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httpiastri · 6 months

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this christmas – op81

ski slopes, mistletoes, and the guy you've been crushing on for years – what could be better?

genre: fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers!au, smut (just one scene in the end, you can skip it if you want)

pairing: female leclerc!reader x oscar piastri

other characters: lando norris, charles leclerc, george russell & mundt, alex albon & lily muni he, pierre gasly & kika cerqueira gomes

warnings: mentions of alcohol, smut, not much more i think

word count: 13.8k (LMAO)

requested?: yes!!

author’s note: hello hello!! a lot to say about this one. first of all, thank you to @be-your-coffee-pot for this request, and i apologize for not getting to it earlier than now. for everyone’s knowledge, the request was sent in to me in august, so… yeah. i know it’s not exactly what you asked for, but i hope you like it anyway <3

second of all, i feel pretty happy about some of these scenes, but some… not so much. some of the fillers have parts that i really despite, but i don’t really have time to rewrite since christmas is like 2 days away lol. also, my description of the reader’s relationship to charles is not my best work, idk why he barely even appears, and i’m also not sure why logan isn’t in this...

third of all, my red divider things make my posts disappear from the tags, so i didn’t put any in this time. it looks bad, i know, but idk how to fix it. if anyone does, please let me know. :)

and lastly: i only proofread this whole thing once yesterday, but tumblr was being a bitch and i got so frustrated that i do not have the energy to proofread it again. so please, if you happen to find any spelling or grammar mistakes, i would be very thankful if you let me know. <3

hope you all enjoy !!

december 12th, 2:11pm

oscar has always loved winter.

it started in his childhood; the holiday films he'd seen as a child, the way it always seemed to magically snow right on christmas eve really started something in him. it hadn't been common for him to get snow back home in australia when he was younger but once he moved to the england, he got to experience it quite a lot. playing, fighting and just existing in the snow was like an unfilled childhood need that stayed with him until his older years.

he loved spending christmas at home with his family, but ever since he got to experience real christmases with snow, trees and cozy darkness, he craved it more than he craved lying on the beach in his swimming trunks.

so when he was asked to come along to the swiss alps for a vacation during the winter break, he packed his bags right away. he and lando just happened to book the same flight, and they both arrived at the airport around noon, getting into a cab to take them to the accommodation together.

when they arrive outside the cottage, oscar is in shock; it is enormous. he had imagined just a tiny, cute little house – not that he was sure how seven drivers and a couple of girlfriends would fit in a "tiny" house – but he was far from right.

him and lando are the second pair to arrive, just about an hour after alex and lily, who are the self-proclaimed 'hosts' as they took care of all of the booking and planning.

"we thought that one would be lando's room," alex starts, pointing down the hallway. "since it's far away from everyone else, and i'm sure we all would prefer to actually get some sleep during the night time."

"oh, shut it..." lando mumbles, shoving his friend on his shoulder.

"this one can be yours, oscar," lily says, moving in the opposite direction and gesturing to another room. then, she points at the one right next to it. "and this one has two beds, so it's for charles and his sister."

oscar's ears perk up. "y/n is going to be here?" he speaks almost took quickly, making the other three turn to look at him.

"oh, i thought you knew..." lily has an apologetic look on her face.

"i must've forgotten," oscar answers, though he's completely sure no one told him about it. there's no way he would forget you. "don't worry, it's cool."

the hosts continue to move down the hallway, and the mclaren boys are just about to follow along when lando elbows oscar's side playfully. "it's cool?"

oscar raises an eyebrow, trying to keep calm. "what?"

"the youngest leclerc coming along?" a grin takes up lando's entire face. "it's just cool? is she cool, or-"

"goodbye, lando." oscar shakes his head, darting towards alex and lily again. he takes a few deep breaths, hoping the blush he can feel spreading across his cheeks isn't too obvious.

unfortunately, lando didn't need to see the blush to know. he has caught his teammate staring at you too many times over the season, and he is fully aware of the way oscar always is suddenly interested in the conversation whenever you're the topic of discussion.

lando knows everything. and this christmas, he's going to be the best wingman the world has ever seen.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 13th, 12:53am

it's past midnight when you and charles arrive. your flight had been delayed, and then the gps had stopped working all of a sudden. and then, charles just refused to drive any faster than 30 km/h, saying it was too dangerous. as if he didn't drive cars in ten times that speed without even flinching.

you assume the whole house is sleeping already, so you and charles both sneak in as quietly as you can. someone – lily, assumably – has left you a note on the front door, guiding you to your shared room. it all goes smoothly – until charles trips over the doorframe, dropping his bag onto the floor as he tries not to fall down. the sound rattles through the hallway and you flinch, stopping in your tracks as you hope no one's woken up. but just a second later, the door opposite yours opens and a head sticks out.

oscar.

your heart softens and your shoulders relax when your gaze meets his. your soft smile is mirrored on his face, the sleepiness evident in his droopy eyes and the way strands of his bedhead point in every direction.

he looks like he's just about to say something when charles speaks up. "sorry, man! were you asleep?"

he walks up to the australian, giving him a firm handshake and a pat on the back. oscar shakes his head. "i was up reading," his huskey accent is like music to your ears. "i thought i heard some rustling out here, and then..." he nods his head toward the suitcase on the floor.

your brother laughs as he steps back, walking into the room with the "leclerc" sign. "well, i'll let you get back to that then," he says, picking up the bag from the floor and looking back one last time. "good night."

and then, you were just two.

you and oscar stand still for a moment, just watching each other. then, he opens up his arms, welcoming you into his embrace. you step forward and drape your arms around his shoulders as his wrap around your waist, and you let out a content sigh. he's warm, comfortable, and the way he squeezes your body has your mind spinning.

"it's been a while," he says when you part from the hug, a soft grin playing on his lips.

"like a month," you chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest.

"a month has never felt this long before."

you're not sure when your crush on him started forming.

as someone who's always been interested in racing, even in the series your brother isn't in, you've kept up with most results and championships – including oscar's seasons in f2 and f3. after seeing oscar, the unstoppable rookie who completely crushed his season in f3, you made sure to keep an eye at him in f2 the following year. and it's easy to say that you liked what you saw. especially in jeddah.

you'd meet him occasionally around the paddock the following year, just giving him a sweet smile and a quick greeting as if it was no big deal. but you always found yourself squealing on the inside and taking deep breaths to stay calm whenever you made eye contact with him.

then came 2023 and his debut in f1. yet again, he exceeded everyone's expectations, performing better than most drivers who'd been on the grid for years. with his permanent role on the grid, he was around more – and so were you. it wasn't uncommon for the two of you to bump into each other, around the paddock or during media days or in afterparties, and now you tried not to shy away.

talking to oscar was always simple. he was easygoing, it all seemed effortless, and you felt more relaxed. before you knew it, you could chat about racing strategies and tyre management for twenty minutes before a member of the mclaren staff interrupted you, rushing oscar away somewhere. you got to know each other slowly throughout the season, though never really going further than some friendly conversations, but you felt happy knowing that you'd taken the first step towards getting closer to him.

"so..." he starts. "you've been good?"

you nod. "yeah, a lot of studying but it's been alright. you?"

"yeah."

and there it is again, that slightly awkward silence. it's natural, you haven't seen each other since that night in abu dhabi and you're both a little unsure of where you stand after it. the tension is so thick that you could cut through it with a knife, and you kind of want to escape the whole situation. but then he speaks up.

"hey, i just wanted to-"

he's interrupted by the call of your name, and when you turn around, charles is leaning against the doorframe, eyes hazy. "are you going to sleep tonight or what?" he asks, dragging a hand through his already messy hair.

you feel a weight lift off your shoulders – and at the same time, your stomach tightens in disappointment. you nod at your brother, looking back at oscar to give him a wave and a "sleep well", before joining charles in your shared room.

oscar stands still in the corridor for a moment, before sighing and slapping himself in his mind for being so awkward and messing up this opportunity. but on the other side of the door, you stand still too as you watch your brother jump onto his bed, taking a deep breath to clear your mind.

you're just thankful the room is so dark that he can't see your ever-reddening cheeks.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 13th, 10:24am

despite the never-ending pitter-patter of your heart as you went to bed last night, you could fall asleep quite quickly, seeing as you were utterly exhausted from traveling. breakfast this morning feels like you and charles have just been reunited with your childhood friends after being kidnapped for years; not like you had just gone a few weeks without seeing each other. everyone runs around hugging, chatting about how much they've missed each other and how great this trip will be.

"did you get new highlights?" kika asks you, sliding into the seat next to you by the long table as you stuff a piece of bread into your mouth. the room is a combination of a kitchen and a dining hall, with a big cooking area and a glass wall giving the dining area a beautiful view of the mountains outside. in the middle stands a long table with enough seats for all of you, filled with fresh pastries and other breakfast goods to celebrate the first day of the trip. "or is it just the light?"

"just the light," you answer, shooting her a smile as you pick up your cup of coffee.

"oh my god, i almost forgot to ask you," lily starts and places her elbows on the table, her face resting in her hands. "what happened to that guy from raya you were talking to? did you end up going out?"

oscar is sitting a few seats down the table, pretending to be immersed in a conversation with some of the other drivers about the last few races of the season, while actually just doing his best to listen in on the conversation you're having. when he hears alex's girlfriend mention raya, his ears perk up and his breath gets caught in his throat. a million thoughts instantly crash into his mind.

she's seeing someone? how could i not know this? she's on raya? is she actively looking for a partner? who is this guy they're talking about?

he coughs and tries to act normal, shaking off the uncomfortable feeling passing through his body. he soon hears the sweet sound of your wholehearted laughter, and he almost smiles instinctively at it, before he can remind himself that lando's story about las vegas isn't exactly a smiley matter. "you're not going to believe this, i have the best story," you say in-between fits of giggles. "i met up with him for some drinks, and guess what he said? that he has a foot fetish and has dreamed about me caressing his face with my feet." all of the girls squeal and explode with laughter, making some of the boys flinch and look over to see what all the commotion is about. "so, safe to say, we never met up again. and i haven't wanted to go out with anyone else from there, either. i have a feeling they're all just creeps."

"hey, don't lose hope!" kika says while elbowing your side, but her actions are too soft, forcing you to fold over as an uncomfortable feeling spreads through your body. however, a burst of laughter spills past your lips. kika immediately holds her arm back, laughing along. "crap, i'm sorry! i totally forgot how ticklish you are."

you shake your head, your hand landing on her shoulder. "no worries," you tell her. "but, i haven't lost hope. i just don't think my soulmate is lurking around on raya with the foot fetishists."

oscar feels his shoulders relax again, feeling alright with focusing back on the boys' conversation now that he knows you in fact aren't seeing anyone.

maybe he has a shot, after all. as long as he doesn't talk too much about your feet.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 14th, 3:09pm

lando thinks he's so smart.

when he tells oscar to go ask if you'd like to have some of the gingerbread cookies he's bought, it's the third time today he has forced some kind of interaction between the two of you. he is sure that the more time that the two of you spend with each other, the more likely you will be to stop pining and just confess already.

but this time, oscar glares at the brit. "why don't you ask her yourself?"

"because you know what room she's in," lando hums back, reaching into the cupboard with some groceries. "i keep getting lost, the house is too big. plus, i'm busy." he motions to the half-empty grocery bag on the counter.

oscar lets out a sigh, but nods. "how can you memorize all tracks on the calendar, but you get lost in a cabin?" he asks rhetorically, whilst turning around and making his way down the hallway towards your room.

it's not that oscar doesn't enjoy 'accidentally' being forced into talking to you; it's the extreme lack of discretion lando is showing that makes him annoyed. it makes oscar seem like he's the one coming up with silly excuses to talk to you, and he doesn't like how it makes him look. he'd rather be seen as chill, laidback, someone who doesn't force things. he doesn't want you to catch on too early and reject him.

your voice echoes a 'come in' when he knocks on the door to your bedroom, and he pushes the door open just a little to reveal you sitting on the bed, a thick blanket wrapped over your shoulders. a grin spreads across your lips when you make eye contact with him. "hi," you say, placing the book you were reading on the bedside table.

"hey," he answers, stepping inside the room. "i... lando bought some gingerbread cookies, and we were going to make some hot chocolate, and..." his voice trails off as his eyes wander down your body, taking in the christmas sweater you're wearing and the fuzzy socks covering your feet. he smiles absentmindedly at the sight, loving how cozy you seem, and wishing he was sitting right there with you, sharing the blanket.

you nod, understanding him despite his lack of words. "i'll be right there."

oscar gives you a thumbs up – one he then facepalms himself for when he's left your room – before moving towards the kitchen again. but when he walks into it, he sees something hanging from a lamp. he stops in his tracks. "no way..."

festive cookies aren't the only thing lando bought when he went to the local supermarket. he also got the ultimate tool for securing his master plan – a mistletoe.

he doesn't know how, but he's planning to make sure you and oscar meet underneath it at least once before the holidays are over. there's no way you'll both be able to avoid it all week.

of course, lando isn't the only one rooting for the two of you. most of the other drivers know too – how can they not notice the glances you share and the way you light up when someone mentions the other in a conversation? – and most of them are in on his plans. charles is probably the only one in the house who's still oblivious to your and oscar's pining, and lando thinks that he might interfere with the matchmaking if he figures something out, so the brit keeps quiet.

oscar wants to pull the mistletoe down, rip it apart and throw it in the trash, but he refrains. something inside him tells him this might actually work out in his favor – and he decides to trust his gut this time.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 15th, 2:01am

sleeping can be tricky, especially when your brother is snoring loudly in a bed just a few meters away from you.

who even decided to put him and you in the same room?

when you've been tossing and turning to no avail for about an hour, you decide it's time to do something, anything, to hopefully get a little tired again. a glass of warm milk never hurt anyone, did it?

you make your way to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of milk and put it in the microwave, before turning to look through the windows.

the view of the mountains is breathtaking. there is an untouched, thick layer of snow covering the area, with new flakes still falling. the sun set long ago, but the snow makes it all seem light. the lake below you is just barely visible by now, almost completely coated in snow.

it's completely serene, and you find yourself getting lost in the scenery. however, you're shaken out of your trance when you hear steps behind you. when you turn around, your eyes find someone standing just a few meters away, barely visible in the dark.

you jump in your place and clutch your chest in shock, not expecting anyone else to be up at this hour. when the person steps into the light of the little kitchen lap you had turned on, you relax instantly. "holy shit, oscar," you breathe. "you nearly scared me to death."

"i'm sorry," the australian chuckles. "i didn't know how to approach you without scaring you..."

"what even are you doing up?" you question, crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back against the counter.

"i was just reading in my bed when i heard your door opening, and then footsteps, so..." he trails off when his eyes wander out towards the living room, seemingly just as taken by the sight as you were just moments ago. "i wanted to make sure everything was okay."

"well, everything is okay, so..."

there's some kind of awkwardness hanging in the air. it's not only because of the obvious uncertainty of what to say or do in this situation; it has more to do with the fact that this isn't the first time that the two of you have found yourselves this close with this much tension, all alone at night. sure, it's a lot like the night of your arrival here, but another memory springs to your mind, too.

just under a month ago, following the after-party in abu dhabi, oscar had accompanied you back to the hotel when you started getting too tipsy to keep yourself up on the dance floor. your brother had been nowhere in sight, so oscar took it upon himself to help you out, draping an arm across your waist before walking you all the way to your hotel room. and when you'd arrived in the dimly lit corridor, you'd turned up towards him to thank him, accidentally brushing your nose against his as you did. both of you had broken out in giggles, neither especially sober, but you stayed close – and when the laughter settled, you just watched each other. when his gaze had flickered between your eyes and lips, your breath hitched in your throat, the anticipation growing stronger. you had leaned in even closer, your eyes fluttering closed-

but just as your lips were about to brush his, you had been interrupted. a door a few meters away had opened and the two of you jumped apart, watching as your brother stepped out and exclaimed that he had been wondering where you ended up. oscar had wished you both a good night before hurrying off, the embarrassment of almost getting caught by his friend being too much for him to handle.

you just hoped oscar had been too drunk to remember it, because otherwise, things were bound to get quite awkward. you didn't want him to act differently around you just because you have feelings for him.

thankfully, he hasn't said or done anything to make you think he does remember it.

as you're thinking back to that night in abu dhabi, you nearly get your second heart attack when the microwave goes off with a loud beep. you scramble to turn it off and take out your milk, almost burning yourself on the hot glass in the meantime.

oscar watches you with an amused grin before he forces his gaze off you, eyes wandering over to the windows again. "quite the view, huh?"

you look over your shoulder at the blanketed mountains. "yeah, it's breathtaking," you reply, before growing quiet.

he pauses for a moment, too. "there's something magical about this place. makes everything seem simpler, quieter..."

you nod. "yeah, it does."

something about the moment makes you realize that maybe, just maybe, the awkwardness between you and oscar isn't as insurmountable as you once thought it would be. the shared quietude is comfortable, and you feel at ease. he hasn't brought up abu dhabi – he probably won't, you feel – and maybe you could both just put it behind you and focus on enjoying your trip.

when you eventually get back in your bed, it's with the same kind of pitter-patter of your heart as when you and charles arrived in the cabin a few days ago. needless to say, the glass of warm milk probably isn't going to help.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 16th, 9:02pm

the mistletoe has moved.

when you first noticed it the other day, it was hanging from a kitchen lamp. and now, it's in the doorframe leading into the living room.

you're planning on avoiding it at all costs, not wanting to slip up and accidentally get under it with the wrong person. or the right one, for that matter. the awkwardness of kissing your crush in front of friends and family would be too much to handle.

some others seem to have the exact opposite attitude towards the decoration, though. kika and pierre can be found by it about ten times per day, and alex and lily have no issues sharing a few kisses whenever they "accidentally" pass it.

no matter what, lando has a mischievous grin whenever anyone mentions it, or even walks near it.

his grin stays on when he decides to let himself be in charge of the outing you all have to the christmas tree farm nearby. the farm is too big and would take too long if everyone was going to look at every tree, so lando divides everyone into groups of two based on who they're standing next to as you walk past the gates.

what a coincidence that you're standing right next to oscar when he says this.

lando ushers the two of you off to the rows with quite tall, pre-decorated trees. "so," oscar starts as you both stop in front of a tree with white lights and ornaments hung all over it. "what do you think about this one?"

"well, it's lovely," you say, scanning it thoroughly. "but isn't the true test how well it fits into the living room?"

he nods, despite his confusion, and he shoots a curious glance your way. "and how do we determine that?"

with a playful grin, you hold up an imaginary measuring tape, pretending to size up the tree with a critical eye. "i'm trying to figure out if it fits this corner best, or..."

he follows your gaze, realizing the tease in your words. "i think maybe it's better in the other corner," he hums and points to the side as you turn a little.

"exactly."

lando never inserted himself into a group; he's too focused on watching the two of you share a lighthearted laugh at the situation. though his mistletoe back in the cabin might still have a trick or two up its metaphorical sleeve, he is already proud of his matchmaking antics.

and, he is sure you'll both crack. it is just a matter of time.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 17th, 1:43pm

"i never thought skiing would be this hard," you groan as you step into a cottage, the warmth enveloping you and beginning to defrost you instantly.

oscar laughs at the exasperated tone in your voice. "this was just the kids' slope, you do remember that, right?" you stick your tongue out at him, slumping down on a bench by a table. "you just wait before you do some real skiing..."

you had never skied before today. oscar had, but he said it was too long ago and that he needed an easy start. plus, he couldn't just leave you all alone in the children's slope without an instructor.

you'd fallen over at least five times, despite the fact that the slope was practically flat. thankfully, oscar promised to buy you some hot chocolate in a cottage café to cheer you up.

when he comes back from the cashier carrying two big, steaming cups of chocolate, you've regained most of the feeling in your fingers again. the hot piece of ceramic almost burns your skin, but you think it's worth it; you need the sugar and you need it now.

"you know what the worst thing is?" you ask, bringing the cup up to your face with both hands. you start sipping on the drink and oscar glances at you with a questioning look as he slips down next to you on the bench. "carrying those goddamn skis with me. not only does it suck to actually ski, but dragging them all the way from the rental shop…"

"if it's that much of a bother, i can carry them for you."

"and carry your own too?" you scoff, watching him flinch as he burns his tongue on the drink. "you're not that strong."

he lets out a groan. "you're not even strong enough to carry your own, so you shouldn't say anything."

"i can carry them!" you protest, shooting him a glare. "i just don't want to. two very different things."

you both go silent momentarily, too busy focusing on how good it feels to no longer be frozen to the marrow. the cabin is filled with people; kids running in circles around the tables, soon to be tired again after the initial sugar shock from their afternoon snack; a group of older ladies gossiping and enjoying getting some rest just like you; and some young adults in the far corner are already busy dancing on the tables with their after-ski drinks in their hands.

"you know what? i changed my mind," you tell him, scooting away from him a little and placing your skiing boot on the bench. "these things. they're the worst."

you start to unclasp the boot, sighing in relief as you finally tug the shoe off your foot, throwing it onto the floor. you've only worn it for about an hour, but you can already feel the bruises beginning to form. you're just about to reach down to undo the other boot, too, when oscar reaches towards your foot.

your eyebrows shoot up as he takes it in his hands, pulling the foot into his lap. and then, his fingers begin to wander up and down your foot and ankle, giving you soft squeezes and pressing down on the spaces where he thinks the boot has squeezed you the most. you hold back a pleasured sound, seeing as it would sound way too inappropriate right now, but oscar subconsciously takes note of how you're getting flushed because he soon looks up at your face.

"is this okay?"

you swallow down the lump in your throat, nodding quickly. "y-yeah… just don't tickle me..."

when did things get so intimate? mere minutes ago, you couldn't think about anything other than how you were so cold your nose was going to fall off. but now, you can't stop your eyes from following his long, sleek fingers, thinking about how good they feel and imagining how good they would feel somewhere else-

"give me your other foot."

you're thankful that he interrupts your train of thought before your mind wanders too far.

compose yourself, woman.

"don't tell me you have a foot fetish, too," you tease, turning around so that you can place your other foot on the bench too. he lets out a hearty laugh, swiftly undoing your other boot before letting it drop to the ground.

"oh, shut it. do you want a massage or not?"

you shoot him pout, giving his shoulder a thankful pat before taking your cup in your hands again. you focus on the drink, watching how the steam rises and the marshmallows melt. you can't look over at him anymore, scared of your cheeks growing too red and your face giving away your feelings.

the bell by the door rings behind you, and you look towards it out of habit. and in comes alex, george, lily and carmen, laughing and chatting loudly about the black slope they just went down. oscar doesn't seem to notice, but you hastily pull your feet from his lap, sitting down properly – unfortunately making eye contact with alex as you do. he leans forward to lily, whispering something in her ear, and you watch as her eyes dart to you and a smirk grows on her lips.

shit.

the clicking of her boots against the stone floor meets your ears and oscar turns his head at the sound, suddenly realizing why you withdrew from him. "hey there," lily cheers, each of her hands landing your and oscar's shoulders. "what have you been up to?"

your eyes meet his briefly, before looking back up at lily. "just... drinking some chocolate..."

"oh, no skiing?"

"she crashed too much, i couldn't keep her out there and let her continue to embarrass me all day," oscar tells her and you shove his shoulder.

"do you mind if we join you guys?" george asks, coming around the table and not even giving you a second to think about it before he sets two cups of chocolate down on the table. the grin he's wearing only tells you one thing: alex told him already. carmen's lips show off a matching set.

"not at all..."

‎‎ ‎‎

december 18th, 10:32am

you huff as you slump down on the living room couch, your mood not even getting brought up by watching the newly installed christmas tree in front of you. you hadn't even been out skiing that much yesterday, yet every single inch of your body aches. not only do you have big, blue bruises on both of your hips due to the many times you've fallen onto the hardly packed snow, but every muscle screams with pain as you drape a blanket over your body. needless to say, you decided to stay at home today instead of heading out with the others for another round.

"are you sure you don't wanna come along?" kika asks as she enters the room, her pretty pink sunglasses perched at the top of her nose. the pout on her lips almost makes you doubt staying in, but when you move to sit up more straight again, you know you've made the right decision.

you nod, giving her a weak smile. "yeah, sorry."

"but oscar promised to come along?"

you freeze, your cheeks growing red as you hear her words.

did she know? about your feelings for him? did the others already tell her about the incident in the cottage yesterday? did they really interpret the situation that way?

"w-what?"

"oh," she chuckles at your reaction. "i just meant that he was so bad yesterday, so i thought that seeing him fall over a couple of times would be worth the pain."

"we're gonna trick him into going down a black slope with us," says pierre who walks into the room, arms lacing around his girlfriend from behind. "we'll send some clips."

you let out a breath of relief as they leave the room. maybe they don't know. maybe your secret will stay secret for a little longer.

the group leaves in pairs or trios and you tell them all goodbye from your place underneath the many blankets. everyone has left by now except for oscar, which confounds you since the others seemed to have so many plans for him. your confusion only grows when he steps into the living room without any skiing gear on, just wearing an oversized, cozy hoodie and a pair of sweats.

"why aren't you out with the others?" you question, your eyebrows raised at him.

"well," he sighs, flopping down next to you on the couch. "i can't find my helmet." when you shoot him a doubting look, he raises his hands defensively. "what?"

"i don't believe it."

"you don't have to, but it's the truth."

"how do you even lose a helmet? it's so big?" you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "i assumed you were used to keeping track of where your helmet is since if you don't have your helmet with you for races, then you can't race."

"i swear i put it on the drawer by the front door like half an hour ago. i don't understand what could've happened."

you have to give it to him; he is really doing his best to cover this up. you find it pretty obvious that he just doesn't want to ski because of what the others were planning to do to him. but maybe if kika and pierre hadn't spilled their plans already, you would've believed him.

"but hey," he says, bringing you out of your thoughts. "don't feel obligated to include me in whatever you were going to do here now that you finally have the house to yourself." he pushes himself off the couch, standing up and shooting you one last smile before turning to walk away. "i'll let you have some peace."

he takes a couple of steps towards the bedrooms, but then you get the idea. "oscar." he stops in his tracks, throwing a glance back at you. "i was planning on doing some baking, and…" you shuffle slightly in your seat. "it wouldn't hurt to have an extra helping hand."

"i'm a horrible baker, though."

"and i'm the best baker ever, so i guess we cancel each other out." you stand up from your seat, keeping the blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you make your way toward the kitchen. "let's go make some mediocre cookies!"

oscar shakes his head, grinning to himself as he follows behind you. this was definitely not what he had planned, but he sure is liking the way it's going.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 18th, 8:14pm

oscar had not been kidding when he said he sucked at baking.

he put in twice the needed amount of flour, and only half of the sugar. and as if that wasn't enough, of course the mistletoe had moved to the kitchen, making the whole situation quite uncomfortable as you both had to take strange routes while navigating through the kitchen to avoid it. not even your baking skills could save the cookies.

as an apology, oscar promised to buy some fancy gingerbread cookies tonight at the christmas market you'd all planned to go to in a nearby city. he was strongly set on going through with his promise, despite how many times you told him that it was alright and that they wouldn't taste as good as homemade ones anyway.

you've all been at the market for almost two hours now, but it feels like you've only gone about ten meters. your friends, mainly lando, george and alex, are stopping at every single shop and stand, making sure to check out all products and buying at least one thing in every store, no matter how long the line to the cash register is.

"lando-" you groan at the sight of the brit running into yet another store; this time, a shop filled with christmassy outfits for dogs. "he doesn't even have a pet…"

kika is grinning next to you, shaking her head. "he told me earlier today that he wanted to buy a present for roscoe if he got the chance," she says as most of the group joins lando. "makes more sense than when he bought that screwdriver thirty minutes ago just because it was green."

"the power of 'christmas colors', apparently," you hear oscar's voice from behind you, and you turn back to meet his eyes.

"well, i'm not surprised. just disappointed. and cold, and tired of standing still."

oscar points his head to the side, up the street. "i think i saw a stand a little further up that sells cookies, maybe they have some gingerbread ones."

you nod, a small smile entering your lips. "let's go check it out, then. kika, do you wanna come-"

you're cut off by the sound of pierre calling for his girlfriend, holding up a reindeer costume and blabbering on about how it would be perfect for her cousin's dog. "sorry guys," kika says before strutting off to her boyfriend.

you both shrug before walking down the street towards the stand oscar had spotted. the sugary scent of cookies meets your nose from far away, and your mouth waters at the mere thought of the sweets. when you arrive, a sweet old lady sitting behind the stand greets you and tells you all about the different cookies she's baked. gingerbread, sugar cookies with little candy canes, snowball cookies, and various traditional swiss cookies.

"would you like to have a taste, dears?" the lady asks, pointing her hand to a plate with samples. you and oscar take a gingerbread cookie each, popping it into your mouths.

"oh yeah, this is lovely," he says, looking like he's savoring every crumb.

"much better than ours," you answer, nudging his shoulder with yours. he gasps and places a hand on his chest, feigning offense.

you turn your attention back to the lady and telling her you'd love to buy a little box of cookies from her. oscar pays for them and she wraps the box in some pretty gift paper, handing it to you before you continue making your way down the street. the house walls and all trees are wrapped in christmas lights, some blinking in random colors and some with a soft glow of an elegant white. the streets are filled with people wearing santa hats, ugly christmas sweaters, and scarves so big half of their faces are covered. there's not a single frown in sight, the happiness and love so obvious you can almost see little hearts flowing above everyone's heads.

you glance into a couple of different stores as you stroll, stopping occasionally to check something out. when you reach a stand with different kinds of jewelry, something catches your eye: a golden necklace with a heart-shaped charm hanging from it. you carefully pick it up, your heart fluttering in your chest as you inspect it.

and when you look up at oscar from the necklace in your hands, he feels like the air is stolen from his lungs. your eyes are twinkling with happiness, outshining all lights in the entire christmas market. the excited smile on your lips is contagious, and suddenly, it's like the world around you has stopped and everyone else has disappeared. you're both just grinning at each other like two lovestruck fools, nothing in either of your minds other than the person in front of you. the sight of your rosy cheeks from the cold makes the butterflies in his stomach multiply by the second.

wow, he really is totally and fully whipped.

"really pretty," he finally gets out, unsure if he's talking about the necklace or the woman standing before him.

"pretty? it's gorgeous," you answer, eyes flickering back to the jewelry in your hand. "i adore it. how much is it?"

just as the guy in the booth is about to answer, you feel someone grab your free hand. "come on guys, they're closing down soon and we still have a bunch of shops to visit!" kika is pulling you along so fast you barely have time to put the necklace down.

lily notices the disappointment on your face and pats your shoulder. "we'll come back here sometime before christmas, don't worry."

lando shows you the christmas tree costume he bought as you wander down the market again, but oscar suddenly stops. "guys, i forgot my phone back at the cookie stand. keep walking, i'll catch up with you," he says, pointing behind him with his thumb and disappearing before anyone can say anything.

it's a good excuse, but you clearly see the outline of his phone in his back pocket as he hurries down the street.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 19th, 9:22pm

the days roll on with a gentle rhythm of shared glances and fleeting touches between you and oscar. unbeknownst to both of you, lando, ever the persistent wingman, continues his behind-the-scenes matchmaking efforts.

in some magical way, lando manages to get you and oscar paired up for pretty much anything. board game night? you and oscar just happen to get the exact role cards that make you teammates. time for some ornament decorating? you and oscar are the only ones who don't get a seat on the couch, having to sit on the floor together and share all your materials.

funnily enough, it never gets awkward between the two of you. even when you are left all alone, there is always something to talk about, some dumb thing lando has done that you can tease him about behind his back, or something you are curious about when it comes to his racing career so far. somehow, being with oscar started feeling comfortable, natural, unforced.

one specific night, alex comes up with the idea of playing card games, to which only a few of you are actually interested. some plan on going to bed early so they can hit the slopes first thing in the morning, while others just aren't in the mood. oscar said he would just finish wrapping some christmas presents and join you all later, and you catch yourself feeling disappointed that he's not on the couch next to you, helping you win (or taunting you to make you lose). it surprises you how much you're drawn to him, how it feels like something is missing when he isn't around, when you didn't feel this way just a few days ago.

you try to shake the feeling off, but it's still lingering even as you start playing with your friends. eventually, you excuse yourself to get a glass of water from the kitchen to take your mind off things. but-

just as you round the corner going into the kitchen, your head crashes into something hard. you shriek as you stumble, hands coming up to grab the person in front of you as you lose your balance, but a pair of hands wrap around your back, holding you up. when you look up, you're met with oscar's big brown eyes blinking down at you. "you okay there?"

you let out a relieved breath, nodding at him. "yeah, thanks to you. what were you doing coming around the corner that fast, though?"

he chuckles. "what were you doing not looking where you're going?"

"touché."

your hands are still holding on to the front of his hoodie, and you're about to let go of him and walk away when you notice something in the upper periphery of your vision. something is hanging above you. but, it can't be-

of course it is.

the mistletoe.

oscar looks up just as you do, jaw dropping slightly. "oh..."

"indeed..."

you both keep your vision pointed up, as if the mistletoe would disappear if you just keep on staring at it. oscar's hands slowly begin to slide off your back, and he's hoping you'll both just pretend like none of this ever happened. it would be the least awkward thing to do.

"maybe-" his breath hitches in his throat when you speak up. his gaze is on you again, but you're still looking at the plant. "maybe we should do it. just... for the christmas spirit, you know. i love christmas."

you don't even know what you're blabbering on about. you're trying to improvise a reason to kiss your brother's colleague that makes at least a little sense, but you're completely lost. you realize how dumb you sound, and you expect to see him staring at you like you actually are insane when you look back at him.

but what you don't know is that he thinks it's the best idea ever. he is just as into it as you are, if not more. he doesn't look at you like you're crazy; he's just dumbfounded, blinking at you as he tries to understand what's happening. did the girl he likes really just say they should kiss? because she loves christmas?

oscar gulps, but something in him gives him the courage to nod. "i mean," he starts, voice weak. "what's the harm? it's just... tradition."

"right. yeah, that's exactly what i was thinking."

the tension is higher than ever as your faces are already just inches apart. you aren't sure who should take the initiative and lean in, but before you can overthink it, you're both doing it subconsciously. your noses brush against each other briefly and a little giggle escapes past your lips, and this whole situation feels very familiar. this time, oscar can't hold back anymore, so he closes the gap and presses his mouth to yours.

the kiss is quick, not much longer than a peck, but something changes inside you. when you didn't know what it felt like to kiss oscar, you didn't think too much about it. but now that you have felt his lips on yours, you crave it.

he seems to feel the same way, because when you kiss him again, he's pressing against you instantly. your hands move from his chest to his shoulders as your lips move in sync, tilting your head to get a better angle. oscar's touch travels up and down your sides, fingers grazing the bare skin of your stomach when your sweater lifts.

oscar takes your bottom lip in between his teeth and you let out a hum, making him grin into the kiss. his tongue swipes between your lips before slipping into your mouth, exploring it for the first, but hopefully not last, time. you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, already growing hot as his hands move down to your butt.

kissing oscar is so easy, so comfortable. it's like you've done it so many times before, like it's what you were made to do.

you're so relaxed and so focused on the kiss that you don't even hear lando's footsteps right next to you, nor his snicker from a few meters away as he picks up his phone to snap a couple of pictures. you don't even hear him strutting away to the living room, nor his loud proclamation to the group: mission complete.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 23rd, 8:35am

the rest of the days leading up to christmas consist of a lot of sneaking around.

the days are filled with secretive kisses when you're sure no one is watching, fleeting pecks or longer liplocks, hurriedly parting and acting like nothing happened when you hear approaching footsteps. they're filled with soft brushes as you pass each other in hallways, little squeezes of your waist or his arm when someone is around, conveying more than anyone could guess. and they're filled with giant, knowing smiles matching on your lips, with longing gazes and sly winks across the dinner table.

now, his hand is warm in yours despite the freezing temperatures of the air. when you said you forgot your mittens in the cabin, oscar had just smiled, taking off one of his own to give it to you. and to heat your other hand, he intertwined his fingers with yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand as you walked.

you'd slipped out of the house before anyone else had woken up, wishing for a peaceful moment for yourselves. the two of you haven't really had time to properly talk ever since your moment under the mistletoe, and even though it wasn't outspoken, you both knew there were things to be discussed.

you're halfway around the lake when he finally touches on the subject. "so..." he starts, nudging your shoulder with his. "you like me, huh?"

you snicker. "i have for quite some time now, actually."

his hand squeezes yours. "tell me about it."

and when he asks, you tell.

you tell him about seeing him all those years ago, thinking that he was just a pretty face, a good driver, and not much else. you tell him about getting to know him more and more in the last two years and realizing that shit, he's so much more than that. you tell him about the butterflies, about the sneaky glances, about falling for him.

and then, he tells you his side.

he tells you about knowing of you from your first appearances in the f1 paddock, the curiosity in him growing for every picture of you and charles he saw. he tells you about wanting to approach you but not knowing how, not wanting to come off too strong or clingy. he tells you about how nothing has ever been more disappointing to him than charles's timing back in abu dhabi. then, he tells you about how his fingers had secretly been crossed all trip, hoping that lando's attempts to pair the two of you up wouldn't fall through.

you share giggles and smiles as you tell your stories, and it all feels so natural even though it's so new. and you think to yourself that maybe, this won't be so hard to get used to.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 23rd, 5:46pm

"how are things going with oscar?"

lily's voice makes your heart skip a beat. you had just walked into the kitchen to grab a gingerbread cookie, not expecting her to be doing the dishes this late in the evening – and especially not expecting her to ask you something like that. "what do you mean?" you ask back, trying to stay composed as you strut over to the cupboard, reaching into it for the box of cookies.

"are you going to be like... boyfriend and girlfriend now?"

the box slips out of your hands and crashes to the floor before you can catch it again. did you hear her correctly? your eyebrows shoot up and your mouth hangs open as you look at her again. she scoffs.

"oh please, the two of you aren't exactly sneaky," she says, looking back into the sink. "you know, lando took pictures of you under the mistletoe. and we all saw you coming back from your little trip to the lake earlier today."

"oh my god." you cover your face with your hands, letting out a groan. "oh my god. no way."

lily laughs, washing the last few plates under the tap before placing them on the side to drain. "don't worry, we were all in on it."

"and what does that mean?!"

"lando had a plan." of course he did. "we all agreed to help him out. except charles, he's still oblivious."

"what kind of plan?"

"well, just small things here and there, really." she wipes her hands on a towel before turning around and leaning against the counter. "hiding oscar's helmet so he'd have to stay here with you instead of skiing with us. walking really slowly in the market so you'd both get so tired of us that you'd stroll off alone. and the mistletoe, but that's obvious..."

as lily spills the details of lando's plan, you feel a mix of embarrassment and surprise, along with a hint of amusement. you're suddenly very aware of the collaboration that has taken place behind the scenes, and you take a deep breath as you slowly lower your hands from your face.

"so... lando really orchestrated all of this?" you exclaim, still trying to process the fact that your friends have been actively working to bring you and oscar closer together.

lily chuckles, nodding. "yes, and he's been loving every moment of it. we all figured you two needed a little push."

you shake your head in disbelief, a smile playing on your lips despite the initial shock. "what's the endgame here? is lando secretly a matchmaker or something?"

"he wishes," she says with a smirk. "i think he just enjoys playing cupid when he can." she shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest. "but hey, it worked out well, didn't it? you and oscar seem pretty cozy."

"yeah, i guess..." the mention of oscar brings a blush to your cheeks. "i just didn't expect to have a whole team of co-conspirators."

lily laughs, stepping forward to pat your shoulder. "it's all in good fun. besides, it's about time something happened between you two." you nod in agreement, smiling at her. "now, spill. how are you feeling about all of this? is he boyfriend material?"

you hesitate for a moment, contemplating your newfound dynamic with oscar. a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. "yeah, maybe. we're figuring it out, i guess. it's all been... surprisingly nice."

she grins, satisfied with your response. "well, then, i'd say lando's plan was a success." she backs away, walking towards the kitchen exit. "just enjoy it, okay? and don't be too mad at us. we just wanted to see you both happy."

you nod and watch as she leaves, still processing the directed events that have led up to this moment. as you're left alone, you can't help but smile to yourself at the thought of everything that's happened – and everything that's yet to come.

suddenly, for the first time in your life, you feel thankful for something lando has done. you'll have to remember to thank him later.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 24th, 10:23pm

just a few hours ago, charles was challenged to a snowball fight with the rest of the twitch quartet. and how could he ever say no to them?

for you to fall asleep before he got back would just be stupid, because there's no way he will be able to keep quiet when he eventually he crashes into the room post-fight. so instead, you sit against the headboard of your bed, a thick blanket draped over your body and a good book in your hands as you enjoy the tranquility of the last few moments of christmas eve.

there's a soft knock on the door, one so low you could've just as well missed it. "come in," you call out, looking up from your book as the door creaks open. surprise paints your face as oscar enters the room, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of carrying out a secret mission.

in his hands, oscar holds a beautifully wrapped box, adorned with a crimson bow. "merry christmas."

"oscar, what are you up to?" you ask, laughter dancing in your eyes.

"giving you your present." he sits at your feet, holding out the present to you.

you place your book beside you on the bed, accepting the gift with a curious smile. you unwrap the present, and as you remove the lid of the box and your eyes are met with a necklace, your breath hitches in your throat.

the heart-shaped pendant is familiar – it's the exact necklace you'd eyed in the christmas market. you look up at oscar, a myriad of emotions playing on your face. "i didn't forget my phone," he admits, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. "i just really wanted to get it for you."

speechless, you delicately trace the edges of the pendant with your fingers. "oscar, i..."

"it's a christmas gift, but you can wear it whenever you want."

you hold the necklace up to him. "like now?"

he nods and takes it from you as you turn around, brushing away your hair so that he can secure the chain around your neck. when you turn back, you catch the glint of admiration in his eyes. "you look beautiful."

you hold the pendant between your thumb and pointer finger, a silent acknowledgment of the connection formed by the gift. "it's perfect, oscar. thank you." you tilt your head, smiling at him. "you're not getting your gift until tomorrow, though."

"just seeing you with this necklace is enough of a present for me. i don't need anything else."

‎‎ ‎‎‎

december 25th, 6:04pm

christmas day morning is for gift exchanges. you all sit around the tree in the living room, giving out presents and sharing the background stories behind the silly little things you've bought each other. you receive a ton of random objects that people had bought that day in the christmas market; objects they bought just to irritate you and oscar. now that you know, you find it quite funny – and seeing charles's confused face as you unwrapped a green screwdriver from lando is definitely one of your highlights of the day.

your present to oscar is, obviously, better planned than most other gifts. beneath the wrapper is a box titled "skiing survival kit" written in big, red letters. in it lies a pair of thick socks (with a note reading "to protect your feet from those horrible boots"), a bag of hot chocolate mix ("for moments when skiing feels too challenging; a little warmth to make everything better"), a bottle of peppermint-scented massaging oil ("you never know when you find yourself in need of a massage..."), and a handwritten letter about how you enjoyed your stay in the cottage much more than the actual skiing and a promise to stay in and warm his chair for him next time he's out "skiing".

then, midday rolls around. the chefs of the group, also known as the few people who don't burn everything they attempt to cook, take their time to make a good dinner. in the meantime, the rest of you prepare some games and competitions, including a trivia, a snow fort building competition, and a gingerbread house-decorating contest that ended in lando letting his competitiveness get the best of him. safe to say that no other gingerbread houses were still standing, other than lando's, meaning the brit won by default. his price: getting thrown in the snow in just his pyjamas.

and the evening? it's dedicated to a movie marathon, as per russell family traditions.

it has all been planned into the finest detail; the couch in the living room is decorated with blankets and pillows, nearly every bowl in the house is filled to the brim with snacks, and mattresses and pillows on the floor for those who don't fit on the couch. everyone was included of the vote of what movie you were going to see, though you had a feeling george had cheated when you were told the 'home alone' series won. especially since it's the one series he hasn't been able to stop talking about wanting to watch all trip.

you're settled on the edge of the couch, a blanket wrapped over your shoulders and your knees pulled up to your chest. you're laughing along with something kika has said from right next to you when you hear a beep from the kitchen, indicating that the last bag of popcorn was ready. you assumed lando would be getting up to fetch it, seeing as he was the one who insisted you needed one more bag, but when your eyes find him, he sits very contently and comfortably a few seats away. he looks back at you, eyebrows rising as you make eye contact.

"hey, you're the closest to the kitchen," he says, nodding his head in your direction. "go get them."

he isn't wrong, but he still makes no sense. "no way, norris."

he pouts. "please, be quick so we can start the movie already."

"you suck."

he sticks out his tongue at you but you've already walked off. when you return, a new bowl filled with popcorn in your arms, you aren't exactly surprised to see lando in the seat that used to be yours. you shoot him a glare, to which he answers, "i could barely see the tv from where i was sitting!"

"oh, but you think i'll be able to?" you scoff at the way he shrugs his shoulders, seemingly to say that it's now none of his business. and when you look at his old seat, you are even less surprised to see who's sitting right next to it.

oscar is looking up at you, confusion mixing into his features. he's been scrolling on his phone for the last few minutes and didn't notice when his teammate left him alone.

neither of you complain when you slip into lando's old spot, though. oscar immediately grabs the blanket in his lap and drapes it over you too. you shuffle closer to him as the movie turns on, the soft fabric of his pyjama pants brushing against yours. the bowl of popcorn is propped up on your lap, and when you reach into it to grab a handful, it touches something warm. you rip your eyes from the tv to see your hand brushing against oscar's. of course.

considering the other touches and kisses you've shared these last few days, it's not even a very intimate action. and yet, something about it leaves both of you giggling.

"so many clichés this trip, huh?" he says, eyes flickering between your hands and your face.

instead of answering, you grab his hand in yours. your fingers slip in between his easily, as they've done so many times these last few days, but you pull your hands underneath the blanket to keep them out of sight from everyone else.

it's a good movie, but it's easy for you to zone out when you feel oscar's hand squeeze yours. neither of you can really stay away from the other, inching closer as the movie progresses and stealing little cheek kisses when everyone is focused on the most exciting scenes. and when you start to grow a little tired, your head instinctively lands on his shoulder as you let out a little yawn. oscar desperately has to hold himself back from cooing at you, feeling so soft and prideful that you're leaning on him, and he settles for leaning his own head on you.

you both think you're being subtle, but everyone in the room understands what's going on. even charles, who has now been let in on what's happened between you and oscar after he walked in on lando telling alex about how cute the new couple in the house looked walking around the lake, can't take his eyes off the two of you. as your older brother, he feels like he should be doing something or saying something to protect you. he wonders what his role should be here – aren't brothers supposed to scare their sisters' boyfriends away?

but charles realizes that oscar isn't an enemy. in this moment, you look so peaceful, so content; like you've found the the long-lost puzzle piece to make you complete. how could he possibly interrupt that?

‎‎ ‎‎

december 25th, 11:28pm

charles is still fast asleep on the couch when you slip into oscar's room after the movie has ended, fingers intertwined and your laughter mixing as he pulls you along to his bed. his hands find your hips as he sits down on the edge of the bed, urging you to lower yourself onto his lap, and you happily oblige.

"look up," he says, and when you do, you're not surprised by what's hanging in the roof.

the mistletoe.

"oh," you start, looking back at him. last time you found yourself underneath the mistletoe with oscar, you had been more nervous than ever before. but this time, it isn't as scary. this time, you're able to shrug, a teasing grin forming on your lips. "i guess we should kiss, then. just for the christmas spirit, you know."

his lips are curved into a big smile. "oh, i do know." one of his hands comes up to tuck some hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek in his palm. "it's because you love christmas."

you can't hold back from giggling, and neither can he, both of you leaning in to seal your lips. your first encounter underneath the mistletoe was hesitant, but it feels like that was ages ago, in another lifetime. now, with his lips pressing against yours, it feels like it's all you've known.

he's so gentle with it, his kisses delicate and tender, and your heart flutters at the feeling. his hands land on your waist as your arms wrap around his neck, scooting in even closer. when your crotch brushes against him, he involuntarily lets out a moan into your mouth, and you stop for a moment to pull away. both your eyes and his are wide as you look at each other, and oscar doesn't know what to say. his mind is racing, not sure if you thought that was awkward or too soon or-

"that's so fucking hot," you say, and he finally exhales. you kiss him again, speaking against his lips. "wanna hear more."

he has no problems letting out more sounds when you keep up your actions, your hips rolling down on him rhythmically. his hands find the hem of your sweater and slip inside, instantly roaming your sides. his cold touch tickles, and when his fingers move along your waist, you can't help but giggle against his lips. he laughs along with you, but he only does it to match you. he's dumbfounded when you part from him and you grab his wrists to make him halt.

"you're too cold," you start, a bit breathless already. "it's-"

"are you really that ticklish?" he chuckles, fingers running up and down your sides again to test you, and his heart melts when you throw your head back, laughing. "oh come on, how am i supposed to do this if i can't touch you?"

"warm your fingers next time and we should be fine."

"next time, huh?" a combination of a smirk and a grin plays on his lips. "planning ahead?"

"well, it depends on how well you perform tonight." he sticks out his tongue at your taunting tone. "just take it off already, will you?"

oscar happily obliges, pulling the material off you before reaching for his own sweater, throwing them both onto the floor. his eyes stick to your chest, to the soft, red bed bra holding up your breasts, and he feels himself growing harder instantly, because this is so much better than he'd imagined. you can't exactly complain about what your eyes are met with, either; oscar's toned chest and his broad shoulders are basically calling out for you to come and press your lips to them. or sink your teeth in them. probably both.

he gives you a few quick kisses before his hands land on your hips and he flips you both around, laying you onto the covers. his lips meet the skin below your ear, and then travel down the side of your neck. he hears your breath hitch in your throat when he finds a spot you enjoy particularly much, making sure to memorize it for the future. and when his kisses trail even further down, they meet something hard and metallic. when he leans back, he realizes that you're wearing the necklace.

he didn't notice it until now, since he was too busy being mesmerized by your breasts earlier; but now, he can't take his eyes off it. the little heart charm rests just above your actual heart, and something about seeing it makes his heart flutter. the necklace he bought for you, the one that makes you think of him and only him. it's like you're already tagged as his.

"cute," he whispers to himself, placing a long kiss right on top of the heart. he can feel your real heart beating underneath his lips, fast but not really enough, and he can't wait to make you feel like it's pounding out of your chest.

he starts placing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, his hands finding the waistband of your sweatpants.

"you okay with me taking these off?" he asks, parting from your skin to watch you nod your head. he pulls the material down your body, smiling when your underwear comes into sight. they're not a pair of lacy lingerie or victoria's secret-lookalikes, but just a regular pair of panties in a deep green color with little candy canes. his eyes flicker between your bra and your panties. "green and red, huh?"

"well, what can i say?" you smile. "i love christmas." he giggles, and so do you, as he leaves your pants somewhere on the floor before moving further down your body. when his hands near the fuzzy socks with little cartoon santas dressing your feet, you're quick to speak. "those stay on, though."

"oh, is that so?"

"gotta make sure you're not just doing this for that foot fetish you might or might not have." a laughter erupts from his chest. "i've had too much of that recently."

"well, i don't have one, so i don't mind you keeping them on." he moves up on the bed again, fingers reaching the hem of your underwear. "but i can take these off, right?"

"things would get kinda tricky otherwise, i'd say,” you tease, but oscar merely blinks up at you with raised eyebrows.

"tricky, yes. but not impossible."

you shake your head, a grin making its way onto your lips. "next time, oscar."

and there it is again. next time. the way you say it so casually, like there's no doubt in your mind that there will be another time, that you'll do all of this again.

yet again, instant boner.

your panties are off in a second, and he doesn't waste any time before pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh. his hand takes care of your other thigh, thumb brushing up and down your skin, as your lips travel closer and closer to where you want him the most.

you suck in a breath when you feel his warm breath against your core. his tongue meets your clit and your eyes flutter closed, one of your hands reaching down to entangle in his hair. as his tongue draws circles around your bud, one of his hands leaves your thigh, a finger swiping along your wet folds before pushing slowly into you. you don't know which sensation to focus on, both growing stronger and pushing you closer to your limit every passing second. when he's pumped you a couple of times, he adds another finger and then another, pushing deep into you. his fingers curling inside of you makes you pull on his hair even harder, your mind growing hazy and your breaths shorter.

"o-oscar," you let out, subconsciously buckling your hips towards him in hopes of creating more friction. "i'm so clos-"

you're cut off by the combination of a moan and a whine that leaves your lips when his tongue flicking your clit speeds up. "come for me, sweetheart," he tells you, his voice sending vibrations against your core.

your legs shake around him as you completely let go, feeling the climax wash over you just moments after his order. your free arm drapes over your face, covering your eyes in your arm as you try to catch your breath. oscar continues lapping you up, helping you ride it out, also licking his fingers clean before letting his hands caress your sides soothingly. he's unsure whether his fingers are warm enough now to not tickle you, or if you're just too busy coming down from your high to even realize you should feel ticklish, but he smiles at the thought nonetheless.

"everything alright up here?" oscar asks as he moves up to your face again, one of his hands prying the arm off your face. you slowly open your eyes, your hazy gaze meeting his loving one and you can't help but to cup his face in your hands. you pull him down to your lips, lazily lacing them together. he pulls away just enough for his lips to still brush yours when he speaks. "i'll take that as a yes."

you're quick to nod, but even quicker to connect his lips with yours again, not wanting to be apart for even a second.

your hands slide down his neck and the front of his body, loving the feeling of his strong muscles under your touch. your fingers reach down to the edge of his pajama pants, and you let out a chuckle when you notice the ever-growing tent in them. "don't laugh at me," he starts, biting down on your bottom lip as a warning. "you're so hot, how could i not get this hard?"

"oh, shut it," you say, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks. "just take them off, will you?"

"as you wish."

as he shuffles off the bed and pulls off his own pants, plus his boxers along with them, you take the time to reach behind you and unclasp your bra, letting it slide down your arms and off the bed. when he reaches into the bedside table and pulls out a condom, you raise your eyebrows. "oh, so you were planning this?"

he shakes his head as he climbs on top of you again. "i was hoping, not expecting. those are two very different things." he removes the wrapper and throws it onto the table, rolling the condom onto himself. "do you need anything? or-"

"just you."

oscar presses his smile to yours, kissing you like he has no rush in the world, like he just wants to savor this moment with you. "well then," he says against your lips, nudging his dick against your entrance. "i have to give the lady what she wants, don't i?"

you can't control the whine that slips into his mouth when he pushes into you. you thought you were ready for him, but he's so big and he stretches you out so perfectly. he pauses once he's slipped entirely into you, his lips finding a spot below your ear as he allows you to get used to him. your pussy is throbbing already, still sensitive from just minutes ago, and the little involuntary clenches around him make oscar grow more and more eager.

when he finally starts moving, you drape your arms around his shoulders for stability. his thrusts are slow but deep, and yet you desperately want more of him. you hook a leg over his hip, the other following soon after, and you gasp at the way he bottoms you out completely. one of his hands comes up to squeeze your breast, thumb flicking over the nipple as his pace speeds up. the sounds you make and the way your legs squeeze him close makes him feel like he could cum anytime, but he tries to hold back because he needs to see you fall apart beneath him for the second time tonight.

"oscar..." you cry out when his free hand slides down your body, a finger coming in contact with your clit again.

"just a little more, love." his thrusts have grown sloppy and his figures on your bud aren't exactly perfect, but it's good enough for your orgasm to hit.

your back arches off the bed, your chest pressing into his as you nuzzle your face into the side of his neck to hide your moans. when your walls tighten around him, he reaches his high too, his body shaking as he rides it out. your heart is about ready to jump out of your chest when he collapses onto you, both of you trying to catch your breaths. "holy fuck," oscar starts, his breath warm on your skin. "that was amazing. you feel amazing." you try to gather energy to speak, fingers getting lost in his curls. "you taste amazing, too. better than any christmas dinner."

you give him a weak slap to his shoulder. "shush."

"it's true!" he pushes himself back a bit, mouth hanging in mock offense. "this was the best present i could've ever wished for."

"the necklace is higher on my list, though."

oscar pauses for a moment. "i'm not sure if i should feel proud or offended."

you snicker. "i was hoping for the latter," you tease, but regret it the moment oscar's hands find your waist, fingers dancing along it and tickling you yet again. the squeal you let out does nothing to halt his actions, and he doesn't even budge when you try to push him away by his shoulders. "i was kidding!"

"apologize. now."

his fingers still working their way on your skin make it almost impossible for you to speak again, but you do your best to take a deep breath. "i'm- i'm sorry! oscar- stop it!"

he finally stops, and you finally get to breathe. "i'll go get a wet towel," oscar says, pulling away from you and giving you one last glance. he almost doesn't leave the bed when he looks at you, though – he finds the sight almost too good to be true. your rosy cheeks, the dreamy smile on your lips, your hair spread out on the pillows. he's scared that if he leaves you, maybe the spell will be broken and he'll realize all of this has just been a dream. because that's just how this all feels: surreal.

but it is real, and he can't wait to have you like this in his bed again.

‎‎ ‎‎

december 26th, 12:56pm

packing up after a good trip is always a bittersweet affair. realizing that you have the real world waiting for you, your actual lives with responsibilities and obligations, and that you can't just stay in this fairytale forever – this moment was definitely not something you looked forward to.

you and charles need to get back to monaco to celebrate christmas with your other brothers and your mother, before he needs to go away for pre-season work again. you're meticulously folding up your clothes, zipping up bags and exchanging smiles as you reminisce on memories of the week.

but, things are different this time. you know that the magic of this trip isn't going to stay here – in one way or another, you'll bring some of it with you back to your real life.

oscar.

you've already made plans to meet up after new years, and even when he's busy with work, you know that you'll at least see him during every race weekend. neither of you are ever more than a flight, or a call, away, and you just can't wait to see where this all takes you.

"so... oscar, huh?" charles's voice breaks the silence, his eyes glancing in the direction of your open door that lets in the sound of oscar's voice from the living room.

"hm? what about him?" you reply, trying to hold back the smile threatening to adorn your lips when you hear his name.

charles cocks an eyebrow at you. "you and him... kind of obvious." he gazes towards your bed. "besides, your bed is made. you didn't sleep here last night."

"well, i-" you start, but charles interrupts with a knowing chuckle.

"relax, i'm not going to be a police. just..." he shows off a sweet smile. "enjoy it."

with a nod and a shared understanding, you both continue packing, an unspoken acknowledgment hanging in the air. the group gathers to bid you farewell by the front door, and gratitude fills your heart as you exchange goodbyes with your friends. you grow especially soft when lando pulls you into a hug, a cheeky grin on his lips. "thank you," you whisper, giving his cheek a quick peck to really convey how much you appreciate everything he's done this holiday. he just squeezes you back, telling you not to worry about it.

finally, as you turn to say your farewell to oscar, the atmosphere shifts and the group watches with amused anticipation. "until next time," you say, your eyes holding a promise that transcends the physical distance.

"until next time," he repeats, smiling as you engulf him in a tight hug.

you pull away just enough for your ear to brush against his ear, your voice low. "charles knows, by the way."

"w-what?" his eyes widen for a moment, flickering between you and your brother – but then realization dawns. "well, in that case..."

before you can react, oscar pulls you closer again. he presses a goodbye-kiss on your lips, right there in front of everyone, and the group erupts into cheers.

and the loudest of them all? lando, of course. "if i'm not the best man at your wedding, i'll never forgive you guys."

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zablife · 5 months

Text

Seamstress, Secretary, Sex-worker, Spy

John x female reader

Summary: You've been seen with John numerous times and now the Shelby family is getting suspicious. Who are you and what's your true relationship to John?

Author’s Note: This was requested by a lovely anon. Tysm for the idea! I hope you don't mind that I wrote them as headcanons. I haven't had much time for full fics recently.

Warnings: language, mention of smut

🌹The first time someone sees you with John you're collecting the laundry, a large basket at your hip piled high with all his unwashed shirts. "Have we got a new washerwoman in town, Charlie?" Curly asks, scratching his head as he sees you passing on the street.

"Don't look like any washerwoman I ever saw," Charlie says ogling you.

💌The second time, you're in the betting shop, nibbling on the end of a pencil as you think of a clever note to leave on John’s desk. Linda rolls her eyes as she complains, "Perfect, they've sent me another useless idiot who can't do simple maths." When you disappear, she assumes you quit. "Thanks be to Jesus for that," she mutters under her breath.

❤️ The third time your presence is much harder to miss, a sharp cry of pleasure erupting from the snug in the Garrison. "Has John got a whore in there?" Isaiah asked, turning to Finn with a wicked smirk. Their suspicions seemed to be confirmed when you left minutes later, money in hand and a smoldering kiss to send you on your way.

🌹 The mystery of your presence remains in the following days and soon Tommy becomes suspicious as well. “I knew he was spending too much time in Solomons’ territory,” he grumbles, pacing the floor of his office. “What if that dodgy fucker sent her here?"

"A spy?" Polly chuckles as she leans back in her chair.

"Why not use a pretty girl to turn his head?," Tommy reasoned with a huff of frustration. When she rolled her eyes in return he shouted, "Everyone knows John thinks with his cock!"

💌 The family meeting begins without John who appears twenty minutes late, stuffing his shirt into the back of his trousers. Running to the meeting from your arms is difficult enough, but now the entire family is boring holes into him, expecting an explanation. When they begin telling him of their suspicions, his mouth drops open.

"You being serious, Tom?" he asks. "All of you?" he looks around the room aghast. Slowly everyone nods. "Bloody hell..." his voice drops as removes his cap and drops into a chair crestfallen.

❤️ Polly begins to look worried, leaning forward at the table to ask, "John, if this girl is going to be trouble, we need to know."

"Always thinking the worst, ain't ya?" he answers bitterly. Then he shakes his head with a little laugh, which angers Arthur first.

"You fucking laughing at us? Finn and Isaiah saw you pay the little tart! What's that about, eh?" he grumbles, anger contorting his face.

"What the fuck did you call her?" John seethes, lunging for his brother. A scuffle breaks out between them which Tommy and Uncle Charlie have to stop before either of them can land a punch.

🌹 John straightens his clothes as he begins, "Yeah, she's my girl. But she ain't a whore and she ain't a spy for Alfie fucking Solomons either alright? Moved to Saltley two years ago with her mum. I had it checked out....'M not as stupid as everyone thinks." He sniffs and takes a look around the room to see disbelief still hanging in the air. "Why is that so hard for you to believe?"

Polly places a hand on his arm, "We're listening, go on."

💌John's eyes soften as he speaks of you. "She takes care of me, does the laundry and shopping, leaves me kind notes..." Eyes glazing slightly at the memory he turns to Arthur adding, "Sucks me dry, I swear to God. Yesterday I thought--"

"We believe you," Polly interjects with a firm nod. Turning to her other nephew she states, "Tommy, I think this item of business is closed."

❤️ You're invited to the next family dinner as a way to placate John, but also for the others to get to know you. When they do, they adore you instantly and John is rightfully vindicated. "Shouldn't have doubted me," John reminds them.

"I know. I was wrong to say you were only thinking with your cock," Tommy apologizes.

"No, I was thinking with me cock, but for once it was the right decision," John admits with a wink.

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

Tag List:

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@brummiereader

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@mgcldydrms

@mythos-writes

@look-at-the-soul

#John Shelby fanfic #John Shelby imagine #John Shelby x you #John Shelby x y/n #John Shelby x reader #John Shelby

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gunnerfc · 3 months

Text

Distracted | Steph Catley x Arsenal!Reader (18+)

Summary: On the rare off day, you attempt to spend it playing video games with some of your teammates but Steph has other plans.

Warnings: fingering (steph receiving) | not sure exactly how to tag that there’s a gaming headset being used so other people could technically overhear

WC: 2.4k

AN: steph is so 😩🧎🏻😩🧎🏻

You groaned as your eyes fluttered open, the tiring training from the past week plus the game you played yesterday caught up to you. You were thankful today was an off day, any chance to relax around the house was never something you would turn down. Before the game yesterday, you made a deal with Caitlin, Leah, and Katie that the four of you could play a few rounds of FIFA while you were all relaxing.

You sat up in bed, stretching your arms slightly before turning to Steph’s side of the bed. Your brows furrowed in confusion when you were met with an empty bed, your girlfriend hadn’t said anything about going anywhere. You turned to pick up your phone, seeing a text from the defender that she had gone out for coffee with Lia and didn’t want to wake you.

You quickly texted her back before opening the group chat that was made with the three teammates you'd be playing with. You rolled your eyes at the multiple messages of them yelling at you to wake up but responded that you were awake. You immediately got a reply from Katie that read ‘fucking finally’ to which you sent her the middle finger emoji.

You got out of bed, taking your time doing everything you needed to do in the bathroom just to piss your teammates off further. It was your day off, you were meant to be relaxing and that’s what you were going to do. Just as you made your way to the living room, the front door was opened, and in ran Calvin. The dog jumped up at you in excitement and you couldn’t help but giggle at his actions. You quickly gave him a few pats on the head before he was off to find his water bowl.

You stood up fully just as Steph came around the corner, a bright smile on her face when she locked eyes with you. “Good morning, baby,” the defender whispered when she was closer to you before you pulled her into a kiss.

Your lips moved against her softly, each time you kissed Steph you put as much love as you could into it. The Aussie pulled back after a moment when air became an issue, her arms locked around your neck as yours rested on her waist.

“You don’t mind if I borrow the TV for a bit, do you? Me and Caitlin have to beat Leah and Katie’s ass on FIFA,” you asked, a small smile on your face as you stared at your girlfriend.

“Of course not, though if you're teaming up with Cait, you might be on the losing team,” Steph joked as her hands played with the baby hairs on the back of your neck.

You groaned at her words, of course, Leah and Katie would stick you with the one person who wasn’t great at the game. You sighed dramatically as you pulled away from Steph to hook up your playstation to the TV. Steph giggled at your dramatics before telling you she was going to take a shower.

You gave her a thumbs up behind your back as you focused on the cords in front of you. Once you had everything set up and ready to go, you quickly sent a text to your teammates that you were ready. You had your gaming headset resting on your head and once Katie had joined, your ears were met with a round of swearing that you had taken too long.

“Um! It’s our day off, Katie! Excuse me for not wanting to be in a rush all day,” you huffed into the mic, the defender ignoring your words completely.

You tuned her out as you waited for Leah and Caitlin to join as well. You heard Leah’s voice telling Katie to ‘shut up’ and you were thankful for the blonde. Caitlin joined the call last, quickly saying hello to everyone.

“Wait, wait. Before we start, Caitlin, how good are you at this game,” you questioned, hoping Steph was just messing with you.

You knew she was right when all you could hear was loud laughter from Leah and Katie before Caitlin said ‘not the best.’ You threw your head back against the couch at her response. You let them pick the teams as you hoped that you’d be able to carry your team to a respectful loss.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Steph had just gotten in the shower. The defender let the hot water wash over her as she washed her hair. Her thoughts started innocently until she thought about how long it had been since the two of you had sex. With your busy schedules, it had been a while, and now with a rare day off, you were downstairs playing a video game.

Steph could feel herself becoming needier, the pressure between her legs already noticeable. She needed something to distract you from the game you were playing but she knew how you could get when it came to winning things. The defender quickly finished her shower, her neediness growing by the second. Once she was out, she found the perfect set of clothes that would drive you crazy.

As she got dressed, she could hear you yelling in the living room, swearing when Caitlin wouldn’t pass the ball to you when you were open. Steph took a moment to breathe at the sound of your normally sweet tone turned harsh, it was affecting more than she thought it would. She quietly made her way to the living room, though you were too engrossed with your game to realize she was out of the shower.

You were laid out on the ‘L’ shaped couch, your legs resting on the extended piece of the couch as your eyes were locked on the TV. You didn’t notice Steph right away, not until she was right next to you, seemingly forgetting what personal space was. You spared her a quick glance, throwing her a smile before your eyes were back on the TV in front of you. Steph sat with her thighs pressed tightly, trying to apply pressure to her clothed core.

Steph watched you play as best as she could, her mind hadn't stopped racing with different images of you making her cum and it was becoming hard to focus on anything else. You had yet to realize what she was wearing, too determined to win a video game to focus on your girlfriend. Simply being this close to you wasn’t enough and Steph was going to have to step her game up.

“Baby,” the defender whispered lightly, knowing that if she was much louder, your teammates would be able to hear you over your gaming headset. “Can you take a break,” she added as her hand traced random shapes on your thigh.

You swallowed lightly as you felt her fingertips on your skin, blinking a few times to keep your focus on the game. “Maybe in a bit, babe,” you nodded but never took your eyes off the game you were playing.

Steph groaned softly, she couldn’t wait for ‘a bit’ because she knew you meant longer than you said. The defender turned her attention back to the animated soccer game on the TV, sighing softly when the game was paused. You scoffed as you heard Leah saying she needed to get her takeout but you took the opportunity to look at Steph.

Your breathing picked up slightly at the sight of your girlfriend wearing your arsenal training shorts and your jersey. She knew that you loved seeing her in things that marked her as yours, especially seeing her with your last name across her back. Your eyes scanned up and down her body, before you locked eyes with her, she was trying her hardest to get you away from your games but your need to beat Leah and Katie was winning.

“We’ll play a couple more games and then I’m all yours. I promise,” you husked, your arousal seeping through your words. You leaned to give Steph a quick kiss when you heard Leah over your headset saying she was back.

Steph tried to deepen the kiss before you pulled away but she was unsuccessful. Her head fell back against the couch when you pulled away, far too needy to wait for you. An idea popped into her head as she stared up at the ceiling and she smirked to herself knowing you would give in to her. When she knew you were solely focused on the game, she slid away from your side slightly to give herself a little bit more room.

You were too focused on your game to notice Steph wasn’t pressed against your side anymore and you certainly didn’t notice when she moved to take the shirt she was wearing off. It wasn’t until the piece of clothing was draped across your thigh and you took a quick look down that your eyes went wide in realization. You blinked rapidly to refocus your thoughts but your need to know won out and you took a quick look in Steph’s direction when you lost possession of the ball.

You bit back a groan when your eyes locked with your girlfriend’s bare torso, realizing she opted to not wear a bra after she got out of the shower. You closed your eyes and shook your head to clear your mind, your attention back on the game after you heard Caitlin yelling at you. It was becoming harder to focus on the game knowing your girlfriend was half-naked just a few inches away.

You were determined to win this game, the score was only three to two with a few minutes left to play. You hoped that your heavy breathing couldn’t be picked up on your headset, otherwise your teammates would never let you live it down. As you played the game, you felt another piece of clothing hit your legs and you didn’t have to look to know it was the shorts your girlfriend was just wearing.

Steph sat with one leg propped on the coffee table in front of the couch and the other spread wide as the cool air hit her wet center. Steph moaned lightly at the cool feeling, her hands running up and down her body, groping her chest as her head rested against the couch. She knew she was getting to you, but you weren’t caving as fast as she needed you to.

“Give me a second, guys,” you mumbled as you paused the game, ignoring the annoyed shouts from your teammates.

“C’mere, baby,” you growled softly, keeping your voice low so you weren’t overheard on the mic.

Steph jerked her head up as you pointed to the area between your now spread legs. The defender quickly listened, hoping you finally give her what she needed. Steph settled between your legs as you wrapped your arms around her, the controller in your hands was resting on her lower abdomen. You hit resume on your screen as you leaned your head forward slightly to press kisses along Steph’s bare shoulder blade, your eyes still locked with the screen in front of you.

Steph, completely unaware of how gaming controllers reacted to certain plays, jolted slightly when the controller vibrated against her lower stomach, sending shockwaves through her wet cunt. Steph’s head fell back against your shoulder at the sensation, soundless moans falling from her lips. Each time you went in for a tackle or were tackled, the controller would vibrate against her, acting as a stimulation for her quickly approaching orgasm.

She was no longer paying attention to the TV screen, more focused on what she was feeling between her thighs. She missed when the game ended, but knew something was different when you let go of the controller. You let the item fall against her thigh, your fingers tracing lines up and down any part of her body they could touch. You didn’t bother taking the headset off just yet as you were still in conversation with the other three but that didn’t stop you from dipping your fingers into Steph’s aching core.

One of Steph’s hands shot up to her mouth to cover her lips, silencing the loud moans that were escaping her. You brought the hand that was currently inside her to her wrist, forcing her hand away from her mouth. You kept your conversation going as you thrust three of your fingers in her dripping cunt, the thought of one of them hearing her becoming more of a turn-on as you continued.

Steph clenched around your fingers but it didn’t stop you from roughly pushing into her, the palm of your hand rubbing against her sensitive clit with each thrust. Steph was close to the edge, the familiar feeling quickly approaching as you didn’t let up. The defender whispered your name followed by a chant of “please” as you sped up your fingers. Her hushed moans and the sound of your hand hitting her skin echoed around the room as you listened to your teammates argue over your headset.

“I’m gonna cum,” the defender rushed out as her back arched off your front, her hips rolling to meet your fingers.

Steph’s breath stuttered as she came around your fingers, her thighs attempting to close but you kept her legs spread with your other hand. You didn’t slow your movements as you fucked her through her orgasm, her cum coating your hand as you moved inside her. Steph whined lightly when the feeling became too much and you pulled your fingers from her sensitive cunt.

Steph rested against your chest as her breathing was heavy, her eyes fluttering shut as she calmed down. You brought your three fingers to your mouth, sucking them clean as you held back a moan as you tasted your girlfriend.

You tuned back into the conversation over your headset just as Leah asked if you guys wanted to play a few more games. “No, I think Steph and I have some plans,” you responded, earning ‘boos’ from Caitlin and Leah. Katie opted to make a whipping sound before you rolled your eyes and told them goodbye.

You quickly threw the headset off your head, tossing it somewhere with your gaming controller. Steph was still catching her breath as you ran your hands up and down her body. “You have my full attention now, baby,” you whispered against her skin as you sucked and nipped at her skin.

The two of you made good use of the day off you had, making up for lost time in the bedroom. You didn’t let up once as you pleasured your girlfriend, pulling orgasm after orgasm from her the entire evening.

#woso x reader #awfc x reader #auswnt x reader #matildas x reader #steph catley x reader #steph catley

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russellsppttemplates · 3 months

Note

Hii🥺 so I was wondering since its gonna be oscars birthday on the weekend how about his first birthday as a dad and his partner surprise him even with flying his parents out there🥺

Love your works, have a lovely weekend❤️

Note: thank you! I hope you have a lovely weekend too (the rest of it anyway)! 🫶

"So you'll head straight to the hotel?", you asked Nicole over the phone, "this little guy is getting fussy like he was yesterday, so I can tell Oscar we'll meet him back at the hotel and he won't find it too suspicious", you reasoned.

"Thank you again for arranging all of this", your mother in-law thanked you, "I'll let you know when they pick us up".

Oscar's birthday coincided with the race weekend, and since it was the first one after Lucas was born, you thought it would be nice to have everyone together in the same place to celebrate your husband's birthday.

"Are you packing up?", Oscar said as he saw you pack Lucas' toys in the diaper bag, "yes, he's really fussy so I think we have to skip qualifying today", you kissed his cheek as he helped you, "you need a quiet nap, little one? You do, don't you?", he asked Lucas, bouncing him on his hip before he let you take him from his arms and into your sling, wrapping him safely against your body, "you and mummy enjoy yourselves and then I'll join you, okay?", he kissed the top of his head before kissing your lips, "stay safe, I love you", he smiled.

"Stay safe as well, okay? We love you and we'll see you at the hotel", you kissed his lips again, lifting Lucas' arm so he could wave at his father.

Arriving at the hotel just as Chris sent you a text saying they were on their way to the hotel, making you go up to the room and settle all your things, change Lucas' diaper and putting him back on the sling so you could go downstairs when they arrived.

"Grandma and grandpa are downstairs, my love, let's go meet them!", you spoke, grabbing the room card and heading to meet your in-laws.

"Look at the little one, he's gotten so big!", Chris was the first to speak as you stepped closer them as the man at the reception desk finished the details so he could hand them the card for their room.

"He looks so much like Oscar, but the lips are all you, Y/N", Nicole said, kissing your cheek, "how are you, dear?".

"I'm good, did you guys have a good flight?", you said as you stepped into the elevator, rubbing Lucas' back over the sling as he was fighting sleep, "He's been wide awake just taking in everything around him, but around this time yesterday, he started fussing so it actually works best to be here anyway - I can't wait for Oscar to see you guys!", you beamed.

Oscar arrived at the hotel and bid goodbye to the rest of the team before swiping the card on the door, ready for some cuddles with you and your little boy when he heard a laugh way too similar to his mother's, "hey, I'm back", he announced.

Chris got the small cake you got with the two candles, singing happy birthday as Oscar hugged his parents after gasping in surprise, "Happy Birthday to you!", Chris sang before Oscar blowing the candles, "what are you doing here?", he mused.

"Y/N flew us over so we could spend your birthday together", Nicole offered, kissing his cheek.

"Look who's up", Oscar cooed as Lucas looked up at him, stretching his arms so his father could pick him up, "hey, buddy, we're having a little party of our own, aren't we?", he gushed.

Nicole offered to put Lucas to sleep while Chris unpacked their stuff in their room so you and Oscar could go to the hotel restaurant and enjoy a meal together without the baby, "thank you for doing this, love", he kissed your knuckles.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#oscar piastri blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

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Winter's King 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: we vibing.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Jazlene comes to with a wispy sigh. You back up and stand as her mother helps her to her feet. The king is back at the table, unbothered by the overcome maiden. Lord Dustan hovers between, torn by loyalty to his liege and his family. New liege, that is. Only yesterday, he was toasting to good King Waleran.

“My apologies, your highness,” Jazlene fans herself with her hand, “I was only surprised. I didn’t... How could I expect this? To marry a king?” She reaches down to grip her mother’s arm, shakily stepping forward towards the king who doesn’t even glance up from the table of maps, “I promise to you, your highness, I will be a good wife to you.”

The king tilts his head, tracing a finger along a ridge of mountains, then leans in to examine the riverbeds below. Jazlene looks at her mother, an expression of concern on her pretty features. She is rarely ignored, if at all. She will make sure that she isn’t.

“Lord Dustan, I expect the dowry will be served along with your men and my kingdom,” the king declares, “but now, I find myself fatigued. A hard day’s ride sees me in need of bath and a bed.”

Dustan bows his head, “and so you will have it, your highness. I will send down for water--”

“Have the maid see to it,” the king waves his hand vaguely in your direction, “certainly a servant is a servant.”

“Yes, your highness, how wise,” Dustan simpers, as he often does to men with titles above his own. “You,” the duke turns and snaps his fingers, “you heard the king. He requires hot water in his chamber.”

You keep your head down, “yes, my lord.”

You spin without hesitation. You’re all too happy to be free of the noble intrigue. It is rather easier to be unseen and unthought of. It has ever kept you from envying these ladies and their silks and these lords and their golden signets.

Your flight is fleet. You rush down the corridor and to the wide stairwell. You descend with your mission and pass Merinda as she paces listlessly outside the kitchens. She stops you with an arm across your path.

“There are whispers,” she says lowly, “of who visits. Is it true?”

You look at her. You don’t know if you should say. It isn’t her place and you don’t know what they say. There is rather much gossip in castles.

“It is,” she hisses, “you don’t need to say it. You are a poor liar and when you say nothing, I know that is the reason.”

Your lips pinch and you give her a look, “I have been sent to draw a bath.”

“Oh, is the lady in need of her evening boil?” Merinda snickers.

“Not her.”

Merinda quiets and tilts her head, “...him?”

“The king,” you answer thinly.

She nods and steps closer, “is he... I don’t understand. His soldiers, they mill about with our own, they cavort together. Not as enemies. Are they not invading? Do they not mean to take the castle?”

You tear your eyes away. She’s right, you are a poor liar. You lean in, lips right by her ear, you whisper, “Lord Dustan has new allegiances.”

She claps her hand over her mouth as you back up. She stares at you with wide eyes. She slowly drops her arm and her lip quivers, “he means to get us all killed.”

You push your shoulders up, “think only of today. It’s all we can do. Oh, do you know where the king’s chambers would be?”

“Mm, they took his saddlebags to the ivory room. I think there,” she answers, “do you require assistance?”

“Stay here,” you gird, “he is a brusque man.”

That only seems to worry her more as her face twists. You can’t help but feel the same inside but you do your best not to let it show. You leave her and carry on to your task.

You put the kitchen hands to boiling water and send a few others to find a tub to bring to the king’s chambers. You help where you can and take the first bucket up. You pour it into the large tub in the ivory room and return for second, a third, a forth, and fifth. There will be many more even as your arms ache and your nap slickens with sweat.

Upon the eight, when the tub looks near halfway, the chamber is not empty. You’re surprised by the king’s presence as the door remains ajar. You pour the water with a low apology and diligent ‘your highness.’ He doesn’t respond.

There is much to go still. Back down, up again, hot water splashing on your sleeves, singing beneath, dumping it over the edge as you keep your eyes on your work. Do not be more than a piece of furniture. You are only air.

At the last bucket, you pour slowly, careful not to slosh over the edges. As you right the empty pail, you hear a metal chink. The king growls into a long exhale. You turn towards the door.

“Close it,” he commands, “you will remain.”

You’re happy he cannot see the look on your face. You obey and close the door. You turn back, standing by the pillar of the door frame, as you often do, and begin your vigil. It should not be unexpected that he may require you to fetch something further for him.

Your eyes catch the bottom of his mail as he lifts it over his head. No, don’t look. He undresses, leather creaking, fabric rustling, pacing as he strips away each piece. You grip the rope handle of the bucket. He circles the long tub and nears you. You cower, bracing. You are not noticed, you are not approached, unless it is for rebuke.

He grabs the bucket by the brim and tugs. You let it go. He turns and sets it on the floor away from you. You push your hands together, stilling a tremble. He wears only his breeches and you catch a glimpse of the thatch of hair along his thick stomach. You gulp and twine your fingers through each other.

He turns away and crosses the room. You listen to the fabric fall from around his hips. Your eyes bore into the floorboards. The water shifts as he climbs into the tub and you listen to him groan as he lowers himself into the depths. The steam mingles with the tension of his silence.

He sighs and stirs the water. The lull persists as you wait. He will need wine or food.

“Come,” he bids and your eyes flick up. The tub conceals much of his lower body as his thick shoulders and arms stretch around the brim. “I have a knot.”

You approach hesitantly, unsure where to aim your eyes the closer you get. He gestures around his head, “stand behind me.”

You do as he tells you.

He sits up slightly and bends his head forward, lifting his white hair out of the way, “here.”

He points along the muscle beside his neck. It’s thick, just like all of him. You’ve never seen a man built like that. There are stringy barn boys and tubby cooks.

You stare and raise a hand, hovering it over his muscle. Are you supposed to touch him? He is a king and you are a servant. You are a servant sold out of pig shit into servitude.

His large hand reaches for yours and he guides it down. You shake before he lets you go. You feel the muscle, almost curious, and rub lightly. He makes a noise but you’re unsure of its tenor.

“Harder,” he demands, “squeeze,” he shows his hand, making a kneading motion, “you cannot hurt me.” You do as he says. You squeeze and he rests his hand against the tub, “harder,” he repeats.

You obey.

His head hangs as his long strands touch the water. You bring your other hand up as your efforts make your tendons sore. He lets out shallow breaths and hissing groans. Your chest thumps at the sounds that rise from him.

“Your master has broken his oath and sworn a new one to me. And you, does that make me your master as well? If I am your master’s master?” He asks slyly.

You focus on your hands, “your highness?”

“Answer, don’t be afraid. Liars bore me.”

You sniff and mull your reply. You don’t know. You don’t have much of a choice in the matter.

“Lord Dustan is my master. I am bound to serve him.”

He snorts and lifts his head. You rescind your touch but he reaches back to latch onto your again. He tugs you forward, placing your hand back on his shoulder.

“Softer now,” he instructs. You rub his damp flesh as he bends a leg, his knee poking above the water. “You, a servant, so low, and you are more loyal than any man with a title.”

“Your highness, I must serve.”

“As he must. Did he not swear himself to the old king? Eh? War does muddy the waters,” he muses, “coin does test old ties.”

You say nothing. Your comment isn’t warranted or wanted. You know better. Jazlene taught you only to answer when asked.

“Very well,” he taps your fingers, “I feel better. You have a kind touch.”

You back away and wipe your hands on your apron. He hangs his head back and puffs. He closes his eyes. You watch the white waves made wilder by the humidity of the bath.

“I hate sleeping in strange places,” he says, “you will stay for the eve.”

You tuck your chin down and fold your hands together. Your scalp sweats beneath your cap, your shorn locks itchy with the heat. You wet your lips and force out the air trapped in your chest, “yes, your highness. As my master bid, I will serve you.”

He says nothing more as he leans back against the tub completely. His large arms frame the metal and his hands wrap around the edges. He closes his shining eyes in recline, the water still and steaming. He stays that way until the damp heat dissipates. You stand locked in his thrall.

He sits forward suddenly, the water stirring with his movement. He turns his hand and beckons with his thick fingers.

“A bath sheet,” he demands.

You go to the chest in the corner and open it. You retrieve a folded swath of fabric and bring it to him. He stands as you unfold the length of linen to obscure his form. Your eyes are on the ceiling as the water slakes from his figure and he looms large above you.

He steps out, close to you, and puts his hands over yours. He pulls the sheet around his body, your arms too. He releases you only as he adjusts the fabric around his waist and you retract with humiliation nipping in your cheeks. You lean back on your heel as you shrink in his shadow.

“Your highness, do you require refreshment? Wine? Sweetmeats?”

“I did not ask for it,” he says, “I am tired.”

“Apologies, your highness.”

“Do not apologise for doing your duty. Would be a fairer world if more were so diligent.”

He turns and strides away. There’s a knapsack and bedroll against the wall. He keeps one hand on the sheet and unbuckles the flap, reaching within and tugging out a bed shirt. He drops the sheet away and your eyes flit away from his nakedness. He has no shame but you are merely a servant. He shouldn’t care for your witness.

He swipes the fabric over his head and it falls just to his thighs, concealing just enough to have him decent. His thick legs are trimmed in dark hair and the muscles are taut beneath his skin. He faces the bed and pulls back the quilt and linen. He pauses and looks up at you.

“Will you sleep afoot then?” He wonders.

“Your highness?” You wince. “I must...” you peer around, “empty the bath.”

“Must you? Stagnant water can wait,” he insists. “Come.”

You waver, skirts rippling around your legs. You step forward and stagger.

“The lantern, your highness?” You inquire.

“Douse the light if you will,” he allows. “And come.”

You do as he bids and snuff out the flame. Your vision is left blackened and formless. You reach out blindly, realising your error too late. You can’t see much as you walk warily towards the bed. The heavy curtains are shut and block out the sliver of moonlight.

Your knees hit the bed and you gasp. You catch yourself before you can fall forward, leaning against the mattress. You’re stuck like that, uncertain if you should go forward or back. Something wraps around your wrist, a stolid heat.

“I often sleep with my horse,” the king says as he draws you onto the bed. “I need a warm body close.”

You go rigid as you let him command your body. He guides you to lay down and tugs the bedclothes over you. The damp specks on your dress and apron cling to your skin. He leads your head over his thick arm as he lays on his back neck to you. You stare into the endless void of the canopy.

“The horse smells much worse and snores,” he muses, his arm curling around your shoulders, offering a more comfortable rest for your head and neck. You quiver at being so close. It is an odd request but you daren’t decline it. “Be still,” his other hand comes to touch your sleeve, “and sleep. I only mean to ease my own unrest.”

You close your eyes and exhale. Your heart is pounding and your body is tingling. You don’t think you can sleep with the surge flowing through you. He sighs and shifts slightly. You lay there, in silence, only the noise of his breath and yours to fill the castle walls.

“I am awake,” he says. “Speak to me, maid. Tell me, where do you lay your head on nights where a king does not trouble you?”

You wiggle slightly. Your spine is uncomfortable at the flatness but not worse than your usual fare. You bring your hand over your chest and fist your fingers tight.

“On a bag of hay with Merinda,” you utter smally, pushing your legs together as you arch your back slightly. Your hips are tight.

You’re startled as the bed jostles and he grips your hip. He rolls you onto your side, his touch lingers as he pulls you against him. He is as hot as a hearth.

“Merinda?” He repeats.

“Another handmaid, your highness.”

He hums and drags his hand away from your hip. He blows out a great heavy and grunts. His arm curls around you snugly.

“I hope I am preferable to that bag of hay,” he mutters and the tension seeps away from his form. “Though perhaps just as prickly.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #winter's king #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au

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ugh-yoongi · 4 months

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the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts x reader #bts smut #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x y/n

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zepskies · 9 months

Text

Smoke Eater - Part 2

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: I was overwhelmed by the response on Part 1 (in the BEST way). 🥹 Thank you so much for everyone who read and sent me your lovely amazing comments! Here's Part 2 a bit early for ya. 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: Idiots flirting, with a side of sexual harassment. 😪

Part 2: "Lieutenant Winchester"

Firehouse 25 was just as much a house as it was a home.

Especially for Dean Winchester.

In the common room, he sat down at his preferred corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee. By now, the guys knew this was his spot, perfectly angled toward the new flatscreen TV someone donated last month.

Up until then, they’d had to hotwire the same tank from 1995, which had only got basic cable. Now at least the newer smart TV came with a subscription to Netflix, courtesy of the donor.

Dean raised his favorite Batman mug to his face, expecting to imbibe some rich dark roast. What he got was a travesty.

Spitting out the brown soil water back into the mug, he coughed and grimaced.

“Jack!” he called out.

Jack Kline, the newest addition to the house, raised his head from where he was trying to scramble eggs in the open kitchen directly behind the couch.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he replied.

“Why does this coffee taste like ass?” Dean asked. His voice was still gruff with sleep, as he depended on his morning coffee to wake him up, not assault his tongue.

Behind him, Jack blinked in confusion. “Uh…”

Dean finally turned around and gave the younger man a raised brow.

“What brand did you buy, Candidate?” he asked.

A candidate was a freshly graduated firefighter on probation. They were the rookie, the bottom rung of the totem pole, and Jack was that proverbial whipping post.

“Um…” Jack went to find the coffee canister he’d put away in the cupboards. He showed Dean the red plastic jug. “Folgers. It was on sale.”

“Fuck me,” Dean muttered. “Never Folgers, Candidate. Anything but fucking Folgers. The one thing we don’t skimp out on is quality joe.”

“That ain’t nothin’ but dirt water, son,” Benny remarked, as he and Gordon entered the common room. Benny held a to-go mug he’d brought from home. After he’d seen what Jack brought for groceries yesterday, he’d taken no chances.

“What you wanna get is Gevalia,” Benny added.

“That European crap?” said Gordon. He took his usual spot at the dining table, leaning back in his chair. It left Benny to sit at the other end of the couch with Dean.

“Better than that piss water you drink,” Benny said with a smirk. Gordon raised a brow at him.

“Tea is medicinal, jackass.” The Black man raised a finger to punctuate his point. “It’s good for you. Unlike that carburetor fluid y’all drink.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean said, even though a grin edged at his lips. “All I know is, we need premium coffee, stat. Or it’s gonna be a cranky shift.”

“I can go to the store real quick,” Jack offered.

Say what you want about the kid’s poor taste in grocery buying, he was always willing to jump in when you needed him.

“Nah, stay on breakfast,” said Dean. “I’ll go afterwards. But remember, today you’re practicing rappelling drills.”

Jack nodded. “And lunch duty. And helping clean the truck, and all the bathrooms…did I miss anything?”

Dean shared a look with Gordon. Not only did he drive the truck, but he was one of the men Dean relied on most, as he had the next highest seniority on the job out of the whole firehouse.

Well, except for Benny Lafitte, Captain of the Rescue Squad. Squad members were considered specialists in complex rescue situations. They were highly trained on more sophisticated technical rescue equipment and rappelling, even scuba diving.

It took long years for a firefighter to make it onto Squad; something that Dean used to have ambitions for. But ever since he got promoted to Lieutenant on Truck 79, he realized that his role in this house was best served on the Truck, not on Squad.

“If he gets through all that, Meg might have something for him too,” Gordon said.

“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” remarked a droll voice. “I’ve already got one pound puppy to look after.”

Their Paramedic in Charge strode in with Chuck on her heels. They’d just pulled into the firehouse driveway on Ambulance 7.

“Nice. That’s how you talk about your partner of three years?” Chuck said with a frown. Meg turned to him with a wry grin.

“Only the ones who can hack it on my Ambo,” she replied. “What can I say. You’re special, Shurley. Either that, or a glutton for punishment.”

Gordon shook his head and looked over at Jack.

“Careful with that one. She chewed and hacked out her last partner in under a month.”

“Poor guy didn’t even transfer,” Dean added, making a “flatlining” motion with his hand. “He just quit. Dropped out of the Fire Academy that same day.”

Not all firefighters were made through Meg’s department, but it was a common route, working as a paramedic while getting put through your paces in the Fire Academy. Dean himself had gone straight to the Academy after getting his EMT certification.

But at Dean’s words, Jack’s eyes widened a fraction. Meg turned to him with an almost feline smile.

“How was the call?” Benny asked her, speaking of the job they’d just returned from. Meg’s expression dimmed a little, as did Chuck’s as they both sat down at the table.

“Ah, just Henry again,” she said. “Overdosed on his insulin.”

Benny frowned, while Dean shook his head. Jack’s brows furrowed.

“Who’s Henry?” he asked.

Meg sat back in her chair with a subtle sigh. Knowing his work partner’s mood, Chuck answered the young man’s question.

“He’s homeless, lives by the river,” he said. “He’s one of our ‘regulars,’ you could say. When we get the call, usually he’s passed out. Dehydration. But sometimes it’s more serious.”

“You can’t take him to the hospital?” Jack asked in concern.

“Today we did,” Meg said. Her brown eyes met Jack’s, her mouth in a thin line. “But without health insurance, there’s only so much they can do after they get him stable.”

That fell a bit heavily into the room. It wasn’t a pleasant fact, but it was the reality. Jack was learning more and more about that aspect of this job, and learning if he could handle the darker shades of what it could bring.

“Well, breakfast is ready,” he said, bringing a large plate of eggs and toast onto the counter. Dean tossed him an appreciative half-smile and got up from the couch.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, walking over along with everyone else. He took a moment to pat Jack on the shoulder.

“What do you want to do first: run drills, or help me and Gordon wash the truck?” Dean asked.

Jack looked up with a smile. “Can we run drills first?”

Dean nodded, grinning back at him. “Good answer.”

The rest of the Truck and Squad crews ambled in at both the announcement and the smell of food. And before long, the common room was filled with conversation, good-natured teasing, and shitty coffee all around.

From his vantage point facing the open door to the driveway, Benny caught sight of a young woman heading towards the double doors with a large tupperware bin in hand. Bonnie the receptionist happened to be coming in at the same time. You asked her a question Benny couldn’t quite hear.

“Dean… Oh, you’re looking for Lieutenant Winchester?” Bonnie asked. Her voice tended to carry. “Right in there, hun.”

“Well, that sure is interesting,” Benny murmured with a smile. He glanced over slyly at his friend. “Heads up, brother.”

Dean looked up from his plate of eggs expectantly. Benny gestured over with his eyes, just as you walked into the firehouse, both cautious and unsure of where you were going.

Dean’s brows raised. He found himself setting down his plate and getting up from the couch before he really knew what he was doing.

You looked exactly how he remembered. Though this time, you weren’t coffee stained in your professional blouse and black pencil skirt. His attention drew briefly downwards to your heels, this time solid black (and even taller than the last pair, damn).

He noticed all the same things he had last time: the shade of your hair, pinned up again with a clip as stray pieces framed your face. The way you carried yourself when you finally saw him, straightening with a subtle confidence in your shoulders, even though you looked a bit nervous. And the pretty curve of your lips when your eyes found his.

“Hey, there,” Dean said. He gave you one of his trademark smiles. “Good to see you again.”

“Uh, hi,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you remember me.”

Dean nodded. “‘Course I do. What can I do for you?”

Your face seemed to freeze up a bit as you looked up at him.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just wanted to say thank you, again,” you said. And you glanced past him, where the rest of the firehouse members were discreetly watching. “All of you, actually. And my friend told me that firefighters really like food…but, I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

You laughed a little, in a nervous way that made Dean struggle not to smile too much.

“Anyway, I like to bake,” you twittered on, “and I had some time this week after…well, you know what happened. So…I brought this!”

You raised up your tupperware with a smile.

And you were damn adorable, Dean thought. His own smile deepened as he glanced down at the offering, then at you. He took the container and opened the lid, and was honestly surprised at what he saw.

He could’ve sworn these were Bonafede, just-poured-out-of-the-box Girl Scout cookies. Dozens of them. He saw shortbreads (complete with the little wavy lines), Samoa cookies with the coconut flakes, and even what looked like chocolate covered Thin Mints. They also smelled delicious.

“Wow. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, with genuine warmth. “I’m pretty sure the guys are gonna tear these apart the second I put ‘em down.”

Your face brightened, and Dean noticed how it reached your eyes with a bit of a blush.

“Well, I hope you guys enjoy,” you said. Your hands fiddled with your purse next.

“Heading off to work now?” he asked.

“Yep,” you nodded, with a certain glint in your eye. “I plan on taking the stairs this time.”

Dean raised a brow. “All 22 floors?”

“Gotta get my steps in somehow,” you joked. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to become a repeat offender, make you guys come all the way back across town again.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t mind,” he said, meeting your eyes. And he found that he meant it. In fact, he didn’t think he’d mind if your building’s elevator broke down every damn week.

Your expression shifted towards amusement. “Well, you must be very dedicated to your job.”

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you. He had half a mind to heed his instincts, to take advantage of the signals he thought you were sending him, and ask if he could take you out sometime.

But it was unprofessional here at the firehouse (not that that had stopped him before). He’d been making efforts to curb that kind of behavior for the past few months.

He also remembered the 30 floors of your massive, fancy office building. He considered the price tags that probably came with the admittedly sexy, high-powered corporate look you had going on. Those were probably a lot more zeros than he was used to seeing on his paycheck.

So for once, he didn’t pull the trigger.

“Well, thanks. I really do appreciate that,” Dean replied. His smile then was more sincere, if also more professional. He gestured at the container in his hand. “And on behalf of all the guys, thanks for this too.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “I have to go, but…thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“Ah,” he shook his head, “just call me Dean.”

You agreed by smiling, just a little bit more.

“Dean.”

He nodded back, sending you off with a smile of his own. He forced himself to taper it down after you left, and he had to turn around to meet his friends. Their grins reminded him of piranhas.

“All right. Out with it, you freakin’ jackals.” He waved his free hand in a “bring it on” gesture.

Meg was the first one to burst out laughing. It spearheaded the rest of them, whooping and catcalling and generally being menaces. Even Jack was grinning at his lieutenant’s expense.

Meg got up from her seat and bumped Dean’s shoulder on her way to the kitchen, where she dumped her dishes.

“Thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester,” she mocked in a saccharine sweet voice. Then she lowered it into an exaggerated mimic of his deeper one, “Call me Dean, baby girl. Fucking priceless. You should get your own Hallmark movie.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been prepared for this, but his face was still getting warm.

“Shut up, Meg,” he tossed back. They all had an ongoing Family Guy joke that never failed to make their PIC narrow her eyes. And she did so now, giving him a fake grimace as she left the kitchen.

“All right, kiddos. If you need me, don’t,” she said. “Chuck! Let’s sort the ambo’s inventory.”

“Got it,” her partner nodded. He too got up and placed his dishes in the sink before he took off after Meg.

This left Dean with the rest of the guys, who still gave him knowing smiles as he set your bin of cookies down on the table. He blew out a breath before he returned to the couch and sat down heavily across from Benny and Gordon.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Dean Winchester bitched out,” Gordon remarked.

Once again, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Truly incredible,” Benny added. He shook his head when Dean just crossed his arms. “She was eying you like a pork cutlet, and you just let her walk outta here.”

“We’re in the house, guys. What was I supposed to do?” Dean groused.

Benny and Gordon looked at him like he’d just denounced Led Zeppelin (his favorite band of all time).

“Get her goddamn number, Winchester,” said Gordon. The man’s lips curved. “Or at least, introduce her to a brother.”

Dean shot him a glance. Gordon Walker was damn good at driving the truck, but he was also known for being a hunter of the ladies himself.

“She seemed nice,” Jack put his two cents in with a smile. He was standing behind the couch, leaning his elbows on it. Gordon scoffed, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah, with a fat ass too,” he said, sipping his tea.

Benny reached over and hit his shoulder to shut him up.

“That’s a lady, Gordon,” he said. Though a suspect smile graced his lips as he glanced at Dean. “A lady with a nice ass.”

Dean shook his head, but he couldn’t disagree. The first time he met you, he’d been impressed by the way you stood your ground with your asshole boss. Dean thought you were going to chuck that lethal looking heel at the guy. But behind that steely exterior was a kind little softie.

Today, he got your sweet side. It was equal parts sexy and adorable.

And damn if you didn’t have a nice ass, nice curves, and a nice mouth.

But your eyes, he thought. Those were nothing short of beautiful.

About twenty minutes across town, an apartment building was swarmed by police cars. One unit in particular was sealed off with yellow caution tape as a team of officers drifted in and out.

What a fucked way to die.

Detective John Winchester observed the unnatural angle that the victim—Jerry Stillwell, a certified public accountant—had his throat cut with a jagged weapon.

It hadn’t been clean in the least. And he’d bled out across his work desk and a stack of papers, as well as his desktop computer. He was 45, unmarried, and murdered in his own home in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

The computer wouldn’t turn on, and not because of the blood. It had been wiped with magnetized technology, most likely by the intruder. Though there was no sign of forced entry, according to John’s partner. The murder weapon was missing as well, though it looked like a knife wound.

John leaned over the on-site medical examiner’s shoulder to peer closer at the man’s wounds. Stillwell had most likely been grabbed from behind. So far, the signs pointed to the culprit being someone the victim knew.

They probably took Stillwell by surprise, but he was a large man. If John had to guess, over 250 pounds, unathletic, but still, not easy to overpower. Likely the suspect was a man over 6 feet; strong, and efficient. Though the messiness of the kill made John think this guy took "pride" his work, so to speak.

“Signs of struggle,” said the M.E. “Skin under the fingernails. He fought back, and…huh.”

John’s interest piqued at the man’s shift in tone. “What?”

“Take a look at this.” The M.E. was holding Stillwell’s right hand, palm-up, revealing a small burn on the inside of the wrist. John’s gaze sharpened on the mark.

“Cas, come here,” he said. Across the room, Detective Cas Novak paused in his task of examining the entry points of the apartment to join John at his side. His blue eyes widened a fraction at seeing the burn. It was a symbol of a snake eating its own tail.

“That makes four,” Cas said.

“Yep. We’ve got ourselves a murder cluster,” John said. Cas nodded. He beckoned John to the side, making sure the M.E. was out of earshot before he spoke. “Isn’t it time we brought Sam up to speed on this, at least?”

John’s brows furrowed.

“No,” he said. “Sam’s an ADA. We don’t go to him until we have someone to indict.”

He walked away from Cas, who frowned. John knew damn well that wasn’t what he meant. This was the fourth murder within six months of this nature. The fourth to be branded with the mark of Azazel…a criminal who supposedly disappeared decades ago.

Shortly after November 2, 1983, the day of Mary Winchester’s death.

Seeing Dean again had gone better than you thought it would. It left you feeling light and downright cheerful when you left the firehouse this morning. Unfortunately, the great start to your morning only crumbled when you reached your office.

Now, even at the end of your day, finally back at home and in the familiarity of your kitchen, the tension headache was back.

“Dre, I’m tired. Can’t we do this another night?” you asked.

Your cell phone was balanced between your ear and your shoulder as you counted out your grandfather’s pills, and placed them in each “Monday through Sunday” box in the blue container.

“No, we absolutely cannot. Because today was horrific,” Andréa said. “For me, because my coworker decided to play hookie on the day our top account needed the mockups of their new website. Never mind that she hadn’t even started.”

Pause for an aggravated breath, through which you frowned in sympathy. She’d told you the entire story over lunch today.

“And for you, because Nick once again displayed why he’s a subhuman neanderthal, in spectacular fashion,” she added.

Your grimace deepened at the reminder.

Earlier today, just before a sales meeting you were set to lead, you’d turned away from the conference table to set up the projector. Nick was early for once, making it just him and you in the room.

He’d sat back in his chair and uttered a remark that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“I’ll tell you what, babe. You sure know how to wear a skirt.”

Your back straightened, and slowly you turned. Your face was set in stone, save for a solitary raise of your brow.

“Excuse me?”

Nick’s smirk was lazy as he kicked his feet up on the table. His hand held a tumbler of whiskey. You noted the half empty carafe, which just yesterday had been full and untouched.

“Fucking fantastic legs,” he said, vaguely outlining your shape with his hand. “I applaud you. It’s all very…sexy secretary. Oooh! Sexcretary. Fucking brilliant.”

You gaped, trying to put a clamp on the furious spike in your blood.

“Are you drunk?” you asked incredulously.

He raised his fingers an inch or so apart, scrunching up his face and trying not to laugh.

“Actually nah, not at all,” he bluffed.

He let his hand fall back into his lap. You shook your head and set down your papers in order to cross your arms.

“Good. Then you’ll hear me clearly when I say, I’m filing a formal complaint with Billie in HR,” you said.

“Whaaat? Why?” he complained. You huffed incredulously.

“For your little comments, which are getting more and more heinous. Not to mention your excessive drinking during company hours.”

Nick pursed his lips. “Christ on a stick. Can’t you take a fucking compliment?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “What I refuse to take is any further sexual harassment. This isn’t the first incident I could disclose, but I’m damn sure you’ll want it to be the last.”

He kicked his feet off the table and slowly stood. You didn’t want to be afraid of this sloppy, frat boy drunken attitude, but a tendril of trepidation still laced down your spine as you took a step back.

“You could do that,” he nodded, tilting his head. “Or, I’ll give your Zimmerman account to Josh, along with your commission.”

You frowned, and shock made your entire body tense.

“You…you can’t do that!” you exclaimed. Your insides fairly shook with frustration tinged with anger. “I’ll sue you.”

“With what money?” Nick scoffed.

Your brows knitted together then. How the hell would he know anything about your finances?

The man noted your reaction with a nod.

“Yeah, I know all about grammy and gramps. Surgeries, funerals, treatments…” he said. He leaned against the table with one hand, and still he fairly loomed over you.

He wasn't as broad as someone like Dean, but he was tall and lean. His dirty blonde hair was swept to the side, his blue eyes bearing down on you.

“I am this company. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out, sweetheart,” he said.

His gaze lowered, roaming your glowering face.

“And good luck getting anywhere else without a reference from one of the biggest corporations in Lawrence, Kansas.”

You sighed. Yeah, you might’ve shed some frankly embarrassing tears in the women’s bathroom after that. You hadn’t even told Andréa the full story, which included the details of his comments, along with his threats.

You didn’t want her to worry. And maybe, more selfishly, you were embarrassed at having to deal with it at all.

Truth be told, you still didn’t know what the hell you were going to do. About Nick, or your job…but somehow, getting drunk at a bar seemed about the last thing you should be doing.

“I need a drink,” Andréa insisted. “Which means you definitely need a drink. And I know exactly where we’re going.”

After a long moment, you leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbed through the persistent ache in your forehead. Maybe, just this once, you deserved to forget about reality. Just for a little while.

“Fine. Where?” you asked.

“It’s this great bar Meg told me about. The Roadhouse.”

“Ah, the usual suspects,” Ellen drawled at the men who managed to find seats at her bar, next to the rest of their party. The Roadhouse was packed on a Friday night, but she always had room for these two.

Benny and Dean wore similar tired, but pleasant smiles as they greeted their esteemed barkeep.

“What’s it been, Ellen, a whole shift since I’ve seen your delightful face?” Dean said.

Ellen gave him a mocking smile as she poured him his favorite beer on tap. Dean grinned and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder as he sat down. He and Cas had been waiting for a little while.

…Well, maybe longer than a little.

“Hey, dude,” Dean said. Sam perked up from his second beer with pursed lips.

“You know we’ve been waiting on you for like an hour, right?” he said.

“Aw, don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy,” Dean teased. He nodded his thanks at Ellen when she set his beer in front of him, and a glass of whiskey for Benny. “We had a last-minute call. Some guy just couldn’t wait to start his Happy Hour. Drove his car into the company fountain.”

Sam’s brows raised incredulously. He looked over at Benny for confirmation, and the other man gave a resigned nod.

“Apparently it set the ducks into a tizzy,” he said. “The guy’s fine. Probably gonna get slapped with a DUI.”

Dean smirked and raised a finger at both Sam and Cas. “Duck Guy’s your problem now.”

Cas shook his head and raised his beer to his lips.

“Not my department.”

“Mine either,” Sam scoffed. Both of them worked in homicide cases, just from the differing sides of law and order. In fact, they worked together more often than Dean and Cas did.

Dean looked over at his friend Cas for a moment. He looked like more of a hot mess than usual, with his tie half undone, and a scruffy half-beard covering his face.

“Geez, man. You look like shit,” Dean remarked. “You and Meg fighting again?”

“No,” Cas replied, his brows furrowing. “…Well, yes. But nothing more than her usual insanity. Something about the cat preferring to sleep next to me than to her.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Benny said. “My dog don’t like her either.”

“Maybe they can smell that she’s feral,” Dean quipped. Cas sent him a dry look at that.

“She threatened to move out,” he revealed. “Even packed a bag at 3:00 in the morning. I spent two hours unpacking what she was re-packing, all while we argued in our underwear, not sleeping.”

Sam and Dean shared bemused looks, while Benny shook his head into his whiskey.

“So how’d it end up?” Sam asked. Cas sighed and took another long sip of his beer.

“Like it always ends, Sam,” he said, his lips quirking. “With our neighbors calling the precinct to complain, and me, somehow ending up sleeping on the couch for a crime I didn’t commit. If she wants to blame someone, blame the goddamn cat.”

Dean chortled. He brought his beer to his lips, but couldn’t resist a light jab at his best friend first.

“Dude, I love her like a sister, but your girlfriend’s unhinged,” he said.

Cas could only nod. “Most are, I’ve come to find.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “Not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s because Eileen doesn’t have to see you more than two minutes at a time,” Dean teased. He and his brother still shared an apartment, and Sam’s job as an Assistant District Attorney wrought demanding hours.

Sam shot his brother a flat look.

“Oh, I’m not taking that from the serial playboy,” he said.

Dean’s brows knitted together.

“All right, calm down,” he said. “I’m not Hugh Hefner.”

“Mr. Hit and Run,” Cas added, a smirk gracing his features.

“Chief ‘No Daddy Issues,’” Benny tipped in, giving his annoyed, green-eyed friend a sly glance. “With a side helping of the Clap.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a line. He leveled a finger at Benny.

“That girl was clean, okay? False alarm,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward as he sipped his beer. Thank Christ for that one. “The rash was just carpet burn.”

Sam shook his head and turned to his brother more seriously.

“Bottom line: until you date a woman for more than two weeks—hell, two days at a time—you don’t get to comment on the happily committed,” he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his track record with relationships. As in, he didn’t really have a record…but it wasn’t for lack of trying. At least, not for the past few months.

Sam managed to break Dean out of his thoughts by clearing his throat, pushing his empty bottle across the counter.

“All right, speaking of. I gotta go,” he said.

“Aw, why? We just got here. Let me buy you another,” Dean offered.

Sam shot his brother another knowing look. Dean knew it well; it said, if he’d been here on time, they would’ve shared the first two drinks.

“I’m picking up Eileen,” Sam said, grabbing his blazer and fixing the collar when he put it on. “There’s this Latin club she wants to go to.”

Dean raised incredulous brows.

“My brother’s going salsa dancing?”

Sam sighed in exasperation, despite his smile. “Bye, Dean.”

He shot his other two friends a nod.

“See you guys.”

Cas and Benny both saw him off with a subtle raise of their drinks, while Dean just shook his head.

“All right, Samantha,” he called out. Sam didn’t bother to turn around as he raised up a choice finger behind him.

Dean snorted into his drink. “Very mature.”

Benny and Cas shared a wry look. They were relieved when Ellen’s daughter Jo came by, picking up the slack for her mom, who was serving a rowdy group of college kids at a nearby table.

“Hey, guys. Need another round?” Jo asked. She gave them all a familiar smile, but her eyes lingered on Dean. He gave her a more reserved smile back.

“Hey, Jo,” he nodded. “I uh…actually think I’m good right now.”

“Me too,” Cas said. He even stood up and grabbed his trenchcoat in similar fashion as Sam had. The two had paid for their beers before Benny and Dean even got there.

“Aw, not you too,” Dean groused.

“If I don’t make dinner, we run the risk of the apartment going up in flames,” Cas informed him. Dean could only assume he was talking about Meg. “Despite working with the Fire Department for ten years, the woman can’t manage to boil an egg without supervision.”

Jo raised a brow, but her smile was bemused as she turned to Benny. “Anything for you?”

“Nah, darlin’. I’m good,” he said. But sensing the unspoken request in her eyes when she glanced at Dean, Benny straightened and raised from his seat. “But I’ll be back. Need’a hit the head.”

Dean internally sighed as Benny left him alone at the bar. Or, well, relatively alone. Jo lingered in front of him to wash and dry out a few glasses. The air between them was stiff, and a little awkward.

Dean’s thoughts shifted back to his brother then; while he still couldn’t believe Eileen had wrangled his gangly Sasquatch of a brother into going dancing, Dean was happy for him. Truly and sincerely. Sam deserved having someone who softened him, made him break away from his endless cases and have some fun.

Dean could also admit, if only to himself, that he was maybe a little jealous. Sam had something good with his girl. Something real.

Dean had carpet burn.

“So, how’s studying going?” he asked Jo. He couldn’t stand awkward silences. “Still planning on giving your mom a heart attack when you get into the Police Academy?”

Jo’s blue eyes flicked up to his. She brushed a coil of blond hair behind her ear after she finished drying a glass, and a smile raised the corner of her lips.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I gave her something to yell about,” she quipped. “But since you asked…my exam is in three months.”

“Good,” Dean nodded. “You’ve got time. Study your ass off. Keep up the conditioning routine I gave you, and you’ll be set. Just don’t forget the strength training. Very important.”

“I got it,” she said, this time with a brighter smile. “Some old firefighter gave me some pointers.”

Dean tilted his beer at her accusingly.

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. Benny’s got more mileage than I do…”

He considered her then, after briefly looking down at the counter.

“What?” she said.

He kept his lips tight. “Nothin’.”

“No, Dean. What?” Jo pressed. “You want to say something. Say it.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head.

“Ellen’s not the only one who’s gonna worry about you on the job, that’s all,” he said. Jo flickered at a rueful frown.

“That’s ironic,” she said. “I can handle myself, Dean. Something you so often seem to forget.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” he shot back. His hand tightened around his beer.

Jo’s face fell into irritation, mostly to cover up the hurt he saw buried deep behind her eyes. She gave him some relief by glancing away from him.

“And this is why we didn’t work out,” she muttered. Sighing through her nose, her eyes met his again. “You know what I hate, more than anything? People worrying.”

Dean carded his fingers through his hair, his brows knitting together in aggravation.

“Yeah, well, maybe they have good reason to,” he said. He could’ve predicted the way she tightened up. “And if I remember right, you did your fair share of hand-wringing the next time I responded to a fire on the job.”

He knew it was a low blow. But his point was made, and he fully expected the anger in Jo’s tight frown. They’d dated for a few weeks, mostly in secret.

That had been enough for Ellen to blow her top. Not because she had anything against Dean…just his job: at the very same firehouse her late husband had once served.

So Dean had backed off. He’d ultimately felt he had to end it. And clearly, Jo still resented him for it.

Slowly, however, the fire in her eyes dimmed. Her finger tapped on her side of the bar counter.

“You think I don’t worry anymore just because we’re not together?” she asked him.

Dean didn’t have a good answer for her. So his gaze fell to his nearly empty beer.

But he was even more relieved when Benny finally got back from the bathroom, or wherever he’d fucked off to for the past few minutes.

He did seem to know that he was interrupting a rather tense moment. Seeing as neither Dean nor Jo wanted to break the silence, Benny supposed it fell on him.

He reclaimed his seat and raised a smile up at Jo.

“I think I’m ready for the next round,” he said, glancing at Dean’s soured mood. “Two whiskeys, please, Joanna.”

Jo treated Benny with a half-smile. He was the only one besides her mother who called her Joanna (and got away with it). After one last look at Dean, she reached over for the Jim Beam.

You met Andréa at the bar in your own car, just in case you needed to dip out early to check on Grandpa George. He was happy to see you going out.

“You’re pretty as a doll, sweetheart,” he’d said, patting your cheek after you kissed his goodbye.

The thought made you smile, even though you thought you were dressed casually in your dark wash jeans and blouse. When Andréa met you outside the bar, she nodded in approval.

“Good. I like the hint of sexy,” she said, plucking at the sweetheart neckline of your top. You rolled your eyes and tried to cover up the cleavage a little, but she batted at your hand.

“No, no. Leave your professionalism at work,” she said. “Tonight, you’re going to relax and have some fun.”

It was hard to think about loosening up when you were literally getting belittled and threatened at work…but you supposed she had a point. You always had to be put together. You had to be sharp, because this world wouldn’t hand you anything on a silver platter.

And not to mention, you couldn’t just think about yourself. You also had to provide and take care of your grandfather too. He was the only family you had left, and you were it for him too…

But you took in a slow, deep breath. Tonight, you could have a couple of drinks with your friend. You could just be yourself, with no responsibilities other than not getting too drunk to drive yourself home later.

So with a sigh, you smiled and linked your arm with Andréa as you headed inside the Roadhouse.

It looked kind of divey from the outside, a worn-looking brown building with a faded red sign. But inside it was all dark wood and leather barstools and rows of soft lighting overhead.

There were records displayed on the wall; Prince’s Purple Rain, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, and David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, among others. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” played on the wall speakers.

There were several tables, both high top and regular four-seaters, as well as a long bar that spanned the far wall, where rows and rows of liquor were showcased. You followed Andréa’s lead to the bar, where you took a seat at the far end and tried to feel like you belonged here. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to a place like this.

“This is nice,” she leaned over into your ear to say. “Next time my cousin should meet us here. She’s a handful, but I think you’d like her.”

You agreed with a smile. “If she’s anything like you, I think I’m well trained to handle your brand of insanity.”

Andréa leveled you with a playfully mocking look.

“Ah, you’ve got jokes tonight. Okay.” She waved over the blonde bartender.

“Hi, ladies,” she greeted. “I’m Jo. What’re we starting off with tonight?”

Before you could order for yourself, Andréa grabbed your arm and spoke over you.

“Do you have absinthe?” she asked.

Your eyes widened. “What?! I’m not drinking that—”

“Sure do,” Jo replied in amusement.

“Great,” said Andréa. You didn’t like her sly grin. “She’ll have an Aunt Roberta. I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

“What the hell is an Aunt Roberta?” you asked.

Jo listed the ingredients on her fingers. “A nice molotov of brandy, vodka, gin, blackberry liqueur, and of course, absinthe.”

Jesus Christ. You shot Andréa a glare, even though you were trying to dim your smile.

“Are you trying to chill me out or fucking end me?” you asked.

Andréa smirked. “Whatever it takes.”

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded your agreement. Jo’s smile remained as she went to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, your eyes wandered as you once again took in your surroundings.

Really is a cool place, you thought. And it was busy without being overbearingly crowded. There were even a few seats between you and the rest of the patrons at the bar. Your gaze drew a path onwards, eventually reaching the other end of the bar.

There you caught sight of red flannel over a black undershirt, familiar broad shoulders, and an even more familiar face. Your eyes widened a fraction as his met yours, gleaming with recognition…and interest.

That slow smile of his was familiar too. It made a lance of heat run down your spine. You gripped the counter, mostly to steady yourself as you let out a breath.

Lieutenant Winchester.

AN: *rubs hands together* It begins. 😏

Lol how'd you like Dean's little moment with the reader at the firehouse? Plus the introduction of the rest of our cast!

(And a possible serial killer on the loose?) Though sorry about Nick. He's a douchecanoe.

Next Time:

Anticipation and nerves coiled together in your lower belly. You turned to your friend, who was already sipping at her vodka cranberry.

“Dre, help me,” you pleaded.

Andréa discreetly followed the path of your gaze, and her brows raised. A smirk curved her lips.

“Oh, babe. You need to help yourself,” she replied.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” you admitted. Your dating life had been sorely lacking, between the demands of your job and taking care of things at home. “I’m gonna say something demented.”

Andréa huffed in amusement.

“So? That’s half the fun,” she said.

Keep Reading: PART 3

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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mountttmase · 5 months

Text

Winter Sun - Chapter 4

Note - chapter four already 🤭 we’re over halfway now and I really hope you’re enjoying it so far. Thank you so much for all you lovely people who send me feedback, I appreciate you than I could tell you 😘 this chapter is extra cheeky so buckle up and I’d love to hear what you think 🩷

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 7.8k

Warnings - series will contain fluff, smut & angst

Masterlist

Your tummy had been churning since you woke up. Partly from the nerves of today but also from thinking about what you and Mason had gotten up to last night. The way he'd handled you with such roughness but praised you at the same time had made you head spin and you could feel your knees buckle as you thought about his wet body pressed tightly to yours.

An incoming call made you snap out of your thoughts, Carly’s face filling the screen and you picked it up with a smile.

‘Good morning, sunshine’ you sang down the phone. Popping the last few bits you needed into your bag and her light chuckle made you smile.

‘Good morning to you too. Are you nearly ready?’

‘Yeah just getting the last of my stuff together’

‘Okay well Mason overslept so him and the boys are gonna follow on once he’s ready. I thought we could go for a little early girly breakfast with the others’

‘Ooo yeah okay I’ll be up in a sec’ you told her before popping your shoes on and meeting the others upstairs.

It was only a ten minute walk to the harbour and you managed to find a cute little cafe along the waters edge so you could order some coffee and pastries and wait for the boys. You’d been sat talking for around half an hour when Kayla said she spotted the boys coming, the four of them laughing and joking until they got closer and saw what they’d missed out on.

‘You made us miss breakfast’ Dec groaned, flopping down next to Lauren but thankfully she’d saved him something.

‘Don’t you start’ Mason groaned, trying to fit himself onto the sofa next to you before picking up your glass of orange juice so he could take a big gulp.

‘What happened Mase?’ Lauren asked as the boys surrounded the table but he just huffed as he placed his arm around the back of you.

‘I was exhausted when I got to bed last night and I must have forgotten to set an alarm for today’ he explained, reaching for the half eaten croissant on your plate and taking a bite out of the end.

‘Was turning the alarm off last night really that stressful?’ Woody laughed and you had to bite back your smile. Looking up at him carefully but the small wink he sent you made your heart flutter.

‘What do you think?’ You asked him quietly, head nodding to the pastry in his hands be he just shrugged and threw it back onto the plate.

‘S’alright. Never as good as yours though’

‘You flatter me’ you laughed, rolling your eyes before turning back to the group. ‘Woody? How are you feeling this morning?’

‘Alright I think. I think the sun got to me yesterday and then all that drink, I just couldn’t handle it’

‘You wait till I get you on that boat’ Dec teased, a mischievous look plastered across his features. ‘I’m gonna rock it until you throw up’

You let the boys bicker amongst themselves. Watching Ben pay for everyone’s breakfast sneakily and when he’d seen you’d caught him he looked at you with a guilty expression.

‘You didn’t have to do that Ben, we could of got it’

‘Its fine I-‘

‘Where do I pay’ you suddenly heard behind you, Carly rummaging through her bag to try and find her purse but you managed to stop her before she emptied her whole bag out.

‘Your delight of a boyfriend has already paid for everyone’ you told her, watching her face soften as she reached over to hold him by his cheeks.

‘Oh Benji, that’s so sweet you didn't need to do that’ she told him sweetly, bringing her lips up to his so she could kiss him deeply so you thought you’d let them have their moment. Going back to join the others so you could make your way over to the boat with Dec and Lauren as Mason trailed behind talking to Woody but as soon as you were about to climb on board he snuck in front of you so he could help you climb on. Blushing as he held his hand out for you.

There was space at the back for all your stuff. Everyone stripping down to their swimwear and excitedly walking around but you waited until everyone had mostly gone before you got changed.

‘I’m sorry, what the hell are you wearing?’ Mason asked quietly after everyone had moved to the front of the boat and it was finally just the two of you. His face was unreadable and you weren’t exactly sure what to say.

Your heart sank at his words, looking down at the bright orange set you’d picked especially for him because you thought he’d love it but his tone seemed angry almost and you gulped as you crossed your arms over yourself.

‘What do you mean?’ You asked quietly, not wanting to look up at him as you thought you’d done something wrong but the feeling of his hands on your wrists so he could uncross your arms made you look up at him shyly.

‘You don’t make this easy for me Muffin, you know that right? How am I meant to act like I don’t wanna fuck your brains out every time I look at you when you’re gonna be walking around like this all day’ he told you with a smile and you realised it wasn’t the fact he didnt like what you were wearing, he actually liked it a little too much. ‘I mean what even is this?’ He laughed, fingers gripping the material that hung on your hips.

‘It’s a sarong’ you whispered, shivering as his hand dipped past the split in the skirt so he could grip your thigh. ‘I didn’t wanna walk around in just a bikini all day so it's just a bit of a cover up, that’s all’

‘Well it's making me lose my mind’ he told you quietly, pulling you closer to his body so he could hide is face in your neck. ‘You’re so sexy and you don't even try’

‘You can talk’ you laughed, trying to brush his compliments away as you could feel the effects they were having on you become stronger by the minute. But you also wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. ‘You think its easy for me watching you walk around with just those little shorts on?’ You laughed, feeling him laugh into your neck as he shook his head slightly. ‘Let’s just try and keep it in our pants, yeah?’

‘I’ll try’ he huffed, pulling back to look at you and the blush across his cheeks made your heart thump. ‘Will you help me with my sun cream?’

‘Of course’ you whispered. ‘Go save us a spot and I’ll be over in a second’ you told him, letting him join the others as you calmed yourself down a little. Once you found the cream you went and sat by him and began to help him apply it, noticing Declan eyeing you curiously from the other side of the boat but you ignored him for now until he made his way over.

‘I think were gonna take turns jumping off the side, you both joining?’

‘Oh um…’ you stuttered, not wanting to be a party pooper but Mason was handing you his phone with a wink.

‘Yeah I’m coming. Y/n promised to get some shots of us’ Mason explained, helping you up so you could join them on the side but he found you somewhere safe to sit so you wouldn’t fall in if the boat swayed about too much.

‘Hey Mase, why have you got a third nipple?’ Woody suddenly questioned. Everyone’s eyes flashing down to Masons chest and the small purple bruise you’d left there last night but you could tell Mason was floundering straight away.

‘Oh that? It’s nothing I just uh- I dropped my shower gel last night and it hit me in the chest’ he lied but you could tell none of the other boys believed him.

‘I wondered what that crash was last night, I could hear it from across the hall’ you chimed in, hoping a bit of support from you would make his silly lie a bit more believable and thankfully it worked. The rest of them making jokes at how clumsy he was before he sent you a quick wink in thanks.

He was trying to impress you, each jump higher and more dangerous than the last and each time he hit the water you felt your heart thump in fear but his little smile as he surfaced always made you feel better.

You left the boys to themselves for a bit, joining the girls for a gossip so you could top up your tan whilst you laughed at the boys trying out silly flips and hearing Masons excited little scream made you giggle.

‘You make sure you don’t hurt yourselves' Carly called over to them before Ben made his way back to her, leaving sloppy wet kisses over her face as his wet hair dangled over her skin causing her to shriek from the sensation. ‘What the hell, Ben you’re all wet’

‘I swear to god Woody, you come near me like that and I'll scream’ Kayla laughed, sitting up as Woody made a move for her, but in the end he grabbed a towel so he could dry off before sitting by her. Dec seemed to have the same idea and knew not to get Lauren wet but you knew Mason was about to do something silly.

You watched him carefully, his towel thrown over his head like a tent as he smiled down at you cheekily but you were slightly distracted watching the stray drops of water travel down his perfect body until they got lost in the waistband of his shorts. You knew he was looking at your mesmerised face and before you knew it everyone began to laugh as he came and laid directly on top of you.

‘You alright there, Mase?’

‘I’m okay’ he laughed, snuggling down into your neck and the cold water made you shiver. ‘You okay?’

‘I’m fine. I mean there’s a heavy weight on me right now but apart from that I’m great’

‘Hey I’m not that heavy’ he moaned, slyly kissing your neck out of the view of everyone else before placing his lips by your ear. ‘Do you ever get sea sick?’

‘Not really, why?’

‘Do you think you could pretend?’ He asked, sliding off you a little so he could rest on his arm and look down at you.

‘Why? You asked with a laugh but his cheeky smirk let you know already.

‘Cause if I don’t do something about the hard on you give me every time I look at you I don’t know what i'll do next’ he explained. ‘Just pretend so I can take you inside and we can be alone for a bit’

‘Just give me some time to get into character. I’ve been sat here chatting like I’m fine I can’t just suddenly be sick’ you explained, watching him excitedly nod at you with a laugh before he got up. Joining the boys again to leave you to it and as the minutes passed, you got quieter and quieter. Resting one hand on your head as the other sat on your tummy and it only took about 15 minutes for everyone to realise something was wrong.

‘Are you okay, y/n? Lauren asked. ‘You’ve gone awfully quiet’

‘I think it's just a little bit of sea sickness, I’m sure it’ll pass’ you smiled but Mason's head was popping up instantly. Ready to get in on the action and make out like you were worse than you were so he grabbed a water bottle and came and sat next to you again.

‘Have you had enough to drink?

‘I’m not sure’

‘You look pale as anything’ he told you, placing a hand on your forehead and making a concerned face. ‘Maybe I should take you inside for a bit, grab you some water and we can stay out of the sun until you start feeling better’

‘Yeah okay, I think that’s for the best’

You let him help you up, holding onto his arm for support as he wrapped an arm around your waist and slowly walked you away from everyone and you thought you’d be away without any issues until someone spoke up.

‘You two gonna be alright? Dec asked, an unreadable tone to his voice but Mason was quick to jump in and reassure him.

‘Yeah, she’ll be fine. I could do with getting out the sun for a bit anyway’ he told him, walking further out of sight. ‘You guys carry on and we’ll be back when she’s better’

As soon as you were out of sight around the side of the boat you couldn’t help but let the giggles take over. ‘I can’t believe they fell for that’ you laughed quietly, opening the door that led to the inside and as soon as you took the first step down you felt him slap your bum gently.

‘Come on Kate Winslet, i’ll sort your Oscar out later’ he teased but as soon as you made it downstairs you realised there would be an issue.

‘We can’t just do it out here’ you told him, looking around at the wide open space. ‘What if someone comes down to check on us? They’ll see everything’

He knew you were right, looking around the room with his lip trapped between his teeth until his eyes fell on the bathroom door and you watched them light up.

‘You can’t be serious’ you laughed, not wanting to to do anything with him in there but he’d already made his mind up and was walking over.

‘This is our only option, come on it’s fine’ he laughed, opening the door and ushering you in. The bathroom was pretty nice and you watched him sit the lid of the toilet down before taking a seat and tapping his thighs. ‘I know it’s not the height of luxury but I’m desperate’

‘I suppose it’s something I can tick off my bucket list’ you huffed, hands reaching to take off your bottoms but one look from him let you know he wanted the sarong left on.

Once you were ready, he shifted his shorts down to free himself before tapping his thighs again so you’d come and sit on him but there was something in the back of your mind that you wanted to do and now seemed like the perfect opportunity.

‘Come on muffin, you know what to do’ he teased, the cheeky smirk on his face driving you wild but you just stood looking at him with your lip trapped between your teeth.

You did know what to do. You knew exactly what he wanted but there was a little voice in the back of your head that was telling you to ignore him and do what you wanted to do. Something you’d been thinking about for days so when you dropped down on your knees in front of him he gave you a confused look.

‘Can I have a taste first please Masey?’ You asked sweetly, taking him in your hand as you looked up at him through your lashes and a sense of pride filled you at the way he was looking at you. His mouth slightly agape as if he wasn’t sure you were being serious but as you began to press kisses to his thighs he nodded his head. Looking on in awe as you licked a long stripe up his length before taking him into your mouth.

‘Jesus Christ, y/n’ he huffed, his hand holding the back of your neck as you worked on him and you felt your legs clench together as the noises falling from his lips.

Mason always liked to keep it very pg in front of the cameras and you knew he swore around his friends but you never knew he had such a filthy mouth until right now. Grunts and groans pouring from him as he repeatedly told you what a good girl you were. That were his good girl and he couldn’t wait to have you so you figured you’d put him out of his misery and came off of him with a pop.

‘Come up here’ he whispered, pulling you up by your arms so you could straddle him and without wasting a second you lined him up and sank down onto him. Giving your hips one roll forward but that was as far as you got before you heard a loud voice and footsteps coming down the stairs inside.

‘Where are you two?’ Dec called, his voice far away but closer than you wanted it to be and the pair of you looked at each other in shock. Almost frozen in fear as if you didn’t know what to do but thankfully Mason took over to try and bail the two of you out.

‘In the bathroom mate. She’s really not well-‘

He was cut off by the feeling of you rolling your hips on top of him. Not caring the Dec was outside the door and this could possibly end very badly but you wanted to teach him a lesson for dragging you down here so he could get his own away.

‘Let me in’ he laughed, trying the handle but luckily enough for you Mason had remembered to lock it.

‘No no no! she’s not well’ Mason shouted. Panicking that you’d be caught in a precarious position but thankfully the door didn’t budge. ‘She’s throwing up she doesn’t want an audience’ he managed to get out, your hips still moving as you tried not to moan and from the way he was gripping your waist you knew he was finding it difficult too.

In the midst of the slight panic you did all you could think of to help and began making fake sick noises. Feeling mason pull you closer, hiding in your neck to silence his laughs as they sounded so terrible before quickly kissing you to make you stop.

‘Do you need me to get anything’

‘No, just go back up and let her sort herself out’ he told him, voice wavering from the way you were making him feel and unfortunately Dec heard.

‘Are you alright mate, you don’t sound too good yourself’

‘I’m fine, just not good with sick. We’ll be back up soon just keep out the way for now’ Mason pleaded. Hoping that would be enough for him to go and before long you both heard him walk back up the steps and shut the door causing you to look at each other again with stupid smiles as you let out a moan in unison.

‘I don’t think you deserve that Oscar now after that performance’ he teased. Pulling down your bikini on one side so he could attach his lips to your chest and the new sensation made you squeeze around him. ‘Just couldn’t wait to fuck me huh?’

‘Nuh uh, and I was under pressure’ you laughed, your head falling forwards until you were touching again and after a quick kiss Mason's lips were by your ear.

‘I need you to keep moving those hips for me, Muffin. Show me how grateful you are for me saving you’ he teased. Hands trailing up and down your back gently as you let out a little chuckle but he was right. You owed him one this time so you did as he asked. Bouncing up and down on him like your life depended on it but as soon as his thumb connected to your clit you knew you were done for.

Thankfully for you, Mason wasn’t far behind you. Your high inducing his own and once you’d calmed down he pulled you into a hug and you both sat there for a few minutes in each other’s embrace as you got your breath back. His fingers trailing across your skin lightly before he nuzzled into your neck so you could hold each other tighter. Both content in the other’s embrace and not caring if it was allowed or not.

‘Come on, we should head back up’ you sighed, getting yourself off of him with a hiss and you quickly dressed yourselves before making sure you looked presentable.

‘Remember you're sick when you’re up there. Don't blow our cover’

‘Well you’ve tired me out so I’ll probably just take a nap’ you laughed. Letting him kiss your check before you both made an appearance again. Carly calling you over to her side and you spent the rest of the time on the boat next to her as she looked after you and kept you hydrated.

‘You’re looking a bit better than before’ she smiled after a little while so you nodded up to her as you sat up properly.

‘Maybe i ate something I shouldn’t have, I feel a lot better now. Thank you for looking after me’

‘What are best friends for’ she laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders so she could pull you in and even though you felt bad for lying to her, you were so thankful to have a friend like her to look after you.

You all decided to head back in around 4pm, wanting to get back to the villa for a shower and you all decided you didn’t want a late one tonight after your night before and your packed day today so you found a restaurant in the main town that could fit you all in. Just like clockwork, Mason was next to you with his arm resting on the back of your chair and you felt like a schoolgirl as you looked at him in his tight vest that was under his open shirt and baggy trousers that showed off his bum perfectly.

You couldn’t deny you loved it though, feeling like he was claiming you in front of everyone. Like you belonged to someone and when your eyes met his repeatedly throughout the night you felt the excitement rush through you knowing what you’d done earlier and what you could still do when you got back.

‘Are you ordering dessert?’ You asked him, unsure if you were able to handle one but the cheeky bite of his lip as he looked you up and down let you know he wasn’t about to give a sensible answer.

‘I mean there’s definitely something sweet I’ve been thinking about eating all day but I think I’ll have to wait till we’re back at the villa to enjoy it’

‘Mason’ you scolded quietly, looking around in fear on the off chance that someone heard but they all seem to be wrapped up in their own conversations thankfully.

‘What? There’s a slice of cheesecake in the fridge I got when we went shopping. I’ve been saving it’ he told you before dragging your chair a little closer to his. ‘I’m sorry, Muffin. You wanna split one?’

‘I’m not so sure now’ you laughed, knowing your cheeks were blood red and you didn’t want anyone to be suspicious so you held your menu up to your face in hopes no one would be able to see you.

‘Oh don’t be like that’ he laughed, hand creeping over your thigh as he moved his head next to yours. Dropping a kiss on your cheek as no one could see you both now but it only made you blush even harder. ‘Come on, you pick what you want and I’ll just eat whatever you leave’

‘Bit like my breakfast this morning huh?’

‘Well I was hungry and it was your bloody fault I was late anyway’

‘How was it-‘

‘Excuse me’ you suddenly heard, dropping the menu down so both of your faces were revealed. The whole table looking at you with curious eyes before Dec carried on speaking. ‘What the hell are you two doing?’

‘Looking at the puds. Its dark in here I couldn’t see’ Mason defended before his eyes shot back to the menu. Trying to make it look like he was carrying on what he was doing before but you knew he was acting and it took all of your power not to laugh at him.

You ordered the chocolate cake in the end, taking it in turns to have a mouthful as you spoke between yourselves but it wasn’t long before Dec was piping up again.

‘Is there something you two wanna tell us?’ Dec laughed, waving his fork in between you and you felt your face flush as everyone turned to look at you both.

‘Mate, stop it’ Mason started but Dec was in a teasing mood unfortunately and you felt yourself sink back into the chair.

‘You don’t leave each other alone’

‘We’re the only two single people here, yeah? What do you want us to do? Third wheel you guys all the time? We’re just talking Dec, can you not? You making y/n uncomfortable now stop it’ Mason told him, trying to defend the pair of you as you had been acting innocently for the most part over dinner and now you felt like you weren’t allowed to even look at Mason without someone saying something.

Thankfully Lauren stepped in, telling Dec off for being immature and upsetting you and Mason but even after he apologised you still felt weird. Letting Mason know he could finish it so you wouldn’t get caught being too close and the sad look in his eyes made your tummy churn.

‘Please just ignore him, he thinks he’s funny and he’s not’ Mason told you quietly and even though you tried to send him a reassuring smile, you didn’t feel like you could talk to him how you were before. Choosing to walk home with Carly and Ben so no one thought anything else was going on but you knew Mason had pulled Dec aside to have a go at him as soon as you got back.

You were treating yourself to a drink in the kitchen when you felt someone walk in, looking up to see Declan looking at you with a face full of sorrow so you smiled at him sympathetically.

‘I’m sorry y/n, I didn’t mean to be rude at dinner. And all the other times’

‘It’s fine-‘

‘No it’s not. Mase told me you’re finding it difficult being here with all the couple’s and you’d made a pact to stick together so I’m sorry for making you feel weird about it’ he explained, taking a seat at the island and you could sense he wanted to talk further about it so you took up the seat opposite him. ‘Truth is, I’d love for him to be with someone like you. He’s been single for a while but he picks all the wrong people, it’s exhausting’ he laughed, eyes lighting up in humour as you laughed along with him. ‘I just think you could be what he needs, but I’m sorry for pushing it, I bet I sound insane’

‘You sound like a concerned father’ you joked, making him laugh before he stood up to pull you into a hug. ‘But you know I want the same for him, that’s just not what this is. We’re friends and that’s it’

‘Well I’ll stop acting like a pushy parent now and leave it. But please don’t be awkward around him or anything cause I know he likes hanging out with you and I don’t wanna mess it up’

‘It’s fine, I’ll pretend none of this even happened’ you nodded, pulling back so you could grab your drink but you made sure to get Mason another bottle from the fridge before you made your way outside.

It was still early by everyone else’s standards, all choosing to come back and have a few drinks and a chat round the fire out where you could actually hear yourselves think but when Dec took his seat you realised there were only two left. One next to Kayla and one next to Mason and even though the events of tonight were still fresh and you’d wonder what everyone thought, you pushed through it and took up the seat next to Mason. The biggest smile on his face now that you were back with him as you popped his fresh bottle on the table in front of him. Your heart giving a thump as he wrapped his arm around the back of you and pressed a barely there kiss to your temple.

‘Thanks, Muffin’

‘Just doing my job’ you laughed but he shook his head playfully in response.

Mason kept his arm around the back of you the whole time and eventually you forgot Dec’s words from earlier. But for Mason it had only made him want to tease you even more it seemed, dropping his arm from the chair so it was draped around your back as he secretly stroked his fingers up and down your waist.

You looked up at him with wide eyes, wondering why he was being so touchy after everything that had been said tonight but he just smiled down at you before placing his lips by your ear.

‘You look really nice l tonight, by the way’ he whispered. Your face heating up immediately as you weren’t used to compliments like this from him. He’d never said anything of the sort the whole time you’d known him and you did all you could think of and tried to deflect and be silly with him.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself’

‘What high praise’ he laughed, resting his head on top of yours as he squeezed you a little tighter. ‘You know I’ve been thinking about that cheesecake in the fridge ever since dinner’ he told you and you rolled your eyes at how hungry he always seemed to be but you could tell from the tone of his voice that just like in the restaurant, he wasn’t talking about cheesecake.

‘You can eat for England sometimes I swear’

‘What, it tastes nice’

‘What sort of cheesecake is it anyway?’

‘It’s this new one, I tried it at the beginning of the week actually’ he told you with a cheeky smirk and you wondered what game he was playing. ‘I’ve been looking at it and wanting to try it for a while but I finally got a taste the other day and now I just want it all the time’

‘Oh yeah?’ You questioned, knowing for definite his words had a double meaning as the dark look in his eyes was making you think he wanted you right now.

‘Mhmmm’ he drawled, squeezing your hip teasingly and you knew exactly what he was talking about ‘I think i might have a serious problem’

‘Well don’t leave it in the fridge for too long, someone else might eat it’ you teased and you watched his face fall just a touch before he smiled at you again.

‘No way, it’s my cheesecake this week’ he teased and even though the pair of you were laughing together you felt weird at him specifying it was this week only.

Mason seemed to be on a mission to tease you for the rest of the night. Touching you and stroking your skin in places that he knew would get him in trouble. Kissing your head and whispering directly into your ear and you knew he was doing it so that when you were finally alone you’d be wound up enough to let him have you but little did he know you were out for a little bit of revenge.

‘I think I’ll head to bed now’ Mason announced to the group and you knew exactly what that meant. He was expecting you to follow him but after the way he’d been teasing you all night you were ready to give it back to him. You let everyone say good night, Ben and Dec announcing they’d be following him in a second and as soon the others were out of ear shot a you turned to him.

‘So soon?’ You asked, batting your eyelashes innocently which caused him to eye you curiously. You were pushing your luck, like you had been all evening, and you knew it but you weren’t about to give up now.

‘Yeah, it’s been a long day. Are you not tired?’

‘Not even a little bit’ you replied, winking as you took another sip of you drink. ‘Me and the girls have got plans to play a few drinking games’

‘Oh… okay then’

‘Sweet dreams, Mase. See you in the morning?’ you smiled, kissing his cheek but not waiting for his reply as you made your way back over to where the girls were sat. There were no plans for any drinking games but he didn’t need to know that. You were just waiting to see how long it would be before before he text you to join him or if that didn’t happen then you’d surprise him but the more worked up he was getting the better.

It only took 15 minutes for your phone to buzz, Masons name popping up and making you bite your lip to hold back a smile before you let the girls know you were off to bed too before you all made your way back inside. Them taking the stairs up to their rooms as you went down to yours and Masons floor.

You didn’t reply to him, the anticipation too much for you already so you gently knocked and after his faint come in you stepped inside and locked the door behind you.

Mason was sat in the chair behind the desk to the side of his bed, his back to you but as soon as you stepped in the room he slowly turned in the seat to face you. Arms crossed over his chest to show you he was annoyed but his thighs were wide and legs on show in those shorts you loved so much. His face was set, eyes burning into you as he gave you the once over before they settled on your face and you knew you were in for it.

‘You summoned me’

‘I want you to strip for me’ he told you seriously, ignoring the little laugh that came from you at his suggestion but it only to a moment to realise he was being serious.

‘Mase, I-‘

‘I’m waiting’

It was clear to see he wasn’t playing around, a tingle making its way up your spine as you looked back at him. Heat rising to your cheeks as thought over what you were about to do, something you’d never done for anyone, but even though Mason seemingly had turned into an absolute devil it had been your mission to wind him up and you now had the possibility to get under his skin even further.

It was a risk but you trusted Mason so you got to work.

You didn’t take your eyes from his, fingers heading straight to the top button of your dress so you could slowly undo them one by one and you watched as he started to shift in his seat as your hands got lower and lower. You couldn’t tell if you wanted you to slow down or hurry up as his eyes raked over your body. His hands moving to sit in his lap so he could fiddle with his fingers as he took in a nervous gulp and the way he was reacting to you gave you a little boost.

Once all the buttons were undone, you trailed your hands back up your body, slowly prying the fabric apart to give him a glimpse of the white laced underwear set you’d put on in hopes he’d see at some point tonight but you didn’t think he’d be seeing it like this.

As soon as your dress his the floor you watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, dark eyes seemingly lost as he couldn’t keep up with where he wanted to look and the shuddery breath that left his lips send a tingle down to your core. You were in the drivers seat now it seemed as he looked at you with flushed cheeks and his lip between his teeth but that was all over when you bent down to untie the strap on your heel.

‘Nuh uh. Keep the shoes on’

‘Seriously?’

‘My game, my rules’ he told you, his confident persona now back it seemed as he lent forward with his elbows on his thighs so he could get a better look at you. ‘Carry on’

The mood had shifted again, Mason with the upper hand so you turned away from him, giving him a view of your bum in the lacey thong you had on before reaching up to unhook your bra. As soon it was off you moved your hair to the side so your back was bare for him and you could hear him shuffling around behind you, not content that he couldn’t see what he wanted to and you tried to hold back a smile at the state you were getting him in.

‘Turn around’

‘Patience is a virtue, Mason’ you teased, sticking your thumbs under the waistband of your underwear so you could tug them down, your hips swaying from side to side a little as you pulled them lower before you bent over for him so you could drop them to the floor and step out of them.

Only then did you slowly turn for him, watching his eyes automatically fly to your chest before making their way down your body so he could drink up every last inch of you. You loved the way he always looked at you, like it was the first time and he couldn’t believe what you were hiding under your clothes but once again he switched. Back to his cocky self and you watched as he nodded his head towards the bed next to him with a serious face. ‘Lay down for me’

You did exactly what he said, not messing around as you were quite liking the way he was being with you so you crawled on top and got settled as he stood up. Standing at the end of the bed fully dressed whilst he looked over you naked body before he nudged your legs apart with his knee so he could rest himself in between your thighs.

‘You were really gonna make we wait huh? I’m glad you came to your senses’ he murmured, lips trailing across your chest before licking a stripe up between your boobs until he got to the base of your throat where he left a light kiss. ‘I was gonna make you suffer for that but since you were such a good girl and did what I asked I think I might go lightly on you’

The butterflies in your stomach were swarming, unsure if you wanted him to take it lightly on your or you wanted him to drag everything out but you knew either way he was in the mood to make you feel good. He was unpredictable though and you weren’t sure what he had in store for you so when he got himself settled to the side of you with your leg trapped between his and the mattress you looked up at him curiously.

He paid no attention to you though, picking up your opposite arm and popping a finger in his mouth so he could wet it before positioning it in between your thighs.

‘Get yourself started and I’ll help you in a minute okay?’ He told you lowly. ‘I wanna watch you first’

You didn’t bother arguing, you knew he’d get his own way eventually so you did what he asked, slowly circling over yourself the way you loved. You just pretended he wasn’t there and got into it like you did when you were alone and he mostly left you to it but once you felt his lips around your nipple you couldn’t help but let out a breathy moan.

‘You gonna let me take over now?’ He spoke against your chest and you finally made eye contact with him, his dark orbs on yours and you managed a feeble nod as his hand met yours to pull it away from you before he laid down in between your legs with your thighs pushed up so you were completely on show for him.

He was clearly still feeling devious as he pressed open mouthed kisses all over the backs of your thighs it made sure to stay away from where you needed him most until you started to squirm and he playfully bit your thigh.

‘Stay still’

‘Come on, Mase. I can’t take it anymore’

‘Poor baby. You think this is bad you wait till you see what I’ve got planned for you’

‘But you said you would go lightly on me’ you mumbled, words barely making it out of your mouth as they inched closer to where you needed him.

‘I tell you what, if you promise to keep your hands to yourself I’ll give you what you want right now’ he told you, chuckling as he watched you place your hands under your head so you weren’t tempted to touch him. ‘See, I’ve got you well trained already’

‘I swear to god Mason if you don’t-‘

Your words were cut off by the feeling of his tongue finally connecting with your clit. Short sharp flicks that made your whole body tingle and the most obscene noises to pour from your throat which caused the grip he had on your thighs to tighten a little bit.

‘I wanted to make you suffer for a bit longer but you taste too good’ he moaned, diving back in to play with you as only he knew how and the fact that you couldn’t touch him was making you insane.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t watch him though and you melted at the way he was looking back up at you, a cheeky smile on his lips as he knew how good he was making you feel from the way you were grinding your hips down onto his mouth.

As soon as his right hand started to venture down you knew what was happening and you clenched around nothing in anticipation of his fingers, crying out as he finally began pumping them in and out of you and it was almost as if he’d hit fast forward on your high. His name tumbling out of your mouth in anticipation but just as it was about to hit he stopped all of his movements and your high fizzled away into thin air.

‘What the fuck?’

‘I think you need teaching a lesson young lady’ he laughed, licking his fingers before kissing your thigh again.

‘Are you seriously gonna edge me?’

‘A few times yes. Then you’ll know how I felt having to come here in my own and wait for you’

‘I think I know enough already, please Mase I wanna cum’

‘And you will, I promise’ he told you and you felt like screaming.

But that’s what he did, got you close to your high another two times before stoping just short and you couldn’t be more frustrated if you tried. Every time he took you closer than the last until you were at the point of tears and your frustrations got the better of you.

‘Mase, please. I can’t do it anymore’ you sobbed thrashing your arms when he stopped again and his cocky smile did nothing to settle you.

‘I know, Muffin. I promise I’ll let you next time yeah? I want you cum around me though’ he whispered into your neck, rising up to rid himself of his shirt and you watched through hooded eyes as he undressed the rest of himself. Even the sight of him doing that had you teetering on the edge again. He was perfect and you had to stop the moan that almost came out when he sprung up against his tummy. He was as ready for you as you were for him and when he got settled between your legs again you didn’t have the energy to move.

The feeling of him inside of you was like nothing else, sure his fingers were heaven but there was something different about this. Like he was made for your pleasure and you sighed contently as he filled you to the hilt.

‘I’ll never get over the feeling of you’ he whispered in your ear hoarsely, the sound making you shiver as he began to move his hips. ‘You’re absolutely unreal’

‘Mase-‘ you started but his lips on yours cut you off. He hadn’t kissed you once since you’d got back tonight and the feeling made your heart thud as he poured himself into you. The feeling of him being so gentle with you a stark contrast to how he’d been playing with you this evening and as he pulled away you could tell how close he was.

‘You’ve been so good for me. Keep looking at me yeah? Let me see those pretty eyes so I know how good I’m making you feel’ he mumbled and you cried out as you felt your high coming for the countless time tonight. ‘Go on, you can cum I won’t stop you’

You were seeing stars as you tumbled over the finish line, the most intense high you’d ever experienced thrashing through you as he carried on pounding into you so you could ride your highs out together and you felt like your whole body was singing. Yes you’d been the most frustrated you’d ever been tonight but you’d take it ten times over to have the feeling you had right now. Nothing compared to this and as your foggy eyes looked up to Mason you knew you had a good thing going.

Even if it was just for a week.

y/n

liked by masonmount, laurenfryer_, declanrice and others

y/n Taking the sea-nic route ⛵️

view comments

declanrice you’re spending so much time with Mason you’re even coming up with with shit puns like he does

masonmount excuse me

y/n who do you think wrote it for me 😌

carlywlms_ glad you’re feeling better missy 🩷

y/n thank you for taking care of me 😘

masonmount 😶

y/n you too 😉

okaylaaa imagine that was the last picture of woody and I ever taken. Plunging to our deaths

woody_ bloody hell love

y/n food for thought. Glad you’re still alive though 😭

masonmount how many did you take of me with my shirt off?

y/n that’s for me to know and for you never to find out 😌

rasmus.hoejlund I hope Mason has been getting some training in too

masonmount don’t worry mate, I’ve been getting my blood pumping at least once a day. Sometimes twice 😉

y/n 🤨

laurenfryer_ today was just the best 🩷

y/n it really was 🥺

benchilwell no pictures of me in my in my shorts?

y/n @carlywlms_ has them under lock and key so I can’t show you off

carlywlms_ too right, that’s MY man

masonprivate and the award goes to 🏆

y/n 👏🏻🤭

Tagged: @footiehoemcfc @prideofpd @yoursselo @chelseachilly @willow-writer-ivy @mm-vii @katharinanadiaa @mmountseb @carlottawllms @saltyheartnightmare @masonmtxo @harvestmount @chillymountsjess @treblebluesblog @pulisicsgirl @bluesswift @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps

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multiversalfandomwriter222 · 2 months

Note

Hi hii I'm the one who sent the az request! AND I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT!! 🩷🩷

would you write reader saying something she doesn't mean and making az cry and then comforting him? (Established relationship btw so like they're already mated) basically the same thing but roles reversed 😭 I'm sorry I just love angst to fluff too much!! Thank you and have nice day/night bb <333

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Azriel crying, slight mean Azriel.

At Least Tell Me

You slam the door as you go into your bedroom, everyone in the House flinching. Cassian walks into Rhysand's office, confusion all over his face. "What's wrong with Y/n?" He asks.

Rhys sighs heavily. "Azriel's on a mission, and he's coming back tonight." Cassian tilts his head. "Shouldn't she be happy?"

"Azriel didn't tell her that she left." Rhys sighs. Cassian's eyes widen. "How did she not-" "Azriel told her that he was going to visit his mother for a day and was going to return this morning. He has been gone three days, and Feyre darling told her yesterday that he was on a mission. Y/n has been slamming doors ever since." Rhys says, exasperated. Cassian shakes his head. "Y/n's temper rivals Nes, we may have to evacuate the house just because." Rhys snorts.

Time Skip-

Azriel lands on the balcony of the house, being greeted by his High Lady. "Y/n is pissed at you." Feyre says. Azriel's shoulders slump. "I know." "It's going to be bad." Feyre says. Azriel nods, and walks into the house, ready to face the wrath of his mate.

You knew Azriel was in the house. You overheard your older sister talking to him. But the rage bubbling inside was hard to keep a lid on it.

The door opens to reveal your mate, his wings drooped slightly. You turn to face your vanity, not bothering to make eye contact in the mirror with him. "I'm home." Azriel says.

"That's a first." You say coldly. Azriel sighs. "Y/n-"

"No don't you Y/n me! What the fuck Azriel?" You shout. Azriel flinches slightly, and the mask of the shadowsinger appears in that second. "I did what I had to do."

You laugh. "You did what you had to do." You laugh some more. "Did we hear that?" You yell, laughter erupting from you. Azriel rolls his eyes at you. "Azriel, you lied to me! Do you not see what's wrong with that? I was worried for you! I thought something happened to you!"

You come closer to him. "You don't need to worry about me." He says. "That was being reckless." You snap. Azriel lets out a cold, mocking laugh. "Now that's a joke. Miss Reckless, calling me reckless!" He scoffs. The shadows move about, flurrying in the range of emotions between the two of you.

You let out a yell of frustration. "See this is why I fucking hate you Azriel! By the gods, somedays I just want to fucking leave and never return!"

You cover your mouth, eyes widening. Azriel goes still, his shadows dropping. The house grows silent. You step back and Azriel rushes toward you. He kneels and clings to your legs. "A-Angel, I'm sorry. I'm so-" Huge sobs cut him off as he sobs into your stomach. "Angel please don't-" he sobs. "Please don't leave me. You can hate me all you want, just don't leave me."

Your heart breaks as you kneel to meet Azriel's height. "Oh no. Baby I'm so sorry. It cannot make up for my words and I'll do anything to make it up to you. Darling I'm so sorry." You wipe his tears away.

Azriel pulls you into his lap and buries his face into your neck. "Just don't leave me. Don't leave me." He sobs. "Oh baby, I'm not leaving you. I don't hate you, not at all. Oh baby." You coo, rocking the both of you left and right.

Finally, his sobs quiet, and he pulls away to look at you. "I'm sorry baby." You whisper. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry for lying to you. I shouldn't have. I should have been up front, and-"

You kiss him, interrupting his rant, and he desperately kisses you back. You break away and rest your forehead against his. "Do you want to take a bath first, then nap? Or do you want to nap, then take a bath?" You whisper. "Nap." He murmurs. He picks you up and carries you to your shared bed. You take off your dress, revealing your bra and panties, and Azriel strips down to his boxers.

You get into the bed first, opening the covers for him. Azriel follows right behind you and buries his face into your stomach, and you run your hands through his black hair, slowly putting him to sleep.

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #hurt/comfort #azriel fluff #azriel fic #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #acotar series #acowar #acosaf #acomaf

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pastanest · 11 months

Text

George Weasley x she/her Hufflepuff!reader

A/N: recovered by the lovely @paintyourviolence !! thank you so much! ♡ if you’re wondering why I’ve had to repost this imagine, please check out this post

Would You Be So Kind

It truly isnt fair. It hasnt been for years. To be precise, you have been living an unjustifiably cruel life for the past four years, almost to the day.

You remember it like it was yesterday; the excitement bubbling in you as the train travelled closer and closer to your new school, your school for magic. The very kind Harry Potter had given you a seat in his carriage, alongside another boy who you came to know as Ron Weasley. It was their first year, too, and they were both as excited as you were, but unlike you, they could verbalise their excitement and hold actual conversations. Meanwhile, you sat and watched the world blur by through the windows on the other side of the carriage door, since both boys were situated by the carriage window. As the snack trolley arrived, and the sweet old lady asked if any of you would be buying anything, there was a steady thudding down the train, growing louder as it neared; until two taller red-headed boys almost ran directly into the trolley. Upon being stopped, they smiled at Ron through the door.

“Just our luck, we’ve only ended up by Ron’s carriage!” One of the twins teased, laughing.

The other twin chuckled along with his brother, then gestured to Harry. “Go on then, introduce us to your new friends!”

Ron sighed dramatically. “Harry Potter.”

The first twin that had spoken, Fred, raised his eyebrows. “Blimey!”

Harry waved politely. “Hello!”

The second twin that had spoken, George, smiled at you kindly.

“And who’s this?”

You realised he was looking to you for an answer to that question, and considering the question was only asking your name, it seemed a reasonable one to ask you, but at that exact moment you discovered that you could not speak.

“That’s (Y/N).” Ron answered for you, much to your relief, but the embarrassment had already set in, and you avoided everyone’s eyes, choosing instead to stare down at your lap.

George Weasley squeezed between the trolley and the carriage door partially, leaning just slightly closer to you.

“Hey, dont worry, everyone’s nervous on their first day. It’ll all feel normal in no time!” He encouraged sweetly, a gesture that was completely unnecessary in the circumstance of you two still being strangers, but when you lifted your head and met the genuine smile on George Weasley’s face, your heart seemed to recognise him.

In the four years that have passed since that day, your interactions with George have been minimal. You couldn’t help feeling gutted when the sorting hat sent you to the Hufflepuff table. Though you realised almost immediately that it was where you belonged, it put a further rift between you and the boy that already felt a million miles away with the two year age gap alone. Thankfully, despite being restricted to a different common room, you did have regular classes with Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and the most intelligent person you’d ever met: Hermione Granger. The three of them being in a different house didn’t seem to deter them from maintaining their friendship with you, and although you do have friends in your own house by now, you still frequently enjoy the company of the Golden Trio. And on a few, precious, perfect occasions, being with them has caused you to cross paths with George Weasley.

Especially in your first year, during which you and Hermione spent almost every free period in the library. It wasn’t guaranteed, but the possibility of a teacher sending Fred and George to fetch a particular book from the library was a decently common occurrence. You had never known a teacher to not have a book they needed already in their classroom, but upon asking Ron about it, he said his older brothers likely went into classrooms beforehand to steal books and put them in the library in order to have an excuse to leave lessons. This rebellious streak made George all the more appealing to you, unfortunately. But it wasnt merely the reason for their visits to the library that worsened your symptoms; every single time Fred and George wandered into the library, George would spot you and give you that same genuine smile. And every single time, you would smile back, completely flustered. So flustered in fact, that you had been known to drop the library books you were carrying to yours and Hermione’s chosen table, or you would trip over your own feet and Hermione would rush over to help you, while George gave you a worried expression that you treasured, followed by the question of whether you were alright.

“Always the clutz!” You would say, making him laugh.

Eventually, it happened enough times for him to make that comment before you could.

Obviously, witnessing those interactions in first year meant Hermione was completely clued in on your crush. Back then, it felt very childish to even consider the possibility of him having any interest in you, because you quite literally were a child, not even a teenager yet, like he was. And as children often do, you expected to grow out of your childhood crush. But much to your dismay, George Weasley would not allow that.

The older you got, the more comfortable you got with casually bumping into the Weasley twins, always saying hello to George and then Fred in order to try and hint that you were in love with him. It didnt work, but you kept trying.

You’d wave at them in passing, exchange small talk on occasion, and George would always give you that same smile. Ever since second year, when he and Fred arrived back at Hogwarts having had an extreme growth spurt, that smile would look down at you, and that only made things worse. Especially when that growth spurt didn’t seem to stop, and George’s smile kept lifting further and further out of your reach. And let’s not forget your third year, when George grew his hair out to frame that smile high above you. A masterpiece that was definitely worth framing, you thought. Honestly, if he had kept his hair that long, you dont know if you would have survived.

By now, your Hufflepuff friends as well as the Golden Trio are all too aware of your crush on George Weasley. Ron, in particular, loves to tease you about it. When Hermione gave you the password to the Gryffindor common room in your third year so that you could meet her in her dormitory to study, Ron had grinned cheekily.

“Something tells me (Y/N)’ll be using that password more than any of us!” He teased, and despite the fact his joke was incredibly vague in its exact meaning, you were mortified, because the twins happened to walk by at that exact moment.

“Ooh, a Hufflepuff’s got our password? Do we have a fellow rebel on our hands?” Fred wiggled his eyebrows at you, and you buried your face in your hands.

“No!” You squeaked.

George leant down to nudge you gently. “Hey, if you get caught sneaking in, just say we gave you the password.”

And again, his voice pulled you from your own embarrassment, right back to that smile.

It is honestly infuriating how kind he is to you. Even now, in fourth year, you aren’t in any way used to it, because George seems to excel in charms more and more, both inside and out of a classroom, every year. Just today, you happened to be walking across the courtyard when you spotted George totally by chance, laughing with Fred, and the sight of him so happy was distracting enough to make you trip and fall in the grass. Initially, you cursed yourself for walking without Hermione to assist you if you fell, and you scrambled onto your knees to pick up your scattered books. It was then, you felt a large hand press ever so delicately against your back.

“Always the clutz?” He had chuckled, and your heart skipped a beat simply because he remembered an inside joke from your first year.

Then, George was helping you pick up your books, and soon enough Fred ran over to help you, too. Fred took ahold of your books while George helped you back to your feet, the pair of Weasley’s towering over you, but you couldn’t look away from George.

“Thank you.” Was all you could manage as Fred passed you your books.

You saw that smile, and then you were scampering off before your heart could leap right out of your chest.

Now, you’re pacing around the Gryffindor common room while Hermione, Ron and Harry sit on one sofa, their eyes watching you as you embody your stress.

“Why the HELL does he do this?! What did I do to deserve this kind of torture!?!” You sigh, raking your fingers through your hair.

The fireplace crackles obnoxiously, setting your teeth on edge. If it wasn’t the only current source of light in the room, you would take your shoes off to stomp it out with your bare feet, it’d be less painful than - and a wonderful distraction from - thinking about George Weasley.

Ron laughs. “It’s hardly torture, (Y/N), he helped you up when you fell over.”

Your fiery gaze makes him shrink into the sofa, and Hermione elbows him in the ribs for good measure.

“It is absolutely torture for George Weasley - an infamous prankster - to show unwavering kindness to (Y/N); anyone with a crush on him would be smitten by him treating them differently to everyone else!” Hermione corrects him, and you nod at her gratefully as you continue your pacing.

“Sometimes I wish one of you would Obliviate me so I’d forget that first day on the train, and every moment with him after. It’d save me YEARS of pain! I am tired.” You groan in frustration, shaking your head.

“Well, have you tried telling him?” Harry speaks up, and you spin on your heel, staring at him like he’s insane.

“Of course she hasn’t! The lack of answers is what has made this so much worse, you simply must tell him!” Hermione pleads, and you scoff, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest as heat rises to your face.

“So, what? You think I should just waltz right up to him and say ‘Hey, George, not sure if you’re aware but I thought I’d let you know that I’m head over heels in love with you and I’d appreciate it if you could act like a total dick to me so I can get over this because there is no way in hell you feel the same way’?” You pause to laugh. “Hermione, Im gonna be honest, I think I would rather take the entire school population’s OWL’s in one sitting.” The silence that follows your words makes you frown. “What? Do you actually think I should say that to him? Are you all in deluded agreement?!”

The three of them stare at you with wide eyes.

“U-Uh, (Y/N)...” Ron utters nervously, making your stomach twist with worry.

“You might want to...turn around.” Harry finishes Ron’s sentence, and your blood runs cold.

Swallowing hard, you shake your head. “No, no I don’t think I want to turn around. Actually, I am suddenly overwhelmingly tired, hope you don’t mind Hermione but I’m going to take a quick nap in your bed right this second-“ You attempt to run past the sofa, but Hermione grabs hold of you, stopping you.

“Good thing you wont have to take all those OWL’s.” A voice says from behind you, and you have never wished harder that you had a talent for falling unconscious, or dying, on command.

The room is silent again, save for the fire still crackling away. Hermione’s arms slowly let go of you, recognising that you are as good as petrified.

“C’mon, we’d better give these two some space.” You hear Fred say, and then he’s ushering the Golden trio up the stairs, into their dormitories.

Closing your eyes, you lift your left hand to pinch your right arm as hard as you can, but to no avail. This is not a dream, and you are doomed.

“(Y/N), look at me.” George pleads, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it before.

You shake your head. “Cant.”

His voice is closer to you when he speaks up again. “Why?”

You open your eyes, focussing your gaze on the wall ahead of you. “Because I won’t be able to think straight if I do.”

And despite not being able to see him, you can hear the genuine shock in George’s voice. “I didn’t know you had it that bad…I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

You sigh, nodding slowly. “No, it’s alright, really. You were only being nice. Admittedly, you being a dick to me would have been a much kinder form of rejection than this, but at least I can say goodbye to the days of chest pains and speechlessness.”

George’s voice is even closer now. “Oh, (Y/N).” And before you can register what’s happening, George’s much larger hand has wrapped around yours and gently pulled you around to face him. “I wasn’t apologising for leading you on, because I haven’t been. I was apologising for not plucking up the courage to be honest with you sooner. If you’re looking for rejection, I’m afraid I’m not the man.”

You blink rapidly, very much struggling to wrap your head around George’s words, especially when he’s standing so close to you, holding your hand, and looking down at you like that.

“But...how? How long have you…?” The objective to ask a simple question is failed, your mind scrambled by too many things that all fall under the umbrella term of George Weasley.

“Well, I’ve noticed that you only seem to fall over, trip over, and get all shy when I’m talking to you. Even asked Ron if you act like that around anyone else, he said no.” George explains, smiling away, and you have to focus as hard as you can to not swoon right in front of him. He checked that you only acted that way around him?

“Remind me to kick Ron’s ass for not telling me you did that, but there’s a more pressing matter at hand.” You clarify, causing George to laugh as he nods.

“Agreed.”

You sigh, your gaze falling to the floor. “I know you know that I like you, but that’s not enough-“

George interrupts you, shaking his head dramatically. “I like you, (Y/N)! Im just a wuss! Wussiest Gryffindor around! Maybe I should’ve been put in Hufflepuff…”

Your head snaps up as you gasp and playfully smack George on the shoulder for his house-ist comment, making him chuckle.

“In all seriousness, though, we don’t know each other that well, but we clearly have some kind of mutual attraction to each other, and I don’t see the harm in figuring out what that means.” He suggests, shrugging casually, and your stomach flips, a beaming smile taking over your face and confirming to George that you’re onboard with his idea. “Okay, so, do you want to accompany me to the library for some studying?”

You’re about to answer when the two of you hear Hermione shouting from the room above.

“GEORGE WEASLEY, (Y/N) DESERVES MORE THAN A FIRST DATE OF STUDYING!”

Casting your gazes up to the ceiling, you both laugh, and George nods as he glances back down at you.

“She’s right.” He looks back up at the ceiling. “CAN I TAKE HER TO HOGSMEADE?”

And through the ceiling, Hermione shouts a reply. “THAT’S MORE LIKE IT!”

You and George share a laugh, and then he takes both of your hands in his. “So, would you care to accompany me to Hogsmeade, (Y/N)?”

With that same beaming smile still stretching across your face, you nod frantically. “Of course!”

George grins back at you. “Let’s go then!”

Your eyes almost fall out of your skull. “Now?”

George chuckles. “Yeah, why not?”

You nod. “Okay, give me a few minutes to get ready!”

And before he can reply, you’ve run up the stairs and into Hermione’s dormitory.

After some intensive squealing, jumping around and panicked exchanges of utter gibberish, Hermione is digging through her trunk and throwing every oversized jumper she finds at you. There isnt time for you to run back to the Hufflepuff common room, that’s acknowledged without you or Hermione needing to mention it, but you also need to wear a jumper that goes with the rest of your outfit.

A few minutes of frustratedly trying on and throwing off jumpers pass, and then there’s a light knock on the dormitory door.

“(Y/N)?” George calls, and your eyes widen.

“Just a minute!” You squeak.

George chuckles through the door. “I was just going to say that you can always wear one of my jumpers, if you cant find something of Hermione’s.”

Feeling faint all of a sudden, you sit down on Hermione’s bed, and she runs to you, grabbing your hands and giving you an excited, squealy grin. She knows as well as you do that this has been one of your dreams since first meeting George, and Hermione wastes no time in pulling you to your feet and pushing you to the door.

When you open it, George is leaning against the doorframe with a smirk on his face and one of the Christmas jumpers his mother has made him folded up in his hands, which he holds out to you without a word. You cant hide your elation as you stick your arms through the far-too-long sleeves and poke your head through the hole, pulling the jumper down your body until it’s practically halfway down your thighs, but the big letter ‘G’ on your stomach makes you giddy all over again.

“This is even more adorable than I imagined.” George’s voice is barely above a whisper as he stares down at you, and his shyness brings about an unprecedented confidence in you as you slip your hand in his.

“So, Hogsmeade?”

And so, what was left of the daylight was spent wandering around Hogsmeade with George Weasley. The two of you visited Honeydukes, in which George spoilt you by discretely purchasing every sweet your eyes lit up at, using up some of his portion of earnings from his and Fred’s inventions. He did so discreetly because he knew if you saw him doing it, you would have stopped him, and when he presented you with a bag of sweets that you’d unknowingly selected, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so you settled with jumping up to plant a kiss on his cheek before running into Zonko’s Joke Shop. For a few seconds, George stood outside Honeydukes with his fingertips tracing the place on his cheek where your lips had been, in utter bewilderment. And then, with a dazzling smile, he ran after you. In Zonko’s, you paid George back by purchasing him some Dungbombs, Nose-Biting Teacups, and some Sugar Quills when he was wandering around the shop with a distracted, awestruck expression. As you left, you surprised George with a small bag of gifts just like he had done for you, and in return he leant down to kiss your forehead.

In what felt like no time at all, George was walking you back to the Hufflepuff common room with an arm around your shoulders. Upon reaching the entrance, you turned to George, and you couldn’t meet his eyes; this time it wasnt because of shyness, but sadness.

“Hey, we can do this again. Tomorrow, if you like!” George squeezes your hands, giddy at the thought of spending more time with you, and effortlessly lifting your spirits just by being himself.

Smiling up at him, you nod. “That would be lovely.”

Gesturing to the long sleeves that cover your hands, which are hidden away in his, George smirks. “Keep the jumper.”

Your eyes widen, having completely forgotten that you are still wearing his jumper and therefore not even considering taking it off.

“A-Are you sure?”

George chuckles. “Of course, (Y/N). Mum makes us all a new one every year, I don’t have enough time to wear the whole collection! And, it looks better on you, anyway.”

You giggle, feeling your face heat up far more than you’re comfortable with it doing in public. “Thank you, George. I’ll treasure it.”

Your words bring a warm smile to his face. “I know.”

Then, you get an idea, and you beam. “But wait, gifts between us have previously had a price. How much does this jumper cost?”

Catching on immediately, George turns his head to the side slightly, letting go of one of your hands to tap the space on his cheek that you had previously kissed. But your idea is even better, and you shake your head mischievously.

“A jumper is more than a few sweets.” You hint, and George’s eyes widen.

“So...that means…” He trails off nervously, not wanting to make any assumptions, and you decide to answer his question without words.

Standing on your tiptoes, you let go of George’s other hand and place them both on his clothed chest, waiting patiently. Swallowing nervously, George nods.

“Right.”

And then his arms wrap around your waist, gently lifting you up just enough to reach him, and then his lips meet yours. The kiss is soft, his arms holding you carefully as his lips dance against yours ever so slowly, butterflies erupting in your stomachs and fluttering around the two of you. Silent fireworks surround you, the overwhelming sensations of him enveloping you and bringing you somewhere you’ve never been, but it immediately feels like home. Pulling away from George slowly, you grin at him, and he chuckles in disbelief, gently placing you back down on the ground.

“You can have as many jumpers as you want.” George says, causing you to burst out laughing.

“Kisses come free from now on, deal?” You suggest, and George nods eagerly.

“Deal!”

Beaming at him, you take ahold of his hand one last time. “Goodnight, George.”

He surprises you by lifting your arm and leaning down to place a soft kiss against your knuckles, holding your gaze as he does.

“Until tomorrow, (Y/N). Sweet dreams.”

You watch George walk away, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds and chuckling every time he sees you still looking at him. Just before he rounds the corner, he takes the time to blow you a dramatic kiss, and you jump up to catch it with just as much dramatics, causing you both to laugh as he disappears from view, and you pass through the Hufflepuff entrance. As soon as you’re in the common room, you lean against the wall and take a deep breath with a wide smile plastered on your face, knowing with complete confidence that whatever you dream about, it will never feel as sweet as this.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #headcannon #headcannons #Spotify

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marymary-diva17 · 5 months

Text

He your son your idiot (2)

loak x mom reader + sully family and others

The marriage and promise that you held so dear, had been broken when your spouses started picking favorites that affected the family. Soon your son had been sent away from home and everything he knew, as your husband and wife, wouldn't hear him out and sent their so-called problem away. Nothing after that day was the same for the once close sully family.

y/n " where could he be did he get on the plane or maybe his plane was delayed or canceled" once again you are at the airport as you are waiting for your son flight, loa'k had come home for vacation and you are so happy.

Announcer " flight 2347 has arrived and will be docking at gate 30" a smile had grown on your face as that is lo'ak flight.

y/n " oh thank you great mother" you are waiting as all the passengers from many planes were, walking towards the waiting area.

????? " mama"

y/n " lo'ak" you soon saw your son as he made his way towards you, soon hugging you once she reached you.

y/n " oh my baby boy you have changed so much"

lo'ak " mama I'm still the same since our last facetime call yesterday and our meeting two months ago"

y/n " I know but look at your hair it changed since the last time I saw you"

lo'ak " well my friends said I could use a makeover"

y/n " well I love it now it see it more in person verse on phone"

lo'ak " thanks I have so many things to tell you mama and some documents the School wishes for you to look over and sign"

y/n " well we can do that when we get home now come on lets get you home" lo'ak had nodded his head as the mother and son soon left the airport and went to the parking lot, putting lo'ak suitcase once they got them into the car. Soon the pair were heading home while talking and listening to music.

lo'ak " so mama how is everything going on between you and them"

y/n " well it been okay since I moved out of the house and brought my own place, that not that far from them for your siblings to come see me"

lo'ak " that good to know grandpa has his own opinion on Jake and neytiri right now"

y/n " yes I had that phone call with him he offer to pay for a divcore lawyer and for me to come move there as well"

lo'ak " oh really"

y/n " yes after he had been told the whole story he not the biggest fan of Jake and neytiri, I don't think he even likes them anymore"

lo'ak " well we all have our own opinions on them"

y/n " what are your opinions"

lo'ak " I'm going to be civil towards but I might not like them that much, as they basically sent me away without asking you oh yes they didn't come see me as well"

y/n " yes I tried getting them to come in hopes of making everything better but no it failed"

lo'ak " what about my siblings and their friends"

y/n " I tried getting them to talk with you but Jake and neytiri got made at me, leading to another fight and then there ronal and tonowari who might not like me ... tsu'tey and norm might not see me in good light right now"

y/n " when I went to see you I asked them if they wish to come, I think they might of wish to come but Jake and neytiri said no and schooling and other stuff"

lo'ak " that okay don't you work at the same lab as norm"

y/n " oh well last week I got a promotion so I work on different lab"

lo'ak " that wonderful mama"

y/n " thank you so what about you and reya"

lo'ak " she stopped talking with me I don't know if she made that choice or her moms did, but I will respect her wishes if she doesn't wish to see or speak to me I will repost that same with everyone else"

y/n " well that very mature of you that good has been doing well and so has our family"

lo'ak " thank you for the care packages I love the keychain tuk made me along with frames, pencil holders and the stuff grandma sent me as well was good and remind me of home"

y/n " oh yes tuk spent a good amount of time working on them for you, and your grandma want to make sure you were love and miss... her and neytiri are not on the best of terms right now"

lo'ak " well it good to know I have some people here in my corner" after some driving the car had reached the home lo'ak smile while see the house, he had rather stay here with you verse going to the other house.

y/n " well what are you waiting for go see your new room in person, I made some changes you might like" lo'ak soon race into the home and went to see his room.

lo'ak " it amazing mama I love it"

y/n " I know you will" lo'ak had taken his suitcase upstairs he was so happy to be home, as he spent most of his breaks or vacations where his boarding school was located.

y/n " so you are dating anyone"

lo'ak " nope there are some girls that seem to have a crush on me, but I haven't ask if It true yet"

y/n " oh"

lo'ak " here let me show you some of my awards and metals I got at school"

y/n " oh yes I will love to see them" lo'ak soon raced upstairs and brought down a bag and folder, he soon started showing you all his awards and metals.

y/n " wow my boy you have done a amazing job look at all these awards you got for best student and honor roll"

lo'ak " yeah I had some teachers that saw what I can do and helped me"

y/n " I knew you were meant to do great stuff"

lo'ak " thanks mama I even won some trophies with my team, I have been doing a great job there mama and made new friends and have a image there good and health"

y/n " well I'm happy you are happy my love" lo'ak smile as your hugged him he had changed greatly over this time, and now became his own person. The moment had ended when the door bell rang getting the mother and son attention.

y/n " well that is Jake calling right now"

phone call convention

Jake " hey"

y/n " hey"

Jake " I came here to see if lo'ak had gotten in or is he coming in later maybe we can go get him together as a family as it been so long since I last saw him... we can go get everyone else at the house and go pick him up and maybe get dinner"

y/n " well that nice of you Jake I have dealt with lo'ak pick up already no need to worry"

Jake " good I have some news that you can share with him or me our family is going on a trip along with tonowari and ronal their children, there will also be norm and tsutey with spider as well"

Jake " this trip will be good for everyone and hey something amazing might happen"

y/n " yeah well I will give the kids a call tell neytiri I say hello"

Jake " oh sure I will text you when we will leave"

y/n " thank you bye Jake"

Jake " bye"

end of phone call

lo'ak " mama you have more will power then I will ever have in my life"

y/n " it something you learn my boy"

Day of departure of trip

lo'ak " let hope this trip goes well"

y/n " yes lets hope because I can't stand a week or longer with grown adults acting like children"

lo'ak " well I finally get to see everyone else again after being away for so long"

y/n " yeah there the bright side"

lo'ak " how are you going to deal with Jake and neytiri"

y/n " like a mature adult act civil towards them and not lose my cool in front of you and your siblings, as we don't need anymore stress on this family"

lo'ak " that good grandfather said a divorce will be better but that him"

y/n " yes that your grandfather now come on and no divorce talk near tuk, she still has hope everything will be okay"

lo'ak " understand"

y/n " good now come on get in the car we have to meet at the house with everyone else" lo'ak had nodded his head and soon got his stuff in the car that will be his suitcase, and backpack with stuff to keep him entertained during the drive and trip.

lo'ak " well the house looks good with some changes ... oh there is everyone else" lo'ak was looking at his siblings and their friends as they were standing outside, and the adults were not that far away.

y/n " you can do this you come from a family of mighty and powerful people, you will not let others drag you down anymore show them what you have become"

lo'ak " yes mama" you had soon got out of the car as the teens and tuk looked towards you.

tuk " mama you are here"

y/n " hey baby girl I will not miss a trip with all my wonderful children"

neteyam " hey mama you are here cool now the trip can start"

y/n " yes and I have a feeling this trip will be eventful"

kiri " hey mama who that in the car"

y/n " oh yes give him a moment he will out soon"

the kids " him" soon the passenger side car door had open and out step lo'ak he soon made his way towards the others.

y/n " present the new lo'ak"

lo'ak " hello everyone no hugs" the boy had removed his sunglass showing his face, he had changed so much it took everyone a long time to respond.

tuk " lo'ak" tuk soon ran and hugged her brother happy to see him.

lo'ak " hey tuk tuk it good to see you"

spider " dam bro you had a major transformation what happened"

lo'ak " my school it changed me"

neteyam " hey baby bro it good to have you wait are you coming on the trip with us"

tsireya " that will be amazing we have so much to tell you and maybe you have stoires to share as well"

lo'ak " yeah I'm coming"

kiri " sweet that cool to have you back with us as the previous trips without haven't been fun"

rotxo " yeah kiri right when did you get back"

lo'ak " two days ago"

neteyam " wait why didn't you tell us mama"

y/n " relax kids you brother had some things that need to be done, so we were not able to come by at the moment"

neteyam " oh well it good to have you here now"

Jake " y/n you are finally here is lo'ak in town or do we ned to make a stop at the airport ... lo'ak"

lo'ak " hey sir"

neytiri " lo'ak is that you"

lo'ak " yes it me ma'am good to see you two again" soon tonowari and ronal had come along with tsutey and norm all four adults looked shocked.

norm " wow lo'ak I didn't think school will change you that much"

lo'ak " a new look was asked about and given"

tsu'tey " well it good to have you back as all the kids missed you"

lo'ak " oh did they well it good to be back"

tonowari " hello young man"

lo'ak " tonowari sir it good to see you and your wife again, and you don't have to worry I will not be causing any drama or trouble for you family or anyone else I have changed for the better ... the school and programs helped me"

ronal " oh that good to know"

Jake " well you can park you car in the driveway and we can get you and lo'ak stuff in the car and leave"

y/n " thank you for the offer Jake but I and lo'ak will be traveling in my car giving everyone much need space on the family car, as it seems it already busy in there"

Jake " oh we can switch some stuff around"

y/n " no it will be okay don't worry yourself it will be fine"

Jake " yes you are right"

aonung " that mean we will not have the time to caught up with lo'ak"

lo'ak " we can text or call during the car ride or wait until we reach our vacation spot"

neteyam " sure"

tuk " mama can I ride with you and lo'ak it will be fun"

neytiri " tuk we already got you car seat in there"

tuk " but mommy I haven't seen lo'ak I so long"

y/n " let me a deal if you go with your mom and dad there I will have desert with you tonight"

tuk " really"

y/n " yes really and I will pay my treat for all you kids"

tuk " okay mama I will be good"

neteyam " I will make sure she behave mama and hey lo'ak I started a new group chat with us all"

lo'ak " cool"

tonowari " well come on everyone lets get going we should be hitting the road" everyone soon got into their cars that were already set up, soon the everyone started heading on the road. The mother and son looked at each other knowing this was going to be a long trip, and very long vacation. The vacation might be good and bad for everyone when it comes to defending everyone relationships

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buckys-little-belle · 6 months

Text

Chapter Two - Backpack, Backpack

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

Warnings - Mentions of Bucky’s ‘Old Life’, talks about slight “Violence” (Bucky’s past), talks of a first aid kit, feeling “scared” about being a little, fluff! Obviously!

Word Count - 2164

Note - I've finished all of Bub and Buck's story now, and I have to say it's been crazy going back and blending chapters/blurbs together to create a more cohesive story. It's been fun, and crazy, and honestly I missed this little place that I loved so much. Cafe BigNSmall is the beginning of so much, not just this account. It was the first little writing thing I put out that really got traction and that led me to where I am now. Going to school in January for creative writing, beginning the process of writing my own book. This little fic that has brough comfort to so many, myself included, is so much bigger than just a fanfiction or just a writing process and I'm so thankful for everyone who has stuck by my side, who has liked, reblogged, and sent asks about it. I love every one of you, I love who you've helped me become, and I've loved every minute of re-writing this series and I hope you love re-reading, or even reading it for the first time. I just have so so so much love in my heart for this and for you <3

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Bucky sat at his same table for the umpteenth time, but this time he sat with a smile knowing someone was on their way to sit with him. For the first time in a while Bucky wasn’t sitting and watching everyone while feeling jealous, instead he watched as a Caregiver hugged their Little and felt hopeful that he might get to have that one day.

“MR!” Y/n yelled from the entrance like she couldn’t believe he was there, sitting at their table ready for whatever she wished to do. “Hi!” She smiled at him when she got to the table, her usual overalls and t-shirt combo covered by a heavy sweater. He was happy she had covered up more than yesterday, the sky grey instead of blue, and the colder.

“Hi.” He smiled back, Bucky was sure he looked goofy with how big his smile was but he didn’t care. “Chilly?” He asks as he watches them shiver slightly when the finally sit down.

“Yeah.” Y/n tilts her head to the side as she seems to contemplate something. “I think ‘m gonna get a hot chocolate.” She rummages around her bag before finding her wallet and pulling out a five dollar bill. Bucky was quicker though, already on his feet and in the line. “What are you gonna get?” Y/n asks as she joins him in the line.

“Well, I think I’m going to get a hot chocolate too.” He looks down at her, a silly grin on her face as she nods her head. “Their cake pops look good too.” Bucky points to the glass case full of baked goods and premade sandwiches.

“I know!” Y/n practically jumps. “I had one once.” They frown. “But I never have enough moneys for one, maybe next week I’ll get one.” They nod their head, agreeing with their idea.

Bucky already planned on buying Y/n a cake pop, but wanted to make sure she actually did like them. Finding out she’s only had one because she can’t afford them has him vowing to always buy her one whenever she’s here.

The money Bucky got from the government after his treatment went public often sits in his bank account unused, he has what he needs, and most of what he wants, and he hates spending the money on useless things. Yet as he watches Y/n’s eyes flicker to the case full of sweet treats with a frown on their face he’s happy to know he finally has something, someone worth spending money on.

“Hi, what can I get you today?” The barista smiles at Bucky, giving an extra sweet grin and a wave to Y/n.

“Can I get two medium hot chocolates, please?” Bucky places his hand on Y/n’s shoulder to get her attention before asking. “What kind of cake pop do you want Bub?”

“I can’t.” They shrug their shoulders, clearly not aware that Bucky’s already ordering for her.

“I’m buying you one. Which one do you want, Bub?” He adds some clarification, leaning down slightly to be at Y/n’s height, pointing to the cake pops in the case. “I love vanilla, I think I’ll get a vanilla one.” He says, hoping that him getting one will make Y/n feel less nervous.

She begins playing with her hands, twisting her fingers together, something Bucky’s noticed she does when anxious. “Um, I like chocolate.” She whispers, looking back at Bucky with weary eyes. “But I don’ wan’ you to buy it, I -” Bucky doesn’t let her finish her sentence, instead he stands and orders both cake pops before paying.

With both hands on Bub’s shoulders he moves them over to the wait station. “When you’re with me I’ll be the one buying things, okay?” His tone is sweet but also somehow firm, hoping his words make sense and are final, but also hoping he doesn’t seem too overbearing.

“Like a, like when.” Bub stumbled over her words before turning around to face Bucky, his hands dropping from her shoulders only for her to grab his left, glove covered, hand to fidget with it like she does hers. “Like a caregiver?” She asks, finally meeting Bucky’s glance.

“Exactly like that.” Bucky nods. “I’ll act like your caregiver when we’re together, okay?” He regrets using the word ‘act’ the moment he says it, Y/n somberly nodding at his words. He wants to be her caregiver all the time, he doesn’t want to just act as one while around her, but he met her yesterday. Neither of them know each other well enough for that kind of trust, yet Bucky seems to feel like they both are on the same wavelength. Like they’ve waited long enough for someone to be their other, why wait a little longer.

“I’d like tha’.” Y/n nods, turning back around in Bucky’s arms to wait for their cake pop and hot chocolate.

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For a whole week Bucky and Bub met up everyday, getting hot chocolate and cake pops. Y/n kept giving Bucky colouring pages to take home with her signature at the bottom, his fridge now covered in them after a frantic late night trip to buy magnets. Walking into his house and seeing the fridge coloured in pictures made him love the fact that he bought a huge fridge able to store at least another week's worth of pictures without having to remove anymore of the ones he’s already been given.

“Hi, Mr!” Y/n smiled as she sat down on her booth seat, her backpack placed on the table as she got comfortable. “I made you something.”

“You did?” Bucky unpackaged her cake pop and placed it on a napkin, sliding it over to her along with her hot chocolate. “Careful it’s hot.” Bucky warned as Bub went straight for her drink the moment it was in her line of sight.

“Otay.” She blew a breath onto the cup, though Bucky wasn’t sure how helpful her hot puff of air would be in cooling it down, instead pulling it back to himself and blowing cold air on it for her. “Here.” She placed a piece of paper onto the table.

This picture wasn’t one from a colouring book, but one on regular plain paper, drawn by Y/n and coloured by her to. Two figures stood hand in hand with a box of crayons in the middle. One person was obviously Bucky, the other Y/n. Even if he couldn’t tell Bub had written their names “Mr” and “Bub” below each of their persons. “I love it.” Bucky smiled, sliding the, now less hot, hot chocolate back to Y/n, her taking a sip immediately and humming in content. “I’ll have to put in on my fridge.” He said aloud, though he meant to keep the words to himself, not sure if it was wrong to admit he had grown attached to Y/n enough to want her pictures on his fridge.

“Really?” Her usually playful voice grew serious, her eyes filled with tears. “My drawing?”

“Yeah, Bub.” He smiled, glad she seemed happy over the idea. “I have a few of your drawings on my fridge already.” He admitted. Before he could place it in his bag Y/n was up and out of her seat sliding into Bucky’s booth before wrapping her arms around him in a hug. “Oh.” Bucky lets out a surprised sigh.

“I like you, you nice.” Y/n said as she pulled away, though didn’t leave the booth.

“You’re nice too, Bub.” Bucky said in disbelief. He knew the two of them were making good steps towards fully being comfortable around one another, Y/n seemed to slip further and further into regression, showing she felt safe around Bucky, and she had even asked him if he was the Winter Soldier and hadn't run when he said yes. But he hadn’t expected her to feel comfortable enough to hug him, yet he wasn’t going to argue or complain.

Y/n eyed his bag for a minute or so before asking a question. “Wha’s in your bag?” She asked, this being the first time she had truly seen it.

“I’ll show you what’s in my bag, if you show me what’s in yours?” He offered, having been wondering what she brought with her to the cafe everyday. “Deal?” He asked, and she perked up, agreeing before sliding out and back onto her seat, something Bucky frowned at.

“Otay!” Bub squealed, opening her green backpack before digging around a little bit. The first thing she pulled out was a small zipper pouch, the fabric printed with frogs and plants. “This has m’ keys, an’ my phone.” She pulled both out, her phone being secured in a bag inside her bag making sense as to why it took her so long to find it when her alarm went off. “An’ it has my tic tacs in it! D’ you wan’ one?” She asked with a smile, holding out tropical tic tacs to Bucky.

“I’m okay, but thank you Bub.” He smiled, proud of her manners and willingness to share her things. He knew he couldn't take credit for her good behaviour, or her manners. She was a sweet girl even if he didn’t remind her here and there of her manners, yet he was still extremely proud of her.

“M’kay.” Bub nodded her head, popping a few tic tacs in her mouth before moving on. “Dis, um, dis is my frog.” Bub’s once very confident attitude dulled slightly as she brought the frog stuffie out, like she was waiting for someone to say something rude.

“He’s very cute.” Bucky reassured her, his hand brushing against the stuffed animal's foot, his fur in perfect condition. “What’s his name?”

Y/n still seemed on alert, but opened up a little more. “I call him Green Bean.” She pats his head.

“That’s a perfect name.” Bucky chuckles, loving how creative his Bub is. “Where did you get his outfit?” He asks, referring to the knitted overalls and t-shirt, identical to Y/n’s everyday outfit.

“I made dem!” Bucky was happy to see her peppy spark come back as she spoke about her stuffy. Giving him the rundown on how she made them, and made clothing for all her other stuffies at home. Then she gave him the rundown on a bunny stuffie she really wanted that was identical to the one she has at home. Though “He’s no’ the same Mr! He’s a different colour!” something Bucky quickly made a mental note of.

Bub only had her wallet and a sweater stuffed at the bottom of her bag, and a small bag of long forgotten goldfish that Bucky immediately threw out left to show. “Your turn.” Y/n reminded Bucky, gesturing to his backpack.

“Well.” He started, opening his bag, pulling out his wallet, keys and phone. “These are the things I have on me at all times.” He said, watching Y/n pick up his keys and fiddle with them, clearly loving his accumulated keychain and key combo from the last 100 years. “Then I have a First Aid Kit.” He pulls out a bulky box, a few things banging around inside.

“In case someone ge’s hurt?” Y/n asks, concern dripping from her expressions.

“Exactly.” Bucky answers, though he doesn’t admit that he mainly carries it out of fear that he’ll hurt someone and need to patch them up, but he hopes that Y/n’s just thinking about scrapes and small cuts and not the carnage he’s left behind.

“Do you have princess bandaids?” She asks with all seriousness.

“I have princess ones, paw patrol, and starwars.” He playful one ups her, the two of them laughing before he continues. “Then I have extra crayons, colouring pages, and a couple water bottles.” He pulls out the extra things, Y/n’s hands immediately going to the colouring pages.

“Can I do this one, please?” She asks, bouncing in her seat, her frog underneath her arm.

“Of course, Bub.” He smiles, the frog page she chose the one he printed off last night in the hopes to give it to her.

After the small show and tell the two of them sat together eating their cake pops and drinking their hot chocolate. Everytime he looked up Bucky realised just how lucky he was, to have found a Little who was as chill as Bub was, and as sweet as she was too. He realised that while he wished he could have met her sooner, he was happy he waited.

“Why don’t we go to the park tomorrow?” He asked, thinking it could be good for them to get out somewhere other than just the cafe.

“Yes!” Y/n practically jumped out of her seat at the idea, the two of them chatting about how excited they were for their adventure tomorrow.

#buckys little belle #age regression fic #age regression #little!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x little!reader #bucky barnes x little!reader #bucky #cafe bignsmall #bignsmall #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes age regression #little fic

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

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Two Lines, Two Idiots Chapter Six: Crying Into A Cupcake

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader, Twin!JJ Maybank x reader

TW:pregnancy, slight angst, very brief mention of abuse, brief mention of addiction, so much fluff and cuteness, I think thats all

Summary: You, Rafe, and the pogues finally find out what youre having.

Word Count:3k

Things have settled down ever since Rafe confronted Ward a couple of weeks ago. It's been radio silence from the older Cameron, though Rose has tried to reach out a few times. She's even sent flowers, but her attempts at reconciliation have been ignored.

If there's one thing you've learned about that family, it's that there's always an angle. Maybe Rose really does feel bad, or maybe she's playing both sides of the field. There's no way to know, and it's not a risk either of you are willing to take.

Since Rafe's 'family' is out of the picture and your dad is obviously not in your life, that leaves the pogues. So when you and Rafe went to your appointment yesterday, you decided not to find out the genders just yet.

Instead, you had them send the results to a local bakery which is where you are now. Your friends don't know that they're finding out what you're having today, and your body is buzzing with excitement at the idea.

You've never been a big fan of gender reveal parties and even if you were, who is there to invite? Instead, you're opting for a small intimate affair with just Rafe and your found family. The nice older lady brings you your order; seven cupcakes that are dyed either all blue, all pink, or a combination.

You thank her with a smile after Rafe pays, and make the trek back to the truck. He helps you up since your belly is large enough now to cause issues. You're glad that the secret is about to be revealed because even though you're only fifteen weeks, the rate that you're growing is bound to start raising questions.

"Are you excited?"

Rafe smiles at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road and he squeezes your hand. The route to the chateau is second nature now since he's been staying there; ever since the altercation, he's refused to step foot back in Tannyhill.

You're not sure what's happening with the living situation, but JJ and John B have both insisted that you can just set up in the spare room and stay there. You're not quite sure how that could possibly work with Rafe practically moved in and two babies on the way, but you've written it off to be figured out later.

"Yeah, but I'm nervous too. What if they freak out?"

Rafe shoots you a glance and shrugs his shoulders, not at all concerned.

"They will at first, but based on how involved they already are, I'm guessing it'll quickly turn to happiness."

You sigh and nod, nerves eating at your mind.

"I hope so."

When the two of you arrive, everyone is already outside scattered around the yard. JJ is laying in the hammock with John B standing over him, Sarah and Kie are sitting on a log laughing about something, and Pope is off in his own little world reading a book.

The scene makes your heart swell as you watch all the people you love most in the world in one place, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Ready?" Rafe asks, and you turn to face him with a timid smile.

"As I'll ever be."

At that, you take a step forward and plaster on your best happy face.

"Hey, losers. You up for some dessert?"

Your voice draws their attention and they all face you with intrigued expressions. Sarah catches on first as she leaps to her feet with wide eyes and rushes forward.

She looks at the treats in Rafe's hand with swirled pink and blue icing on top and moves to snatch them from him.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Rafe quickly dodges her and holds them up over his head with a smirk.

"Sure is. Ready to find out what we're having?"

This successfully gets the rest of the pogues to join and JJ wraps an arm around your shoulder.

"I can't believe my little sister is having a kid."

You roll your eyes at his cheeky grin and push him off of you.

"Fuck off, JJ. You were born before me by two minutes."

You can't help but grin at his childlike laughter, and bump your shoulder into his. Sarah looks like she's about to explode as she bounces on the ball of her feet and stares at the plastic container.

"Can we please eat the cupcakes? I'm going to die."

You laugh at her pleading and nod at Rafe who starts handing them out.

"Okay, on the count of three everybody take a bite."

You wait for everyone to nod in understanding and take a deep breath before starting the countdown.

"Okay. One…two…three!"

You take a large bite and stare down at the blue with sparkling eyes before turning to Rafe. He's got a blue cupcake as well, and the two of you wait for everyones reactions. You figure JJ must also have blue when he lets out a loud cheer accompanied by a fist pump.

"Fuck yeah, it's a boy!"

You watch confusion grow on John B and Kie's faces as they turn their cupcakes around to show them to you.

"No, it's a girl."

John B's face is set in a deep frown and you turn to face Rafe with wide eyes before leaping into his arms. He throws his arms up and cheers once he sets you down, over the moon to be having one of each.

Rafe had been begging the universe for a daughter; a little daddy girl that he could spoil and take on dates.

"Wait, I'm lost. Did they screw up the order?"

You don't answer your brother, instead giving them a second to stew. You see John B figure it out first, and he turns to you with his jaw dropped.

"Wait, are you fucking serious?"

You nod your head with a smile that puts the sun to shame and giggle loudly when he carefully picks you up and spins you around. The rest aren't far behind, and when he sets you down JJ grabs your arm to make you face him.

There's an unspoken question in his eyes and you just nod in confirmation. You see his eyes well up with tears and get concerned for a moment before he shakes his head and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug.

"Holy shit. You're gonna have a Y/N and JJ 2.0"

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks as you return his embrace and bury your head into his shoulder. You and JJ might have your squabbles, but the bond you have is one of a kind. It warms your heart to think your son and daughter are going to have a built-in best friend.

"Oh my god, this means I don't have to choose! I can shop the entire baby section!"

You let out a watery laugh at Sarah's exclamation and wipe your tears. She launches forward and throws her arms around your neck, joy radiating off of her.

"I'm so glad that you're gonna be the mother of my niece and nephew. I can't begin to explain how happy I am for both of you. You've always been my sister, but this is just a whole new level. I love you."

She whispers into your ear, and you hug her a little tighter as the sentiment causes a fresh round of tears.

"I love you too, Sarah."

She releases you after a few moments and goes over to Rafe, letting the rest of the group get in their hugs with you.

The look on your boyfriend's face is one of sheer glee and terror, and Sarah pulls him aside.

"Are you okay?"

Rafe brings his thumb up to his mouth and gnaws on the side of it, a nervous habit he picked up as a child.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just scared."

Sarah nods and takes a moment to mull over his confession.

"Scared of what? You've been ironclad through this whole thing. What changed?"

The look in Rafe's eyes is akin to a little kid, and suddenly Sarah knows what he means.

"Oh. You're scared to have a son."

When her brother doesn't respond, she places a gentle hand on his forearm.

"Rafe, you're not Dad. You never have been. You've made bad decisions, but you're trying to be better. That's more than he could say. I see the way you look at her. It's like she hung the moon and stars."

He nods and shifts on his feet, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

"I wish Mom was still here."

Sarah gives him a sympathetic look before pulling him into a hug.

"Me too. She'd be so excited, and proud of you. I know that she would have loved Y/N."

The two of them just stand there for a moment, finding comfort in each other before she pulls back and nods toward you.

"Go celebrate with your girl. This is your guys' moment."

You beam up at Rafe as he rejoins your little circle and lean into him when he wraps his arms around you to place his hands on your belly.

"I can't believe you didn't tell us."

John B is still in shock and you laugh lightly.

"We wanted it to be a surprise. Plus, we were still coming to terms with it ourselves."

He nods with a huff and Sarah slaps his arm, a quick reminder that this isn't about him. You all settle in around a bonfire, discussing the babies and what you all think they'll be like.

JJ insists they'll have his signature blonde hair, and Rafe swears they'll have his piercing blue eyes and irresistible charm.

A short while later, you're sitting on the beach staring out at the waves when you feel someone sit beside you.

"You good, sis?"

You avoid his gaze, peering up at the stars and trying to suck the tears back into your eyes.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

JJ has always picked up on your moods at an annoyingly fast pace, and you sniffle.

"I'm so fucking afraid, J. Like stomach in knots, throwing up, straight up panic attack fear."

He frowns and pulls you into his side, his hand coming up to comb through your hair like he did when you were younger after one of Luke's episodes.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He's always been so patient and gentle with you, well aware that you're the more sensitive one. You've always put on a brave face, but JJ knows that it's just a front. Under the surface, you're just as close to the edge as he is.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm so happy. I just can't help but wonder if he's doomed. I silently hoped not to have a boy. I mean, look at the men in his bloodline. On both sides. One is a deranged money-hungry psychopath, and the other is an abusive addict. He's set up to fail before he even has a chance."

Your throat burns as you talk through the constriction and more hot tears fall into your lap.

"Y/N, look at how Rafe and I turned out. Sure, we're both a little reckless and hot-headed; but all things considered, we do okay. We both came straight from the lion's den and managed to make it out. Your little boy is going to have an entire army behind him and everything we grew up without. He's going to be the best, I promise."

You turn your head to look at him, skepticism clear on your face.

"You really think so?"

He nods instantly and leans forward to press a kiss to your temple.

"I know so. Have you talked to Rafe about this? I'm sure he's thinking the same thing."

You shake your head and JJ sighs, moving to stand up.

"I'm going to send him over. Don't shut him out, okay? You guys are in this together."

He doesn't give you a chance to respond, and within a couple of minutes, Rafe is rushing over. He drops to his knees beside you, and his heart drops at the sight of your bloodshot eyes and puffy cheeks.

"What's going on, baby? Talk to me."

He looks so worried, and it makes your heart clench. His eyes never leave yours, his hands on either side of your face forcing you to look at him.

"I don't want him to be a Cameron."

You immediately regret your choice of words when hurt flashes through his ocean eyes, but he doesn't interrupt.

"I don't mean it like that. I just mean.. the men in your family have so much pressure on them. I don't want him to grow up hard and calloused the way you were forced to. I want him to be soft and kind. I want him to be a kid."

Rafe nods in understanding before pulling you into his lap.

"Baby, I promise I'll do everything in my power to make sure that doesn't happen. I want him to be happy too, and I'd go to the ends of the earth to achieve it. I want all of you to be happy. I know we haven't talked about it yet, but if it'll ease your mind then we can give them your last name. Hell when we get married, I'll take your last name. Whatever puts a smile on that pretty face."

You shake your head from side to side and stifle another sob.

"I don't want him to be a Maybank either. He's going to have a reputation either way, but at least with the Camron title, it won't be that he's a troublemaker destined to end up in prison. Neither of us comes from a great lineage, and that's what worries me. It's like he's cursed to either be a power-hungry asshole or an abusive drunk that steals and gambles."

He leans down so he's eye level with you and shakes his head.

"Y/N, that's not true. We'll build our own legacy and it'll be good and loving. Our babies don't have to carry the burden we did just because they share the name."

You nod, but Rafe can tell that something is still bothering you.

"That's not all of it. What else is going on in that brilliant mind of yours?"

You hesitate for a moment before deciding that if this is going to work, you have to be honest.

"I never had a mother figure."

He catches on instantly, already sure he knows where this is going.

"What if I'm a bad mom?"

Rafe looks genuinely taken aback and offended at the mere suggestion, his eyebrows pinched together. Even in your current state, your hand reaches up to smooth out the crease and he leans into your touch.

"You're going to be the best fucking mom. You know how I know? Because of that right there. Even when you're going through something, your first instinct is to take care of me. You care for everyone around you, baby; and it's not because you have to. It's just who you are."

His thumb swipes under your eye when another tear falls and he continues.

"You are the most selfless, thoughtful, and kind person I've ever met. You don't treat people well to get something out of it, you do it because you have a good heart. You don't even realize it, and I'm going to spend every day reminding you."

He stops for a second, and you can tell he's debating on saying something else.

"I love you. I'm so in love with you that it makes my head spin and I can't make sense of it. You make me want to be a better person, Y/N. you've given me a reason to live and for that, I will always be grateful."

Rafe leans his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, just soaking up your presence. Really, he's trying to transfer all your pain and heartache over to himself. How can he not? You're his entire world, and if he could download all of your suffering he would without a second thought.

Usually, commitment would send you running for the hills. With anybody else, it's always raised alarm bells and sent your nervous system into fight or flight.

Nothing good has ever come from it; you've seen it over and over again. Yet, as you sit here in Rafe's arms you feel nothing but a serene calmness. You feel safe and at home, exactly where you're meant to be.

"I'm in love with you too. I've never told anybody that before, I've always left before it could get that far. But I don't want to run this time. I don't want to run ever again, not if it's away from you."

He pulls you into a sweet kiss, and in this tiny blip in the space-time continuum, every puzzle piece slots into place.

"I'll do anything I have to to make sure the three of you are taken care of. Our boy will be just fine because he has you. I'm never going anywhere."

Your cries have died down to hiccups and Rafe's heart feels like it's been pulverized at the smallness of your voice.

"Promise?"

He pulls back and sticks his hand out, nothing but love and soothing energy rolling off of him and into you.

"Pinky."

You hook your finger around his and you both kiss it, a vow to make a better life than what you were handed. His words from a few moments ago suddenly register in your foggy mind, and his heart soars at the mischievous smile that suddenly splits your face.

"Wait, did you say when we get married?"

He groans, his unspoken prayer that you didn't catch his slip-up going unanswered.

"I did. I meant it, too. It doesn't have to be anytime soon, but one day my ring is going to be weighing down your left hand with a diamond big enough to be seen from space."

Your lips crash into his and his hands encircle your waist as the two of you smile into the kiss.

"I'm holding you to that."

You squeal when he tickles his sides and his hand comes up to poke your nose.

"I expect nothing less."

@i-love-rafe @itsmytimetoodream @brynley-a-xoxo @whore4drew @houseofperfecttaste @everythingmarveltopgun @f4ll-for-you @athenabarnes @antagonize-me-motherfucker @writtenwordslover @madsnxo @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @starrystarkey93 @keylin1730 @fulla02 @loving-and-dreaming @evening-starlight @ibleedcalories @badasspizzalover @veescorneroftheworld @pinkpantheris @brooklynscherry-z @starkeylover @sebastiansstanswhore @lothiriel9

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron #Rafe Cameron x maybank!reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks fic #outer banks

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russellsppttemplates · 2 months

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Let me love on you a little more (Charles Leclerc)

Sometimes, it felt like what you were doing was a drop in the immense ocean, but Charles always made you feel a little better when you had the chance to go home

Note: english is not my first language. I based this on the news and stories I heard from people on the front line! This is in no way romanticising or summing up what happened, much less downplaying it! I hold huge huge respect and gratitude for healthcare workers!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: Covid-19 pandemic and themes associated with reader being a front line worker as a doctor (mentions hospitals, tests, death)

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"You can follow the purple line to the testing site we have here", you told the elderly woman.

"Is it going to hurt too much? My neighbour had to get tested to weeks ago when she visited her family and she said it's uncomfortable", she mused.

"It's a little itchy, I have to admit it, but it shouldn't hurt you, just a little bit uncomfortable, Mrs. Loire", you attempted to soothe her, your usual hand on the patients' arm now a strongly inadvisable way to comfort them.

"Thank you, Dr. Y/L/N", he said, her eyes letting you know that behind her mask there was a big smile on appreciation and gratitude.

Taking temperatures and checking flu like symptoms was not how you thought your medical career would pan out once you chose your speciality, but the new normal was this and you were working your best to do what you got into medicine to do in the first place, improve and save lives.

"How many people have you sent to the testing site?", your colleague Marina asked you when she noticed that for now, there were no walk-ins or ambulances with new patients.

"Just this morning, twenty-five", you sighed, "the closest I got to a potential non-Covid case was the kid that broke his arm, but Ortho swooped him right from me".

"Are you truly so disappointed about not being on an Orthopedics case?", she chuckled, "you hated everytime you had to be on that floor", she argued.

"I'd do anything that isn't watching people die because we don't have enough equipment or because we don't know enough about this disease to stop it", you let your frustrations out.

"We're going to win this, Y/N", Marina squeezed your shoulder, "you're usually the hopeful one on the service, but I can hope for the two of us today", she replied earnestly, "I'm going to have lunch now, do you want to go with me and sit on opposite tables so I can at least look at your face without a mask from a distance?".

"Let's go, I'm starving and I'm going up to the ward this afternoon", you raised your eyebrows, tidying up the station for whoever would cover the afternoon shift there.

As you walked to the area you had lunch in, you were happy to find the sun shinning outside on the green park area where you or the patients' family would take them to get fresh air when they were still admitted and recovering. It wasn't a thing now for obvious reasons, so you and Marina ended up in there keeping a safe distance while enjoying the feeling on the sun on your bare skin.

"Do you sometimes feel like you're losing all sense of time in there?", Marina nudged to the big building, "my mother's birthday was yesterday and I thought it was still a month away - she called me to say she had left a piece of cake for me by my door".

"Yesterday, Charles called me and told me he has going to wash my favourite hoodie of his and then wear it around the house so that by the time I came home it was nice and smelling the way I liked it. Then I reasoned with him that it wasn't this weekend because how could it be? Then I realised he was right", you took a spoonful from the tupperware.

"Are you spending the weekend at home?", Marina asked, smiling at how you seemed to finally be taking care of yourself.

You had been one of the doctors who didn't mind staying for longer in the hospital, reasoning that you didn't have kids and fortunately your family members didn't need assistance so you could cover more shifts and work as much to keep everything running smoothly. It caught up with you as it did with all your colleagues so you set specific times in your calendar where you would go home and, barring any catastrophic situation at the hospital, no one would call you for the days you spent home so you could fully relax with Charles.

"Yes, five days at home and then I'm back", you sighed, "and you? How is your little one doing?", you asked.

"My wife texted me an hour into my shift to say that Milo had a Skype call with his class and their teacher and he said his mama was in the hospital being a hero", she gave you a big smile and looked up to control the tears, "it's hard being away from them, but these little moments help", she added.

"Charles does streams with his friends, and apparently he's always mentioning me and the people on the chat have been very supportive - whenever he calls me he tells me that some fans recognise my voice and my name from the virtual appointments and that they've been here and treated by me, too", you blushed, "He's always hyping me up and I can't wait to be with him".

Stopping by the coffee machine, you both got another expresso shot before parting ways since Marina wasn't on the Covid ward for that shift.

"We've just intubated three more patients", the doctor finished her rounding up to you and the rest of the team that would take over for them, "beds five and six aren't looking good and we've alerted their family members already", he nudged.

Everyone knew what it meant when it came to calling the families, so you nodded, "hopefully they'll get here on time, have them page me downstairs when they arrive, please", you asked one of the interns before you excused yourself to put your personal protective equipment on.

"Is that you, Y/N?", one of the younger kids you had treated said as you got out of the room.

"Yes, it's me! You have a good eye, Arlo!", you smiled before noticing nurse Francesca pulling his wheelchair, "are you going home, sweet boy?", you gasped.

Arlo had been the first child you treated in the ward, only having seen adults up until that moment and it changed a switch in you. A small child struggling so much seemed to shake something inside you, and every time you called his parents with updates, you wished that you'd never have to make the dreaded call.

"I am, my lungs are all good and I'm not warm anymore!", he smiled, "I finally get to go home, my parents are downstairs waiting for me. Did you give Charles my thank you hug for the cap?", he asked.

When you noticed the little boy talking about the last Monaco GP and how he hoped one day he would be able to meet his favourite driver, Charles Leclerc, you couldn't find it in you to keep your relationship undisclosed. So, when you went home the last time, you asked Charles to sign one cap for you and told him to be ready for a FaceTime with the little boy. Arlo was the happiest you had seen him since he had been admitted, lighting up when he saw your boyfriend on the screen and giving him a few smiles despite his tired and sick state.

"I haven't been home yet, but I will give him the biggest hug at the end of the week!", you smiled, "I'm so happy for you, Arlo!", you gushed, making the gesture to blow him as kiss as he waved goodbye.

There were good stories, and even though they in no way erased the sad ones, they helped you carry on with the fight.

Laying on the on-call room after your shift, you took off your mask since no one else was allowed inside it other than you, doing your usual routine and setting your phone in the window sill.

"Hey, amour", Charles said on the phone, "how was your day?", he asked as he watched you towell dry your hair.

"Hey, mon coeur", you offered him a small smile, "I'm so tired I can't guarantee I won't fall asleep in a minute".

"It's okay, I won't mind. Did you get tested?", Charles asked as he seemed to be tucking himself to bed as well.

"Yes, another swab up my nose", you flashed him two thumbs up, "I'll have the results in the morning and hopefully I can get out of here for a few days and spend them with you and not quarantine in a hotel room", you crossed your fingers, "I don't have any symptoms, but still, you never know with this bastard".

"We'll spend it together, amour", he comforted, "I already have a lazy couple of days planned out for us", he smiled as you too tucked yourself on the oncall room bed.

"That sounds amazing", you closed your eyes briefly, "I can't wait to be with you", you yawned.

Charles knew better than to start anything important, just happy to see you were resting, safe and sound, making small talk to lull you to sleep before he ended the call.

After attending the virtual meeting so you could update the next team on how the service was running before you left, the results from test came back negative, which meant you could finally drive home.

Unlocking the door, you stepped inside as you heard commotion coming from the living room, "stay away while I put all of this in the cabinet", you warned Charles.

He was quick to go to the bedroom, getting his hoodie and a pair of shorts for you, "as much as I'd love to hold you all day looking like that", your boyfriend nodded to your figure in just underwear, "I think you'll be more cosy in these", he approached you as you finally let him touch you, his arms going around your waist and pulling your bodies closer, "I've missed you so much, Y/N", he whispered.

"I missed you so much, too", you pulled your face away from his chest before kissing his lips in a proper greeting.

Charles guided you to the living room after you got dressed in his clothes, stopping by the kitchen door to check if you had a proper breakfast to which you said yes, so he took you to the sofa, snuggling you two under the blanket as he put one of your favourite shows on the TV.

"I love you, Charles", you would say every now and again, completing the affectionate moments with a kiss or a squeeze.

During the afternoon, you and Charles ended up napping on the sofa, Charles waking up with you still fast asleep on his chest, making him kiss your forehead a couple of times and pull the blanket to cover you up.

"How long was I out for?", you rubbed your eyes two hours later, looking up to see your boyfriend's smile.

"A couple of hours, it looked like a really good nap", he kissed your nose.

"Yes, it was", you squeezed his body, "I'm really craving some carbonara for dinner, do you think we have what the recipe needs?", you questioned.

"We do - I did the food shop earlier this week and I got all of the supplies", he smiled, brushing your hairs away from your eyes and behind your ears, "do you want to get started on it?".

"Yes - I need to pee first, but I'll meet you in the kitchen", you winked, pecking his lips multiple times before getting up.

As he watched you walk to the bathroom, thoughts came flooding in.

This is what he wanted with you. Cosy intimacy that went beyond what happened in the bedroom. The domesticity that went beyond just spending time together and that shines through in the little moments of intertwined routines, special requests and little talks in the middle of the night about random existential questions.

Stepping into the kitchen, Charles gathered the ingredients, pots and pans before you stepped inside too, hugging his waist and nuzzling your face on his back, "you're so comfy, Charlie", you cooed before he turned around so he could face you, cupping your cheeks and rubbing them.

"And you're so gorgeous, mon coeur", he complimented, making you melt inside as you focused on the pads of his thumbs against your skin.

Slicing the guanciale, you removed the rind and cut the rest into small pieces while Charles grated the pecorino cheese and added the egg yolks to the same bowl, the pasta already cooking with the timer on the side.

Scrambling everything into the pot one last time before adding the pasta water a little bit at a time until it was spot on as you liked, making you serve it up in the plates and head back to the sofa.

"Haven't you had enough of the sofa?", you giggled as Charles let you sit before he placed the tray on your lap, doing the same with his own, "I know I haven't had the energy for much else, but maybe tomorrow we can go hike if you'd like", you suggested.

"I want to spend time with you, wherever you are - you're in the sofa, I'm in the sofa, you're in the kitchen, I'm in the kitchen, if you're in the bathroom, I'm in the bathroom", he stated like it was clear as water.

"Maybe not when I'm in the toilet, though, okay?", you squinted as he laughed at your antics.

Charles tidied up after the both of you, sending you to the ensuite bathroom for a bath he'd join you in as soon as he was done.

"You didn't get in?", Charles slumped his shoulders slightly as he saw you sprawled out on the bed.

"I was partially in a food coma, but also - I didn't want to get in alone and the water was a little too hot so I had to let it cool for a bit", you smiled, letting him pull you up and into the bathroom.

Stepping inside the bathroom, Charles grabbed your hips, "let me love on you a little bit more, mon coeur", he said as he pulled you to him, grabbing the hem of the hoodie you were wearing and taking it off of your torso, kissing the skin on your shoulders.

As he stopped his ministrations on your skin, you took the opportunity to take his t-shirt off while you shimmied your shorts and underwear, caressing his muscles before he also took the rest of his clothes off.

"Feels good", Charles dipped his fingers in the tub, getting in himself so he could help you sit between his legs and lay your back on his chest.

Your boyfriend brought his hands together and formed a shell shape with them, collecting water in them and wetting your shoulder blades, then letting it cascade down your neckline, boobs and tummy before he let his hands wander around to feel your body, hoping it would show you his love and appreciation for you.

After you got out, Charles rubbed your products on your face, giggling when you made little faces before you put on pyjamas, tucking into bed and cuddling his chest.

"You know I've missed you so much, but our bed feels heavenly right now", you chuckled, kissing his naked chest, "I love you, Charles", you mumbled before sleep took over you.

"I love you, beautiful girl, sleep tight", he whispered against your hair, kissing the top of your head before he rubbed your back.

Charles was woken up from your body moving a lot and the clammy feeling of your hand on his chest, looking for your face and noticing the crease on your forehead, "hey, amour", he gently shook you awake, "wake up for me, please, it's okay, you're okay", he urged as you opened your eyes wide as you took in where you were.

"I'm home, I'm home", you mumbled, taking deep breaths like Charles encouraged you to once you sat up, doing them with you a couple of times until you calmed down.

"You are, mon coeur, you are", Charles kissed your forehead when you rested your back against the headboard.

After standing there in silence while Charles played with your fingers on your lap, you were able to speak about it, "I hit five this week", you mumbled, "five people who have died on my watch since this thing started, five family members I've had to call to tell them their loved one didn't make it.

"And it's a small number when you compare it to other countries - so many colleagues are already on their one hundredth, but Monaco is so small", you reasoned, "I haven't had a number this high since I started at the hospital - in my regular service, I never lost five people".

"It's not your fault, amour - a virus is out there and you're working so hard to contain it", Charles pulled you to his chest, rubbing your arm up and down and kissing the side of your head, "the work you're doing with the testing site, making sure to slow the spread and ensuring everyone is as healthy as they can be - you're part of that, Y/N, and even though it doesn't seem like it, you're still winning, you're still beating the universe".

"I couldn't do it without you", you mused and Charles' scoff alerted you, "it's true, Charles! I would never be able to stay at the hospital for so long if you weren't supportive, if you weren't helping my parents and making sure they're doing okay when I can't do it! The way you support me and are there for me - the way your holding me like you always do", you snuggled further into him, "this helps me keep going - you do", you kissed his jaw, seeing his blushed cheeks in the dimly lit bedroom.

"We're a good team then", he accepted the compliment, kissing your temple again, "do you think you can go back to sleep or maybe we could have a chat, watch some TV, have a lazy makeout session", he wiggled his eyebrows.

"That last idea sounds great, I've missed that", you rolled over properly, taking his lips in yours as his hands roamed along your tummy.

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