smiled. She’d been coming here for so many months and yet she looked up at the source of the chime every time she walked in – for coffee, mainly, and for some warm shelter, secretly.

"A medium coffee please," she told the barista, who also happened to be a good friend. The cafe was opened by some of the college students, for the college students. It was nothing fancy but did its job remarkably well.

No one was speaking this early in the morning. Everyone was bundled up in any corner that they could seek, and Y/n looked around in hopes that maybe the footsteps she'd heard inside Harry's dorm weren't actual and that she might catch him cozied up here, instead. Because sometimes they'd bump into each other here or at the library, and that would bring her the peace that she was feeling rarely this Winter – which came as a shock to the system because she didn’t nearly love any season as much as she did Winter.

But alas, it was only a hope after all.

"Can I get a refill, please?" Someone asked, slightly embarrassed as the peeked from behind their laptop screen. Standing in front of Y/n, the barista – Kate – agreed to the request with a warm smile.

It was brighter than usual today, Harry had noticed. The sunlight pouring in through his open window laid right on his bed and if he wasn’t already feeling brighter today, which is the reason why he is standing fresh out of his bathroom and rubbing his towel against his head with another one wrapped low on his hips, his mood just felt as if it had bubbled up so high that he couldn’t handle it all by himself.

The flimsy curtains were still drawn in front of his windows, as he quickly changed. Even though he hated dressing up before his skin had fully dried. Unconsciously, he began humming a song and when he realized that while brushing his hair, he felt as if he had caught himself off guard.

Happiness had begun to feel like it was like gold dust, to Harry. He’d suddenly become very aware of how difficult it was to obtain, how everyone wanted it and it was almost as if it had grown out of his comfort zone.

He wasn't excited about the winter, not that he ever was. But he was depressed. Harry avoided his own gaze in the mirror then. He hadn’t said anything to himself other than a broken sob in weeks, so to find himself humming a song felt surreal.

Throwing some things in his backpack, he swung it over his shoulders. He didn’t have anything on his feet, he realized and sprawled on the floor to look under his bed for the socks he was sure he had absentmindedly kicked under there.

He took a quick sniff at his socks, deciding that he could go with them this last day. With a few grunts he pulled them up on his feet, sitting on the floor of his dorm room and tying his shoelaces. Y/n had gifted him those among some other things for Christmas, and that thought made him smile as he stared at the Nikes on his feet for little.

A few of his bones popped as he got up, making him groan in satisfaction. Checking if he had his phone and headphones on him, he decided to go and quickly check the scenery outside via his window and see for himself if he should carry an umbrella, which didn’t make any sense because it could begin raining cats and dogs any time where he lived.

That was when he caught sight of snow – falling down in flakes, slowly like feathers. His mouth fell open as he pressed his palms against the cold window glass, looking outside like some eager kid with his nose slightly smushing against it. His gaze wandered and he realized that everyhting was covered in white snow, shimmering beautifully as sunlight fell down.

Suddenly in a much bigger hurry, he swung his backpack on one of his shoulders again, and locked the door once he was on the other side of it.

The temperature inside his dorm room was much colder than the temperature outside, Harry realized, just as he does every other day and proceeded to walk down the hallway with his hands in the pockets of his bright pink hoodie. He’d been thinking all morning that maybe this serotonin release was only for one day, but chose not to dwell over that so he could simply live for at least some hours – for as long as the sun was away from the jail-bars, namely clouds.

But then he realized that it had finally begun snowing, and he felt like no one could take his happiness from him; absolutely no one.

He hated this issue that he had. He’s been suffering with seasonal depression since he was fifteen, he’d guess, and he hadn’t had one winter since that made him happy. Except, of course, the last one, in which he finally had the nerve to kiss Y/n under a mistletoe that had been hanging on the wall indentation that separates the dining area from the kitchen in his home.

And she made the Winter sufferable, if not entirely rainbows and sunshine for him. But it only made Harry hate himself worse – the fact that she adored no season as much as she did the snow one, and yet she was sad all the time during the span of this Winter in particular, because of him.

When Winter was approaching, she had strictly told him to come meet her before he’d leave for practice in the mornings, just so that she could hold him for a little before they’d go in for entirely different classes for the day, because she was aware that one of his love languages was physical touch. She didn’t really have a clue about how harsh this Winter was going to be on them, considering it hadn’t ever been so bad in the years she had known him, even as his best friend.

But he hadn’t been following the one rule she’d made; he was unable to.

He tried to stay away from her, when he realized that. Just so that she wouldn’t have to share all of her love and happiness with him to the level that she was left with nothing but his sadness. It wasn’t making him feel good, it hurt worse than the Winter did – staying away from her. But it was for the better, he’d tell himself over and over again as he would roll his lips in his mouth and shut his eyes tightly when she would come knocking on his dorm room morning and night, voice sounding as if she were on the verge of breaking down and begging him to open up so that she could come in and help him, and herself even.

“This is making me very sad, Harry. This – whatever it is that you’re doing, i – it isn’t making me feel anything but … but sad,” she would utter defeatedly outside his dorm, being ignorant about the strangers that might be hearing her. And, Harry would clench his eyes shut if his mind showed him a sight of her bottom lip trembling with fat tears rolling down her flushed cheeks.

What would matter to anyone hearing her, if Harry wasn’t hearing her? She’d think as she’d knock for the last few times, getting louder and louder.

It made Hary question his decisions, if he was doing the ‘right thing’ after all. But still he would gulp down his cry that threatened to escape his aching throat. He cried, and held himself as his body shook and broke down in sobs, because it felt selfish to have her do it when she could be outside building a snowman.

He was well aware that she was concerned about him, it showed in her actions -- bled through the looks of care she passed him before she had to part from him. And he felt careless, like he wasn’t being responsible and mature enough by simply letting her in but he was. He couldn’t explain as to how or why, but in his head, he knew he was being sensible by not enclosing her in his misery.

Around Y/n he was calmer and more at peace – that was, nowadays, whenever she would catch him sulking on the campus somewhere. Almost all the time he wanted to be coddling her, holding her or being near her -- he knew she’d keep him sane, at the least but still he didn’t go to her. So he managed to comfort himself by the things that reminded him of her.

He felt such geat despair in that moment, when he would be sliding down the wall of his dorm as tears fell one after another from the slits of his eyes. He’d feel resentful of himself, but would still wrap his arms around his weak body and strangle his sobs because the walls were paper thin. He’d rest his head on his knees, back against the cold wall before he’d crawl to the foot of his bed and cry into the mattress as if it were his mum’s or Y/n’s lap.

The sun had begun its hideaway for multiple days on end, and it got dark way earlier. Although he'd liked to think that he was prepared for the season, for the entirety of the beautiful autumn, he knew he was just baffling to himself. His current state was proof for it.

He felt tired, always. Never sleeping and being irritated at the slightest mistakes made during practice -- whether it was with himself or with his teammates. He had no interest in eating or getting out of his dorm room in the mornings, which was extremely unusual of him. Exams were around the corner and as much as he'd like to say that he was ready to tackle them, it was a lie far far away from the truth.

He wasn't even sure what the syllabus was, if he was being completely honest.

By the end, his throat would be aching because of the stifled wails and the sun would have risen by the time he’d be done collecting himself, and then a headache would follow and his eyes would've dried up because of the night time that he used to study instead of sleeping.

Swiftly climbing down the flight of stairs to go to y/n's dorm, he felt the same kind of sensation he did when he was going back home for the winter break.

He knocked thrice, gently because he’s sure she's still sleeping or just woken up. There was a rush in his body, the thought of seeing her was making him more and more impatient. He was beginning to feel nervous, almost verging on anxious.

The door opened, and Y/n peeked through the small crack before and her eyes widened at the sight in front of her. He was standing right there, freshly showered and dressed in a fresh pair of clothes. His face was shining and as he smiled down at her, his dimples indented in his shaved cheek and she could smell the strong smell of his shaving cream that lingered around for a while. His lips were stretched so far that the front of his bunny could be seen from the small gap forming in between.

He didn't look much better than he did on the mornings that have passed them by since winter started, but he did seem to be in a better mood. It made her happy that he loved the hot pink hoodie that she bought him as much as she did. He had paired it with some joggers, and the shoes that, again, she had gifted him.

Tears pooled in her eyes in an instant and her nose flared a bit as her mouth swung open in a grin, spurts of laughter falling out as she gazed at him in disbelief.

She made herself fully visible and opened the door wider. Instead of saying anything, she closed her mouth shut, still smiling at him brightly, and opened her arms for him to lean into her.

"Good morning," he gritted through his teeth as she held him tightly, rubbing her back up and down as she broke down in his arms. Pushing the door shut with his leg.

“Good fucking morning,” she sobbed and hicupped, a crack in her voice indicating that this was the first time she'd spoken since she'd woken up, and that she would’ve begun screaming in victory if only she could stop the stuttering cries rushing out of her.

This was the sole reason she'd begun to dislike mornings less, in the first place -- the love she felt oozed out of her at the sight of Harry. But she hadn’t realized just how off and gloomy she had been this whole time until she broke down at the mere sight of him looking decent. All these mornings that she had to wake up knowing deep in her core her that she wouldn’t see the sun, no matter how much she begged for it to come out had put her in a despair so great that she couldn’t even fathom the feeling of it.

But when she’d woken up this morning to see the land outside covered in white snow, shining as sunlight fell on it filled her with a certain hope to the brim. It almost made her flinch, the way sunlight fell on her face as she laid in her bed, eyes swollen and pillow still wet with the tears she’d cried into it the night before.

"You look exceptionally good this morning," she said while pointedly eyeing him up, wiping off the snot with the sleeve of her hoodie. "All good?"

Harry laughed at that, picking her up and taking her to the unmade bed. It looked like she was in the process of making it because all of her stuffed animals were strewn all over the floor -- and she tends to sleep with them on the days Harry isn't there to take up more space than necessary.

“I would’ve been on my way to buy some flowers for you, had I not seen the snow outside. Got too excited to see you, couldn’t wait,” he spoke softly, like she was still in a fragile state.“Plus, it’s too cold outside and I’d like my golden girl to come with me… For the sunflowers only bloom at the sight of the sun,” he smiled with his eyes crinkling on ends, and dimples shying away from Y/n’s gaze.

“First of all, we need to talk and second of all – how many times did you reframe this cringy speech, Harry?”

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #boyfriend!harry #harry styles concept #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shots #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles au #footballer!harry #frat boy!harry #harry styles fic

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lightwise · 2 months

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Full Circle - The Return to The Outpost

The Return is a masterpiece in visual, verbal, metaphorical, and situational parallel and payoff. We have been waiting for 3 long seasons to see Crosshair and his family come to terms with their choices, reunite, and move forward together, and this episode somehow manages to give us all of it by walking us point by point through the scene of Crosshair’s change of heart—The Outpost. Most likely the themes presented here will continue to be parsed out for the rest of the season, but their fulfillment is begun here.

We start with Crosshair outside of the ship, choosing target practice as a thinly-veiled excuse for avoiding his brothers. He is reunited, but not yet comfortable or fully trusted. In The Outpost, the scenes open with Crosshair outside of the ship on a smoking toothpick break, and he is approached by a Lieutenant who is decidedly not amenable to him. In both instances he is starting to be a little more open, however—his helmet is off, and in the first is listening to a group of regs, and the second, chatting with Omega and letting her show him physical affection.

After a reunion on everyone’s part with Echo, who we see fully embrace a hug from Omega, and slip back into familiar banter with Crosshair, we are taken to the dining area on Pabu. This is a callback to the dinner that the main group had when they first arrived on the island, except this time, Crosshair and Echo have come home, and there is an empty chair symbolizing the absence of Tech. This episode shows no other characters besides the Batch (now including Batcher as the best girl that she is). The conflicts and themes in this episode are meant to fully delve into the heart of what makes this family tick.

Barton IV is, as Crosshair states, a “remote, understaffed facility. It shouldn’t be a problem to infiltrate.” He can barely hold eye contact with Hunter while saying it, when once he was Hunter’s second. Hunter wants Omega to be safe and instructs her to remain behind, but she is adamant that they should stick together, just like she always has since joining them. Hunter almost looks like he’s going to cry, but he relents to both her demands and Crosshair’s input, although he is still suspicious of Crosshair’s motives.

Before they leave, Crosshair has his original Bad Batch armor returned to him by Wrecker. His old identity and loyalties, kept by his family the same way he never left their hearts. A contrast to his previous mission, where Crosshair and the other clones are considered “used equipment,” and their only purpose is to protect and retrieve the shiny new armor meant for their replacements.

As they make their way to the base, the weather also points to a drastic difference between the two episodes. In The Outpost, the weather is MISERABLE. Cold, stormy, clouded, dangerous. Crosshair’s inner turmoil at that time cost Mayday his life, and broke his allegiance to the Empire. But on their return it is clear, sunny, calm, settled—almost serene (on the surface). Crosshair has thawed and grown as a person, and his emotions appear to be in a much calmer, if somber, place. As they land, Echo states that there are no signs of life on the scanners.

The planet is a graveyard. A memorial. A resting place. Made to dredge up and bury.

A baptism. A resurrection.

They exit the ship, and a vulture shrieks overhead, a reminder of Crosshair’s failures. Crosshair lifts his head to look at it, and his shoulders slump. (There’s an excellent little explanation of the vulture symbolism here.)

Mayday had told him that the vultures are vicious creatures who find a way to survive. They bury the dead and they take the scraps and they clean up for everyone else. They are shunned but beautiful. And they survive. Against all odds.

The second the vulture disappears, tension between Hunter and Crosshair begins to spill over. While the others are happy to see Crosshair assuming his old identity, Hunter is suspicious that the planet is deserted yet still heavily guarded by sensor beacons, and rounds on Crosshair demanding explanations. Crosshair has willingly led them to the site of his trauma but he is NOT ready to talk about it yet, and matches Hunter snark for snark. According to him (he should know) the danger (local raiders) has been taken care of. Hunter is even more pissed off as he gets a glimpse of Crosshair’s activities under the Empire, and Omega is disappointed in both of them. Their feelings remain tense and tight as Echo convinces them all to get inside and focus on their mission.

Once inside, Wrecker asks a question that encapsulates the fate of all the clones.

“So why’d the empire abandon this place?” “I guess it served it’s purpose.” “Hmm, sounds familiar.”

This prompts Crosshair to separate from the rest and go to a side storage room, where he first comes across the same heater that Mayday had once carried over to him as a gesture of friendship. It is dark and dead now. A sweep of his flashlight, and an even more sickening sight awaits him. All of Mayday’s troopers helmets, once lined up in a silent memorial, are now in a pile on the floor. And Mayday’s is among them.

Crosshair must have known this was a possibility, coming back. He isn’t ready to talk about his feelings toward this place, but his face tells us all we need to know about his grief and his regret. He steps over and in reverence, greets the helmet of his friend. He understands now. Loss, grief, death. The burden that Mayday carried. Succumbed to. At the time, Crosshair had merely watched. Now he participates and gives Mayday and his squad the honor they are due. Hunter, who has become more and more suspicious of what Crosshair isn’t telling him, catches sight of his brother honoring a (supposedly) random group of regs, but slips away to not disturb him. Yet.

Crosshair rejoins the others as the sensors are turned off to redirect the power supply, and Batcher suddenly starts acting up. Crosshair takes her seriously, although he is forgetting something important that Mayday once told him—“you’ll freeze to death in that armor—if what’s in the ice doesn’t get you first.” Typically this is Hunter’s job, to be alert to shifts in the environment, but he is so focused on Crosshair “leaving” that he seems to be completely unaware of something stirring outside.

Crosshair walks out both to scout and to process his feelings, and is greeted with an up close look at the ice vulture that has haunted him. He starts to scowl and as the bird takes off, asks “are you going to be my shadow everywhere?” A statement that could hold true for both the vulture and Hunter, who has followed him. And Hunter gets right to the heart of it.

“I know you,” he says. Or I did, before you became someone I don’t recognize. Someone who would betray us and leave. “There’s more you’re not telling us. Start talking. What did you do to get on the Empire’s bad side?” Hunter needs proof. He wants to know how the brother who swore loyalty to the Empire thrice over and stayed on that Kaminoan platform had a supposed change of heart. But he frames it bitterly, believing that Crosshair is simply repeating a pattern—one that had almost made them enemies.

Crosshair’s hand shakes so much that his toothpick slips (like the sharp and pointed wit that often protects and comforts him), and we see a rumbling in the ice. Their emotions are starting to bubble and seethe.

“You thought we’d take you back and not ask questions? I don’t think so.” Hunter is losing his grip on his emotions and physically shoves Crosshair in an attempt to spark the fight. His face is drawn, angry, and anticipating hurt.

Crosshair remains remarkably calm, not even necessarily wanting to make an argument out of it, but he eventually responds to Hunter’s indignation with his own. And this time he doesn’t hold back. He starts at the end, admitting he killed an Imperial officer, but holds the tender explanation of why close to his chest still. Instead he tells Hunter what he thinks he wants to hear—that his betrayal of the Empire mirrors his betrayal of the Batch. Except Crosshair adds his own perspective—that he only betrays after feeling like he has been betrayed first.

Hunter doesn’t have time to ponder that information as Crosshair now unleashes the root of his own turmoil onto him—and he knows how to hit Hunter where it hurts. Where he’s failed.

“I risked EVERYTHING to send you that message! You ignored it. You let Omega be taken to Tantiss.” The hurt blooms on Hunter’s face. “You failed.”

Crosshair isn’t even concerned about what happened to him on Tantiss. He’s concerned about Omega. And he knows that fact will twist Hunter’s gut in ways nothing else can. Hunter is their leader. He by default bears the blame of what happens to them, even though his squad makes their own choices freely. Crosshair doesn’t want to let him forget it. Hunter never lets himself forget it either.

Both men only know their own sides of the story. And it’s tearing them apart.

They’re ready to trade blows but their attention is pulled back to their family and larger circumstances by Batcher barking. Hunter finally realizes where their emotions have brought them, but it’s too late. The snow erupts from a giant wyrm creature, no longer kept at bay by the high-pitched hum of the sensors. No matter the gulf between him and Crosshair, Hunter’s first priority is to shove him away screaming “move!”--echoing Mayday trying to save Crosshair during the avalanche. They fall to their knees and the ground splits between them. They barely make it back to the base as the symbol of their outburst chases them across the snow.

Plans are made. The squad won’t be safe until this threat is dealt with. Each member volunteers their strengths. Hunter is in mission mode now, his face open, and extends an olive branch after his brother offers to shoulder the burden of leading the creature back beyond the perimeter alone. “We’ll do it together.” But now it’s Crosshair’s turn to be suspicious. Will Hunter really trust me again? Can I trust him?

The creature follows them. Disaster strikes. Hunter shrieks and falls below the ice. All animosity gone, Crosshair rushes to him, panic lacing his voice. Hunter! I can’t lose you the way I lost Mayday, buried beneath the snow.

And now, it is Hunter’s turn to tunnel into the darkness below the ice and face everything he’s been running from. Shot for shot, Crosshair has already been on this journey, already faced himself, his fears, his failures, down there. They can’t reconcile their perspectives, because Hunter has yet to do the same. Hunter commits to making sure that the wyrm is led away from his family, putting himself in harms way to make sure they stay safe. However, he has a safety line—Crosshair and Batcher up top, tracking him, covering for his usual role.

“We found a weak point in the ice. We’ll try to dig through.” “You’ll try?” Their old banter makes a hesitant appearance. Hunter is still running. Crosshair is willing to try, as long as that effort is acknowledged. But despite their words, they hope that they won’t let each other down this time.

“Am I going to have a way out or not?” “If you end up where we hope you do.” Hunter needs reassurance of an outcome first. But Crosshair reminds him that he is the only one who can plot his path, and its consequences. Hunter has to take responsibility for his own journey. The way out of this predicament hinges on how far, and where, Hunter lands. And he won’t take shortcuts, even when Crosshair begs him to go ahead and exit the tunnel once they find each other. He begged Wrecker to get Tech back onto the railcar. This time, he’s in the trenches himself.

Tuned into his senses again, Hunter still doesn’t jump even as he feels the wyrm get closer, until the sensors are reactivated. Finally, he accepts Crosshair’s to help pull him out of the literal mouth of danger as the worm barrels into view. And they run again, leaping to safety just in time, having accomplished their mission. The wyrm is now harmless, roaring at them from the other side of the perimeter, chastened until it finally slinks away.

The boys collapse, share a fully open look. All they need now is a nod. They have each others’ backs. Approval, gratitude, and trust now have space to grow. They are brothers again.

And Crosshair gets a redo of his trek back to the platform, except this time, instead of Mayday dying in his arms, Hunter is by his side, unharmed, and Batcher prances alongside them. Instead of silent TK Troopers and the insolent sneer of Lieutenant Nolan, they are greeted by Echo and Omega’s shining faces, and Wrecker running to meet them (and hug them. We all know they secretly loved it.)

(Side note: both Crosshair and Hunter have shown self-sacrifice on behalf of someone else in these parallels. Behind the scenes, Echo and Omega have a conversation that hints at the fact that Omega might be contemplating the same. The outcome of the guilt and confusion shadowing her even while Crosshair returns to the light remains to be seen, but it does not bode well.)

The episode could end here. But it doesn’t. Now the real conversations can begin. It’s late in the evening and they have dug their ship out in order to depart. Bathed in warm light, Crosshair is finally ready to open up, at least a little, although he can’t face Hunter in the process.

“I thought I knew what I was getting into with the Empire.” Owning up to his perspectives, not shifting blame. It was a choice he made. “I’ve done things. I’ve made mistakes.” Ones that he regrets. Crosshair's default is still to paint himself in the worst light possible when trying to reconcile with someone, in the hopes that the darkest parts of him will be accepted. He so desperately wants to be accepted for who he is, even when he knows he has done terrible things, and maybe especially, because he hasn't fully forgiven himself for them yet. So he tries to shock and hurt in the hopes that either his inner self-loathing will be corroborated, or his need for forgiveness can come from an outside source.

And Hunter does forgive him, and doesn't even dwell on the many, many things he could blame Crosshair for, now that his own anger has passed. He acknowledges that he has regrets too, gives an even playing field by saying that none of them really had full information of what was going on when their separation first began, and extends solidarity in the best way he knows how.

A smoothing of the path behind, and a glimpse toward the path ahead. He doesn't know what it holds either, but he's willing to walk it together.

And I think their choice of words is what they needed from each other. Hunter needed to know how Crosshair viewed his own actions. Crosshair needed to know how Hunter felt about the consequences, both those caused by him and those caused by Hunter’s own choices since. Hunter has always questioned his brother’s perspectives—his mind. Crosshair has always questioned his brother’s heart—his loyalty. Their strengths--and also their weaknesses.

“All we can do is keep trying to be better. Who knows? There might just be hope for us yet.”

And for now, it’s enough. Crosshair looks into the sky, watches the ice vulture flying overhead once again, except this time, it flies off into the sunset, leaving him still mournful, but slightly more whole than when he first arrived.

✨ Tag List ✨

@drafthorsemath @freesia-writes @sunshinesdaydream @the-bad-batch-baroness @heyclickadee @the-little-moment @ladyzirkonia @jedizhi @burningfieldof-clover

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morallyinept · 2 months

Text

This image got me thinking about A Cup Of Love Dieter... a little drabble, nothing wild, just soft.

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader. Just slightly over 1k words written on a whim this evening...

Enjoy! 🖤

A CUP OF LOVE MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

He knows that you secretly loathe these events that you’re dragged to, sparkling on his arm like some expensive diamond, when you tell yourself you're nothing but a zirconia really.

He’s not really fond of them either. Too full of panache and charade, but it’s part of the gig.

If he had the choice to stay at home with you, smothered in a sherpa lined blanket whilst bingeing murder crime docs and eating French toast with that little berry compote thing you make, the one that reminds him of his Grandma’s strudel, he’d trade that for all the weighty statues with his name engraved on them any day.

Just to feel you snuggled into him under his arm as you say you’re not sleepy after episode seven, and he says you are and you insist you’re not, but you doze off anyway, snuffling lightly into his warm pit.

Dieter also knows you only go to these things for him, despite you feeling somewhat aloof and out of place.

He sees it, that glazed look in your eyes as stylists and make-up artists fuss over you and turn you into a version of yourself you don’t recognise all throughout awards season.

He always glimpses you as you stare back into the mirror, peering at yourself with a stumped look and wonders why it is you don’t see how stunning you are to him, whether you’re in sleek Prada tailored for you, or frayed sweatpants with holes in the crotch.

He promised you he’d shield you from this world as best as he could, if that was what you wanted. But you also want to celebrate him, show the world how proud you are, because damn you’re so fucking proud of him and all that he’s achieved.

Even if you can’t quite breathe in the dress when you sit, and the heels are blistering your toes that are squished into them before you’ve even begun walking.

Amid the glittering spectacle of the awards show, you walk the red carpet with him, squeezing his arm or his hand, and he always squeezes back, never letting you fall. Always reassuring you in the car ride there that he won’t let you fall, at least twenty times before you arrive. I promise you, I won’t let you fall, baby.

The cameras are there for him, incessant shutters sounding like machine guns in your ears as you present practised pearly gnashers with an aching jaw.

Dieter kisses your temple, rubs the skin on your lower back, whispers that you look incredible in that tight magenta and it’s making him hard; all things that aren’t for the cameras.

They’re for you.

And you do smile, genuinely, as it all fades away. He has that knack of making them all disappear before your eyes, like a magic trick, when he looks at you like that.

All warm, cocoa brown eyes set in crinkly laughter lines. Tan skin in an open collar, and greying scruff tamed with Chanel lotions.

Curls slick and silken replacing the silver-streaked ball of frazzled fluff you run your fingers through when he rests his head in your lap, or between your legs making you squeal and buck into his face as you twist and pull at the roots whilst he makes you come undone with that pink, slick tongue he bites between his teeth when he smirks and winks at the cameras.

He’s not acting. It’s real. It’s all Dieter and he’s all yours.

As real as the discomfort radiating from your feet. The sky-high heels you wear, though apparently fashionable, are exacting their toll with every agonising step. Each moment seems to exacerbate the ache, as though your shoes are made of steel rather than matching satin to your dress.

Dieter glances at you, a mixture of empathy and awe in his eyes, realising the lengths you go to for the sake of appearances. In that unguarded moment, your vulnerability only deepens his admiration for you, recognizing the strength and determination it takes to endure such discomfort with grace in such a public forum.

But despite your demure appearance, you kick off your shoes under the table the first chance you get, as you watch the ceremony, him by your side. Your fingers knotted inside his, stroking over worn knuckles and silver rings.

It's not his night, he’s not nominated this time, but he has been before, and he will be again.

You watch him put on his new specs so he can see better, and you stroke affectionately under his chin as he blushes and nuzzles his chin into your palm, not caring who sees how you make him weak.

He sticks to water most of the night; only one glass of champagne to toast his friend and mentor who is honoured with an esteemed accolade in the business, but even then he leaves most of the glass after a sip or two, and you smile proudly at his resilience.

How you make him strong.

You know these events are hard for him too. Where he once would relish the bawdy opportunity to get wasted, papped coming out of a party half-undressed and falling into some strangers bed, sweaty and not remembering their name in the morning, he now longs to leave before midnight and crawl into bed with you for a good cuddle and a cup of love.

Dieter watches you mingle in between awards, getting starstruck as you chat with revered actors whom you watched on the silver screen when you were small and ungainly, and he can’t quite contain the grin as he notices you gushing at Hollywood royalty whilst you’re completely barefoot.

Little painted toes peeking out from under your dress, wiggling in their excitement, as you laugh and chat, and the stars in your eyes twinkle like the droplets dangling from your lobes.

Smiling so hard your jaw aches as you make your way back to the table and Dieter’s holding up your shoes to his chest, smirking at you.

You take them from him, not caring you’ve been rumbled, and simply chuck them under the table.

You go without them for the remainder of the evening.

And that right there is one of the reasons why Dieter loves you so much, because despite your worries that you don’t always fit into his world, he knows that you absolutely do.

Because sometimes, just sometimes, you're just as wild and carefree as he is.

🖤

A CUP OF LOVE MASTERLIST

DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo #pedro pascal characters #jett's writing #jett's musings #a cup of love

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daichiduskdrop · 10 months

Text

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆·˚ ༘ *𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 ⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

CHAPTER 00 - PROLOGUE

Pairing: BTS Ot7 X fem! reader

Genre: A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers, (might do smut in the future)

Warnings: loneliness, anxiety, indicated sa (hardly mentioned at all)

AN.: Hello everyone! This is pretty much my first time writing a FF, and English isn't my first language, so please be patient with me :)

If you enjoy this story, please let me know and I'll continue it. Don't hesitate if you have anything to say, I'm always looking for good advice. Please take care of yourself :))

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ੈ✩‧₊˚✧˚ · .*ੈ✩‧₊˚

It was a bitterly cold and snowy day. The frigid temperatures had been persistent for days, and there was no sign of relief in sight. December had just begun, but it already felt like an endless winter. While the snowflakes were beautiful as they fell to the ground, they brought a feeling of sadness and loneliness.

You loved the hot chocolates you would make for yourself in the small kitchen, you loved bundling up in a soft blanket on the sofa and watching anothe movie. You loved the seasonal Christmas themed ads that were blaring at this time of the year from every corner.

Yes, you loved Christmas, you stopped to remind yourself. Of course you did. Yet still, there was this deep nagging. A feeling of desire, that carried sadness.

'It's snowing like the world is about to end' you thought as you looked from the window that tightly sealed. There wasn't much to look at, even thought the afternoon was only just ending, through the strong snowstorm there was hardly anything visible.

You didn't watch the final race of the snowflakes for much longer. Standing up from your wooden floor you made your way to your apartment door - or more so tried to. Your pillows, blankets, old books and canvases were scattered all around so it proved to be bit of a challenge.

Your room was a mess, it has been like that for far too long. Old newspaper cutouts glued on the walls, posters, painting without frames hung up or just pushed in the corner of the room, where shadows hid them well. There wasn't enough space for them all. Books stacked up in tall chimneys, your phone somewhere burried in-between. You didn't bother to look for it too much.

Lacing up your boots, you took a last look in the mirror. As an omega it was always expected of you to look proper and taken cared of, even if it wasn't always the case. Your heavy jacket felt too heavy on your shoulders, but you knew that you would quite literally freeze to death otherwise. A white woolen scarf was tied around your neck, covering your face up to your nose. It felt comfortable against your cheeks and the scent was also pleasant, so even as it grew older, you still kept it and worn it every winter.

You grabbed your wallet, and pocketed your keys. The small bunny keychain dangled with the movement. It used to be white with few brown spots, but that wore of with the time too. Still, even if most of the colour was missing, you liked it.

With the lock clicking behind you, you started walking down the open hallway to the apartment building entrance. The rooms were only on one side, so it didn't take much time until the cold air swept you from the right. The layer of snow on the wooden railing has grown to over 10 centimetres, and that was only from this day, since it got swept pretty much every morning. The landlord was quite sweet, as allowing an omega a home when they were alone with no alpha or beta in sight wasn't too usual.

Hiding more into your jacket you quickened your pace, and after getting down the steps, you started the walk towards the pharmacy.

Snowflakes fell into your hair, as you made your way down the few streets and roads. Luckily, not many people were outside and so your smell wasn't noticed. It really wasn't too typical to see omegas walking on their own, basically anywhere. The society had strict standards that were followed since,- well, forever.

While some protested, it was just always for the better, anyone to see an omega that's completely alone, unmarked or at least scented was basically free to do anything they wished to.

It made you tremble just the slightest bit thinking about it, but you blamed it on the cold that surrounded you and shook it off. While you were on the outskirts of Seoul, it wasn't like you were constantly alone.

Yes, you reminded yourself once more. There were people around, like that nice looking lady down the street holding a hand of a little girl. She jumped and squeeled in the heavy snow, only to get lightly scolded by the beta for almost slipping in the forming ice. Pups were always the biggest priority, at least in every good pack.

As you walked further and further from your home, more stores appeared, lighting up the streets just enough for you to be more comfortable. The neon sings of restaurants, grocery shops, clothing boutiques and more were bright for your eyes, colourful and soon you started hearing bit more noise too. There were more cars passing by, people smoking cigarettes outside on the streets chatting together.

With the snow crunching underneath your feet you made your way to the mall closest to your apartment. You dusted of as much of the snow from yourself as possible, and walked inside. It felt a lot warmer immediately, but you didn't unzip your jacket too much. You knew your scent would carry too much and people would eventually notice, so you just continued on your way down the escalator, keeping to yourself with the crowd of people going downstairs with you.

Infront of you was another grocery store, that got you thinking about buying some food. The snowstorms often lasted a few days, and you doubted that it would be pleasant to walk here again tomorrow. You didn't have a lot home right now, as you avoided going until it was impossible. Plus the store here was a lot cheaper than the small shops closer to your apartment, that made a big profit from all the-

Your thoughts were interrupted by the loud sniffing behind you, something just lightly touching the back of your neck. Startled, you quickly turned, and nearly jumped from your skin. The man must have been in his forties, his eyes closed for a tiny second, before they opened and focused on your face. You averted your gaze, not wanting to seem like you wanted to start anything.

„What are you doing here alone like this?” his tone sounded concerned, but carried a weird undertone, that unsettled you even more. You felt chills run down your spine. You opened your mouth to answer, but your eyes could only widen more, as the last step lowered and you arrived at the floor. Stumbling, you regained your balance and nearly ran off in the way of the pharmacy.

Opening the door, a light bell sound chimed throughout the store, making few of the people in the queue turn to check the newcomer. Looking at your shoes, you shuffled to stand behind the last girl, her natural smell covered in a strong but very sweet perfume scent blockers. Growing up, in high schools, those were always popular for beta or even alphas to wear, to make themselves appear more approachable if their scent wasn't intriguing enough for their liking.

Such perfumes didn't work on omega scents, those were always naturally alluring and hard to cover. Scent blockers were then often used, but since you didn't go out a lot back in highschool, you hardly ever had to use them. You would, now being in college you were constantly around unknown people, so it would come with a nice benefit - sometimes all of the attention that came with being an omega wasn't nice at all. But those were expensive, and the even cheapest ones were bit too pricey for you. Plus the ones you ever tried always made you uncomfortable, and unsettled with how chemically they smelled.

The wet shoeprints with slight mud covered the tiled floors, as you patiently waited for your turn to receive your prescription. And so as the girl before you took the small bottle of medicine, thanked and made her way out again, you took the small paper from your wallet.

„Hi, what can I do for you?” asked the older man behind the counter. His hair was gray and his eyes seemed tired. With the winter season, there must be many people coming with bad colds.

„Hello,” you mumbled looking behind him at the shelves filled with medicaments, „I have a prescription of a medication from my doctor;” he leaned in closer to hear you better. Your voice was naturally just a bit too quiet. Placing the paper onto the sleek counter, you looked away as he nodded and opened it. Taking just a few seconds to read over its contents he bristled to the shelves, pulling out a brown bottle with a white cap.

„...Right here miss. I will just need you to sign a document, that states that your pack alpha is aware of this and agreed to your doctor decision.” smiling, his cheeks lifted as he took a paper from underneath the desk.

You blinked in a surprise, and felt your fingers start to slightly tremble. 'Since when was this a thing? You got your medicine just fine month or two ago, what --?'

„My pack alpha- I-”

He looked back at me after retrieving a pen with calm eyes.

„Yes miss, here... You just fill in your pack alpha's name, and your pack serial number, or if you can't remember the whole thing, you can just write your pack alpha's phone number, we can get in touch later and I will complete the form process with them. You don't have to worry about it at all.” Once again, the worker smiled brightly, seemingly trying to calm you down.

„I know the number is hard to remember, my daughters always forget it too.” lightly chuckling, you could smell just the lightest hint of calming pheromones in the air. Scrunching up the nose at the smell, your anxiety only risen.

If you won't get the medicine you will get in a lot of trouble, and miss even more college lessons, no, you can't miss anymore, and-

„umm- can.. can I just call them first? I'm not so sure-” your voice trembled just the slightest bit as you squeezed your fingers around the prescription. The man once again laughed and nodded his head.

„Of course you can! It's no issue. Just come back again with the prescription and we can go over this again miss.” Nodding slightly, stunned still, just turned on your heel and walked off, the ground slippery with the melted snow, making you almost slip a few times. You eyes clouded with tears and you sniffled loudly as you opened the pharmacy door. Defeated, you clutched your other hand in a tight grip, unsettled and confused. You could bet that your anxious scent was wafting off all over the place.

Your vision blurry, you started heading back towards the escalators, walking next to a shoe boutique and a barber shop, you reminded yourself of the way outside. Your plans were definitely different from this, and getting lost in a mall was also not included on the list so you tried your best way to walk where you remembered the right side entrance to be. With most of the people left by now, the 21nth hour was quickly approaching, and a many of trail scents left behind confused you even more.

More tears sprung up to your eyes, and your vision got even blurrier. Not having any scents to stick to, as the ones that were around when you walked to the pharmacy were exchanged for different ones, you were left in a sensory overload, not even noticing when a man bristly walked towards you.

„Hey.., hey, what's going on? What's wrong?” He bended to your eye level so you stood face to face. A white facemask was covering his face, so only his eye peeked through under his dark, long hair. A plain black newsboy cap matched with the long, thick coat that went bellow his bended knees. You looked away, just when your overwhelmed nose smelled that he was an alpha. A mixture of rain and a hint of levander that seemed to become more prominent every passing second. He was trying to calm you with his scent.

A small whimper broke out from your throat unwillingly. Your brain was just taking in bit too much for you to be able to process everything. Your scarf dampen with more tears falling onto it. The man hand quickly held your right arm, his other hand prying your fingers open, so you couldn't clutch your hands and accidently scratched yourself. He cooed at you and rubbed your arm while still holding your hand, squeezing just the smallest bit.

„...Hm? What is it?”

Looking up, you accidentally made eye contact, only to get yourself more stressed out. You were always taught to beware of any unknown people, especially alphas, and making an eye contact could be interpreted as a 'sure, let's get it on'.

His concerned eyes shocked you enough to stay like that for a bit longer. They were a lot cat like, and his eyebrows were furrowed, but not in a threatening way, no, it was worry.

„I was- was at the phar-macy..” you mumbled only to sob loudly, and your shoulders to start to shake. You looked at his facemask, trying to focus anywhere but at the alpha's eyes. Noticing you doing so, in a quick motion he pulled the mask bellow his chin, only to reveal a soft looking nose and full lips, left open just the slightest bit in focus.

His tongue darted out to lick them fastly, and he shuffled a bit closer, so the levander scent was even more prominent. „At the pharmacy? Did someone tell you something bad there? Do you not have enough money for your medicine?” His voice felt calming, but held a feeling of urgency in it. He stood back up, only to look behind you towards the store you came from just about two minutes ago.

„N-No.. that's not - it... My prescrb- prescrt-” stumbling over the word you whined softly, angry with yourself. This was really not what you needed to happen right now.

„Prescription kitty. What's with it? Had it already expired?” once again he lowered himself back down, but didn't let go of your hand and arm even once. Softly rubbing his thumb over your hand, he once again cooed at you.

„Need pack al-pha...” you cried out softly and looked at the floors. Frowning even deeper, he let go of your arm and pulled out his phone from his pocket. His other hand just pulled you a little closer, so his scent was even clearer.

The man fumbled with it for a few seconds, pressed it to his ear and waited, as the faint sound of ringing could be heard. A soft beep sound and another strangers voice went through, not loud enough for you to decipher.

„hey, where are you?”

„No, listen, I need you to come to the lowest floor, um- there is a,” whipping his head around he looked at the stores around us, „hairdresser shop here and uhh.. a pharmacy too, look just can you hurry please?”

„Ill tell you here, it's an omega .... Jimin-ah are you a fucking idiot?! Who said anything about heat? Aish..! Just hurry up, could you?”

For a second his scent got covered with a burning grass, a smell of agitation. Just as quickly as it came it was gone thought. Pocketing his phone once again, he looked back at you.

„My packmate is going to come here in a bit okay?” his voice once again soft.

„P-Packmate?” your eyes blew wide, only for more tears to come. What did that mean? Was they about to do something? Your worried thoughts circled your mind.

„Yea, but don't worry, okay? He's very-”

„Yah, hyung, what is it? What's going on?” you heard another man, only to be hit with another alpha scent, reminding you of soft vanilla blooms. „Gosh her scent is sweet..” he said lowly, so you hardly understood what he was saying. Looking up, you were met with eyes of another man. This time, circled rimmed glasses and a black face mask pretty much covered his whole face, only a small bit of his black hair peeking through underneath his dark grey beanie. A long, dark green trenchcoat with a crossbody purse like bag adored his body, making his shoulders stand out.

„I don't know...”

„Whats your name 'mega?” the newcomer asked, bending slightly to match your height too.

„..Y/N” you said as you looked away again. All of the scents were confusing you, and you shuffled at your feet. You could sense your flight or fight instincts start to come in, with how long you have been unsettled.

„..okay. Okay.” he sighed out. „My name is Yoongi, and that's Jimin. Kitty, where is your pack? Why are you here alone like this?”

You took a longer pause, too overwhelmed to answer quickly. It must have been bit too long for them thought.

„Hyung-”

„I don't ha-ve a p-pack..” sniffling, you avoided their gaze, hiding more into the scarf.

„..Well shit.” Jimin muttered, exchanging anxious looks with Yoongi.

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ੈ✩‧₊˚✧˚ · .*ੈ✩‧₊˚

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts a/b/o #bts omegaverse #bts imagine #bts yoongi #bts jimin #hybrid bts #bts imagines #bts army #fanfic #strangers to lovers #a/b/o #omegaverse #bts smut #kpop smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts soulmate au

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