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novaursa · 2 days

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My Blood And Bone

- Summary: There were many times when Maegor tried to win your favor, before they locked you away. And he never forgot their insolence.

- Paring: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Note: These events happen before Fire and Blood.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

- A/N: This was requested by @oxymakestheworldgoround , so here is more Maegor. 🙂

Aegonfort was a cage gilded in gold, its walls bearing witness to the secrets and treachery that brewed within. It was here, beneath the shadows of the Iron Throne, that your uncle's gaze followed you, the weight of his presence suffocating and inescapable. He had always been there, lingering in the periphery, his stormy eyes dark with something unspoken, something forbidden.

You were Y/N Targaryen, second daughter of King Aenys I and Queen Alyssa Velaryon, a jewel in the crown that your father held with trembling hands. But jewels were meant to be coveted, and Maegor Targaryen was not a man content to admire from afar. He was fire and fury, a beast unchained, and you were the treasure he sought to claim, no matter the cost.

It began with a gift, a blade forged in the fires of Dragonstone, its steel as dark as his intentions. “For you, niece,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, the sword’s hilt pressing against your palm. “To keep you safe.”

Your father had frowned at the sight, his unease palpable. “She is a princess, not a warrior, brother,” he had said, his tone edged with the discomfort of a man who knew his words were futile. But Maegor’s smile was sharp, a predator’s smile.

“A princess should know how to defend herself, should she not?” His gaze flickered to you then, the intensity of it making your breath hitch. “It would be a shame for her to be unprepared should danger arise.”

The court whispered, of course. They always did. Maegor’s infatuation was no secret, nor was the growing tension between him and your father. But it was Visenya, the Dowager Queen, who saw what others chose to ignore. She watched with the keen eyes of a dragon, her silence a tacit approval of her son’s desire, for she, too, believed in the old ways, in the purity of Valyrian blood.

When Maegor took you riding on Balerion, the Black Dread, it was not a request but a command. “Come, niece,” he had said, his hand outstretched, the great dragon’s scales glistening like obsidian beneath the sun. “Let me show you the sky.”

You hesitated, your father’s warning echoing in your ears, but the defiance in Maegor’s gaze was irresistible. You took his hand, and the world fell away beneath you, the wind whipping your hair as the dragon soared higher and higher. His arms encircled you, strong and unyielding, and for a moment, you felt as though you were truly flying, free from the chains that bound you.

But Maegor was not content with mere flights of fancy. He sought to claim you in ways that words could not express, his touches lingering, his gaze possessive. When he found you alone in the godswood, your fingers trailing through the cool waters of the pond, his presence was a shadow that loomed over you, heavy and demanding.

“You should not be out here alone, niece,” he said, his voice a growl that sent shivers down your spine. “The court is full of vipers.”

You looked up at him, your defiance flickering like a flame. “And what are you, Uncle, if not the greatest viper of all?”

His laughter was dark, a sound that resonated in your bones. “Perhaps,” he murmured, stepping closer, his hand brushing against your cheek. “But I am a viper who would kill for you, who would burn the world to keep you safe.”

Your heart pounded, your breath catching as his fingers trailed down your neck, a whisper of a touch that spoke of desires long suppressed. “You are wed, Uncle. The gods forbid such thoughts.”

“The gods,” he spat, his eyes blazing with fury, “have never cared for me, nor I for them. They saddled me with a barren bride, denied me the one thing I desire most. Why should I bow to them now?”

His words were blasphemy, and yet there was a truth in them, a fire that kindled something dangerous within you. But before you could speak, before you could give voice to the storm raging inside you, your father’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Maegor!”

King Aenys stood at the edge of the grove, his face pale with anger, his hands trembling. “I will not allow this,” he said, his voice shaking with the force of his will. “You will not defile my daughter, my blood, with your twisted desires.”

Maegor’s eyes narrowed, the cold fury in them a stark contrast to the heat of his words. “You think you can keep her from me, brother? You think your weak words and weaker will can stand against what is meant to be?”

“She is not meant for you!” Aenys’s voice cracked, the desperation in it ringing clear. “She is a child, my child. You will leave her be, or I will see you banished, see you—”

“See me what, Aenys?” Maegor stepped forward, his presence towering, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. “See me banished again, as you did before? Send me away and hope that will be enough to keep her from me?”

The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with the unspoken threat that hung between them. Your heart raced, your eyes darting between your father and your uncle, caught in the tempest of their rage.

“You will leave her be,” Aenys said at last, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Or I will see you destroyed, brother or not.”

For a long moment, Maegor said nothing, his gaze locked on you, the intensity of it searing into your soul. Then, slowly, he inclined his head, a mocking smile twisting his lips.

“As you command, my king.” The words dripped with venom, but he turned away, the promise of something dark and dangerous lingering in the air as he left.

Your father sagged, his hand reaching out to grasp yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with sorrow. “I’m so sorry.”

You could only nod, the ache in your chest a hollow, aching thing. For in that moment, you knew that Maegor Targaryen was not a man who could be denied forever. He was fire, and fire would always find a way to consume what it desired most.

Aegonfort buzzed with the vibrant energy of your name day celebrations, a festival of color and laughter. Musicians played lively tunes, their melodies weaving through the air, while courtiers and lords offered their congratulations and admiration. It was a day meant for joy, for the lavish display of courtly grandeur, but beneath the surface, tension simmered, a crack in the facade.

King Aenys, your father, had spared no expense in organizing the grand hunt in your honor. Noblemen mounted their steeds, hounds barked eagerly, and the banners of House Targaryen fluttered in the breeze as the hunt began in earnest. You stood beside your mother, Queen Alyssa, her smile warm but her eyes watchful, ever the vigilant protector.

Yet it was not the festive cheer that held your attention; it was the shadow that loomed on the edges of the gathering, the one presence that seemed to darken the day’s radiance. Maegor, your uncle, clad in black armor that gleamed ominously under the sun, was a brooding storm amidst the celebration. His gaze lingered on you, piercing and unrelenting, and it took all your composure to return his stare with a steady, if uncertain, gaze.

He had barely participated in the hunt itself, choosing instead to ride apart from the others, his attention fixed on something far more personal. You could feel it, that coiled tension within him, the intent that hummed like a drawn bowstring. And then he was gone, vanished into the woods, leaving a wake of unease behind him.

Hours passed, and the hunt returned, triumphant. Stags and boars were brought forth, the prizes of the chase, their bodies laid at the king’s feet as an offering to your honor. Applause rang out, voices cheering, but the absence of Maegor’s dark figure loomed over the festivities like a shadow.

Then, like a harbinger of doom, he appeared.

He rode into the courtyard, alone, his horse’s flanks lathered in sweat. Draped over the saddle, still warm and bleeding, was the heart of a great stag, its size and weight staggering. The sight drew gasps from the crowd, the murmurs of celebration turning to hushed whispers of shock and awe.

“For you, niece,” he said, his voice carrying over the stunned silence. He dismounted, lifting the bloody trophy with a strength that seemed almost inhuman. “A gift, to honor your name day.”

The heart, dark and glistening, dripped blood onto the pristine stones of the courtyard as he carried it to you. Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes locked on the macabre offering. It was a brutal, savage gift, one that spoke of conquest and possession, of a man willing to tear the heart from the chest of a beast to lay it at your feet.

Queen Alyssa was the first to react, her face paling as she stepped forward, her voice tight with barely concealed horror. “Maegor, what is this madness?”

He ignored her, his gaze fixed on you, a challenge in his eyes. “A stag’s heart, the very symbol of life and power. To hold it in your hands is to understand what it means to conquer, to take what you desire and make it your own.”

Your hands shook as you reached out, hesitating before you touched the still-warm flesh, the blood staining your fingers. You understood the meaning, the dark symbolism of his gift. He was offering you more than a bloody trophy; he was offering his loyalty, his devotion, his savage, unyielding heart.

But your father, King Aenys, would not have it.

“Enough!” His voice cracked like a whip, the command echoing off the stone walls. He stepped forward, his face twisted with fury and disgust. “This is an insult, Maegor! A desecration of my daughter’s name day! How dare you bring such… such barbarity into my court?”

Maegor’s lips curled into a mocking smile, his gaze never wavering from yours. “An insult, brother? This is a gift, a token of my esteem. Or have you forgotten what it means to be Targaryen, to embrace the fire and blood of our heritage?”

“Do not twist our words to justify your depravity!” Alyssa’s voice trembled with rage, her hand gripping your arm as if to shield you from the grotesque spectacle. “This is not the way of things, not in our family, not in our court.”

“And what is our way, then?” Maegor’s voice was a low snarl, the barely restrained fury in it sending a shiver down your spine. “To bow and scrape before the whims of men who do not understand us? To deny the bond that is ours by right of blood, of fire?”

Aenys stepped between you and Maegor, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the gesture more symbolic than threatening. “You will cease this, Maegor. You will leave her be. She is not yours to claim, not now, not ever.”

The air crackled with dread, the crowd holding its breath as the brothers faced each other, the king and the warrior, blood against blood. For a moment, you feared that Maegor might strike, that his rage would explode into violence right there in the courtyard, but then he laughed, a sound devoid of humor, harsh and cold.

“You are a fool, Aenys,” he said, his voice thick with disdain. “You think you can keep her from me, lock her away, and all will be well? She is not a prize to be hidden, not a thing to be kept on a shelf. She is Targaryen, as am I, and we are meant for more than this.”

“Enough!” Aenys roared once more, his face flushed with anger. “You will leave this place, Maegor. Leave now, or I will have you thrown out. I will not tolerate your madness, not on this day, not ever again.”

For a long, tense moment, Maegor stood still, his gaze flickering to you one last time, his eyes dark with something raw and terrible. Then, with a slow, mocking bow, he turned and mounted his horse, the bloody heart still clutched in his hand.

“As you command, brother,” he said, his voice a dangerous purr. “But remember this: I do not forget. I do not forgive.”

And with that, he spurred his horse and rode out of the courtyard, the sound of hooves striking against stone fading into the distance. You watched him go, your heart heavy with a mixture of fear and something you dared not name, the blood on your hands drying as the echoes of the argument lingered in the stillness.

It was the last time you saw him before everything changed, before you were spirited away to Dragonstone, a prisoner in all but name, and Maegor was exiled to the cold, distant lands of Essos. The heart of the stag, the symbol of his twisted devotion, haunted your dreams for years to come, a reminder of what had been offered, and what had been lost.

#fire and blood #house of the dragon #game of thrones #asoiaf #maegor x y/n #maegor x you #maegor x reader #maegor the cruel #maegor targaryen

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mattyriddlesbitch · 3 days

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The Princess and The Knight(Chapter Two)

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Warnings: mentions of the basilisk

By your second year, Mattheo had made a reputation of being a dick and getting into fights. Many people avoided him, only his few friends you met on the train on the way to Hogwarts talked with him.

And you. You tried, at least. He would give short replies the whole time. ‘Yes’ ‘No’ ‘Maybe’ ‘I don’t know’ ‘Okay’ “Whatever’ That was pretty much his whole vocabulary with you.

His friends were okay with you. Not particularly friendly or went out of their way for you, but they weren’t rude to you and you were never one of their targets, which you were thankful for.

Second year started, and that was the year that there was something roaming Hogwarts, killing students. You were terrified, as any normal person would be.

You sat down in Potions next to Mattheo the day after the first attack, still a bit shaken up from the news.

“Did you hear about what happened?” You asked Mattheo as you started setting up your things for class.

“With the cat? Yes.” Mattheo answered, seeming unphased.

“I can’t believe something like that could happen here.” You said, shaking your head in disbelief.

“It's just a cat. It'll be fine, probably.” Mattheo shrugged.

“What if it happens to a student though?” You ask, leaning forward to lean on the desk.

“Are you scared?” He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at you, like he was confused about your reaction.

“Well, yeah. That could've happened to anybody. That's terrifying.”

“You don't have to be scared. Nothing's gonna happen to you.” His expression softened slightly.

“How can you be so sure? How are you not scared?” You asked, confused about his laid back attitude about it all.

He shrugged again, refusing to answer the questions. “Do you need me to protect you? Will that make you feel safe?” He asked in a sarcastic tone.

It almost took you back for a second. He was sarcastic with you often, but the question caught you off guard. But you quickly recovered. “Aw, are you offering to be my knight in shining armor?” You smiled at him.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “As if. You're not a princess, you know.”

“Only princesses get knights then?”

“Correct.”

You were about to respond, but Snape spoke up, starting his lesson.

After some more attacks, the school implemented a rule that you couldn’t walk alone and to always walk with someone else. You didn’t really know anyone in your potions class other than Mattheo, so you weren’t sure who you were going to walk with, but you figured you’d find someone when the time came.

So now, potions class had ended and you were packing up, watching everyone walk in pairs or groups out of the classroom. You grabbed your bag and headed to the door, but noticed everyone was gone. You frowned, but figured since the halls were filled with students, you shouldn’t have an issue getting to your next class and headed out of the classroom.

“Breaking the rules now?” You heard Mattheo say after you took a few steps out the door.

“What?” You turned to see him pushing himself off the wall and coming to your side.

“Not following the ‘walking with someone’ rule. You’re alone.” He said, grabbing your arm to make you keep walking before letting go.

“Everyone had someone else already.” You shrugged as you fell into step beside him.

“I guess that leaves us then.”

“You didn’t want to walk with anyone else?” You asked curiously.

“They’re all idiots, I’m not walking with them.” He answered simply.

“You know, I think I recall you saying something about only princesses getting knights.” You said in a playful tone.

“Yeah, and?”

“Does that mean I’m a princess now?” You joked.

“And I’m a knight then?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah.” You smiled at him.

“Fine then, princess. I guess I’ll be your knight for our 5 minute walk to your class.” He said sarcastically.

He walked with you between classes when he could, still keeping up the defense that he didn’t want to walk with anyone else since they were idiots. When they finally lifted the rule, he walked you to class one last time.

“Guess you won’t be needing my protection anymore, princess.” He said as you approached your class.

“Unfortunate. I was getting used to you walking with me.” You said, pouting playfully.

“Not like you’re never going to see me again.” He rolled his eyes at your pout.

“Might as well, though. It was the most you ever spoke to me.”

“Oh, shut up.” He stopped in front of your classroom.

“Well, I guess you’re retired now, my knight. Your services were appreciated.” You said with a small smile, chuckling when he rolled his eyes again, but this time with his own small smile.

“You’re stupid.”

“I know.”

There was a small moment of silence as you stared at each other, finally breaking when another student squeezed past you two to get into the classroom.

“Well, I better get to class. I’ll see you later, Mattheo.” You said and headed to your classroom.

“Yeah, later.” You heard him say before he started heading to his own classroom.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff @leandre2006

@call-me-mishi @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @brittney-121 @leovaldezsbitch

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @mattheoriddleluvbot @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236

@demieyesore @akira1246 @queenshu @prettypinkprincess15 @starryslytherin0

@jolly4holly @st0n3dbarbi3 @kurumbukaari @whydoireadanymore @sweet-afternoon

@ilovehpb0ys @princessluvssleep @satosugu4-ever @reys-letters @mattiesgirl

@alwayslatetothefandoms @satosugu4-ever @whydoireadanymore @reys-letters @mcdonaldshelppage

@shaquilles-0atmeal @feistyfox47 @gillyweeds @pluto-9456 @jooniebluesworld

@hereticdance @lxserriddle @cindyss @saint-marvel @atadoddinnit

@simpforromance @yours-truly-5

Let me know if you wanna be added!

#slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle

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violettwrites · 1 day

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hey bae! i’m lowkey so obsessed with your young trailerpark!daryl as well and i wanted to put in a request for like daryl and reader spending their first night together(if yk what i mean) and merle waking up the next day and teasing them once he notices that reader is still there from the previous night. Don’t care for smut at all, just for the teasing tbh😭 Anyways no pressure and have a nice day🫶🏽

teasings 🏹 young trailerpark!daryl dixon

a/n: nonnie thank u so so so much for this request. as soon as i saw u had sent it in i HAD to write this. if you enjoyed this, please don’t forget to like, reblog, and or comment ! here is my masterlist, and my ask box is open for requests !

this can be a stand alone oneshot, or possibly a part two to this tp!daryl piece

summary: 1988. merle catches daryl & reader in bed together one morning, teasing them relentlessly.

pairing: tp!daryl x tp!reader

warnings: brief smut — 18+, merle being annoying

word count: 765

— — —

the early morning sun was just starting to peek through the cracks in the thin curtains of daryl’s small bedroom, casting soft streaks of light across the room. you stirred under the covers, blinking away sleep as you tried to gather your bearings. you could feel the warmth of daryl beside you, his steady breathing mixing with the sounds of birds outside. for a second, you smiled, remembering the events from last night.

”fuck— daryl!” you gasped, fingernails digging into his biceps as he thrusted into you, grunting with each movement of his hips. he had your thighs practically pressed to your chest, the sound of skin slapping together echoing his small bedroom.

“wha’s that, pretty girl?” he murmured as he looked down at you, blue eyes dark with lust as he quickened the movements of his hips, causing you to whine at both the compliment, and the feeling of his cock inside you. you to squeezed your eyes shut, only for him to grab your cheeks with his hand, shaking your head a little. “look a’ me.”

after all those years of growing up together, though all the ups and downs, things had finally fallen into place between you and him.

before you could fully wake up, you heard the door to the trailer barge open, heavy footsteps making their way towards the bedroom, where daryl’s door swung wide open.

“well, well, well, what do we got here?” merle’s voice rang out, loud and obnoxious as ever. “looks like little brother finally got hisself some!”

daryl tensed beside you, a groan coming from his throat as he was rudely awoken by merle, though it was nothing new for him. “shut up, merle,” he grumbled, face scrunched in frustration as he rubbed at his eyes. his voice was hoarse, clearly not in the mood to deal with his brother’s teasing. but merle wasn’t one to let things go.

you sat up, pulling the blanket to cover yourself, giving merle a look that could kill. “get lost, merle. nobody has time for your crap this early in the morning,” you snapped, throwing him a warning glare. merle, of course, didn’t take it seriously.

“aww, c’mon now, sugar. just sayin’ daryl ain’t usually this lucky! gotta give ‘im props,” he said with a shit eating grin, clearly enjoying every second of daryl’s embarassment.

you rolled your eyes, already used to merle’s nonsense. “you really wanna get your ass handed to you before breakfast? ‘cause you’re headed in the right direction.”

merle cackled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “woah now, girlie, don’t get feisty on me. i’m just proud of daryl here. took him long enough to figure it out.”

daryl groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes, trying to hide from the world— or maybe just his older brother. “i swear, merle, if ya don’t leave right now, ‘m gonna knock ya on yer ass.”

merle have one more obnoxious ha!, finally stepping back out of the room. “alright, alright. i’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. just remember, y’all need to lock the damn door next time. don’t nobody wanna see this.” he smirked and pulled the door shut, making his way out of the trailer.

you sat there for a second in silence before looking over at daryl, who was still covering his face. “i’m gonna kill him one day,” he muttered.

you chuckled, leaning over to poke his side. “i’ll help ya,” you giggled, your voice still a little groggy but playful. “but he is right about one thing.” you hated to admit it.

daryl finally pulled his arm away and raised an eyebrow at you, his hair a wild mess. “what?”

you smirked, brushing a hand over his chest. “took you long enough.”

his cheeks flushed slightly, something that made your heart skip every time. even though daryl dixon was tough as nails, around you, he had always been softer. “i didn’t—“ he started to protest, but you leaned in closer, cutting him off with a kiss. it was soft and lingering, enough to make him forget whatever he was going to say.

pulling back, you gave him a teasing grin. “don’t worry. it was worth the wait.” your hand gave him a soft pat on the chest.

daryl huffed, a small smile creeping into his face. “yeah, well, next time we make sure merle ain’t around, aight?”

you laughed softly. "deal."

outside, you could hear merle hollering something to the neighbours, but you didn’t care. in this moment, it was just you and daryl, finally where you both wanted to be.

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valerie-is-in-the-cupboard · 4 hours

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The ABCs of Alastor - Dirty Secret

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

MATURE CONTENT AHEAD! MINORS DNI!

Words: ~1600 TW: oral (female receiving) while on period

"Why are you avoiding me?"

It was a simple question. One simple question, yet the way he looked at you gave away the fact that this was far from the truth.

Alastor never seemed to be so good at comforting people, but with you at least he tried. He'd spend hours with you whenever you were sad, giving you his wise advice that most of the time implied killing someone. He'd bring you different gifts whenever you said you were interested in something. And you damn well knew he would murder someone who dared to do you wrong.

So it was kind of hard to understand why he avoided you so much every time you were on your period. Every time you needed him by your side, he'd disappear without a trace. You'd cry for days from how crazy your hormones were acting and how bad your cramps were and he would be nowhere to be seen. Why?

You thought that maybe it had something to do with his human life. Perhaps he was repulsed by the whole idea, but it was kind of hard to believe that someone like him would get so easily scared by something so simple.

Alastor avoided your gaze and looked elsewhere, he shifted from standing still to leaning against the wall with one hand still placed behind his back. You could tell something clearly bothered him, but it was hard to understand what. "I'm not avoiding you, my dear."

"Then why do you always disappear when I'm on my period?" You saw his smile faintly twitching, his ears pressed back on his head. "Are... Are you disgusted by me?" you asked, suddenly feeling a bit emotional at the thought that it would affect him this much.

"No! Of course not!" He said in a somewhat surprised tone, clearly shocked by the question and immediately approaching you. He stands in front of you, towering over you in height. He was still unable to look into your eyes directly as if there was something else bothering him. "It's just..."

"What?"

"Blood," he said bluntly, his tone so low that you could only guess that's what he said.

"It's... what?"

Alastor sighed, looking down at the floor as he did so. He was struggling to explain himself and his facial expression gave it away. He was ashamed, and his pride was slowly shattering at how weak he felt. "It's your blood, my dear... It makes me feel..." he was tapping on his cane, a dark blush spreading on his face. The sight of him all flustered made your heart tingle, but you kept it to yourself, knowing he wouldn't talk to you for days if you said something that you shouldn't.

"... horny?" you asked, not really finding a better explanation for his embarrassment.

Alastor's face went beet red at your question, as he slowly raised his head to look at you, a bit taken aback by your bluntness "I- What- ...That is-" He stuttered, speechless for a few seconds until he finally mumbled out something. "That's one way to put it I suppose, my dear."

You let out an audible 'Oh.' as you made the connections in your head. It made sense considering his preferences, but you never imagined it could have such an impact on him.

"Why didn't you say anything?" you asked.

Alastor still tried his best to avoid your gaze, now placing a hand over at least half his face to try and hide his expression. He was too embarrassed to speak, and he was silently scolding himself for acting like a fool who didn't know how to talk to a woman properly. "I..." he began but then gave up trying to explain himself. How was he supposed to tell you that he'd eat you up like a starved man whenever you got your period? How was he supposed to say to you he's so weak he can't even control his urges over a normal, biological process?

"You know..." you started, making him look at you, your face blushing softly as this new idea popped into your head. "I think we can... solve this... somehow..."

"Fuck! Fuck, Alastor - Ahh~"

His tongue was driving you crazy, as his claws dug into your things, making sure you keep your legs open for him. Alastor was completely lost in the moment, his mind consumed by the intoxicating taste of you and the animalistic urge to lick every drop of blood, his senses heightened and all control slipping away. He can't think straight, can't even form a coherent thought, overwhelmed by the need to have you completely.

The sloppy sounds of him eating you up so eagerly echoed in the room, as your grip on his antlers tightened, a low growl vibrating through your body. His usual collected demeanour was long gone as his tongue pumped in and out of you, sucking and kissing your clit, desperate to consume you entirely.

His mind was a chaotic, primal whirlwind of raw need, every sense and thought completely consumed by the overwhelming hunger for you. He couldn't hold back even if he tried; every movement, every sound he made was fueled by an uncontrollable animalistic desire. He was practically snarling against you, his growls a stark contrast to the usual suave tone of his voice.

Your heart skipped a bit as his form grew in size, his radio-dial eyes looking at you, a hint of madness in them. His long tongue delved deeper and deeper, exploring every part of you. The suction and rhythmic movement made your head spin, and the sight of his now monstrous form between your legs was almost too much to handle.

"You have no idea how torturous it was for me, my dear..." you heard him say, the static in his voice almost deafening. "Smelling all this blood without being able to taste..." Long fingers entered you roughly, moving at a fast pace as a thin coat of red liquid covered them.

"Ahh~ Shit, Alastor! I'm gonna... Ahhh~"

His pace quickened as he sucked on your clit, the room spinning as your body aggressively trembled against his mouth. The sudden burst of pleasure almost made you cry, as your walls clenched tightly around his fingers.

The thin line between pain and pleasure threatened to be crossed as he fingerfucked you through your orgasm. The lights in the room flickered as his gaze never left yours for a moment. You shivered slightly, feeling as if you were about to be literally eaten alive by him.

His sharp teeth were full of blood, but you knew he craved more. He always told you how addicted he was to you, how much he needed to just have you completely. And he was going to.

His fingers were quickly replaced again by his tongue, the familiar feeling inside of you rapidly building up again.

"Alastor! Ah~ I can't!" you begged, feeling as if you were about to pass out any moment now, a low growl vibrating against your aching core. If you were being completely honest, you weren't even sure if he heard you. You squirmed against his grasp, only for his claws to dig deeper into the soft skin of your things, making sure you were not moving until he was satisfied.

Your knuckles were white because of how hard you were gripping the bedsheet that was now probably drenched in your blood. Alastor is in the thralls of primal ecstasy, his whole being hyper-focused on consuming you, giving into the animalistic needs that have taken over his mind entirely. The taste of you on his tongue, the sight of you writhing desperately beneath him, are driving him wilder and wilder, his self-control completely shattered.

You scream his name as you orgasm once again and you could swear you almost fainted when you reached the peak, even the feeling of his tongue sliding out of you becoming a torture.

Your vision was blurry as your body relaxed, the sudden feeling of his hand on your stomach, slowly caressing it, making you shiver. You turned to face him, and his appearance returned back to normal as blood was scattered all over his face.

He is panting heavily, the intense primal need somewhat sated for now, replaced by the more familiar persona of the charming radio demon. His touch on your aching skin was a stark contrast to the wildness he'd just displayed. His gaze, although calmer than before, still held a hint of raw hunger. He looked down at you with a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion.

"Are you alright, love?"

The way he used that word always made your heart skip a beat, especially now when you saw him so hungry... only for you. You just nodded, not a single word being able to make it out of you. He let go of a deep chuckle, the sound reverberating through you, as he enjoyed the effect he had on you.

Alastor moved closer to you, his frame enveloping your smaller figure protectively. He gently wiped some sweat from your forehead, brushing away a few strands of hair too. He was being affectionate and caring, his usual composed demeanour returning, though you were sure it was not gonna last long.

"You're quite a mess, aren't you, darling?" he teased with a smirk, his voice low and sultry. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before he got up, making his way to the bathroom to prepare you a warm bath.

So, no, Alastor may never have been good at comforting people the way others were, but with you, he always found a way. Even if his methods were… unconventional, they were his way of showing you just how deeply he cared.

And in the end, you were left to wonder—how many other secrets did he keep even from you? Secret passions, secret dreams... maybe even secrets dirtier than this one. You lay there, smiling to yourself, eager to uncover the rest of his secrets—one by one.

Tags: @ratsematary @littlebluefishtail @xalygatorx @martinys-world

@alastorthirsty @diffidentphantom @itsaubreyofcc @n0tmentallystable

@lettuce-frog16 @eris-norwega @readergirlstuff

@vxllys @xghostnuggsx @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog

@l3rittany @ustulia @catticora

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saffusthings · 20 hours

Text

Baby I Can Feel Your Halo

oscar piastri x personal assistant! reader

summary: the one where the world gets to become familiar with a new name: Y/N L/N. word count: 8.4k warnings: awkwardness, my attempt and poetic writing, poor understanding of how film and media works, Lando as a bit of a side character, poorly edited writing a/n: i can't tell whether this is half decent or nonsensical. inspired by That Viral Interview. i have a soft spot for this part of the story, so i hope you guys are able to like it too.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

She’s going to kill him.

Clicking her phone on to check the time for the umpteenth time as if it will make this stupid elevator go any faster, she lets out a huff. The tapping of her shoe acts as a placebo, perhaps. Or maybe this elevator is actually getting slower-

When the metal gates finally part, she bolts. As gracefully as one can, she awkwardly half-run, half power walks past the hall of doors until she reaches Room 307.

She doesn’t even pretend to knock. Glancing at her phone one more time - 27 calls - she slips a plastic card from the lanyard around her neck. When it beeps, flashing green, the door opens with a click, allowing her to storm in.

To her credit, she at least waits for the door to close before she yells.

“Oscar Jack Piastri!”

Oscar wakes to a fire. Or at least that’s what he has to assume is happening, considering someone is screaming his name at full volume. Eyelids barely open, he immediately sits up in bed. “M’awake! Jesus, give me a second,” he mumbles, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Tossing him his pants that had been hanging in his closet, she goes around, picking up any stray items. “Put some pants on,” she grumbles. “C’mon get up, we’re already-”

“-running late,” he says defeatedly, eyes landing on the bedside alarm clock.

When he finally steps out of the bathroom, his brows are scrunched in confusion. She’s typing something on her phone, and definitely not trying not to look at him.

It’s been over a week since their almost-kiss in her office. She’s no rookie, she’s been more than professional since, knowing she can’t risk this. But a small part of her can’t help but think of how close his lips had been to her anytime she’s standing close enough to smell his familiar cologne.

She’s interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of Oscar’s voice, her thumb still hovering over her phone from her long forgotten text.

Trying to get the swoop of his hair to land in some sane looking way, he gestures to the pine green spread out for him on the bed, the one she insisted he wear. “You sure about this?”

He watches her as she knits her eyebrows together as she gives him the once over. “Yes. You look good in green,” she explains, still entirely absorbed in sending an e-mail to their media liaison.

It’s only once he’s finally dressed that she gets up and gives him a look over. Her lips purse before she motions for him to stand closer. “C’mere.”

She aligns the seams that are supposed to trace along his shoulder, before using her hands to smooth out any wrinkles in the soft fabric. She stands back for a moment, before coming closer again, and pulling his sleeves up just a bit in a way that exposes some of his forearm. Assessing it one more, and seeming content with how it looks, before doing the same to his other sleeve.

Entirely unaware of the chaos his cardiovascular system seems to be undergoing, she gives him one last look over, and wipes a bit of excess moisturizer that had been left on his nose.

“There we go,” she says with a small smile.

Grabbing her things, she stands at the door before looking back for him. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, patting his pockets and searching the hastily made bed. “Just…”

“Good to go,” he announces, swiping his phone off the bedside table, and tucking into his pocket before following her into the hall. “Where are we headed?”

“They’ve set up in one of the conference rooms near the swimming pool” she says from over her shoulder as they make their way down. “It’s some Australian channel looking to do a segment on their hometown hero, so it should be a safe set. Of course, if they veer off course, let me know and I’ll take care of it. ”

“Will you be there? Or are you headed back to the office?” Oscar asks. His tone makes it difficult to differentiate whether he's nervous, wary, or doesn’t want her to be there, but he hopes she understands anyway.

“Yep,” she replies, smiling. Oscar wonders why his chest feels warm.

“That’s my job, remember?”

When he gets to hair and make-up, he can’t help but feel more than a little lost. Not because of the makeup, certainly - god knows Hattie has tested more than enough ‘smokey eyes’ on him - but rather because when he sits in the chair, the woman immediately asks what kind of look he wants to go for.

Huh?

He looks over to Y/N with desperate eyes.

Help me, please.

She’s quick to walk over and greet Lindsay, his stylist for today, with a warm smile. Once she’s sure that the stylist is okay with taking recommendations, the rest of it comes easily.

“We’ll wanna do some powder to counter the glare from the studio lights,’ she suggests, glancing at the woman for approval. Tilting Oscar’s face, the two women survey him analytically.

“It’s up to you if you want to add a little warmth, but no blush or color corrector or anything like that. And then his hair looks good like this, so we don’t need to do anything there. How does that sound?”

The elder woman nods in agreement before pointing at different parts of Oscar’s face and mumbling somethings to Y/N who nods along thoughtfully.

Finally, he’s left at the mercy of his stylist, as Y/N walks away.

Once the mic checks are complete and the people behind the large lights give the go ahead, one of the employees counts off the seconds before the cameras start recording.

Oscar spends those seconds looking over to wherever she is. She’s stood by one of the people carrying a large white panel, watching on to make sure everything runs smoothly. They’ve done this dance probably dozens of times, but the buzzing lessens once he assures himself that she’s still in the vicinity.

He watches her nod, giving him a reassuring smile, and then, Oscar is ready.

“And cameras are rolling 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.”

“We’re here now with Oscar Piastri,” the host says with a warm smile, “now in his second year of representing Australia in the highest level of motorsport - Formula One. Thank you so much for joining us, Oscar.”

“Of course, thank you for having me,” Oscar smiles, that polite cat smile that’s become associated with his name. “Just Oscar, is usually fine though,” he jokes, never one to feel too comfortable with high praise. The host laughs good naturedly, “Oh, the boy’s got jokes now, does he?“ Oscar seems to glow in the spotlight. Something about him, even in front of the cameras, seems to radiate comfort, familiarity. Even on TV, even with his rising stardom, his laidback posture and the crinkle around his eyes when he smiles suggests that he could be the boy next door, that he could be your boy next door. The cameras are not the only thing focused on him. “So Oscar, not sure if you remember, but you did a sit-down with us last year as well.” “Of course. I don’t forget that easily, Mick,” the driver replies easily. “I’m not that old.” “No, no, in fact, you’re quite young aren’t you? Only 23 and already in your second year of Formula 1.” “Yeah, feels a bit strange when you say it like that,” Oscar chuckles, “but yeah. It’s been a bit of a wild ride.” Mickie smiles. “One year closer to retirement, I imagine?”

“God no,” Oscar scoffs, shifting in his seat to get a bit more comfortable. He looks more relaxed this way, more open. “I’m not leaving without a championship, so you’ll be seeing me around for a while. Sorry to disappoint.” Laughing good naturedly, the older man shakes his head. “Far from it. You’re a hometown hero. You’ve got everyone here rooting for you,” he tells him, gesturing to the crew around them.” Smiling gratefully, Oscar nods. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty lucky with all the support. That always makes a difference.” “I’m sure it does. Who would you say are your biggest supporters?” “My parents, for sure. I’m sure there’s a clip of my mom talking about my… let's call them oddities, as a child,” Oscar laughs, referring to his habit of make-believing as a car around the house, or how he wanted car magazines read to him instead of bedtime stories. “If they hadn’t put up with me through that, there’s no way I’d be here now.” It’s clear as day that beneath the thin film of humor, there’s a chasm of sincerity. He really does love his family - always making time to call them during long trips away or even just because. Working on media with Oscar is (usually) pleasant for that same reason - you don’t have to give him PR-written responses or pre-plan his anecdotes to make the audience fall in love with him. He tells the truth, and they can’t help but fall in love all on their own. “I’ve also got other supporters too. Silent supporters, I guess you could call them, since you all don’t see their faces as much. But my sisters, my team, Y/N, the fans - they are the reasons I get to live my dream everyday.” Mickie nods in acknowledgement. “Of course. Though I see we’re name dropping now,” he teases. Oscar looks up at him, mild panic hidden behind his eyes. He’s only just about to adjust his cap - a predetermined signal to Y/N that he needs her to intervene somehow - when Mickie interrupts his train of thought. “You mentioned Y/N as one of your supporters. Could you tell us a bit more about that?” When Oscar looks at the man with the salt and pepper hair, he doesn’t see the usual malice or hunger that many reporters would have if they had been in the same position. Mickie has been good to him and his team in the past - not coming off as a dog with a bone, but instead as an easy conversationalist who happens to be genuinely curious about Oscar and his life. The young driver recovers easily from his momentary scare. “Oh, yeah. Y/N’s definitely one of my greatest supports. I’d tell you all that she works for me, but I think she might poison my coffee if I did that.” The two share a laugh, easing Oscar’s nerves a little. He subtly adjusts his watch instead.

It’s alright, I got it.

From behind the cameras, Y/N takes a small breath of relief. Though she’s pleased the conversation didn’t take a turn for the rumor mill, she’ll still be a little on edge anytime her driver is in the media’s playpen.

“Alright then. Without risking your coffee, what can you tell us then? That’s not a name we’ve heard too often around the paddock.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s a shame too - she’s supposed to be my assistant, but with how much she’s involved in everything, we might have to come up with a better title for her,” Oscar smiles easily. Mickie gives him a smile, straightening his notecards into a neat stack. “Is that so? Must be high praise, coming from a big-shot like yourself.” The air is pleasant, the conversation flowing naturally. Even as an observer, the scene could almost be mistaken for a casual chat in a living room somewhere. Oscar shakes his head. “Not enough, actually. When I say I wouldn’t be here without her, I mean it literally. If she hadn’t come to my rescue this morning, I’d probably still be in bed!” Mick leans over, laughing. “Glad to see how much you value our time here together, Oscar!” “Even if I did, I value my sleep more,” Oscar deadpans, a sly smile on his face. “I don’t envy her job, not in the slightest.” “Fair enough, fair enough.” The conversation makes its own way from there - Oscar’s goals for this year, what people can expect from the team this season, how the new car has been.

“So what I’m hearing is that we have a promising season ahead?”

“I mean, every season looks promising at the start really, but yeah, I have a good feeling about this one. Cautiously optimistic, we’ll call it.” “Well I’m sure I’m not the only one when I say that I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us this season, Oscar.” “Wow, no pressure there. Thanks, though.”

The two share a laugh. It’s getting closer to the end of the segment, but with some time remaining. Mickie decides to take the conversation in a different direction. “Now that we’re done with all the shop talk.” he starts. “I was wondering if you could tell us what Formula 1 has been like for you personally. Last time around, during your rookie season, you mentioned that the intensity of the training and the magnitude of the races were some of the things that took some getting used to. Would you say the same is true now, or have you gotten used to it?” Oscar nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, I mean, your rookie season is always an adjustment. It took me some time to get used to that stuff, and I’d say I’m better at it now,” he answers honestly. “But that doesn't mean there aren’t still things I’m learning to get used to.” “What kind of things?” “As you can probably tell, the time zones are one thing,” he laughs, animatedly gesturing to where his eye bags would be. For a second, there’s silence as he’s given a moment to think, before he finally speaks again. “I’d say the people, too.”

“The drivers, the teams, or the fans?” Mick asks curiously. “The fans are pretty great,” he tells him. “But I think I meant like the drivers and their teams?” Oscar tries to explain. “Like, you have to understand that there’s so many people in this complex machine that is Formula 1. And every single person that’s there, is because they’ve got this insane drive to win - that includes the drivers, of course, but the engineers, and the strategists, and the trainers too.”

“Tell me a bit more about that.”

“I mean, like, even in Formula 2, with Prema, there was a certain level of friendship and camaraderie that gets overshadowed in Formula 1, because of just how competitive everything is,” he explains, gesturing with his hands. “It’s crazy how the drivers flip a switch for lights out or the chequered flag, because that’s what comes with competing at the highest level.”

The host nods, making an effort to understand.

“Would you say it strains relationships then? This sort of… dual personality that you and the other drivers have to have?”

“Honestly. To some degree, I imagine it has to. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly with one another.”

“You’d mentioned earlier this year, in an interview with your company Quadlock, actually, where they asked you if you had any mates on the grid, and you replied with…” Oscar chuckles shyly, recalling the moment. “No friends, only enemies,” he quotes himself. “Exactly,” the older man chuckles. “Would you say the same is true for you now?” “The honest answer would be yes and no.” The man sitting across from Oscar raises an eyebrow at this, intrigued. “When you live in that bubble with people that are, at their core, just as competitive as you are..” he trails off, contemplating how to phrase it. “Let’s just say it has an interesting way of showing you who your friends and your enemies are.”

“And has it?” Mick asks genuinely. “Shown you your friends, I mean?” Oscar takes a breath before replying. “I mean, of course. There’s Lando, y’know - as my teammate, he’s always my greatest competitor but also the only one who can kind of understand where I’m coming from. Logan, also - you know we grew up through the lower Formulas together. He and I have been teammates in the past too, so it’s nice to have an old friend on the grid. Y/N too, y’know - we’re pretty close in age, and she’s really been there for the highs and the lows.”

“We’ve seen you interact with Logan and with Lando, but what would you say your friendship with Y/N is like?”

“I mean, we work together, so a lot of it comes from that,” he shrugs, not wanting to slip up and say the wrong thing. He signed up for the spotlight, but putting his assistant, his friend there without discussing it with her would be unfair.

“We work in tandem, you see - she takes care of everything outside the car, while I take care of everything in it.”

The interviewer hums thoughtfully. “That sounds like a dynamic that requires a lot of trust, I’d say.”

“Maybe, but she hasn’t let me down even once in two years.” For a moment, for a fraction of a second it feels like Oscar’s eyes glance in the direction of where she’s standing with the tech crew, but it must be a trick of her imagination. They’re standing in the shadows, and it’d be a stretch for her to think that he could even see her in the first place. “Not even once.”

“Would you say your friendship complicates this dynamic, or simplifies it?”

“Helps, definitely. Easier to get out of media duties that way,” Oscar jokes. Mickie laughs easily at that, before focusing on the subject once again.

“Really? You two don’t face any challenges with that? I’d imagine with the other drivers that that boundary is a bit more clear, what with them being your competitors and all.” Oscar lips press together, his tongue subtly running over his lower lip to soothe the pressure. “I think maybe if it were someone else, then it would be. But not with her.“

Looking over to the armchair, he can see that the other man looks surprised.

“You seem quite confident in saying that.”

“I am,” he says bluntly. Why wouldn’t he be?

“And what inspires that confidence?”

“Just who she is, really, “ Oscar answers with a shrug. On the other side of the room, Y/N waits for a signal that never comes.

What the hell is he doing?

This was most definitely not one of the agreed topics for tonight’s show.

“How do you mean?” Mickie can’t help but inquire.

“I mean the obvious thing to say here would be to say that we’re close in age,” Oscar starts, gesturing. “But it really is more than that. I’m lucky to work with an immensely talented team, especially with all the fresh talent McLaren’s brought on board this year.”

“Of course.”

“But as for her in particular…” The blonde seems to think for a minute. “I think, that in order for someone to understand how we work, they’d have to understand how she works,” he muses.

“And how’s that?”

“She’s like the light you need in order to see. With her perspective, her input, the fundamental way in which she operates - things make sense. She makes things make sense, really - whether that’s logistically, or with the car, and especially with me.”

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can even know what he’s thinking. The tricky thing about this cozy lounge setup that he’s seated in is that, from her, it looks nothing like the studios and press conferences and media pens that they’re used to. Here, there are no clambering reporters, no flashing cameras, no microphones shoved in his face.

It’s easier to forget that the world is watching.

“It’s a bit unfortunate that the fans watching this don’t get to see her as we do,” he says with a serious expression. “Because it’s hard to describe her personality, or even just her role if you haven’t existed in her orbit. There’s this… this spark that ignites with everything she interacts with.”

Oscar finds himself thinking of everything that happened on the road so far, every step that led them here. All he knows for certain is that his confidence is not unfounded. Sure, things were… less than ideal at the moment, but they’d go back to normal. He knew they would, he was sure of it.

Not so much because Oscar had a plan, but rather because he didn’t know what to do if they didn’t. They’d figure it out - that was their thing, after all.

He’s disturbed from his thoughts by the voice of another.

“A spark?” the older man prompts with a smile.

It’s almost frustrating when the words don’t come fast enough to keep up with his mind.

“When you’re expected to function at the highest levels, there’s a lot of moving parts underneath the shiny cover that no one really tells you about. Y/N has this intuitive sense and this unlearnable skill to take apart the most challenging complexities and put them back together into something wonderful.”

The studio falls silent.

“She sounds lucky,” Mick offers sincerely.

Oscar laughs dryly. “The way I see it, I’m the lucky one. McLaren certainly is.”

Mickie’s expression is open, leaving the silence available for him to fill.

Oscar, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how they ended up here. Talking about Y/N wasn’t a preplanned part of the segment, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s surprisingly nice to talk about something besides how hot it is in the car or the rabbit food athletes have to eat or his opinions on the championship standings.

And it probably doesn’t hurt that talking about her is really quite easy.

“It’s an incredible gift to meet someone who complements each of your strengths and your weaknesses completely. And if that person happens to be someone who can somehow challenge you and support you simultaneously, then there’s nothing more that I need.”

The boom mic edges closer to the stage setup, careful not to enter the cameras’ parameters of visibility. There’s a shift in tone that’s apparent, something curious and authentic that seems to wash across the studio and everyone in it.

“Will we be seeing this dynamic duo in action anytime soon then?” the interviewer asks, charismatically guiding the conversation towards its conclusion.

“I sure hope so. Maybe you guys can finally convince her to do some of those McLaren challenges with us,” Oscar smiles widely, that dorky, lopsided smile of his. “Trust me, I tried, but somehow she won’t let me drive her around for a Hot Lap. Wonder why that is,” he shrugs, before both men share a laugh.

A hand in the dark silently signals for them to wrap up, indicating that the segment must come to an end.

“Well then, Oscar I see we’re being told to wrap,” he smiles, glancing over in the direction of the crew. Both men begin to go to stand up, extending their arms for a friendly handshake.

“Thank you so much for joining us once again. As always, it was a pleasure, and I know I speak for everyone here at Down Under Daily when I say that we can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you.”

Oscar nods, smiling, giving the man a firm handshake. “Thank you.”

Once the segment wraps up and the overhead lights come back on, the studio buzzes with the hum of activity. Uniformed crew members unpack and disassemble various machines and setups, beginning to clear out the studio. Oscar glances around, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Y/N, who stands a few feet away, chatting with one of the technicians. Her laughter cuts through the noise, bright and genuine, making something warm unfurl in his chest.

“Hey,” he calls out, a casual attempt to draw her attention. When she turns, their eyes lock, and for a moment, the world around them blurs. There’s something in her expression that sends a jolt through him, a flicker of recognition and a hint of something deeper.

“Hey,” she replies, her smile easy but layered, like they’re sharing some inside joke that only they understand. He shifts slightly, suddenly a bit squirmish under her undivided attention.

Not that he gets squirmish, of course. Oscar is the picture of cool and collected.

As her eyes scan him, she notes the slight flush of his skin, the way the muscles of his face are tense ever so slightly. It’s honestly a bit refreshing to see someone who isn’t always unfazed by it all, she thinks. She does her best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“That went well,” she comments, her voice carrying a lightness that contrasts with the tension simmering beneath the surface. It’s the kind of praise that makes him feel seen, but also a bit exposed.

“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you,” he responds, his tone sincere. Oscar isn’t one of those fools who thinks the whole orchestra runs around him. Even if it did, his mother didn’t raise him to be any bit unappreciative to everyone who works behind the scenes for his successes. He knows she’s more than just an assistant; she’s the one who keeps everything in motion, the anchor in the chaos.

Her gaze lingers on him, and for a moment, the air between them thickens. He’s acutely aware of the distance that’s very much there, yet it feels charged, like static before a storm. “I just do what I can,” she says softly, brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear—an action so simple, yet watching it feels intimate.

Oscar looks away.

The moment stretches, and he senses a shift, a palpable tension that neither of them is ready to address. Memories of their almost-kiss hang between them, unacknowledged yet ever-present. He wonders if she feels it too, this strange blend of familiarity and hesitation.

The silence is uncomfortable in a familiar way, like the awkward pause that occurs when you can’t decide who should speak first. Oscar even opens his mouth to try to say something - though he’s not sure what - Y/N beats him to it.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, her tone casual, but he detects a deeper curiosity behind her question.

“I guess just… figuring things out,” he replies, glancing down for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. There’s moments in the midst of the whirlwind of fame and fortune where it all truly feels surreal. Young Oscar always aspired to go fast, to push himself to the limit, to win, but this?

The spotlight, the admiration , the respect, the expectations? It was almost overwhelming, a heavy medal hanging around his neck that he’s still not used to wearing. Especially with the number of people that work day and night to give him a fighting chance at making his childhood dreams into reality, there’s no greater expectation than the one Oscar places on himself.

“Trying to get it right still, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding, her eyes searching his. There’s an intensity in her gaze that makes his heart race, as if she’s peering into the part of him he keeps to himself. Briefly, he wonders if she can read his thoughts sometimes.

Like on one of those teleprompters they use for broadcasts and award shows.

He wants to say more, to delve into this strange thing swirling between them, but the words feel stuck, caught in a web. The awkwardness between them might as well be a loose screw in his car - keeping him at the edge of his seat as he navigates the clunkiness that replaces the flow he’s used to. “I keep waiting to get used to it, but it never seems to happen,” he says finally, hoping to keep the conversation light.

“True,” she agrees, her smile faint but genuine. “But you manage.”

“Most of the time,” he admits, letting out a soft laugh that feels half-hearted, both playful and tinged with something meaningful. Oscar may have grown into this suave, clever, mature personality that he’s recognized for, but there are times when he still feels like the lanky teen with the acne and the too-short hair that climbed into a Formula car that very first time.

As the crew clears the set, Y/N steps back, her focus shifting to the flurry of activity around them. Oscar feels the space between them widen, the moment suddenly dissipating like a whisk of smoke. He wants to reach out, to anchor her back to him, but the tide of reality keeps them away.

“Ready to head out?” she asks, her voice interrupting the stream 0f his personal thoughts.

“Yeah,” he replies, an uncharacteristic hesitation slipping into his tone. He can feel the warmth radiating off her, and the longing rises within him, a familiar ache that refuses to fade. He elects to ignore it, in favor of using long strides to catch up with her quick ones to follow her out into the hall.

Oscar steals a glance at Y/N, her profile illuminated by the fluorescent lights, and he wonders what it would be like to bridge that gap. He recalls what it had been like the last time he'd been in such proximity to her - felt the warmth of body, the coolness of her breath, the ghost of her lips. For now, though, he settles into the silence, allowing the moment to hang between them.

Y/N leans against the small counter in her hotel room, the yellow light from the lamp seeming to warm the place. She stares at her phone, buzzing with a handful of messages, but her mind is tangled in thoughts of today’s interview. Hearing him casually mention her, smiling as he spoke, had left her feeling a mix of pride and confusion.

As she pours herself a cup of hot tea, she replays the almost-kiss in her mind - the way his breath had caught for just a moment. It felt like a line had been crossed, but they hadn’t addressed it. It hung in the air between them like an uninvited guest, and the last thing she wanted was to ruin the good thing they had.

Her phone buzzes again, the sixth time in the last half hour. This time, however, the contact name reads: Oscar. “How’s your evening?”

“Trying to figure out the chaos that is my notes,” she replies, glancing down at loose pages, and spiral books that are splattered across the coffee table.

“You always have chaos in your notes. It’s part of your charm.” His teases, knowing full well that no matter how chaotic her notes were, they were somehow still always loads better than his hurried scrawl.

The tone of the conversation feels light, teasing, friendly - but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t feel like something more—an unspoken understanding that neither of them wants to acknowledge.

“Charm, huh? I prefer to think of it as organized chaos.” She takes a sip of the warm herbal tea, now having cooled down to the temperature of her liking. It’s grounding these little rituals - which reminds her that she still needs to change out of her work clothes, maybe shower and do some skincare…

“Sure, if that makes you feel better,” he replies easily. Even just reading the words, she can practically hear the laughter in his voice.

A moment later, he decides to add, “I was just about to put something on the TV. You in?”

In a hotel room just a ways down the hall, Oscar’s heart rate increases. What the hell are you doing? He chides himself. He feels stupid - things were already weird, and now he probably just made them even weirder.

Relax, he has to tell himself. This isn’t new - in fact, this is normal. Like before - friends, just relaxing together after a long day of work. Airplane games of monopoly, friday happy hours, movie nights - all of this was perfectly normal. Right?

Thumbs still hovering over her keyboard, she hesitates. The idea of sitting together, sharing popcorn and laughter, sounded nice, but there was the lingering possibility that things would be strange instead.

Instead she types out, “Maybe. What are you watching?”

She could use a night off, after all.

“Something mindless, one of those cable shows they have on this thing. You know, to balance all the brainpower we exert during the week.”

She had to admit, he did make it sound inviting.

“Mindless does sound good. I’ll join you.”Oscar props himself up a bit better, leaning back on his elbow. The smile on his face is lit up by the blue light of his phone screen as he reads her reply. Forcing himself out of the unexpectedly comfortable position he’d evolved into, he gets up, phone in hand, before starting to work to make his hotel room look a tad more presentable.

He was not having a repeat of this morning.

He types out a reply. “Great. I’ll set it up.”

There is a brief pause, and he wonders if he should clear the air, just in case. He really does just want to have a relaxing evening with her - it had been a long time since they last had the chance. Conjuring up some courage, he types out another message to her. “So, about the interview…”

Reading that, Y/N’s heart races. She didn’t want to overanalyze his words, but it was impossible not to. She decides to go for the safe answer. “You did well. Really.” So maybe he was just overthinking it. The praise lifts some of the weight off his chest.

“Thanks. Felt good to share some insights. And the part about you… well, it was true.”

Had he really meant all of it?

There’s a fluttering sensation in her stomach. “Just doing my job.”

“No, really. It means a lot to me. You’ve been here through so much of it.”

The sincerity of his words has her forgetting this tension for a moment, allowing it to slip into the back of her mind. They had a rhythm, a friendship built on shared experiences, but now it felt precarious.

“I just want you to succeed, Oscar,” she tells him, words honest. “That’s all.”

“And you’re doing your part brilliantly. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. He’s said those same words a thousand times before, but for some reason, this one makes her heart skip. She shifts her weight, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.

“So, movie?” she suggested, wanting to steer the conversation away before she can get too caught up in her own messy thoughts..

“Right. I’ll get it ready.”

Rustling the duvet to make it appear slightly less misshapen. One of his hands seeks the remote to see what’s on at this time, and tries to pick the most tolerable option. Happy with his choice, he stalk over to the other side of his room, the show in the background acting as welcome background noise.

He then pulls out two packets of microwaveable popcorn from the welcome basket that had greeted him when he checked into the room, popping each of them into the microwave so the snack would be warm by the time she arrived.

Y/N stands outside the door to Oscar’s hotel room, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. Sure, she could use her emergency key card, but she decides that knocking feels less criminal. She knocks, and immediately the door creaks back to reveal his familiar face. His hair is mussed up, loose locks flopping to one side or the other. Her eyes are fogging with sleep, but the smile he wears is warm and sweet.

“Hey! Look who made it,” Oscar teases, stepping aside to let her in.

“Thought I’d save you from another night of mediocre cable,” she replied, a playful smile on her lips.

She hopes it comes less nervous than she feels.

“Trust me, you’re in for a treat. It’s ‘Chef’s Disaster’ tonight. Guaranteed chaos,” he says, leading her to the couch.

When she glances at the television that’s playing, she finds scenes of various chefs - forgetting ingredients, leaving the stove on too high, accidentally dropping their dishes.

“Ah, the best kind of TV,” she laughs, settling in beside him. The pair of them end up on opposite sides of a generously-sized, two-seater couch. Her mind begins to whir, trying to figure out if she’s sitting too far, if it’s too late to scoot a bit closer, would that make things weirder? But when she looks over to Oscar, his relaxed figure sprawled across his side of the couch, the knot in her chest loosens a little. She allows herself to get more comfortable, curling up on her seat. Finally breathing a little bit easier, she allows herself to lean back against the cushioning.

The show flickers on, and they immediately fall into a comfortable rhythm. Y/N reaches for the bowl of popcorn he’d prepared, gathering a handful of pieces to then to slip into her mouth.

They watch as the chefs try to organize their chaos into something presentable, laughing as they watch one of the younger contestants put an unseasoned chicken into the oven.

What happened to salt? Pepper? Common sense?

In the darkness of the room, their faces are lit up only by the glow of the changing scenes flickering across the TV screen. With a subtly yawn, Oscar stretches his arms, before one coincidently drapes itself across the back of the couch, right behind Y/N’s shoulders. He can feel how her hair tickles the skin of his forearm, but it only makes him smile. He’d missed this - time together, the two of them. Life had a funny way of making people feel so close and so far all at once.

When she can’t help but giggle at someone who’d forgotten to put the lid on their blending before powering it on, Oscar can’t help but look at her.

Even at this awkward distance, even with her too far to touch - he feels lucky. He’d be happy to stay like this - to only hear her laugh instead of causing it, to watch her smile from the sidelines - just to get to be in her orbit at all.

He wonders if the world might stop spinning on its axis if that wasn’t the case.

His certainly would.

“Okay, chef,” Oscar said, nudging her. “What’s your go-to dish?”

Turning to glance at him, she can’t help but smile. Oscar’s smile is contagious like that, she supposes.

She hums, thinking over his question for a moment.

“Honestly? I make a pretty decent chicken alfredo. You’d be impressed,” she replied, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Pasta, huh? Fancy,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at her. His heart does a strange fluttery thing when she laughs. “The only thing I can make reliably is scrambled eggs,” he admits, chuckling.

“Hey, scrambled eggs are a classic! Hell, all the eggs I make end up scrambled. But you should branch out,” Y/N says with mock seriousness, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you cooking lessons sometime.”

“Deal,” he says, his tone shifting slightly. Raising his hands defensively, he adds, “But no promises on the outcome.”

As they watch the chefs struggle with absurd challenges, the initial awkwardness begins to fade. They exchange jokes about the contestants, their laughter echoing off the walls. They laugh until their stomachs hurt, adding in their own commentary until there are tears in their eyes and their cheeks hurt from laughing. “I actually hate you,” she wheezes, throwing her couch cushion at him. “My nonexistent abs hurt, you asshole. Can’t you be a little more considerate?”

He catches her projectile weapon with an exaggerated ‘oof’, defending himself. “I was just providing valuable insights, really.”

The silence that settles thereafter as they try to catch their breaths is comfortable in the way that graceful snowfall is - familiar and calming, peaceful.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever cooked?” he asks, turning to her.

Y/N has to hold back a giggle, recalling a memory. She can’t remember how long its been since she was able to let loose like this. “I once tried to make soufflé. I think by the time I was done with it, it fell under the legal definition of what the pros call, ‘hazardous materials.’”

Oscar bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s a tragedy! You should’ve brought it here as a surprise.”

“I’m sure. Next time, I’ll bring my ‘signature’ dish,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

Tilting her head back, she lets her eyes slip closed for a second just basking in whatever this is. It’s difficult to think of the right word for it, but quite frankly, she doesn’t care. She just wants to bottle it up and keep it with her forever. Just as they start to find that comfortable groove, a sharp knock interrupts them. Immediately, they both lift their head to turn to look in the direction of the offending sound.

“You expecting someone?” Y/N asks, her heart sinking slightly. She tries to push the feeling away. “Who is it?”

“Probably someone who doesn’t know the meaning of ‘do not disturb,’” Oscar grumbles, shaking his head as he gets up to walk over to the door.

He stands up and walks toward the door, leaving Y/N to focus on the flickering screen. But her mind drifted back to the lingering tension between them, their easy banter feeling suddenly fragile.

She nervously fixes her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. Making sure she looks professional enough - and not like they were sitting a mere centimeter apart - she turns toward the door. Finally, he slides the pin aside, unlocking the door as he pulls it back.

“Who is it?” she asks him quietly.

There’s a pause for a moment, before Lando’s familiar voice calls through. “It’s me,” he replies, and Oscar seems visibly annoyed. Lando peers over Oscar’s shoulder, noting Y/N perched on one of the couches in the room.

Good, both of them were here. That’d make this a bit easier.

“You need to see this,” Lando tells them, careful to keep his tone even. Oscar nods, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow Lando in.

“Yeah, of course. Come on in,” she replies at the same time, making sure she looks presentable. Hopefully whatever Lando has to say will save her from whatever awkwardness was probably about to ensue.

Lando pushes into the room and instantly notices that the vibe is… something. It’s *very* obvious that he’s interrupted something, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Interesting. He files the information away for later.

Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a news article pulled up on the screen.

“What is it?” Oscar asks, his gaze flickering between Lando and the screen.

Lando points to the small picture in the article, and Oscar’s jaw clenches, the muscle on the side of his face visibly pulled tight. Lando observes his teammate’s reaction, before he looks over to meet Y/N’s eyes.

“You might want to read this,” he says gently, his voice low. “You’re mentioned in it.”

That doesn’t sound right.

“I- What?”

Lando briefly wonders what the likelihood is that the ground will physically swallow him whole. Or that he might turn invisible. Or anything that means he doesn’t have to explain this.

“I don’t-“ He cuts off, struggling to put his words together, sighing. “I don’t know how they got their information, but some of these details…”

Seeing Lando - normally smiley Lando - looking so painfully neutral despite the anxiety that flashes in his eyes, feels deeply unsettling. Like dark clouds at a wedding or an empty chair at a birthday party, seeing Lando like this feels ominous, wrong.

He hands her the phone, watching her as she takes it and begins to scan the text. Words and letters blend into a blur, her eyes reading through the article - speculation after speculation on her current health status and how she got hurt. It reads less like news and more like pure gossip tabloid rumors.

There’s an odd sinking in her chest, some muscle winding itself tighter and tighter.

She can’t stop reading it, standing eerily still. Hidden amongst this clear violation of the privacy she’s held sacred for so long are some very specific facts that only Oscar and a select few other people should be able to know and recognize.

“This is-“ she starts quietly, her breath hitching in her chest.

It’s quiet. “This is bad.”

Her eyes continue to scan the article, and her mouth goes dry. Even when she knows it’s all mostly bullshit, there’s still a part of her that feels a little violated, like there’s suddenly not enough oxygen in the room. This is her life - her past and her trauma put on display. The most traumatic years of her life suddenly available for the whole world to read about.

She reads it yet another time, uselessly hoping for something to change, for the words to transform or dissipate like the final wisps of a nightmare.

“One has to ask—can you really call it a "dream job" when it lands you in the ER? Y/N L/N is clearly in need of a reality check. Whispers from insiders paint the picture of a young woman entangled in a life of chaos, fueled by impulsive decisions and reckless relationships. Is she simply a victim of her surroundings, or is there a more troubling narrative at play? Recently, Y/N was hospitalized with troubling injuries: extensive bruising and a suspected concussion, allegedly the result of a wild night that spiraled out of control. Sources suggest her aggressive tendencies may have exacerbated the situation, raising alarms about her behavior and its implications for McLaren. As Y/N navigates her tumultuous life, her influence over rising star Oscar Piastri comes into question. McLaren must now confront the uncomfortable truth: her erratic behavior could endanger Piastri’s career and the team’s reputation. The last thing they need is a scandal, especially when they’re striving for excellence on and off the track. The team's efforts to sweep this under the rug hint at deeper issues within their camp. Insiders are growing increasingly concerned that Y/N’s instability could tarnish McLaren’s hard-earned image, especially as rumors circulate. As Y/N begins her recovery, the pressure mounts on McLaren to manage the fallout. Fans and sponsors alike are watching closely, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Ultimately, the future for Y/N is uncertain. Will she take this opportunity to change her trajectory, or will she continue to spiral, jeopardizing not only her own future but also the stability of McLaren? The racing world waits with bated breath, knowing that every decision could have lasting consequences.”

Lando’s expression is sympathetic as he watches her pale. Something guilty settles in his gut - he knows he didn’t cause this, but he doesn’t know how to protect her from it either. Lando has always held loyalty so close to his chest - growing up famous at such a young age forces you to learn that lesson quickly.

It's easy, then, to understand why Lando is the way he is. He's known for his friendly personality - his charismatic charm and his easy laugh - but there are a select few which Lando considers his closest friends. Those are people he answers even in the middle of the night, the ones he’d fly across the world to be there for.

But Y/N is standing in front of him like the very ground has been pulled from beneath her feet and he can’t do a fucking thing.

“Um, it’s- it’s okay,” she stammers, voice shaky. She tucks her hair behind her ears again, but they were never loose in the first place. A fragile mask of calm slips over her face, a familiar trick she’s performed thousands of times before

“I can take care of this. I- I’ll take care of this.”

Her heart feels like it’s stuttering in her chest but she knows better than to show it. Taking a short breath, she whirls around to make a beeline for her office. She’ll need to make a few calls, send emails to various liaisons and communication personnel, maybe reach out to HR and PR too-

“Hey, hey, stop.” Oscar reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around his bicep, spinning her around gently to face him. His eyes are worried as he searches hers for something true. He’s seen her upset before, but now her face is pale in a way he’s never seen before.

“Oh, right,” she chuckles awkwardly, suddenly remembering. “Lando, your phone.”

She holds the phone with the article displayed on it for Lando to grab, but she eyes the device like it’s very presence is toxic. She chuckles, but the sound is high pitched and forced. “Sorry, almost forgot!”

Lando slowly takes his phone from her, his eyes flickering between his friends for a moment.

“No worries, s’fine,” he says carefully, his eyes not leaving her face. “Are you actually okay?” That’s a stupid question, you idiot.

“Me?” she asks, as if caught off guard. “Yeah, yeah! I’m fine,” she answers, waving him off.

Oscars expression is stern, unconvinced - and he doesn’t bother to hide it.

“You seem a little, uh, upset,” he says delicately, his gaze flitting to her shaking hands. He immediately looks away, not wanting to draw any attention to it. He doesn’t want her to feel exposed.

“No it’s-” horrible, she wants to say. Instead, what comes out is, “It’s okay. I’m just trying to figure out what I need to do, that’s all.”

He hesitates, his brows furrowing at her attempts to downplay what’s happening.

“And your first thought is to go work?” he points out, a small hint of accusation in his tone.

It’s like she doesn’t even hear him.

“I’m going to fix this,” she tells him, giving both of them her most convincing smile, even as the corners of her mouth threaten to twitch downward.

Breathe.

And with that, she sees herself out of the room, already planning each action she needs to set into motion. She’s going to fix this.

a/n: thank you for reading this far! feedback means a lot to me. your likes, comments, reblogs, asks - that's the only way i can tell if you like the story so pls pls pls! all the feedback!!!

#formula 1 fic #saffu's works #formula 1 #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x assistant!reader #tw: abuse #tw: injuries

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moirindeclermont · 2 days

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Happy Friday everyone!

Yesterday's episode of "all Polin's first times we didn't see " was about Colin being sick, so what happens when it's Pen being the one that needs to be taken care of?

Colin knows that Pen can curse. She also have used a couple of particularly creative ones either when they are in bed or in other occasions, but it's only when she is sick that he discovers the full range of curses she learned over the years and he is... Quite impressed. Even if mostly of those curses are against him for making her sick. He will kill anybody who might tell Pen this, but he finds that very cute. Like a small cat trying to hiss and stratch at tiger. Deadly but cute.

Also she hates being sick.

More like, she hates that her body betrayed her like that. She feels the loss of control and she has never dealt with that particularly well.

Yet, Colin knows she wants to be taken care of, so instead of assuming he knows better, he just asked her "what do you need?"

And, like a miracle, Pen deflated.

"At the moment, you," she answers and that's all Colin needed to hear.

He cuddles her for a while, then noticing she is almost asleep, he goes to stand but she is blocking him.

"You'll be here when I wake up?"

"Yes, my love. With your favorite soup, a couple of diaries to read and a human shape blanket."

She smiles and let him go.

As promised, when she wakes up, he is on the bed, a tray on the dresser with her soup and a couple of diaries.

"How do you feel, Pen?"

"Like someone used me to print the issues I write," she says honestly and he just hugs her.

"Eat something, then I'll read and maybe sing something for you?"

She would never turn down such an offer.

Later, when Colin is again cuddling her, he is giving light kisses onto her skin.

"What do you say, Love?"

She looks at him and nods, and he goes to explore her.

Normally, she is warm in her core. That night, it's like way hotter than usual.

Colin is very gentle, knowing she doesn't feel the best.

He uses the lightest of touch, but it seems like it's enough. She seems so receptive, moving with him and his fingers inside her.

It's an image he never gets tired of: her finding her pleasure knowing he is the one giving it to her.

Even when she is sick.

She looks at him, "don't ever think of going for a second round, I don't have the energy!" And he smiles, kissing her deeply.

"Rest my love, tomorrow you'll be better"

As he lays out next to her, hugging her to his chest, he can't help to think that he loves this woman beyond measure and reason. He kisses the top of her head, while she is already sleeping, using his chest as a pillow. He smiles as he drifts off to sleep too.

#polin #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton s3 #polin positivity #polin brainrot #polin bridgerton #polin fanfiction #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope #penelope featherington

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redtsundere-writes · 17 hours

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Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Chapter 17 “Everything Is Cursed” is available now!

King!Sukuna Ryomen x Servant!Reader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. You are an ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

PICK YOUR FAVORITE!

AO3 or Wattpad?

Preview ↆ

Sukuna let them into the office. You and Kenjaku entered after bowing in respect to the king and his right-hand man, Uraume, who stood faithfully behind him. Sukuna’s heart fluttered at the sight of you. He gripped his pen tightly to mask his nervousness at being in your presence.

Returning to the castle after his failed marriage proposal, he carried you to your room as you snored softly. He gently laid you down on the bed so as not to wake you up. He took off your boots before tucking you into bed. He sat next to you to admire your calmness. Your chest rose and fell slowly to the rhythm of your breathing. Your eyelashes stood out more when your eyes were closed. Your half-open lips invited him to come closer to kiss you like that night you spent together. “Enough!” Sukuna scolded himself in his mind to stop and immediately leave your room so you could continue your dream.

Since that night, he realized that he can’t think coherently when he iswas near you, so he decided to take immediate measures so you wouldn’t distract him when working. It was frustrating how your mere presence could upset him like that. He had to fight with all his instincts to concentrate on what mattered most now, the future of his kingdom.

You and Kenjaku approached the desk. Quickly, you noticed a large black box with a gold engraving of roses on it. It was almost as long as the desk. That must have been the reason you had been called. It seems that this was not what you were expecting.

“Open it.” Sukuna ordered you.

You looked at Kenjaku for a second, worried about what might be inside. Your master patted you on the back a couple of times, inviting you to come closer. You worked up the courage to open the box without a hint of fear. The latches clicked open at the same time. You lifted the lid to reveal the immaculate treasure.

A beautiful rose gold bow that radiated a special aura against the light. Your mouth dropped to the floor as soon as you pulled it out of its box, along with its matching pink-dyed leather quiver. You never thought you'd see such a beautiful weapon in your life. You pretended to load the bow with an imaginary arrow to test it out. It was lighter than the one you had before, and you could tell it was made with the best quality materials. As you lowered the bow, you noticed a small detail. In the small hollow of the handle there was an engraving, a small daisy. You smiled at the cute detail. You thought it would have a rose, since it was a common symbol in the Sukuna kingdom, but daisies are cute too.

“It's a cursed bow,” Sukuna explained, catching your attention. “That means you can kill curses with it. Keep that in mind when you train with my soldiers.”

“What's the difference from a normal bow?” You asked curiously.

“This bow is infused with the cursed energy from Yorozu’s body,” the king replied bluntly.

“Are you saying that part of my sister is here?” You stammered. Everyone in the room could tell that you were about to burst into tears.

“Yes,” Sukuna replied in the same tone.

You hugged the bow to your chest as you sobbed softly, hiding your face behind your hair and the upper limb. A pang of guilt attacked Sukuna’s chest. He really thought you would like his gift, since you deserved a cursed weapon made especially for you, but it seems he was wrong.

“Thank you…” You sobbed. “Thank you for giving me something to honor her life with.”

You looked into his eyes with tears running down your cheeks and a nostalgic smile on your face. Sukuna’s heart quickly skipped a beat as he realized the true reason for your crying. His lower hands, hidden beneath the desk, clenched into fists to control himself. How could you play with his feelings without even trying? Sukuna Ryomen, the king of curses, the powerful tyrant and the commander of thousands, was being corrupted by a mere mortal.

He hated these feelings you caused him. You made him so embarrassed he looked like a tomato, you annoyed him so much, but he couldn't get mad at you, and now, you could manipulate him with a simple smile. He would lose his temper when he was around you and that drove him crazy. If you wanted, he would be in the palm of your hand. He had to keep you as far away from him as possible to prevent the situation from getting worse for him.

“Just go train already,” Sukuna ordered in a grumpy tone, turning his gaze to an empty document to avoid seeing you.

Open fanfic commissions!

Masterlist.

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la2yn0va · 3 days

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Crazed Deprivation

CW: Crazy Reader.

Character: Feixiao

——

Feixiao had always known there was SOMETHING off with you. From the warnings and constant worries from your one close friend about your sleep schedule, to your strange tendency to sleep wherever whenever.

She didn’t think much of it at first, until she heard you laughing late at night. The laugh was nothing like the laugh she grew to love from you, rather it was…crazed. Unhinged, Insane, Creepy.

The laugh that made her shiver in fear of YOU. Her own lover. She couldn’t help it anymore, she couldn’t stand being afraid of YOU, she needed to find out what was wrong with you.

She asked your one and only friend if they had any idea what that laugh was about. They were terrified, which made her more curious and scared.

They explained what they knew about your condition. If you miss a day of sleep, your whole mind changes into something dark, crazy, inhuman.

Feixiao couldn’t believe it, what condition was that? Surely it couldn’t be true? If it was, why wasn’t it well known?

She decided to take a risk, and sent you out on a late night mission, a simple escort mission through a borisin camp and towards a remote village.

She watched you from the trees as you effortlessly finished the mission, but then once you left the vicinity your demeanor changed. Your eyes wide, a smile creeping onto your face, bloodshot lines appearing in your sclera.

She watched in disbelief, believing it was a hallucination or a trick of some kind. But then she heard that laugh, the same laugh that made her start this whole ‘experiment’

You weren’t ‘you’ anymore, she immediately knew this was someone else. Your once charming sleepiness was replaced with a fire in your eyes, fire that wanted to see chaos.

She swallowed, her mind screaming at her to stop you before you do ANYTHING, yet her heart told her it’s still you. She listened to her mind once she saw you punching a tree and laughing at the pain.

M/n?: Come out! I know you’re here somewhere!!

Feixiao’s eyes widened, suprised that ‘M/n’ could sense her. She sighed before showing herself, and surprisingly, his eyes widened with…love?

M/n?: Darling!! It’s you!!

Feixiao:…M/n?

M/n?: That’s me, dear~!

She didn’t lower her guard, this was m/n’s face. But NOT m/n. Instinctively, she dodged an attack to her face. Grabbing this impostor and slamming him onto the ground, quickly restraining him.

Imposter: Hey—!! That’s not how you treat your lover~

Feixiao: Silence! I won’t tolerate your trickery impostor! Who’re you!

Imposter:…Tsk…I’m your lover— NGH!!

She tightened her grip, not allowing any movement or smartass responses.

Impostor:…LET ME GO!! IVE BEEN IN THIS BRATS BODY FOR TO LONG TO LET HIS FUCKING MASTER TO CHAIN ME DOWN!!!

Feixiao: Answer my question!

Imposter: For a bitch with ears that reach the sky, you’re fucking deaf. IM NOT YOUR SLAVE!!

He bashed the back of his head against Feixiao’s face, making her flinch and release you for a second. He quickly tried to attack her, but she immediately stopped any movements, grabbing this imposter and slamming him against a tree, keeping his hands pinned ontop of his head.

Imposter: NGHH…!!! Ahahaha…! You know your just hurting this brats body the more your fight back. Right~?

Feixiao growled, seeing her lovers body being piloted like a meat puppet by this freak was sickening to her. She gripped harder, watching this fake wince in pain.

Feixiao: But you still get hurt. Now answer me!! WHO ARE YOU!!

Imposter: Ahahaha…!! Let me tell you something….!! I’m gonna rip those pretty fucking orbs out and— AHH!!

She began to choke him, believing if she can put this person to sleep, then the ACTUAL m/n would return to her. Her idea seemed to have merit, as the impostor was panicking and hitting her, every hit becoming weaker.

Imposter: YOU FUCKIN…. BORISIN SCUM…!!! ILL FUCKING KILL YOU….YOU MANGY DOG…!!!

He threw insults at her, yet she remained unaffected. The only sadness she felt was hitting her lovers body to save him from this scum. The imposter then smiled and began to laugh at the pain, deciding to leave some words of wisdom before IT leaves.

Imposter: Let me tell you….! When you fucking die, this brat’ll mourn…!! He won’t sleep, and I’ll return….!! And when I do…I’ll burn your precious ship….TO THE GROUND!!! AND MUTILATE….THAT PATHETIC ASSASSIN AND DOCTOR OF YOURS……!!!!

He spat out, his laughter dying out as he passed out. She let go, looking a mixed of fearful at the thought and saddened at the events.

She closed her eyes and picked you up, deciding to sleep on it.

-The End-

Sorry this ended abruptly, I got tired.

#honkai star rail #hsr #male reader #feixiao #feixiao hsr #feixiao honkai star rail #yandere male reader #honkai star rail x male reader #feixiao x male reader #angst

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witchofsparkles · 2 days

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Ghost was not having a very good day. It wasn’t the job in particular because it was expected of him to be used to it by now after 15 years of service; it was because the man right next to him grinning ear to ear as if he didn't just come out of a bloody combat with explosives, terrorists and flying limbs. The limbs were not belong to them, god bless, but especially the explosives were their doing.

Not theirs as a team, but the man who has a nasty smile's.

The explosives belonged to the reason of his headache for months, Soap.

Ghost tried not to fall for Soap's banter, but his mouth didn't know better. Even though he couldn’t even hear what the man was saying, Ghost replied sarcastically. "Yeah, Johnny. Sure, whatever you say."

What other answer there that could be said to everything? Yeah, sure. Whatever. Just please stop talking.

"You do think I'm pretty? Oh, that’s flattering. Thank you, sir. Please write that in the report so Price can see my charm too. It would work better coming from you, the big man with the mask." Ghost almost tripped down from the heli and crashed onto the mountains thousands fits down and at that moment he didn't think he would mind a good head trauma with a highly possible death.

He though to put a stop to it, to ruin the mood, but decided against. Ghost couldn’t avert his gaze fast enough, and his eyes locked with Soap for a split second. The carefree smile Soap sent to Ghost made his stomach flutter.

And Ghost would drink bleach if he knew it would kill the butterflies in his stomach.

Yeah, there was another reason for his headache and bad times in general.

Ghost was down bad in love with his Sergeant, John MacTavish.

Ghost watched Soap walking into the base with the other soldiers, laughing loudly and looking all hot in bloody gear. Ghost just stood next to the heli silently, tried to appear like he was busy with something, and checked Soap's back out. Ghost knew he wasn’t injured or anything, but who could be sure? In the heat of the war, blood full of adrenalin, everybody could make mistakes.

The reason of his gaze was purely professional and had nothing to do with how Soap's ass was moving with his every step. Totally.

"You might wanna take your chances, you know that right?" Ghost almost jumped out of his skin and his hand went to his knife reflexively.

"You know better to not sneak up on me, Price." Ghost relaxed his stance and put the knife back. Price was smiling at him.

"And I know that I can give you a very hard time if we had to fight. Anyway. You pray that there's a mask on your face. With how obvious you're about staring at Johnny, even my dead mom can come up and laugh at you."

Ghost inhaled sharply. "You call him Johnny again, we will see about that fight."

A laugh escaped Price. "God. Calm down, son. No one's taking him. Fine, I won't call him that. Jesus."

Ghost rolled his eyes. He wasn’t feeling like talking and yet he couldn’t shut up today. Also, he didn't want to think about Price's implication. "Why are you here? I was coming to report."

Price stroked his mustache, and that made Ghost's stomach drop with worry. "Why is your hand on your mustache? Who died?"

Price threw him a dirty look. "Why do everyone think like that when they see me? No one died. Not yet. And hopefully never. I changed my mind. You go rest, we will talk later when all of you available."

"You said no one died, yet. Why don't we talk now?" Ghost's knuckles were white from holding his west so hard. Something bad happened, he knew it.

Price stared at him again, a little longer than a second. "It's nothing out of ordinary. Just our everyday madness. You look like shit, and Soap looked like shit. If the only sane one is Gaz among you, I fear everyone will die. So, go rest. I will call you when you can open both of your eyes at will."

Ghost couldn’t sleep. It was expected, after how Price teased him with an apocalypse. In his mind, at least. If he didn't think the worst could happen, he wouldn’t be Ghost. He was so tense that Ghost thought his skin was gonna tear apart. His headache from the explosions was worse, and every single one of his muscles were hurting.

All stopped when he saw Johnny sitting at where Ghost was usually sitting. It was his secret place, a tiny corner with no noise and just darkness. The place he would come when the sleep didn't.

"Why are you here?" Ghost would love it if he didn't sound like a goddamn incubus.

Soap jumped, expectedly. Turned to him sharply, then took a deep breath when he saw who was it. "You almost had to file a suspicious dead report on me. Stop creating work for yourself."

Ghost snickered, that’s how his Johnny was. He was acting like a class clown, but Ghost wasn’t believing in that. All that laughing and joking, it was almost impossible in this job. When all you could see was the dead, your voice was turning into a whisper.

It was sadness that consumes you.

"It would take a lot more to kill you, Johnny." Ghost's voice was always deep, but for some reason it deepened. Like he was sharing a secret. Almost a whisper.

Johnny's eyes shimmered under the dim lights. They looked like stars for a moment, then Ghost corrected himself. Not stars, explosions. Fireworks.

"Is everything okay? Why don't you sleep? Were you thinking about something?" Johnny was looking up to him from where he was sitting, and Ghost was looking down. He wanted to take Johnny's face between his hands and brush the stubble at the corner of his mouth. He wanted to crash into his lips, taste him with his tongue, just sweep it across Johnny's lips and inside his mouth, feel the hot wetness of his saliva around his own tongue, to get Johnny's tongue in his mouth and crowd him in, to be able to get a fistful of Johnny's stupid mohawk while kissing with a lust that would shame Jesus himself that he would have to look away, he wanted to touch Johnny's every bit on his back and kiss him from his neck to down his happy trail, he wanted to be able to touch at the tip of him with just only a finger and make him moan for more-

"I was thinking about you."

Rest is on ao3:

#ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #mw2 #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod ghost #cod soap #simon riley #simon ghost riley #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #fanfic #fanfiction #fiction #ao3 #ao3 fanfic

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writing-until-i-drop · 17 hours

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What's In A Name? Chapter Six

Meg Harding and Kate Carter were inseparable until their friends died five ago, then she ran to New Orleans to save lives as a paramedic. But when Javi calls on his two oldest friends to help him collect data, counting on their matching natural instincts for tornadoes, Meg goes home for the first time in years. That's where she meets Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers, the YouTube storm chasers her dad likes to watch, and finds herself fitting in more with them than with Storm PAR. Meg only plans to stay for the week but will it be easy to leave when the dust settles?

If a certain cowboy has a say in it, nothing about leaving is going to be easy.

A/N: Cathy's not playing fair

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

“Meggy Harding, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Cathy Carter called coming from the direction of the old barn. “Come here, honey,” Meg hurried down the porch to meet her on the lawn, letting herself be swept up into one of Cathy’s strong hugs. “You’re getting skinny, have you been taking care of yourself?”

“Been tryin’ to,” Meg let her second mom place kisses all over her face. “But I’ve been busy.” Cathy pinched her cheek, giving her a playful glare.

“Well, I’ll cook up a big dinner. You here for Kate?”

“Always,” Meg tipped her head back to where Tyler remained on the porch, “And I brought a friend just in case my boot up her ass ain’t enough.” Cathy’s gaze shifted over Meg’s shoulder and the older woman perked up,

“Honey, he’s cute,” She said less than stealthily, wiggling her brows. “He your boyfriend?”

“Cathy, please,” Meg whined, tugging on Cathy’s arm. “Please be the one adult in my life actin’ normal about this man.”

“Fine, fine, I’m on my best behavior.” She messed Meg’s hair, moving past her towards the porch. “And who might you be, honey?”

“Tyler Owens, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, especially since you brought Meggy here to see me,” Tyler’s smile was big and bright. He was every parent’s dream, standing there all handsome, every sentence coming out of his mouth starting or ending with “ma’am.”

Meg abandoned them, wandering off to the barn where she found Kate watching her old science project make a tornado.

“Never gets any less impressive, Katie my Lady.” Kate glanced over her shoulder with a sad smile.

“Never thought we’d be back in the barn,” Kate’s accent was a little more pronounced, heavy with emotion. “Mom never cleaned it out,” Meg looked around, taking in the plastic covered tables. Without lifting the sheets, Meg knew what was beneath each one. All of Kate’s research, Addy’s drawings, Jeb’s cameras, and my binder filled with diagrams of the human body and notes on everything that could go wrong with it. The plan back then had been to become a doctor, Meg hadn’t thought about that dream in a long time.

“We left a lot of things unfinished,”

“Wonder why.” Kate clicked off the simulator, leaning back against the table. “What are you doing here, Meg?”

“I smacked Javi, Tyler stopped me before I could hit him for real.” Kate chuckled, running a hand down her face. “We didn’t kill them, Kate.”

“I’m going back to New York,” Meg sighed. If Kate ran again, there was no getting her back, she knew that. “Don’t try and stop me.”

“We gotta do something, Katie, and runnin’s not an option anymore.” Kate’s response was cut off by Cathy and Tyler strolling into the barn, laughing to themselves.

“You brought Tyler?” Kate snapped, angry. Meg’s temper spiked back,

“What was I supposed to do, steal his truck?” Kate flinched, “Not everything can be solved by runnin’, Kate, sometimes you’ve gotta chase.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to!” Kate shouted, tears streaming down her face, “Not everyone’s okay with the people they love-”

“Kate, go set the table,” Cathy shouted over them both, “Meg, cool off.” Dying. That was the word Kate was going to use and even though Cathy had stopped her, Meg heard it all the same. Kate saw Meg accepting what had happened to their friends as her not caring? It was like a punch to the gut, Meg physically faltering where she stood. Cathy took off after Kate, who rushed out of the barn, sobbing, and Tyler crossed the room to her.

“I’m fine,” She was not fine. “We just,” Tyler wiped away her tears with his sleeve, concern evident on his face. “This barn brings up a lot of memories.” Tyler took a good look around, “Kate’s havin’ a hard time dealing with that.”

“Just Kate?” Meg snorted, pulling her hair out of its ponytail. “Going to be honest, darlin’, didn’t think I’d walk in here to find you two arguing.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve known each other for a decade and I’m pretty sure that was our first,” Meg shook her head. “God fucking dammit, I never shoulda left New Orleans.”

“Hey, hey, hey, no need for that,” Tyler smoothed her bangs back, kissing her forehead. “Friends fight. Boone and I get into it all the time, you two will be okay.” Meg wrapped her arms around Tyler’s waist, resting her head against his chest. “I promise, darlin’, everything’s going to be okay.”

“It’s not, Ty, you can be as charmin’ as you like but I’ve got to help Javi finish getting his data and go home. It’s the only helpful thing I can do while I’m here.”

“About that…” Tyler stroked her back and Meg’s stomach dropped.

“He’s not helping people…is he?” Tyler began to fill her in on all the dirty details of Storm PAR’s involvement with Marshall Riggs and how they took advantage of people in distress to fund their research. All her earlier fight left her body with a great sigh, broken defeat replacing it. “That’s it, I’m going home.” Meg tried to pull away but Tyler held her tight, “Ty.”

“I thought you said running wasn’t an option,”

“Then call me a fuckin’ hypocrite and take me to the airport.” Meg pushed one more time but Tyler still didn’t budge. “You can’t hug me until I change my mind, Ty, it’s not gonna work.”

“Darlin’,” Tyler kissed her forehead again. “If you still feel that way in the morning, I’ll take you to the airport.” Meg expected to feel relieved but instead, she felt even more dejected.

“How’s it going in here?” Cathy came back through the doors, “You cooled down enough for dinner, Meggy?”

“I’m goin’ home tomorrow,” Tyler finally let her pull away, only for Cathy to take Meg’s face in her hands. A disapproving look on her face.

“Unless you’re talking about visiting your mama, I don’t want to hear it, honey.” She opened her mouth to argue but Cathy steamrolled right over her. “What you’re going to do is eat some dinner and get some sleep, then you’re going to finish putting your boot up my daughter’s ass and finish what all of you started. Do you hear me, young lady?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cathy turned her gaze to Tyler, pointing at him,

“And you, she tries to run, you stop her.”

“Already on it, ma’am.”

“Good, knew I liked you. Now come on, let’s eat.”

It took less than a minute being back in each other’s presence for the girls to make up, throwing themselves at each other. Hugging and tearfully apologizing to each other, much to Cathy’s amusement and Tyler’s visible relief. Besides her great aunt Meg’s cooking, Cathy’s cooking was Meg’s favorite, and Cathy kept scooping more food onto her plate until she was ready to burst.

Then the stories started, Cathy was hell-bent on embarrassing both girls and Tyler was all ears, teasing them both. His hand was resting on Meg’s knee, tethering her to him like a lifeline. Things soured quickly the second Cathy brought up their old project, Kate storming off in the most polite way possible.

“Tyler, why don’t you go read through their old research, it’s in the white binder with the cloud on it.”

“I don’t want to push my luck with your daughter ma’am.” Meg patted his thigh, giving him the silent approval, “If you’re sure.”

“Come on, honey, I’ll wash, you dry.”

Meg turned on some 90s country music on her phone to fill the silence while they washed the dinner plates, Cathy was the one to break the silence.

“He seems like a good man, Meggy.” Cathy handed her a dish to dry.

“He is,” She agreed. “Don’t tell me my dad’s got you bettin’ on my wedding too.” Cathy gave a little shrug, failing to fight a smile. “Busy bodies, I swear.”

“What? You expect us to see you with a cowboy gentleman, who seems to love storms as much as you do, and not hear wedding bells?” Meg groaned, taking another plate to dry.

“At least tell me you’re not in on Rabbit’s pool.” The silence was deafening, “Cathy!”

“Well, there is only one bed in the guest room.” She didn’t know who she wanted to strangle first, Cathy or Rabbit. “And you and Kate shouldn’t be sharing a twin bed, the guest room has a full.”

“You’re killin’ me. So, when I wasn’t looking you pulled my bag outta Kate’s room and put it with Tyler’s? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?”

“I’ve got a hundred bucks on it happening before the end of storm season and no one said I had to play fair.”

“Dirty, no good cheater,” Meg mumbled. They then settled into silence again, finishing the rest of the dishes.

“Has Kate been chasing again? She said she wasn’t.” Meg hummed, drying off the last dish and putting it away in the cabinet.

“Javi asked us to come down and help him collect data.” God, things had seemed so much simpler only a few days ago. “So, yeah, we’ve been out chasin’ again.”

“I’m proud of you for coming back, Meggy, proud of all of you.” Meg leaned against the counter, staring up at the ceiling. There was a red mark in the center from where Parveen had eaten a Babybel Cheese, rolled the wax into a ball, and tossed it around. The little wax ball had stuck to the ceiling, the wax never fully coming off.

“I don’t know if I’m back yet, Cathy.” She tossed the dish rag over her shoulder with a sigh. “I want to help people and as much as I love chasin’, it ain’t as helpful as my job back in New Orleans. Those people,” She thought of the last patient she had transported before leaving. A ninety-year-old woman with chest pains, she had told Meg her whole life story in the back of the rig. She wasn’t scared of dying, no, June Bishop was perfectly content. Miss June had lived a long life, she had gotten married young and had three sons, all of whom went to serve in the military, she had lost everything in Katrina like so many others, and had lived long enough to see all of her grandchildren, and one great-grandchild born. Meg had held her hand the whole way to the hospital. “Those people I can help in a tangible way. I mean, if Kate,” Tears pricked her dry eyes. “If we could finish what we started, I think that’s the only thing besides a funeral that could get me to come back.”

Cathy gathered her up in a hug, both of them leaning against the counter. After some time passed, Kate came down from her room, and without a word she joined them in the embrace. A little while later, Meg shot off a text to Lily.

Meg: How’s everything going?

Lily: Boone’s a bit butt hurt but he’ll get over it - you?

Meg: Touch and go

Tyler seemed surprised to find Meg brushing her teeth in the bathroom attached to the spare bedroom when she spotted him in the mirror.

“Not that I’m complaining but I figured you’d be sharing a bed with Kate,” Tyler leaned against the door jamb of the bathroom and there was something so domestic about the whole situation that caught Meg off guard. She’d had plenty of boyfriends over the years, none lasting more than a month before either she got tired of them or they got tired of her. Sleepovers with men weren’t something she was used to though, even in a relationship she liked to sleep alone, kicking her dates out at the end of the night.

“I did too,” She replied after spitting and rinsing her mouth. “I’ve got to wash my face if you want to get changed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He closed the door and when he was done, opened it again, watching her dry her face with a soft, pink towel. “Are you okay with the sleeping arrangements, darlin’, or should I take the couch?”

“I’m fine if you are, I am going to give Cathy an earful for it in the morning though.” Tyler followed her to the bed, claiming the side closest to the door.

“Sounds like there’s more to it than a lumpy couch.”

“Oh, there is,” Meg huffed, relaxing into the pillows, breathing in the scent of air-dried laundry. “My family’s got all sorts of bets running on us and Cathy’s bein’ a cheat.” Tyler shifted onto his side and she could feel his eyes on her while she stared at the ceiling.

“Bets that involve us sharing a bed?”

“Yes, sir,” She drawled sarcastically, turning off the lamp on her side of the bed. “It’s embarrassin’.”

“Well,” Tyler sighed, “I think if I’m being bet on, I should know what for.” Why? Meg closed her eyes. Why was her family like this?

“They bet on how long, Jesus Christ,” She took a deep breath, “They bet on how long it would take me to, and I quote, ride the cowboy.” Tyler, thank God, didn’t say anything but he did chuckle and she could feel his eyes on her. Meg wanted the bed to open up and swallow her whole, her face burning with embarrassment.

“And the other bet?” Meg took another long, deep breath before answering.

“They’re bettin’ on us getting married, Arkansas,” She flipped to face away from him. “Now go to sleep.” Tyler’s hand gripped her waist, flipping her to her other side so they were face to face. “I’m not talking about this, Ty.”

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed,” He squeezed her hip, giving her a soft smile that made her heart beat like crazy. He was backlit by the lamp on his side of the bed, a soft, yellow light highlighting him in an angelic way. “You scrunch your nose like this,” He imitated her and he looked adorable. Meg giggled, bopping his nose.

“Stop, I’m trying to be mad and you actin’ sweet ain’t helping.” He shrugged,

“Well excuse me for not wanting my girl to be mad.” His girl. Those words weighed on her chest like a cat curling in for a nap, warm and comforting.

“You are taking this whole thing about my family bettin’ on us having sex and getting married a little too well,” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you not sayin’?” He blushed, rubbing circles into her hip with his thumb. “Tyler I-don’t-know-your-middle-name-Owens, tell me.”

“Michael,” He muttered. Meg tilted his head up with two fingers under his chin. “That’s my middle name.”

“And mine’s Marie, now spill it.”

“There may or may not be a similar bet going with the group,” Of course there was.

“Bet, as in singular?” He nodded, “Which one do they have goin’?” Tyler’s blush deepened.

“Well, darlin’,” Tyler sighed, smiling sweetly. “Boone’s been planning our wedding since you tried to pool the wool over my eyes when we first met.” He cupped her face and she mirrored him, her hand resting on his cheek. “So they’re betting on the other part.” There were two ways Meg could go with this conversation, serious or teasing, and she’d be damned if she did anything serious while wearing Kate’s Hello Kitty sleep pants from high school.

“Well,” Meg stroked Tyler’s stubbled cheek. “Tell Boone I want an October weddin’ and he’s welcome at it whether you’re there or not.” Tyler shook with laughter, tugging her so she was head first in his chest like they had slept the night before.

“Oh, I’m gonna be there, darlin’,” He kissed the top of her head. “Crying while your daddy walks you down the aisle to me.” So much for avoiding serious conversation. Meg expected to feel a sense of fear or at least anxiety thinking about marrying Tyler but instead, she found herself smiling. His cologne was lingering on his sleep shirt and he was oh so warm wrapped around her. She could see him standing at the altar all dressed up in a suit and tie, Boone behind him as best man, and Preacher beside him ready to officiate like he had promised to when she was little.

“Boone share any of these wedding plans with you?” Meg slipped her leg between his, bringing herself just a little bit closer to him. “Tell me everything.” Tyler began stroking her back.

“He wants to do it outside, said he thinks you’d like to be where you can see the sky.” Boone knew her well, that’s exactly how she wanted to get married, not inside of some stuffy church. “Dani’s picking out dresses she and Lily won’t mind wearing as your bridesmaids, they’ve got one for Kate too.”

“Sounds like they’ve got the whole thing planned out. Lily in charge of the rings?”

“Yes, ma’am. They even roped Ben into picking out table settings and invitations, he complains but is secretly over the moon.” Tyler’s hand moved to her hair, massaging her neck. Meg groaned, not realizing how much tension had been lingering there until that exact moment.

“That feels good, Ty.” She felt herself getting sleepier, relaxing more into Tyler’s hold with each passing moment. “Keep tellin’ me about our wedding.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He kissed her hair again. “The biggest argument is what kind of flowers to get. Boone’s a romantic so he wants roses.” That made her giggle,

“Why ain’t I surprised?”

“Shh, baby,” Tyler teased, kissing her hair again. “You’re supposed to be falling asleep.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Arkansas,” Meg sassed half-heartedly. Tyler’s ministrations paused for a moment before he gently pulled her head back by her hair. He was fixing her with one of those listen-to-me looks she’d seen on her mama’s face a thousand times before, his eyes the color of greenage before a big storm. Staring into them, she wondered if her favorite color had ever truly been yellow, or if it had been green all along and she just hadn’t found the right shade until now.

“Darlin’,” His fingers tightened their grip just a little, giving Meg a jolt of pain that only brought pleasure. “Will you please hush that pretty little mouth of yours and let me talk?” She wanted to sass him again, see what he would do but when she opened her mouth nothing but a yawn came out. He must’ve taken that as a yes, bringing her face back into his chest. He was lucky he was cute enough to get away with manhandling her like that. “Dani’s vote is on sunflowers but Ben and Lily think that lilies would be better.” Meg made an inquisitive noise, wanting to know what Tyler thought. “I’ve got a soft spot for wildflowers, especially daisies. My mama used to keep a vase of them on the counter next to the window.” Meg snaked a hand under the back of his shirt, humming in approval. “I’ll take your freezing hands under my shirt as a yes to the wildflowers.”

Tyler kept talking about color schemes and Dexter’s thoughts on what to cater for dinner. How Ben had insisted they have live music instead of a DJ and the way Boone wanted to use bandanas as pocket squares, all while Meg drifted off to sleep.

She woke to her phone ringing, AC/DC’s Highway to Hell breaking the silence of the night. Tyler’s arms were firm around her waist making it hard for her to retrieve the device from the bedside table.

“Hey, Hot Stuff,” She groaned. Tyler didn’t budge from his position curled around her. The man, she was learning, could sleep like the dead. But she would bet he’d be wide awake if she even thought of the word tornado.

“Hey, Honey Buns. How’s the storm hunting?” Nick must’ve been grabbing beignets, she could hear the familiar sounds of Cafe du Monde in the background in the late hours of the night.

“It’s good,” She decided to keep the life and death details to herself for now, not in the right mindset for a lecture. “How’s my baby, you treatin’ her right?”

“She’s purrin’ like a cougar in a college bar.” Meg chuckled, “Hadn’t heard from ya so I thought I’d check in. Cecilia misses you something awful.” Cecilia was Nick’s wife of seven years, an ER nurse at University Hospital. She and Meg would sometimes get lunch together when their days off aligned but Meg knew who was really missing her.

“Yeah, I miss you too,” Nick laughed, commenting on her ego. “The storms out here have been crazy.” Just like she predicted, Tyler stirred.

“Storm? Is that Boone?” Meg rolled her eyes, kissing him on the chin.

“It’s just Nick, go back to sleep, Sweetie Pie.” And then he was out like a light, she shook her head at him.

“Meg Marie Harding, you’ve got a man in your bed?” Nick jokingly scolded her like an older brother. “You ain’t supposed to be doin’ that outta wedlock.”

“Says the man who tried to set me up with that fire fighter who ended up having a wife.”

“Not my finest moment, I’ll admit,” He chuckled. “Well, Honey Buns, I’ll let you get back to sinnin’.”

“Meanin’ your order’s ready?” Nick hung up on her without answering and she laughed softly, choosing not to fight against Tyler’s hold, putting the phone under her pillow.

She’d be back in New Orleans soon enough, riding around in the rig with Nick, going wherever dispatch sent them. But for the first time, thinking about her life there didn’t feel right, her heart constricting the point of physical pain.

Meg traced Tyler’s jaw with her fingertips, then his nose, the arch of his brow, and his bottom lip, the pain getting worse with every second. Helping people was her job, one that she loved and felt called to, but the thought of leaving Tyler was breaking her heart.

“Tyler Michael Owens,” She whispered, watching for any signs that he was awake and seeing none. “I think I just might be fallin’ in love with you.” Meg pressed a feathersoft kiss to his lips, it lasted a second, maybe less, but she felt more in that split second than she had with any of the men Nick had set her up with in the past.

“Again, baby,” Tyler whispered, eyes blinking open. “Please.” He sounded so needy and desperate, matching her own desire for him. Meg didn’t hesitate to brush her lips against his. Tyler tilted his head into the kiss, kissing her soundly, leaving not an ounce of doubt in her mind that she loved him. It had been less than a week but Meg felt like she had known him her entire life. He made her feel safe, comfortable, and seen. The way he held her at night and couldn’t keep his hand off her leg during the day, the way he listened to her like there was no one else around, and most importantly, the way he treated her with kindness and respect. “Nick okay?” Tyler asked once they came up for air, voice raspy.

“He’s fine, just checkin’ on me.” Tyler hummed, giving her a peck on the lips once, twice, three times more.

“And how are you doing, baby?”

“Never better,” Meg kissed his chest, snuggling back into what was quickly becoming her favorite sleeping position.

Taglist: @theforevermorereject @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @sinners-98-world @nerdgirljen @candlejuice @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @football1921 @katiemcrae @emma8895eb @itsdesiree86 Want to be added to this list? Just ask!

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#tyler owens x oc #tyler owens #twisters fanfic #twisters 2024 #twister 1996 #twisters #fanfic #what's in a name fic

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delusionalgirlswatchf1 · 1 day

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“I think I like you best when you’re just with me and no one else.”[Pepe Marti x reader]

Being a college student and having an internship in f2 was not affecting Y/N well lately. She always valudated academic achievement. And she always loved formula 1. She really wanted to get a job in it,so she really cared about her internship. Her life in last months were totally catastrophic,she didnt even remember when she got some free time to herself. Even though she was frustrated from all of this mess,she never complained. Probably because of a certain someone that her eyes would always look for him first in a room.

Pepe.

She immediately smiled just by thinking about him.

He always took care of her in a way no one did before. The first person to help her in every way thats possible,the first person to make her feel welcomed.

Pepe.

Sometimes she would think he may be feeling the same thing as her. But then,she would blink her eyes to see the reality. A whole paperwork for the Manager and a long school work.

She shaked her head to make this thoughts go away. She felt a jacket on her shoulders and turned to see who was putting it on her.

Pepe.

“Are you trying to get sick? It’s freezing!”

He said with his warm smile.

Ah.Yes.

That smile.

Y/N wanted to say to him that she would never feel cold when his smile was so warm like this.

“You ran away from the team again? It’s becoming a bad habit of yours,Marti.”

“I couldn’t help it,they were being dramatic. Plus,I wanted to see you.”

Y/N smiled slightly. Was he really thinking like that?

“You always see me,dummy.”

Pepe shrugged and got closer to her.

“Yes but with bunch of other people. I think I like you best when you’re just with me and no one else.”

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. She forced a chuckle.

“You are only saying that to mess with me.”

“Nope,I’m dead serious. I like your company,Y/N.”

Y/N blushed as she noticed how Pepe was looking at her. His intense and determined eyes were on her,with a look she only saw him doing on the races.

“I like your company as well.”

“As much as I like yours?”

“Yeah. Probably more.”

“Pfft. That’s impossible.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and chuckled with him. Pepe checked out to make sure the jacket was standing still. Y/N then realized that it was his usual jacket and it smelled exactly like him. Was Pepe trying to kill her today?

“Thank you for the jacket by the way. Thats uh really nice of you.”

Pepe laughed.

“Stop being formal to me,we already passed that part months ago.”

“I know,I know. Just a habit.”

Pepe reached out to hold her hand. Y/N’s eyes immediately got locked into his.

“You know,I was thinking of taking you on a date. What would you say to that?”

Y/N was screaming inside as she was still trying to understand what was going on.

“I-uh as a real date?”

“I didn’t say fake did I?”

“And-And not a friendly date?”

“Who the hell goes on a friendly date? I want to be with you,Y/N. Go on a date with me,please?”

Y/N took a deep breath and ignored the way her heart was being.

“I-I will go on a date with you.”

Pepe smiled so bright that Y/N thought it was sun for a second.

#i hope its ok #i literally came out of my shell to write for other drivers😭😭😭#SORRY PAUL I STILL LOVE YOU THE MOST #and this blog is becoming a place I randomly write with the song im listening #f2 #f2 x reader #formula #formula 2 #pepe marti #pepe marti x reader #pepe marti x you #pepe marti x y/n #formula 1 #red bull racing #campos racing

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porkcutletbowl44 · 2 days

Note

Pls post deleted scenes 🙇🏽‍♀️

Hi anon! I'm sorry this took so long, but I wanted to accumulate as much deleted scenes as I could until I started running out of the intrusive ideas for now 🤣

A lot of these won't make sense, hence why they are deleted because I have deleted a lot of scenes because I change my mind a lot, most are just funny replies, my notes to read for later, and just... Feral in general lmao.

So, yes, deleted for a reason! (I will be adding to it if I come across more out of pocket shit)

(probably riddled with spelling and Grammar mistakes)

Far From Perfect Deleted Scenes

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

(Spoiler free! at least one of these scenes is NSFW)

-----

That comment strikes a nerve, and for a fraction of a second, Keegan's composure falters.

But he quickly regains his composure, and a flicker of irritation shows in his eyes. "Twat?" he repeats, his voice just as cool as before. "That's a new one. I prefer handsome devil, personally."

"More like arrogant prick." Simon replied with distain.

-----

He knew that Simon was a strong guy, and he had no doubt that he could hold his own in a fight. But he also knew that strength wasn't everything.

He glanced at Simon struggling with the barbell, silently amused. He chuckled to himself and leaned over to Hesh, who was watching the scene unfold with a smirk on his face.

"Y'know, for a big tough guy, he's got some pretty small dick vibes," Keegan quipped, taking a drag from his cigarette.

Hesh snickered, trying to muffle his laughs.

"Yeah, he's overcompensating for something," he said, his eyes fixed on Simon.

"Probably said micro penis."

-----

Soap only shook his head with a scoff, muttering out, "Bloody hell..." under his breath, before leaning over and smacking Simon upside the back of the head.

He grumbled out in irritation, "Get yerself together, ya prick."

-----

Fawn looks up from her coloring book, looking over at her cow.

"Dad...you're a heifer. Just like my cow."

-----

Simon huffs in annoyance, you swear you saw his eye twitch to hold back his anger.

"You think you can just excuse your actions? Moving on like nothing mattered between us?"

"I swear to GOD I'm gonna invest in a meat hook next to make the other side of your ribs to match."

-----

[this shit is ass delete immediately, uncontinue, swap for 3rd]

"Do you remember when we first met?"

It was a dumb question, he knows you do. You’ve told him countless times that you’ll never forget.

You shake your head, confused, "Simon, what is this about?-"

His large hands moved from your arms to your thighs, pushing them apart so he could step even closer to you.

His warm hands gently grip your soft flesh, his fingers squeezing your thighs gently.

"Just answer me," he pleaded.

He wanted to get closer, but he’ll hold himself back.

"Do you remember when we first met?" He repeated.

"Yes," you whisper.

A small, halfhearted laugh escaped from him, but it lacked any humor.

"What was your first thought o' me?"

He knew the answer to this, again, it’s a dumb question, but he wanted to hear it from you. He needed to.

"It was dark, all I saw was your mask and I thought you were gonna kill me..." You nervously smiled, trying to suppress it.

He almost smiled— but he didn’t, not just yet.

Not when he was standing between your legs, his fingers digging into your thighs.

"An' when you saw m'face?"

His head tilted down towards yours, making sure you had no choice but to look up at him with those pleading eyes of yours.

"I...." You trailed off, taking in a breath. "I don't know how to answer that."

His hands on your thighs squeezed gently, as if trying to keep you there. He was losing his patience, fast. He had to keep it together. He can’t get angry, it would wreck everything.

"Say it," He urges. "What did y'think when you saw m'face for the first time?"

"I thought... Maybe you weren't such a asshole after all. You trusted me,"

His thumb moves to start rubbing small circles on your inner thigh, his mind remembering how it’d move between your legs.

"Y'were the only one I trusted with a lot o' things," he said hoarsely, his eyes scanning your face.

His touch was making you shiver, he knew. But he wasn’t going to do anything irrational, especially when he knows you're still hurt, mad at him.

"The only one I trusted with m'heart," he continued. "The only one that I trusted with my life... Y'know that."

-----

"You just said y'would. You'd consider it."

He steps closer to you again, the distance between your bodies almost nonexistent thanks to his fat chest. "You'd consider going out with another guy, just like that?"

"Well, it's a good thing I'm free to do that if I want to, huh? Considering YOURE THE ONE WHO LEFT ME FOR A FUCKING BIMBO!"

-----

"I’ll go pack up her stuff if y'wanna go pump."

"Im gonna use the electric one finally, see how it works." You brush off

He didn’t respond to your statement, simply nodding his head in acknowledgement.

Though, he made a mental note to buy you a better electric breast pump. He’d been meaning to, for sometime, but just didn’t get around to it.

He gave you a light pat on the hip, signaling that he would head over to the nursery to start packing Fawn’s overnight stuff.

You sat Fawn on her play blanket, and fished around for the pump.

You opened the box and read the instructions.

In the other room, Simon headed into the nursery and began to gather up the items he’d need to pack into a small overnight bag: a couple of onesies, a change of clothes, nappies, powder, wipes. The usual supplies for a baby.

It didn’t take him long to get everything together. He sat down on the bed near the nursery and began pulling things out of the bag, double checking he had everything. Simon checked his watch and glanced towards the door, curious how long it was taking you to set up the breast pump.

Normally, it didn’t take long, just a few minutes of getting everything ready. It should’ve been done by now. But you were taking a long time, a noticeably longer time. His curiosity was starting to get the better of him.

He quietly walked to the door, silently slipping into the hallway and going to the living room.

Simon continued to slowly walk down the hallway, looking down when he heard you mumbling to yourself. He saw you sat on the couch, holding the breast pump in one hand and the instructions in the other.

He stopped in front of the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, an amused look on his face.

"Everything alright, love?"

You huff silently, "It says to be placed with the opening at the top, but there's two openings..."

Simon stepped up to the couch, sitting down on the cushion next to you. He looked at the breast pump with you, seeing exactly what you were talking about.

"Y'don't say." He responded, unable to keep the smirk from playing at the corners of his lips.

"Maybe..." You capped the top one, and stuffed it down your shirt and held it in place.

You pressed the on button, and it started to work

He raised an eyebrow, looking at the sight of the pump resting against your chest. The way it sat, pushed against your chest, looked uncomfortable. He reached over to adjust it for you.

"It’s not uncomfortable?" Simon questioned, hand hovering in the air.

"No, it's just...cold." you shrug, letting him hold it in place.

His eyebrows furrowed in thought as you informed him that the pump was cold. Which made sense, considering it was sitting against your bare skin. He adjusted it slightly, trying to ensure it was secure.

"Right, right…" he responded, his voice a tad lower than usual.

Simon found his eyes drawn back to the sight of the breast pump, sitting against your chest.

"At least it's the right titty size."

You huff, deadpanning at him. By the time you were done, you were filling up the biggest mason jar you had with milk. Simon sat there, watching the jar you had the pump connected to fill up with an impressive amount of milk. He was… in awe, mildly shocked at the amount.

"Jesus… that’s a lot o' milk." He mumbled.

"Liquid gold," you smirk, circling the milk around the jar.

"Guess so," he hummed as he watched you circle the milk around the jar. His eyes were still fixated on your tits, particularly the area where the pump was sitting against.

He could feel his jeans growing tighter by the second, and quickly tried to find a distraction. He cleared his throat, trying to think of something to say. He knew that if he just sat there and stared at your breasts, he’d get distracted and things would escalate quickly.

"Y'know, this new pump works… efficiently." he commented, watching as you held the jar.

You nod along, holding up a finger for him to listen to the whirrr of the machine

He went quiet, listening intently to the sound the breast pump was making. He had to admit, the new one was faster, and much quieter than the one you were previously using.

Simon hummed in thought.

"Y'were right 'bout the new pump bein' better. Quiet too,"

-----

"No?" Simon repeated, his eyebrows raising in surprise at her reaction. "You don’t think they are nice?"

"No, because momma always says 'romance is dead', and 'men ain't shit', whatever that means..." She explained casually.

Simon sputters in shock and laughter, "Don't say bad words,"

"Sorry..."

-----

[black jack or crazy eights]

Hesh looks up from his cards with a pout.

"I'm not a sore loser, I just don't like cheaters," he retorts, his words laced with teasing humor.

"You're just a filthy cheater."

"Womp womp, L, ratio, get absolutely shit on—"

-------

[trashed for the better note]

Simon is home from his long day at HQ, locking the deadbolt behind him with a call of your name.

"In here, Si! I can't really walk fast..." you called out.

"'M comin'!" Simon shouted back, his voice a bit rougher than usual.

Simon eyes the kettle already cooling down from its boil, smiling appreciatively.

"Damn, look at ya... lil rascal getting ready to pop, huh?"

You smiled softly, leaning on the counter.

"Yeah, ready to pop my bladder. Been laying on it all day," you rubbed the back of your neck.

"I swear, you didn't have to piss so much before getting pregnant." Simon replied, turning the kettle off the eye.

"Then again, y'know how it is..." He shrugged. "Nothin' but a big ol' baby to the back of your bladder." he said, taking a couple of steps towards you, his hand reaching out to support your back.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his masked cheek.

"I'm ready for this thing to get outta me... I miss having sushi." You whined pitifully.

"Jus' a couple more weeks." he replied, resting his hand on your swollen stomach.

Simon looked down at you, his fingers tracing a small circle.

"Sushi an' wine. Thas what ya missin' the most, eh?" he asked.

"I can deal without wine, but I'd kill for a snow crab roll." You replied with a playful seriousness.

Simon scoffed, though it held no genuine disdain as he laughed. "Yeah, thas you just 'bout. Kill for food, sleep, an' me. What else?" he teased.

He drums his fingers on your belly, "Jus' hold on, yeah? 'M sure we can get you some sushi after things settle down."

"yeah." You smiled up at him, moving out of the way for him.

Simon chuckled, starting to go about the task of making tea.

"Not to mention the little one will be out n' 'bout before we know it." he said, looking down at you.

"An' then we'll have to deal with that. We're gonna have t'get used to bein' tired all the damn time... or just ya, really."

You glared at him slightly, dipping your pretzels in peanut butter.

"'M just sayin', 'm already used to bein' tired." Simon said with a small, smug smile, leaning against the counter.

"An' you'll be the one that's gonna have t'get up in the middle o' the night... feed him an' all that. So 'm gonna have me a lil sleepin' buddy." Simon joked, chuckling again... before realizing what he was saying.

"That uh, that sounded better in my head."

"'him'?" You looked at him confused.

"He... He... It... It's..." Simon replied, his voice growing frustrated as he tried to explain himself. "Whatever it is."

Simon paused for a few seconds, taking a deep breath to try to gather his thoughts

"I mean... I'd be fine no matter what it is." he offered, "I just.. just want it t'be healthy, Y'know?"

"yeah, I know. You think it's a boy?" You asked curiously, munching away.

"I mean..." Simon muttered, his tone growing serious, "I hope it's a boy... I, just,"

Simon sighed, "Just wanna be able to do the things with 'em. Take him out an' about. Teach 'im the things that I think a Dad should teach 'is son."

Simon paused again, letting out a small sigh.

"Sorry... I-I," Simon's voice had gone quiet.

what are you complaining about? It should be enough to have a healthy and happy child... right?

Your eyes softened.

"I get it...you wanna be the dad you didn't have."

"Exactly." Simon muttered, "I don't wanna be... well, I don't wanna be him."

"God, this kid is gonna be glued to your side." You giggle.

"I hope he is." Simon muttered, chuckling softly as he realized how he sounded.

"But... I want 'em to not be afraid to speak up and tell me 'bout stuff. I want 'em to not be afraid to let me know how they're feeling. I want 'em to come to me when they're sad or excited or hurt. I never *got* all that.. and.. well.. I want to give him the childhood I never had, you know?"

"you're already a great dad." You murmured affectionately.

Simon scoffed, though it held no genuine malice as he let out a small, soft chuckle. "Nah... haven't been a Dad yet. Just a... an expectin' father who's gonna soon be a Dad."

He paused a moment, looking down at your stomach, his hand shifting to rub it.

"The baby's still cookin' in there... we still got a ways to go before we start doin' the Dad stuff."

"well...you practically raised your brother. I think you have most of the skills already," you murmured carefully.

Simon stiffened slightly, his fingers tightening a little on your stomach for a moment, before settling once again.

"Right... well... he wasn't my son. He was my brother."

Simon sighed as he continued to massage your stomach.

"It's different." he said shortly, the topic of his brother something that Simon had always been sensitive about, even if he rarely spoke of it.

"it is different, but its still the same necessities, y'know? Feeding, bathing, bedtime..." You trailed off.

"I suppose..." Simon grumbled, his tone quiet, and his grip on your stomach now loosened, his hand now resting gently.

"I just want to be a better father than mine was... better than his. I wanna make sure this kid gets raised proper, y'know?"

"Just wanna be the father that a kid deserves. Not the alcoholic, narcissistic prick that I got." Simon grumbled softly, his words holding no malice, just the facts of his own miserable childhood.

"you're gonna be such a a good father..." You sighed out tenderly, cupping his cheek.

"I sure as hell 'ope so." Simon muttered, nodding as he looked at your hands on his cheek.

"I couldn't bare for our kid to experience even half the trauma that I did. Can't let 'em go through that, y'know?"

"you will." You assured. "You're not your father's son anymore." You shook your head. "You are your own person, top of the Riley family tree."

"Hmm.." Simon muttered softly, nodding as he took a deep breath.

"I know, but I can't help but... I just get scared." he admitted, looking up at you and meeting your eyes.

"Just the idea of havin' to take care 'o somethin'... someone other'n myself... it's a big responsibility." he breathed in again and let out a shuddering sigh, looking back to your swollen stomach.

"we are in this together, okay?" You murmured, trying to wash away his worries.

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

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