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beloveds-embrace · 3 months ago

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(a low-effort, self-indulgent post about 141 x sunshine reader with a love for flowers <3)

Moving to a military town had been a gamble. You weren’t military, had no family in the service, and you had no real reason to pick this particular place other than the fact that it was safe, stable, and quiet. The houses were affordable, the people were friendly enough, and you figured you could make a home here. Besides, you were far enough from the base to avoid their early morning drills but close enough to still feel secure.

And it was nice. Really, it was.

The town had its charm. It was small, orderly, and filled with people who were either part of the military or had long grown used to living in the shadow of it.

You just hadn’t expected it to be so… plain.

Everything was muted, designed for practicality rather than beauty. Row after row of beige houses, identical porches, yards that were neat but uninspired. It felt more like a barracks than a town, and you knew you wouldn’t last long surrounded by such monotony.

So, you changed it.

Within a week of moving in, your porch was transformed into a floral wonderland. Ivy and jasmine vines trailed along the railings, hanging baskets, overflowed with cascading petunias, swung from the beams, and the front steps were lined with carefully arranged potted blooms. Roses, marigolds, lavender- anything that could inject some color and life into the dull uniformity of the street.

And the town noticed.

It started small- passersby slowing down, lingering in front of your house, knocking to ask if they can take pictures. Then came the comments at the local market.

“Did you see the new house on [] Street? The one covered in flowers?”

“I thought I was dreaming- looked like something out of a storybook!”

“Oh, that’s her place. She’s always out there, tending to them. Such a sweet thing, always smiling.”

And then came the soldiers.

One morning, while you were watering your newest additions- lilies this time- a group of soldiers on their way to base slowed in front of your house. Their conversation died off, replaced by muttered confusion.

“Didn’t know we had a damn botanical garden in town.” One of them said, adjusting the strap of his gear bag.

“Are those-” Another squinted at your newest arrangement. “Does she change them?”

“She does,” a woman in the group confirmed; you had seen her before, you were sure. “Saw her planting new ones last week. Honestly, it’s nice.”

You smiled to yourself, pretending not to notice as they carried on their way.

But it didn’t stop there.

Another soldier stopped during his run, hands on his hips as he took in your porch. “Hell of a setup.” He commented, glancing at you.

“Thank you!” You beamed, wiping your dirt-streaked hands on your shorts. “Wouldn’t want the town looking too drab, now would we?”

His lips twitched. “Well, you’re succeeding.”

More and more soldiers began to take notice. Some just passed by with lingering glances, others stopped to admire the work. A few even asked for gardening advice- one particularly flustered private admitted he wanted to impress his girlfriend with a flower arrangement but had no idea where to start. You happily helped him pick out a selection, even wrote him a little care guide.

It wasn’t just the passing soldiers, either.

Older women in town would stop by just to chat about your arrangements, some even bringing over cuttings from their own gardens. Parents would pause during walks, their children pointing excitedly at the bright flowers and fairy lights you had strung along the porch. The local baker started leaving small bags of cookies at your door with notes like, Your flowers made my morning brighter!

And then there was Task Force 141, as they’d eventually introduce themselves to you.

The first time you caught Captain John Price standing on your sidewalk, arms crossed as he stared at your house, you thought you were in trouble. He had the kind of presence that demanded respect- commanding, observant, the weight of experience in every movement.

“You lost?” you teased anyways, adjusting a pot of marigolds, and hoping he wouldn’t consider you disrespectful.

Price huffed a quiet laugh, eyes flicking between the vines, the flowers, the fairy lights. “No. Just… wasn’t expecting this.” He gestured vaguely at the floral explosion around you.

“Well,” you grinned. “I refuse to live somewhere that looks like a training camp. You are the soldiers, not me.”

That had been the start of it.

Soap was the next to visit. He showed up a few days later, leaning against your railing as he inspected a cluster of bright yellow sunflowers. “Got any of those that’ll survive my terrible luck?”

You hummed, then handed him a small, sturdy succulent. “Try not to kill it.”

Then came Gaz, who always claimed he was “just passing through” but somehow always found himself near your house. He asked questions- what flowers worked best for balconies? His mum has a love for tending to flowers as well. Did you have any recommendations for someone who had never taken care of a plant in his life?

Regardledd, you happily enjoyed chatting with him, and he left with a small potted fern, promising to send updates.

And then there was Ghost.

Ghost never exactly visited, but you saw him. Once, when you were rearranging your display and muttering about getting new soil, you spotted him standing across the street, arms folded as he observed your work. He didn’t say anything- just gave a barely perceptible nod before disappearing back into the shadows.

But the next morning, a heavy bag of high-quality soil rested against your porch steps. No note. No explanation.

But from what the others had told you of him… you knew who it was from.

The townsfolk had opinions about that, too.

“That group’s been sniffing around your place an awful lot,” Mrs. Holloway, the town baker, noted one morning as she handed you a fresh loaf of bread. “You got yourself a security detail, dear?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think they just like the flowers.”

The butcher, a gruff man who had lived in the town longer than anyone, grunted in agreement. “Good. Those boys need something nice to look at.”

Even the local barista took notice. “Gaz came in the other day asking if we had any floral-themed drinks,” she giggled, leaning in close to you. “I swear, he’s trying to impress you.”

Ultimately, the town adored what you were doing. Where once there had been dull uniformity, now there was life. People started adding their own touches- small flower pots, window boxes, even a few hanging baskets inspired by yours. The air felt lighter, more welcoming.

And the 141?

They had seen the worst the world had to offer. They had fought in places where beauty was a distant memory, where survival took precedence over everything else.

Yet, somehow, you- sunshine incarnate, with dirt-streaked hands and a smile that could brighten even the darkest day- had managed to burrow into their hardened hearts.

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dannyriccsystem · 2 months ago

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i swear im in love w your posts and your account 😭 the way you write the drivers feels rly accurate, i had an idea for an au after i saw that video w the papaya boys looking down at the camera w their helmets on so maybe something about reader telling the drivers to 'sleep' w them only wearing their helmets 🙂‍↕️hehe no pressure 🧡

THE HELMET STAYS ON.

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

Summary: Begging the drivers to nail you with their helmet on. And they do.

Warnings: Pure smut, Y/N usage, P in V, foreplay, reader has a tongue piercing in one of them, hair pulling, blowjob, the whole nine yards. Basically really filthy. Also not proofread because it was embarrassing enough just writing this.

Featuring: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, CS55, OP81

This video. Oh my days. I have nothing appropriate to say.

One more before I sleep. I’m kind of scared to post this, this is my first super out there post.

(Do feel free to request risqué stuff idm!)

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

“Let me get this straight,” Your boyfriend stood in front of you as you sat, prettily perched on the edge of the bed with an innocent smile, despite what you just asked. “You,” He pointed to you. “Want me,” and then to himself. “To fuck you. With the helmet on.” He raised both of his brows.

You looked off to the side, and then back at him, nodding. “Sounds about right, yeah.” You confirmed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but with a sigh… He reluctantly gave in. Anything for his beloved girlfriend, I guess.

“M-ahhh-x,” You groaned out his name, nails desperately clawing at his bare back for some sort of leverage. Your legs were quivering as he slowly thrusted into you, his hips moving in such a hypnotic way. Even off the track, his pace was consistent, apparently.

All of his skin was exposed, every last inch, except for his face. It was covered by his iconic helmet design, the visor pulled down to conceal the expression in his eyes. You were certain they were darkened with lust, but had no proof of it.

His hands gripped your waist, hoisting you up to get an even deeper angle. Your legs wrapped around him weakly, trying to pull him in closer. At this point, you could barely move them.

He brought his helmeted face down closer to your ear, the sound of his voice deliciously muffled by the soft casing surrounding his head, “You asked for this, lieverd.” You whined out at his typical pet name, which sounded so dirty now. You were unsure if you’d ever be able to see your boyfriend in an innocent light ever again.

Your hands grabbed both sides of his helmet, mouth drawn open in an ‘O’ as you weakly moaned for him. The sweet sounds motivated him further, allowing him to draw out his final thrusts. He pulled out, hands stroking his length as you pressed soft kisses to the surface of his helmet.

He came on your stomach. With one hand, Max lifted the visor while the other gentle traced a heart onto your cum-coated belly.

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

“Danny?” You came out of his bedroom one day, finding him relaxed on the couch. He leaned his head over to look at you, motioning for you to continue. In your hands was the cause of confusion— His old racing helmet. The last one he ever wore, to be exact.

It was a black helmet with a sparkly flame that shined different colors depending on the lighting. You remembered him wearing it in Singapore, the last race he ever competed in. It probably held a lot of special memories. “Do you use your old helmets for anything? I see you have a few in our room.”

“Hmm, nah. Mostly just decoration.” He shrugs and turns to sit with one leg folded underneath him, the other hanging over the edge of the couch. His elbows were propped on the back as he stared at you. “Why?” He smirked almost like he could see the gears turning.

“Wanna have sex with one on?” The answer was always yes.

It wasn’t quite what you were expecting, in the best way possible. Nothing could have prepared you for the animal that your boyfriend would become upon exploding this new area of your sex lives.

He had one of your legs pushed in the air, resting over his shoulder, which allowed him more space to thrust experimentally. The other laid on the side of his thigh, your hips held up by his free hand to get a better angle. You propped yourself up on your elbows, head slightly angled down while you stared through damp lashes.

“Fuck, Danny…” You whined, your hips twitching with a little gasp. He groaned, his head falling forward until the helmet was carefully pressed against your forehead. His grip on your raised thigh was tight, practically digging into your skin to keep himself from going feral.

“Feel that?” He muttered, his voice enveloped in the cushy walls of his helmet. The hand that held you up at the waist circled around, palm pressing down on your stomach to emphasize the slight bulge. He cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering and his dick twitching. “Shit.”

He leg your leg fall against the mattress as he carefully slipped out. One hand massaged your sore folds, bringing you to your peak just as he reached his. You both climaxed together, your thighs painted with his arousal.

He carefully lifted the helmet, still panting as he looked down at the mess he made. “Satisfied?” He asked, voice hoarse. You grinned, eyes droopy.

“Very.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

There was something special about Lando in his signature green helmet. The helmet itself was bland, but it was his staple. When he wore it, it was unimaginably attractive to you.

You tried to ignore it, but during one of his week long breaks, you decided to address the issue upfront. It was a hard topic to approach, so you figured now was a good time to be as blunt as possible.

“I want to fuck you while you wear your helmet.” Literally. As blunt as possible.

He looked taken aback, and rightfully so. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why…” He asked next. It was hard to discern what sort of face that was supposed to be. Confusion? Disgust? Arousal? All three at once?

“Because it’s hot.”

He fell silent, and then pulled you into his room where the helmet in question sat, like it was ready for this moment.

“Not so confident now, are you?” His husky voice murmured in your ear. You were currently bent over with your hands against his bedroom door to support yourself, your ass stuck out against him. All while your legs trembled. If one of his hands wasn’t supporting you under your stomach, you’d have collapsed by now.

Strong hands gripped your hair, tugging your head backwards to get a good look at your fucked out expression, and your stretched neck that was littered with deep purple marks. All you could do was softly cry out in pleasure as a reply to his question, which earned a dark chuckle from your boyfriend.

“Regretting your choice yet?” You shook your head with teary eyes. You couldn’t see his face, cloaked beneath the secrecy of a bright green racing helmet, but you knew for a fact he was smirking. Every thrust was carried out confidently, sending a resounding smack through the room. The sounds were sticky from the buildup of arousal.

“Laan,” You drawled out his name, eyes twitching as you struggled to keep them open. You could feel another orgasm approaching— Just one of many for the night. “P-Please—”

“Please what?” Another tug of the hair, making you whimper. “Use your words, pretty.”

“Let me cum,” You whined, your voice trembling. He continued silently for another thrust or two before the hand on your stomach traveled down to massage your clit, sending you over the edge. You squealed out, lurching forward to rest against the door.

He pulled his throbbing length out, releasing onto your back. With a heavy, satisfied sigh, Lando scooped you up and gently laid you on his mattress, littering your aching body with kisses upon the removal of his helmet.

“You did so good for me.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Charles and you had been together for a while, and it was safe to say you knew your way around each other’s bodies. However, neither of you quite knew the other’s mind.

It was hard to pinpoint the specific kinks and such. If you were both paying attention you could figure out the little things you liked— For example, Charles liked kitten licks on the tip, and he loved you in red lingerie. And you liked sensual sex with romance and eye contact.

However, there was something you had never been able to admit until now. “Can you keep the helmet on for tonight?” He blinked at your question, already half naked and hovering over you, who was… Entirely naked.

“Keep the helmet on?”

“Yeah. Just to try it out.”

It didn’t take much convincing.

The entire experience changed when the helmet came on. Maybe you were expecting him to take a dominant stance, but it seemed as soon as the mask came on he was a whining and stuttering mess.

Charles was propped up on his elbows as you straddled his hips, grinding yourself further onto his impaled cock. He couldn’t even form a sentence, just desperately grip your hips and occasionally involuntarily thrust up into your tight heat. He was thankful for the helmet, actually. That way you couldn’t see his pathetic expression.

“Feels good,” You praised, your voice like honey. He squeezed the fat of your hips tighter, both of his index fingers anxiously tapping against your skin. He wasn’t normally so… Submissive like this.

You reached out, lifting the visor of his helmet to unveil his eyes. Just his eyes, that’s all you could see, but they told you exactly what you needed to know. With furrowed brows and a watery gaze, he made direct eye contact with you.

His hands traveled to find yours, squeezing them tight while you rode him. He could barely ground himself, but your steady presence certainly helped. “Y/N-” He finally managed to splutter out, his legs twitching and his hips jerking.

“Shh, you’re okay,” You whispered, moving your hips faster. “You got it, you’re doing great.” At your praise, he seemed to lose it, spilling deep inside you.

His body collapsed against the mattress, leaving you to carefully lift his helmet and brush his damp hair away from his eyes.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

You came home from a stressful day to your boyfriend standing in the dining room, examining his racing helmet under the light. “What are you doing?” You questioned softly as you set your things down on the table.

Her flinched, but relaxed as soon as he realized it was just you, and there was no need to be worried. “Just thinking.” You raised your brow as if asking ‘about?’ He showed you the helmet, and you just shrugged with a lack of understanding. “I want to fuck you with it on.”

You blinked at his forwardness, your gaze shifting from the helmet, and then to him. “If you’re comfortable with it, I don’t mind.”

Sex with Carlos was typically slow and sensual, just what you needed after a long day.

Not this time.

He had you folded in ways you didn’t even know were possible. Your knees were pressed to your chest, hands gripping the sheets as he fucked into you in your folded position. He hovered over you, one hand on the headboard and the other on the curve of your ass.

He grunted, but most of the noise was coming from you. “C-… Carlos!” You yelped, surprised by the change in tone. Your eyes twitched, threatening to roll back into your skull. You tried to swallow your moans, but it was impossible to keep silent.

He suddenly grabbed both of your hands, bringing them up to hold your own legs back. He busied his digits with your hole. Two fingers circled your needy clit, making your legs ache and shake. The other two slid right in with his cock, plunging in and out in a rhythmic manner.

“Feel good?” He questioned in that thick accent, ensuring your comfort over all. You couldn’t form a coherent response, leaving you to just nod a silent yes.

It seemed like ages he toyed with your poor hole, but finally he pulled free and let himself release onto your stomach. You let your legs fall to the mattress, twitching occasionally. Both of you panted as he removed the helmet, sweat dripping from his forehead. His hair was beautifully messy.

“That was…” He trailed off.

“Hot,” You finished for him.

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

You had been giggling to yourself all day as you stared at your phone. It was beginning to make Oscar anxious as he automatically assumed the worst. With sudden steeled courage, he decided to confront you.

“What have you been looking at? You haven’t stopped laughing at your phone.” His tone was calm, but inside he was slightly panicked. That is, until you turned the phone around to show him an edit. Of himself.

He had seen a few of them. Ever since him and Lando filmed that video showing off their helmets, the fans had been going crazy. “What about it?” He tilted his head, not unlike the way he did in said video. Your ovaries basically exploded.

“Do you have your helmet?” He nodded. “Put it on.”

Well, you didn’t have to tell him twice.

This… Wasn’t exactly what Oscar had been expecting. He knew you had something filthy in mind, but to suck him off while he was wearing nothing but his helmet was a little absurd, even for you.

Thankfully, he accepted the freak in you.

Your tongue darted out to give his tip a little lick, the cold metal of your tongue piercing making him twitch. He shuddered, a deep groan leaving his lips. Without even thinking, his hands grabbed the back of your head. However, he relaxed before making any sharp movements, and let it rest there for now.

You experimented further, plump lips encasing his whole tip, cheeks hollowing experimentally. He groaned, head tilted back momentarily. You looked at him through your lashes, giggling around his length when he peered back down, the movement unbearably attractive in your eyes.

You placed your hands on his thighs to balance yourself, and slowly took more of him in. He tried to keep quiet, but he could only bite back so many groans before they started to flood out. As your pace increased, his grip on the back of your head did, too.

Eventually, you weren’t even moving anymore. He was just full on face fucking you to get himself off, and you didn’t care. You let your mouth be used by your boyfriend, whose hips were jerking in and out in a spontaneous rhythm.

He finally came to a stop, his length twitching as he pulled it out. Half of his seed was shot onto your face, while the rest was expertly aimed for your mouth.

He was breathing heavily as he lifted the helmet, peering down at you with a heaving chest. “Holy shit.”

That was by far the most emotion anyone had ever gotten out of him.

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dazedantics · 3 months ago

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Mark wasn't the bragging type. At least, not all the time. He has pride in his comic collection, his action figures, things like that which he always talks about.

But when you finally went to his house for the first time, you realized how little you asked him about himself.

He was rich?!?!

Well, obviously not so high in the upper crust since you went to the same school, but well enough off that you were totally star-stuck just by walking through the front door.

You came from completely different worlds! Why were the rooms so big? There was so many of them too! And everything was such a sleek, modern design, inside and out! The windows were huge! And everything was cleaned to a shine! He had a second floor? Even his yard was so well kept! You bet even his garage looked amazing! That TV is huge! Look at that fridge!

You stared at him for a long while after crossing the threshold, gesturing wildly around.

"What?" He laughed out, rubbing his neck.

"You live in a mansion dude!" You declared, following him in. "Why didn't you tell me I had a rich friend?"

"What are you talking about? No, I don't. You're just being dramatic. C'mon, let's get a snack before we go upstairs."

You walked behind him as he rummaged through the kitchen. "Dude, you have a big ol' pantry. That just proves my point!"

A well lit and fully stocked one too. And is that a dishwasher?

"I thought everyone had one?"

"No!" You exasperated.

He handed you a few bags of chips. "Anything you want to drink? We have water, juice, a few sodas ...."

"Dude. Mark. How on earth are we friends?"

"Uh, cause you bullied me that one time then for some reason decided that I was interesting enough to start hanging around."

He turned off the pantry light, closing the door with a few beverages tucked under his arm. "Alright, my parents will be back in a few so let's get to my room before they start pestering you with questions."

You followed him up the stairs and down the bright hall to his door. "That's not what I mean. And I said I was sorry for that!"

He paused, giving a nervous smile before slipping into his room, "W-wait here for a sec."

"And do you know how long we've known each other? Mark, you are literally only a few streets away from me. How have I never got invited to your house? Do you know how easy coming over would've been?"

"Well, I dunno, why would you want to come over? D-do you want to start coming over?" He stuttered through the door.

You could hear the shuffling of fabrics and thudding of a closet door a few times.

Leaning against the wall, you continued, "I just mean that most people do that. Though my parents never used to let me go over to friend's places, so it wouldn't have really changed anything. But my point is that you've been holding out on me! William's been over plenty of times! And why didn't he ever say anything? Is he rich too? Is this really normal for you guys? God, you are never coming to my house. I live in a shed compared to this. If you got a connecting bathroom in there, I swear to god ...."

"You're overreacting. It's just ... new surroundings, you're excited. You'll realize it's nothing as big as you're making it out to be. Okay, you can come in now," he opened the door, beckoning you inside.

His room was spacy, but rather plain compared to the rest of the house. Minimal amount of furniture, posters, plus his collectables. Very representative of him.

You took a seat on the bed as he closed the door, bringing out the supplies he'd been holding for your project. "Yeah right. Gonna be dreaming of this place when I get home, shoot."

He jumped up next to you, the mattress bouncing under his weight. "Whatever. Let's just get started on this. You brought the research papers?"

"Of course," you dug out the folder from your bag, shifting into a more comfortable position before focusing on the project.

You worked diligently for a while, the two of you comfortable as ever before his parents came home. Their laugher ringing up the stairs as they came in. Mark didn't seem to notice though, jolting up when he heard the knock on his door, his mother's face peeking in.

"Hey, Mark? Do you- oh? You invited someone?"

"Mom!?" He flushed, reaching for the highlighters that had fallen. "Don't you know you're supposed to wait a bit before you come in?"

"Yes, yes you've told me before."

"Then?"

It took a lot to not whip your head at him for his mannerisms.

But his mother seemed to take no offense, merely smiling to you in greeting. "Hi, I'm Debbie or Mrs. Grayson, Mark's mom. He hasn't kept you in here all day has he?"

You smiled, nodding politely as you introduced yourself. "Hi, I'm Y/N. And no, I haven't been here too long. It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Grayson."

Her brows raised slightly, glancing over at her son for a second. "Oh so you're, Y/N. Mark's told me a lot about you. If I had known you were coming over I'd have made a nice dinner for you. Mark why didn't you say anything?"

"Because, Mom! It's not that important!" The boy huffed, getting up to usher her out the door. "Now, excuse us, big school project to get back to?"

Watching the two interact threw you for a loop, what was wrong with him!?

"So now you care about your homework?" She maneuvered around him, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes from the familiar movement. She was a happy person it seemed. Tired too. "It's nothing homemade, but we were just about to call Mark down for dinner if you'd like to join us? Ran into your father on the way home, we got your favorite from ... that takeout place you like."

She addressed the last part to her son.

Mark's tone softened a bit, glancing at you discreetly as if he was saying something embarrassing. "The place that puts the little prints on the toast?"

"Mhmm. We'll be downstairs waiting for you. You got five minutes, Mark!" She finished, her son quickly shutting the door the moment she turned around.

He blew out a sigh. Which quickly turned into slight yelp as you threw a pillow at him.

His head whipped around to glare at you. "What?"

"You're rich as heck, dude! No, sane kid would ever talk to their mother like that. Do you know what would've happened to me if I tried kicking her out like that? Privileged rich kids ...."

Sure he wasn't doing or saying anything as bad as he could have, but even his raised voice was pushing it!

Tossing the pillow back, he took a seat by the headboard. "Oh, c'mon, stop with that," he muttered. "We'll finish up that last paragraph then head down. Then ... I can walk you home before it gets too late?"

"You can't walk me home! My front porch will look like a baby's hut to you. And my family will not shut up if they see you next to me either. Is this what happens when you grow up without siblings? I don't even have my own room, dude!"

He gave you a look, seemingly done with all your exclamations, brown eyes fighting the urge to roll. "You're being weird. I'm sure it's not that bad. Let's just get downstairs already."

"If this takeout is more fancy than something from Burger Mart, I swear I'm gonna lose it. It's gonna be like ... A5 wagyu beef or something, huh?"

Your wild imagination wasn't too far off. The food, though in take out boxes, was definitely from some high end restaurant and still warm as if the trip didn't last more than a second. You were suddenly very conscious of your table manners.

But the family went along as if this was a simple ordeal, chatting casually and laughing.

His mother was really nice and friendly, making the act of sipping some wine -that you knew in your heart you'd never be able to afford- look so dainty and fluidly practiced. Not a drop was accidentally spilled onto her neat blouse or fresh pressed slacks.

She was very put together, jewelry minimal but pretty, and hair tied neatly in a well tamed bun. In the real estate business, she explained. It really showed, in her actions and her house. She was a business woman. You only wish to have an ounce of her grace when you were older.

And his dad?

Well ... okay maybe you were a little scared of his dad. I mean you could see the muscles practically aching to break free from the crop in his sleeves! You had no idea what he did for a living and you're not sure you wanted to find out.

But he was very well kept too. Dressed simple like his son, yeah, but you could tell he took pride in himself. He sat up a little too straight, his gestures firm and steady, smile far too charming, voice deep with a practiced confidence, blue eyes holding contact with whoever was speaking ... a bit too long ... kinda felt like he was staring into your soul ....

He had to have been a model or something when he was younger. One you had seen on a magazine in a dentist's waiting room or something.

Cause there was definitely something familiar about Mark's dad.

"Nolan." He'd introduced himself. Shaking your hand with a grip you were sure could've crushed bones if he tried.

Maybe it was the mustache. I mean, rarely anyone decided it was "the look" nowadays. But he wore it proudly.

Whatever it was that rang so familiar about him, you couldn't place. And you were far too scared to ask.

Anyways, the genes in this family were crazy. Mark literally had the cookie cutter perfection that the families in movies had. Was he even aware of that?

His parents even loved each other!

I mean, sure, maybe you were getting second hand embarrassment watching the two flirt so casually in front of your five star restaurant grade dinner.

But Mark was literally living most kid's dreams right now!

The rest of the night went on smoothly though, you watching the family's interaction with a strage feeling settling in your stomach. His parents even walked you out the door with a smile, Debbie offering for you to come again soon.

It wasn't until the two of you rounded the corner, out of sight from his parents, that Mark began to talk.

His cheeks were dusted pink, brown eyes fixed on the ground. One hand in his pocket, the other rubbing his neck. "I'm sorry about them. They're super embarrassing. All the time ...."

"Mark." You stopped. Standing in front of him, hands on his shoulders, shaking for emphasis. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"

A statement you would only find out later would become such a cruel irony.

"You better not do something dumb and get kicked out of there. I will literally have no chance at seeing luxury again if you do."

He laughed lightly, grabbing your wrists to pull your hands down. "Hey, if you wanna trade seeing them be gross every second of the day for whatever you got going on in your life, I would totally do it. Did you get everything of yours? Before we're too far away to turn back?"

You nodded, tugging the strap of the bag on your shoulder. "Just so you know, I am so talking to William about you when I get home."

"You're being weird again." He stated, continuing your walk down the street. "It's not that big a deal."

"If you say so, Mister Rich Kid."

"You know ... you can come over again. Even we don't have a project to work on. I-if you want."

"Are you kidding me? Heck yeah I'm coming over again! I'm gonna slowly worm my way into your life. Watch, your mom's gonna be inviting me over to all your obscure family parties. Imma be in your family pictures soon. Won't be able to get rid of me."

He laughed softly, sucking his lip between his teeth. "Uh ... not what I was going for but uhm ... it's a start, right?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Turn here?"

"Yeah." You continued on for a bit longer before pressing a hand to his chest to stop him.

"What?"

"Turn around, go home."

"Oh, uh, is this your house?" He turned, looking at the building you stood in front of. "It's not that different than mine. Just a little smaller, but nothing like you're making it out to be."

You shook your head. "No. My house is further down the street."

"Then why did we just-"

"Because! You can't be seen dropping me off! I was serious about what I said, my family is probably peeking out the curtains right this second."

"I don't mind saying 'hi' if they're that interested."

"Well I do!" You braced both hands to push him back slightly. "They will literally torment me until they know everything about you."

A laugh bubbled up in Mark's chest as he smiled, taking hold of your hands with his. "Alright fine, you have a few days more until I show up at your doorstep randomly. Then I'll be invited to all of your family events."

"Not funny, Mark."

"Yeah it is. Just a little bit." He teased. "But I'll stay here till I see you go inside, okay? Don't get all stressed about it."

"Thank you." You sighed letting go.

You paused before turning away, head angled to watch him as you walked.

"G'night." He smiled, rasing up a hand in parting.

He was such a dork.

"G'night," you waved back, turning fully around till you reached your house.

When you looked back again, hand resting on the door handle, he was still there waiting. And you smiled, shaking your head before walking in.

At least he had a bit of manners to show for tonight.

But William was in for a long night of chatter on your end once you settled into your room.

#Invincible #invincible x reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #x reader

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