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vamptizm · 1 month ago

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v. MISSION JEALOUSY — p.bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis: in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings: angst. smut, cunnilingus (p receiving), scissoring, praise, bottom!paige i think?. kinda toxic!oc. no aftercare. basically porn with plot. do not read if this makes you uncomfortable.

word count: 8.2k (longest shit i’ve ever written)

note: u can definitely tell that i’m not used to writing smut at all and that my literacy disappears when i try… anyway lmk if u wanna be added to the nonexistent taglist. like, comment below and subscribe and share this video with ur friends!

series masterlist

The faint hum of the refrigerator filled the quiet kitchen as Clover stood at the counter, her back to the doorway. She moved languidly, her curly hair loosely tied up, wearing an oversized hoodie that hung off one shoulder and a pair of shorts. A bowl of cereal sat in front of her, spoon in hand, as she focused on eating, ignoring the world around her.

Paige shuffled into the room moments later, her blonde hair a disheveled mess, eyes still half-closed from sleep. She was wearing a loose white T-shirt and grey sweatpants, her bare feet making soft thuds against the tiled floor. She yawned as she made her way to the bathroom, rubbing at her face groggily.

When she returned, her attention fell immediately on Clover, who hadn't so much as turned her head in acknowledgment. Paige froze for a moment, her hand still on the bathroom door handle. ‘Really? Back to this already?’

The frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface since the night before bubbled up again. She thought the tension between them had eased after the game, but clearly, Clover wasn't on the same page.

Paige tried to mask her irritation, playing it cool as she strolled to the kitchen counter. Her tone was casual as she muttered, "Morning."

To her surprise, Clover responded immediately. "Morning," she said, her voice calm and unbothered, her focus still on her cereal.

Paige blinked, momentarily thrown off. There was no sarcasm, no venom—just a steady, neutral reply. It only confused her more.

But then, an image from the night before popped into Paige's head: the blonde waitress standing in the bleachers, holding up that ridiculous sign. The girl's smug face flashed vividly in her mind, reigniting the irritation she'd been trying to push down.

"Your girl looked real proud of herself at the game last night," Paige said, her voice laced with a hint of pettiness. She leaned against the counter, folding her arms. "You two dating or something?"

Clover paused mid-bite, her spoon poised in front of her lips. Slowly, she looked up, finally meeting Paige's gaze. Her expression was unreadable as she chewed and swallowed her cereal before replying, her voice flat.

"Why don't you focus on your game instead of my love life? Maybe then we wouldn't have almost lost."

The words hit Paige like a slap. Her mouth opened slightly in disbelief before she quickly snapped it shut. "Excuse me?" she retorted, straightening up. "If I remember right, you missed that wide-open three in the first quarter."

Clover smirked faintly, clearly unimpressed by Paige's attempt to shift the blame. "And yet we still won, didn't we? You're welcome, by the way," she shot back, her voice light and almost teasing.

Paige bristled. "Oh, don't act like you carried us. You—"

"Paige," Clover interrupted, her tone sharper now, though her expression remained maddeningly calm. "You played like a shitty teammate yesterday. I know that, the team and coach know it, and so do you, so let's stop the theatrics, 'kay?"

Paige clenched her jaw, struggling to come up with a rebuttal that wouldn't immediately backfire. She knew Clover was right, of course she was. The brunette, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, casually taking another spoonful of cereal.

But then Paige decided to double down, the memory of that waitress gnawing at her. "Or maybe you were too focused on your lover and I didn't trust you with the ball."

"Oh, my lover?" Clover mocked with a scoff, tilting her head slightly. "Why? Jealous?"

Paige scoffed, her cheeks burning. "Hardly. Just curious, that's all."

"Mhm," Clover hummed, leaning her hip against the counter as she turned fully toward Paige. Her smile widened slightly, teasing and sharp. "You sure? 'Cause you've been awfully focused on who's in my bed lately."

Paige stiffened, the words hitting harder than she wanted to admit. "I'm not—"

"Oh, you're not?" Clover interrupted smoothly, her eyes twinkling with mock sympathy. She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping an octave. "Then why do you sound so bothered, Paige? Why do you care so much?"

"I don't care," Paige shook her head lightly, her voice trying to imitate nonchalance.

"Could've fooled me," Clover replied with a soft laugh, her calm demeanor only fueling Paige's internal frustration.

She sighed dramatically, setting her spoon down with a clink. She turned fully to face Paige now, hands resting on the counter behind her, grinning and shaking her head as if to taunt the blonde. "You're so obsessed with me, aren't you?"

Paige scoffed with furrowed brows, her face almost flushing. "What? No, what—"

Before she could finish, Clover closed the distance between them in one swift movement, her hands landing firmly on Paige's hips as she backed her into the counter. Paige's breath hitched, her words dying in her throat.

Clover's gaze was steady, unapologetically taking her time as her eyes roamed over Paige, from her messy blonde hair to her hardened nipples under the thin shirt and sweatpants hanging low on her hips. The scrutiny was deliberate, almost predatory, and Paige found herself frozen under its weight.

"You've got a lot of opinions on who I fuck and don't, for someone who isn't obsessed with me." Clover said, her voice low and smooth, a stark contrast to the usual lightness it carried.

Paige swallowed hard, her heart thudding in her chest. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come.

Clover's eyes lingered for a moment longer before she stepped back, releasing Paige as abruptly as she had grabbed her. "Eat something," she said over her shoulder as she returned to her cereal. "Maybe it'll help with whatever's got you so worked up."

Paige stood there, rooted to the spot, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. Her mind raced, trying to process what had just happened, but all she could focus on was the lingering heat of Clover's touch and the smug smirk that played on her lips as she turned away.

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the TV, an episode of Grey's Anatomy playing in the background as Paige reclined on the couch. She was in her usual position—legs spread lazily, an arm slung over the backrest. Her attention wasn't entirely on the show, though. It never was when Clover was around.

Paige glanced up briefly as the sound of light footsteps approached, only for her gaze to lock on Clover's figure. The smaller girl sauntered into the space with her usual effortless confidence, her short denim skirt swaying slightly with each step. A cropped jersey hugged her frame, exposing just enough of her toned midriff and shoulder as it hung off to catch Paige's undivided attention.

Clover didn't acknowledge her at first. Instead, she made a beeline for the coffee table, where a set of keys rested. Paige's jaw tensed as Clover stepped directly in front of her, purposely blocking her view of the TV.

"Seriously?" Paige muttered, her tone low but not nearly annoyed enough to match her words.

Clover didn't respond. She leaned over just enough to grab her keys, giving Paige an unimpeded view of her outfit—gold necklaces catching the light, a delicate waist chain glinting against her skin. Paige's eyes traveled down Clover's figure shamelessly, lingering on her exposed legs before snapping back up. She swallowed hard, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

For a second, Paige considered telling her to move, the words forming instinctively in her throat. But that would mean Clover might actually leave, and she wasn't ready for that just yet.

Clover straightened, her glossy lips curved into the faintest grin as she turned her head slightly, catching Paige's eyes for just a moment. "Problem?" she asked innocently, though her tone betrayed that she knew exactly what she was doing.

Paige's mouth opened, but no words came out. She could feel heat creeping up the back of her neck, her usual composure faltering under Clover's playful gaze.

Satisfied, Clover didn't wait for a response. She tossed her keys in the air once before catching them and pivoted on her heel, heading for the door. The sound of her shoes echoed in the room, and Paige let her eyes wander one last time as Clover's hips swayed with every step.

The door shut softly behind her, and the silence that followed was deafening. Paige released a long, frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her head dipping as if she could somehow shake off the tension.

And yet, despite her irritation, she couldn't stop the small, almost involuntary smile that tugged at the corner of her lips.

Paige couldn't stop thinking about her. No matter what she did—watching TV, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, even lying back and closing her eyes—Clover's image refused to leave her mind. It was maddening, like waking from a dream so vivid, so achingly perfect, that you'd do anything to slip back into it.

Her thoughts were relentless, circling back to the girl over and over again. The way Clover looked when she was mad, her jaw set, eyes blazing with defiance. The way her hands had gripped Paige's collar the night prior, pulling her close enough to feel the warmth of her breath. Paige could still hear her voice, sharp and taunting, her words always laced with an angry edge that sent a shiver down her spine.

And this morning? That was the worst of it. Clover had practically burned herself into Paige's memory. The teasing sway of her hips, the flash of her waist chain catching the light, the smug little smirk she threw over her shoulder as if she knew exactly what she was doing to Paige.

But the moment that haunted Paige the most, the one she couldn't shake no matter how hard she tried, was in the kitchen. Clover's hands on her hips, her grip firm, her body pressing close—too close—until Paige was caged against the counter. Her eyes had roamed Paige's body unapologetically, hunger blazing in them like an open flame. Paige had felt her breath hitch then, her pulse pounding in her ears, and the memory alone was enough to make her throat go dry now.

It was all too much. The twisting heat in her stomach, the ache that gnawed at her with each passing second, was impossible to ignore. She clenched her fists, trying to steady her breathing, but the tension coiled tighter instead of easing.

Finally, Paige gave in. With a sharp exhale, she reached for the remote and switched off the TV. The sudden quiet in the living room only seemed to amplify the storm raging in her mind. She stood abruptly, her legs moving on autopilot as she strode to her room.

The door shut with a soft click behind her, but the sound felt deafening in the empty apartment. None of her roommates were home—not Clover, at least. Paige checked the time, knowing she had hours before anyone returned.

But even as she stood in the middle of her room, hands braced on her hips, she couldn't escape the fire Clover had lit within her. It burned hot, consuming, leaving Paige feeling restless and craving something she knew she shouldn't want. Something she couldn't stop wanting.

That's how Paige ended up laying on her bed, music playing in the background and her hand slid down the waistband of her sweatpants and boxers. It was to no surprise to the blonde, that she had already been soaked before she could even do anything. Her fingers rubbed slow circles, almost teasing herself with the chosen tempo. Images of Clover flashed her mind, her name escaping the blonde's lips like a mantra. It's not as if she didn't try to think of something, or someone else. She really did, but Clover's face, voice and body stuck. The sounds she'd made the last time Paige got to see her like that. Lips swollen, collarbones glistening and eyes dazed and cloudy. All of it drove her insane, her heart beating faster.

Her movements picked up in pace, soft and quiet whimpers and moans turning louder the more her pleasure built up. Biting her bottom lip did near to nothing to help her hold the noises back.

The music that continued to play in the background was loud enough to drown out the sound of the front door opening and clicking shut again, but it wasn't loud enough to drown out the sinful sounds seeping through from behind Paige's door. Clover only stood there, her weight leaned against the wall next to the girl's room door and her arms crossed. A smirk played on her lips, tongue poking against the inside of her cheek.

The debate that unfolded in her head was a tough one. Should she just go to her own room and pretend as if she hadn't heard anything, or should she open that door and give the Paige exactly what she seemed to need.

"Fuck, Clo." Paige's whiny voice rang through her ears, and the way her nickname sounded coming from her was enough to make the brunette crack.

Her hand reached out for the handle, the metal cold under her skin as she pushed it down, the door opening with a soft click. One that Paige seemed to miss, because when Clover slowly and quietly stepped in, her eyes were still closed, hand still down her pants and soft whimpers still coming out of her.

Paige was still unaware of the company. She was too caught up in the moment, her hand stilling abruptly only when the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the quiet room. Her head snapped toward the doorway, wide eyes meeting Clover's figure leaning casually against the frame.

Arms crossed over her chest, Clover wore an expression of pure amusement, a smirk tugging at her lips. The heat was rising to her neck and face, but she'd rarely been the type to visibly flush pink. Her dark eyes glimmered with something Paige couldn't quite decipher—teasing, yes, but there was something else, something that made the blonde's stomach flip in a way she wasn't prepared for.

Paige's hand darted out from under the waistband of her pants as if she'd been burned, her cheeks flushing a deep red. "Fuck—I didn't think anyone would be home yet," she stammered, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. She refused to meet Clover's gaze, as though her embarrassment might subside if she avoided the intensity of the brunette's attention.

Clover only shrugged, entirely unfazed. "One of my classes got canceled," she explained nonchalantly, pushing herself off the doorframe and taking a slow step into the room. "Lucky me, huh?"

The teasing lilt in her voice made Paige's heart race even faster, and the silence that followed was deafening. Clover let it stretch just long enough to make Paige squirm, her gaze unrelenting as it roamed over the blonde with unapologetic curiosity.

And then Clover spoke again, her tone shifting—low, sultry, and taunting. "Do you need help with that?"

Paige froze, her breath hitching as the words registered. Her thoughts scrambled, a million excuses and denials flashing through her mind, but none of them stuck. Instead, her body betrayed her, and before she could stop herself, she nodded. Quick, almost desperate, the motion came faster than she intended.

Clover's smirk widened, satisfaction dripping from the curve of her lips as she closed the distance between them. The door clicked softly shut behind her, the sound sending a shiver down Paige's spine.

Paige's pulse thrummed wildly as Clover reached the bed, the brunette's movements deliberate and unhurried. Paige's breath caught when Clover swung a leg over her, settling into her lap with effortless confidence.

Paige's back pressed deeper into the mattress as Clover leaned in, their faces just inches apart. Clover's fingers trailed along Paige's arm, featherlight, teasing, and when Paige finally met her gaze, she found herself drowning in the intensity of those dark, hungry eyes.

"You should've locked the door," Clover murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but no less commanding. "Not that I'm complaining."

Paige swallowed hard, her breath shallow and uneven. She wasn't sure if it was the weight of Clover on her lap or the brunette's piercing gaze that had her feeling so unmoored. Or maybe, it was her skirt riding up just enough to give the blonde a small peek of the color of her panties. Either way, the heat blooming beneath her skin was undeniable.

"I didn't think anyone would walk in," Paige muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Clover's smirk didn't falter; if anything, it deepened. "Or maybe that's exactly what you wanted." Her fingers brushed against Paige's shoulder now, a featherlight touch that sent shivers racing down her spine.

Paige shifted beneath her, unsure if she was trying to pull away or lean into the touch. Clover didn't move, her composure steady and commanding, like she was in complete control of the situation—and maybe she was.

"You're so quiet now," Clover mused, her voice soft but teasing. "Not so bold when you're not in charge, huh?"

Paige's cheeks flushed deeper, a color Clover clearly noticed because she let out a quiet chuckle—low and knowing. "Relax," she murmured, leaning in just enough for Paige to feel the brush of her breath against her ear. " 'M not gonna bite... unless you want me to."

The words sent a jolt through Paige, and she turned her head, finally meeting Clover's eyes again. There was something playful in the brunette's expression, but beneath it, an intensity Paige couldn't ignore.

"Clover," Paige started, but her voice cracked, betraying her attempt at calmness.

"Hmm?" Clover tilted her head, feigning innocence.

Paige's hands fidgeted at her sides, clenching and unclenching as if trying to anchor herself. "I don't... I don't think this is a good idea," she managed to say, though the words came out uneven.

Clover leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable for a moment. "And why's that?" she asked, her tone softer now, less teasing but no less curious. Attentive.

Paige opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Her thoughts were too tangled—caught somewhere between the electrifying tension of the moment and the gnawing doubt in the back of her mind. She couldn't look away, though, not when Clover was this close, her dark eyes searching Paige's face with such quiet confidence.

“Thought so.”

After a long pause, Clover spoke again, her voice gentle. "If you want me to stop, just say the words."

The sincerity in her tone startled Paige. For all her teasing and playful bravado, Clover wasn't pushing—she was offering a way out. Paige's chest tightened, and for a fleeting moment, she thought about taking it. But instead, she shook her head, the movement small and hesitant but clear.

Clover's smirk returned, softer this time, and she leaned back in closer. "Good," she whispered, her hands settling lightly on Paige's shoulders. " 'Cause I wasn't ready to leave anyway."

She straightened, her dark eyes never leaving Paige’s flushed face as her hands slowly slid down the blonde’s arms. Her fingers moved with purpose, tracing the soft curve of muscle and bone, lingering just long enough to leave a faint, electric trail in their wake. When she reached the hem of Paige’s shirt, she paused, her fingers toying with the fabric as though testing the weight of the moment.

Her gaze flicked up, brown eyes locking onto blue. There was no rush, no demand—just a silent question, one that Clover didn’t need to voice. Paige swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling unevenly, before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod. That was all Clover needed.

In one fluid motion, Clover pushed the shirt up, the fabric gathering as it rose along Paige’s torso. Paige arched her back slightly, her shoulders lifting from the mattress to help, and the shirt slipped off with ease, leaving her pale torso and chest bare under Clover’s attentive gaze.

For a moment, Clover stilled, taking her time as her eyes swept over Paige’s form. Every mole, every curve, every shadow and line of her body seemed to command her attention. It wasn’t just a glance—it was as though she was memorizing her, committing her to the deepest recesses of her mind.

The words that rose in Clover’s throat felt too raw, too close to the parts of herself she usually kept hidden. She swallowed them down, opting instead for the kind of playful charm she always fell back on.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Clover’s lips curved into a grin, her tongue darting out to swipe along the edge of her teeth as she spoke. The compliment was delivered casually, almost cheekily, but the fire in her gaze betrayed the depth of her admiration.

Her hands moved again, this time trailing upward. Her palms came to rest softly on Paige’s chest, her touch firm but not overbearing. She gave a gentle squeeze, her thumbs brushing lightly against smooth skin. Paige’s breath hitched audibly, and her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth as she fought to contain the small sounds threatening to escape her.

Clover leaned in closer, her knees shifting against the mattress to position herself more comfortably. She was hovering now, her body poised above Paige’s, one hand planted beside the blonde’s head for balance. The other hand slid to her waist, her grip light but grounding.

Her lips found Paige’s shoulder first, the kiss soft but deliberate, her breath warm against her skin. Slowly, Clover began her descent, her mouth tracing a line down Paige’s collarbone, lingering in places just long enough to leave a faint sting of warmth in her wake. Paige’s breathing grew shallow, uneven, and Clover could feel the tremor beneath her lips as they moved lower.

Each kiss was unhurried, as though Clover was savoring every inch of Paige’s skin. Her own breathing grew heavier as she moved, the tension between them palpable in the charged silence of the room. Every soft sound Paige made—every faint sigh, every quiet intake of breath—spurred Clover on, her lips trailing lower, igniting a fire that neither of them seemed inclined to extinguish.

Clover's lips paused just above Paige's ribs, her

breath brushing against the sensitive skin. She glanced up, her dark eyes catching the blonde's, searching for any hint of hesitation. Paige's flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips were all the confirmation Clover needed.

With calculated slowness, Clover shifted her weight, her free hand sliding down Paige's side. Her fingertips danced along the curve of her waist before finding her hip, her grip tightening just enough to ground them both. She pressed a lingering kiss just below Paige's ribcage, her lips curving into a faint smirk as she heard the faint, shaky exhale it elicited.

"You're holding your breath," Clover teased, her voice low and teasing as she lifted her head slightly, her lips brushing against Paige's skin as she spoke. "Relax for me, Blondie."

Paige's cheeks darkened further, her hands nervously fidgeting with the blanket beneath her. "Easy for you to say," she muttered, her voice soft but laced with a nervous laugh. "You're not the one being—"

"Admired?" Clover finished for her, arching a brow. She grinned, her lips trailing back upward until they hovered near Paige's ear. "Trust me, you've got nothing to be nervous about."

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they carried a weight that made Paige's breath catch for the umpteenth time. Clover's tone was light, but her gaze was anything but—it was heavy, intense, and filled with an undeniable hunger.

Clover straightened slightly, her hand moving from Paige's waist to her jaw, gently tilting her face upward. "Tell me if you want me to stop," she murmured, her thumb brushing over the curve of Paige's cheek.

Paige shook her head quickly, her blonde hair splaying across the pillow as her voice came out in a quiet, trembling whisper. "Don't stop."

Clover's grin softened into something almost tender as she leaned down, their faces mere inches apart. "I won’t," she reassured, her breath warm against Paige's lips.

This time, when Clover kissed her, it wasn't teasing or lighthearted—it was slow, deep, and deliberate. The world seemed to melt away as their lips moved together, the kiss carrying all the heat and intensity that had been building between them. Paige's hands instinctively moved to Clover's back, her fingers gripping the fabric of her shirt as though she needed something to anchor herself.

Clover's hand slid from Paige's jaw to her neck, her touch firm but gentle as she deepened the kiss. Time seemed to blur, each second stretching into eternity as they lost themselves in each other. The only sounds were the faint rustle of the bedspread, their uneven breathing, and the quiet hum of tension that filled the room.

When they finally pulled apart, Clover rested her forehead against Paige's, her dark eyes searching the blue ones beneath her. Neither of them spoke for a moment, their breaths mingling as they tried to steady themselves.

Clover's lips continued their path, slow and intentional, leaving another warm, tingling trail as they ventured lower. She savored the way Paige shivered under her touch, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Clover's fingers curled just beneath the waistband of Paige's sweatpants.

She paused, her lips hovering just above Paige's navel as her knuckles brushed up and down the smooth, pale skin at her waist. What had her captivated was the way Paige's body responded to her every move—the slight arch of her back, the soft gasp when Clover's knuckles ghosted over her skin.

She tugged slightly, just enough to tease, her touch grazing lower. Paige's breathing was uneven as Clover pressed another kiss to her hipbone, leaving her teetering on the edge of anticipation. She felt like her body was being lit on fire, almost as if somebody had entirely doused her in gasoline, Clover's touch and lips against her skin being the lit match igniting the fire.

"Been wanting to eat this pussy for a while," she murmured, and with that, she eased the fabric down, taking her time, savoring every inch of Paige's bare skin as it was revealed, who was practically almost kicking her pants and boxers off.

There she was, in all of her glory for the brunette to admire and take in. The world outside the room disappeared entirely, leaving only the quiet rustle of fabric and the sound of the blonde's uneven breaths filling the air.

For once, Clover didn't waste any more time, her body shuffling down enough to where she was facing the girl's dripping cunt. Her hands gripped Paige's left thigh, swiftly swinging it over her shoulder for better access. She had to take a deep, subtle breath— filling her lungs with desperately needed oxygen as she took in the sight.

Clover’s lips followed suit, pressing soft, deliberate kisses to the inside of one thigh, and then the other. Her movements were unhurried, almost reverent, as though she had all the time in the world and no intention of rushing something so intimate. Each kiss was a silent promise, a wordless expression of affection and desire, and it made Paige’s head spin like it never had before.

It wasn’t just the touch—it was the care, the attention, the way Clover’s every action seemed to whisper that Paige was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

And for Paige, that feeling was almost overwhelming. It was foreign, like a language she had never bothered to learn.

"Wanna taste you," The brunette whispered, her voice thick with desire as she looked up at the blonde. "It's only fair you let me return the favour." She wanted to make Paige feel good, to make her scream her name. Wanted to give her pleasure like she had never experienced before.

Paige could feel herself getting lost in Clover's chocolate brown irises, in real time speed, hyper aware of everything about the girl. Her eyes, her warm breath against where Paige needed her most, her somewhat rough and veiny hands from playing so much basketball stroking her skin. It all felt heavenly and she was sure that she never wanted this to end as she only nodded her head in response, not trusting her own voice.

That was all it took for Clover to delve in, her tongue flatly licking a long stripe up her folds. The small, airy moan that followed was like music to her ears, only encouraging her to keep going. Clover couldn't help but press a few open mouthed kisses before going back to working her tongue against Paige. The taste was heavenly— near to intoxicating.

It wasn't the first time that Paige had somebody go down on her, not even the fifth or tenth, but for some reason, this time it felt completely different from all the other times. As if Clover was doing it for her own pleasure, perhaps enjoying it more than the blonde herself.

Paige's hand landed on the back of the girl's head, subconsciously pushing her face further down, and luckily Clover wanted nothing more than to be impossibly close to her core.

She felt like she was being burned alive. She propped herself up on her elbows, determined to look down at Clover while the girl continued to messily lick and suckle

"Fuck, Ma. Doing so good." Paige couldn't stop herself from praising the brunette's efforts, a satisfied grin on her lips while her hand reached back down to brush a stray strand of her hair back.

Clover grinned at the praise, her tongue working more urgently, her hands gripping Paige's hips, holding her close. She could feel her arousal growing, body responding to Clover's touch. She increased the pressure of her tongue, repeatedly flicking it against the girl's clit, her hand snaking up to cup Paige's tits, thumb teasing her hardened nipple.

Her soft moans filled the room, and Clover could feel her body trembling beneath her. She continued her ministrations, determined to make this the best experience, sloppily shaking her head from side to side like a starved man, lapping up everything Paige was offering. Gluttony adorned Clover as she wanted to consume her entirely. "You sound so fucking pretty. Anyone ever tell you that?" She pulled away briefly to speak.

Despite all of it— the sin, the unholy sounds and actions, Paige could still feel her face flush pink, somehow growing shy at the unexpected praise. Her heart thudded in her chest as she shook her head, her grip tight on the now messed up bedsheets.

Clover halted, raising a brow in surprise. How could no one have told her that before, when she sounded as soft and angelic as an angel? The complete opposite of her public image. "Shame. We both know that no one can make you feel like I do. They're too selfish to touch you like I do." Clover mumbled against her sopping cunt, causing another whine to escape her at the words.

Paige continued to watch Clover, the sight of the girl in between her legs, feverishly licking and sucking on her cunt was almost as pleasurable as the feeling itself. By this point, Paige was a whiny and whimpery mess, Clover's name leaving her lips like a memorized prayer, her hands uncontrollably pushing the brunette’s head further down.

Paige's other leg had hooked itself over her shoulder, the other hand placing itself over the brunette's hand groping her tits, encouraging her to be as rough as she liked while the girl continued to lap up at her. "Clo, fuck, Baby."

Clover hummed against Paige at the use of her nickname, sending vibrations up her core. Her fingers digging into her hips as she felt her body tense. She loved the taste of her, the sound of her voice, the way her body responded to her touch. Clover increased the pressure and speed of her tongue, her fingers pinching Paige’s nipple harder, grip tightening. She could basically feel Paige's heart pounding, breath coming out in short gasps. Clover wanted to bring her to the edge and then push her over

"That's it, baby," she murmured against Paige’s core, her voice husky with desire. "Cum for me. Make a mess on my face, yeah?" She could feel it, the tension in Paige's body, the way her muscles clenched and released.

There was no denying that Paige was dangerously close, the longer and hungrier Clover continued to eat her out, the tighter the knot inside her tummy got. Clover's words of encouragement and praise only fuelled Paige's pleasure, dragging her closer and closer to the edge. By this point, she had given up on propping herself up, sacrificing the sight of the brunette to stare up at the ceiling. “I’m so close—“

It wasn't long before she felt her climax creeping up on her, until it suddenly hit her like a truck, allowing her to fall and crumble apart against Clover's tongue. The girl's name left Paige's lips over and over, chanting it like a mantra, a chain and series of cuss words escaping her as she came down from her orgasm.

Clover could feel Paige's body tremble as she came, sweet release flooding her mouth and soaking the bottom half of her face. She swallowed, her gaze still focused on the blonde's cunt, a smile spreading across her face.

She pulled back, a string of saliva mixed with arousal connected to her lips and the girl's core before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her body aching with need as she pushed Paige's legs off her shoulders. She sat up, gazing down at the blonde, her chest heaving, breath coming out in short pants.

Clover leaned back, her weight shifting off Paige for a moment as her hands slid to the hem of her own shirt. The golden glow of the setting sun streamed through the window, casting a soft light over her, highlighting every curve and shadow of her form. As she moved, the long gold necklaces around her neck swayed gently, catching the light and adding an almost hypnotic rhythm to her movements.

She paused, glancing down at Paige with a small, teasing smile.

Paige was still catching her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her flushed face was framed by her tousled blonde hair, and her blue eyes remained fixed on Clover, wide and slightly dazed. She looked almost enchanted, like she couldn't believe this was happening, like she didn't want to miss a single second of what came next.

Clover slowly lifted her shirt, further revealing not just the toned lines of her stomach but the tattoos that adorned her skin. Fine lines drawing a cybersigilistic design that rested just beneath her breasts and along her ribs, curving slightly with her movement. Another intricate design spanned her womb, a soft but striking contrast against her smooth skin. The details were mesmerizing, yet understated.

The fabric peeled away like the layers of a gift being unwrapped, and Paige's gaze followed the movement, her lips parting as her breath hitched again.

"Enjoying the view?" Clover teased softly, her voice low and playful as she tugged the shirt over her head and tossed it carelessly to the side.

Paige swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of pink as she nodded wordlessly. Her eyes flickered between Clover's face, her jewelry, and her newly exposed skin, lingering on the delicate gold waist chain that rested against her hips and the black-lace bra. It seemed to frame her tattoos, drawing attention to the soft lines and curves of her body.

Clover's smirk softened into something more tender as she reached for the button of her skirt, her fingers working at the closure with practiced ease. She kept her movements slow, calculated, letting Paige's gaze linger. There was something deeply satisfying about the way Paige looked at her, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment.

"Breathe, Blondie," Clover said with a small laugh, her tone light but warm.

Paige let out a shaky laugh of her own, exhaling deeply as she ran a hand through her messy hair. "I... I'm breathing," she murmured, though her voice was barely above a whisper.

Clover's smile grew, a mix of confidence and affection flashing in her dark eyes. "Good job," she praised simply, stepping out of her skirt with the same slow grace. When she straightened up again, her hands on her hips, the sunlight glinted off her necklace and waist chain, her tattoos shifting slightly with ever movement. She took a step closer to the bed, watching as Paige's gaze traveled upward to meet hers.

"You're beautiful," Paige said suddenly, the words spilling out unfiltered, her voice tinged with awe.

The comment caught Clover off guard, and for a brief second, the teasing façade cracked, replaced by something raw and genuine. Her lips curved into a softer smile, and she reached out to brush a strand of hair from Paige's face.

"Thank you," Clover whispered, her voice gentle and sincere.

For a moment, they just stayed like that, the air between them heavy with a charged silence that felt more intimate than any words or actions. Then Clover climbed back onto the bed, her motions slow and purposeful, as if savoring the closeness they were about to share again.

Clover moved to get on her knees, peeling her panties off and unhooking her bra, before throwing both to the floor, leaving her just as bare and exposed as Paige. She grabbed a pillow next to the girl's head, patting her hips for Paige to lift them so that she could place the pillow under her.

Clover's arm gently lifted Paige's left leg up, eyes hungrily drinking in the sight of the girl's still sopping cunt before hooking that leg over her chest and on her shoulder. Before doing anything else, Clover stroked and caressed Paige's thigh to relax the girl and her muscles.

"Don't know if I can take it. Too sensitive." Paige mumbled quietly.

The brunette only grinned, her eyes cloudy and her voice low. "You can and you will."

It didn't take long for Clover to throw one leg over Paige’s other thigh and lower herself on the blonde under her, their cores finally meeting as electricity sparked all throughout their bodies, a small and satisfied moan leaving the blonde's lips.

"Damn, Baby. You're still soaked." Clover chuckled as she grinded against the girl's cunt, playfully teasing in hopes of helping her relax further and let loose. She didn't want the atmosphere to be serious.

Paige's body arched up into Clover's, her hands gripping her hips. She wanted more, wanted them to be impossibly close. To melt into one.

The brunette let her head fall back, eyes fluttering shut as she began to grind against Paige, the sensation and pleasure sending shivers down her spine. She let out a soft, needy moan, her body responding to Paige's touch, whose hands were still firmly clasping her hips. "I'm supposed to be doing the work."

"Can't have that, Mama." Paige mumbled breathlessly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth as she guided Clover's hips up and down.

All that could be heard next, was the sound of wet squelching and soft, needy moans and whimpers from both Clover and Paige. The room felt hot and suffocating, the smell of sex filling the air as both of them panting for more oxygen.

"Words, Paige. I need words." Clover demanded firmly, her nails digging into the soft flesh of the blonde's thigh against her chest. "Tell me how I'm making you feel." She continued to rock her hips against Paige's, trying to hold back her own moans as much as possible, but that proved to almost be pointless.

Paige looked absolutely stunning beneath her—straight out of an erotic painting—fucked out face, parted lips and rosy cheeks. Clover couldn't stop herself from placing soft kisses against her thigh, her hand reaching down to intertwine her fingers with Paige's, the other gripping the leg closer to her chest.

Paige let out a strangled moan, her blue eyes meeting Clover's brown, body trembling with need and her heart still thudding in her chest. "You feel so fucking good. Making me feel good." she panted, her voice thick with lust. "So soft ‘nd wet. Can't get enough of you, Ma."

Her hips once again bucked against the brunette's, fingers tightening around Clover’s as they continued to hold hand "Fuck, Clover, please." She whispered, her voice barely a whisper. She could feel her muscles tightening, losing herself in the sanctuary of pleasure, her heart pounding and skin burning

Paige's breath hitched again, her hands instinctively gripping Clover's waist as if grounding herself, her fingertips brushing against the delicate chain wrapped around Clover's hips. The sensation of the cool metal against her heated skin sent another wave of shivers through her body, and she closed her eyes, trying to steady herself.

"I... I need..." Paige stammered softly, her voice trembling under Clover's knowing gaze. She couldn't quite get the words out, her usual confidence completely shattered, leaving her bare and vulnerable beneath the brunette's smoldering intensity.

Clover tilted her head, her dark brown eyes locking onto Paige's as her fingers trailed along the side of her neck, sending goosebumps down her spine. "You need what, Baby?" she asked, her voice a whisper of mischief and affection. Her hand traced a slow, deliberate path from Paige's neck to her collarbone, pausing to toy with a loose strand of golden hair before moving lower.

Paige swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath Clover's steady weight. "I need you," she finally admitted, her voice whiny and barely above a whisper but raw with sincerity. Her hands slid up Clover's back, brushing against the intricate ink curling around her ribs, the warmth of her touch drawing an audible sigh from Clover's lips. “Need to cum so bad.”

Clover's smirk softened into something gentler, more intimate. "Good girl," she murmured, her tone a blend of praise and satisfaction. She dipped her head slightly, her lips brushing against the corner of Paige's mouth, still teasing, still withholding just enough to leave the blonde aching for more.

Their bodies moved together again, Clover's necklace and waist chain catching the soft light and reflecting delicate patterns onto Paige's flushed skin while dangling over her. Clover's lips hovered just a breath away from Paige's, and the tension between them reached its breaking point. With one last whisper, Clover's voice turned molten. "Whenever you're ready."

Clover's words hung in the air, each one a soft promise that vibrated through Paige's chest, making her heart race all over again. She could feel the weight of Clover's presence pressing down on her, not just physically but emotionally, as if Clover were holding a piece of her in the palm of her hand.

Paige exhaled slowly, her body still trembling from the tension that Clover had so expertly drawn out of her. There was an intimacy to the moment that felt different from anything she'd known before, a deep connection that swirled in the space between them, weaving tighter with every shared breath. She wanted to say something, to reassure Clover or maybe to find the words to express the overwhelming pull she felt, but her thoughts scattered as Clover's fingers brushed over her waist, sending sparks of warmth where they touched.

The blonde's muscles tensed, her hips bucking against Clover's once more, blunt nails digging into the skin of her hips as she came, her orgasm washing over her in waves, sweeping her away like a sandcastle built near the shore. She cried out Clover's name, her vision blurring as she rode out the orgasm, her body trembling. Paige had almost missed the way Clover was quick to follow along, brought over the edge by the sight of the blonde beneath her.

Clover's chest rose and fell heavily, her breathing uneven as she stayed poised above Paige. For a moment, she felt herself softening, the sight of Paige sprawled beneath her—a mixture of flushed cheeks, mussed blonde hair, and half-lidded blue eyes—making her hesitate. Paige looked so beautiful in her afterglow, so raw and unguarded. A quiet part of Clover wanted to stay, to lean down and press a lingering kiss to her lips, to let herself feel the intimacy of the moment instead of running from it.

But then the memory crept in, uninvited.

It hit Clover like a sharp jab to the chest—the last time they had been in a position similar to this, how Paige had left her without a second glance. Her jaw tightened subtly, and she straightened up, the decision crystallizing in her mind. If Paige could leave her like she didn’t matter, then Clover could do the same.

Her fingers twitched as she quickly sat up, no longer interested in being close. No longer interested in lingering in the warmth of Paige's body. The image of Paige's face—beautiful, bizarrely innocent, but so distant—made her blood boil, and she stood abruptly, pulling herself together before Paige even had a chance to react.

She didn't look back. Didn't wait for the moment to dissolve into some kind of apology or shared understanding. With swift movements, Clover gathered her underwear from the floor, pulling them on with mechanical precision, trying not to focus on the tightness in her chest or the way her hands shook ever so slightly as she dressed.

Paige's voice broke the tension in the room, but Clover didn't even flinch at the confusion in it. The blonde's breathless question cut through the air, but Clover's heart was already somewhere else. Somewhere colder. Somewhere removed.

"Where are you going?" Paige asked, her voice was small, still carrying the traces of what they had just shared.

Clover's gaze flickered over Paige for the briefest of moments—just long enough to see the furrow in her brow, the question in her eyes. She almost felt something—regret, maybe—but it was drowned out by the sting of that memory. She couldn't afford to be soft now. She couldn't afford to care.

"I got a date in less than an hour," Clover said, her voice flat and emotionless, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside of her. She didn't give Paige the courtesy of another glance as she pulled her shirt over her head, the fabric falling into place as if she were shedding some piece of herself along with it.

With a final glance at the room, Clover turned and walked out, each step harder than the last. The door clicked softly behind her, leaving Paige in a stunned silence, her mind racing, her body still warm from the aftermath of what had just happened.

Paige lay there, staring at the ceiling, her chest still rising and falling with the remnants of their shared moment. But instead of the satisfaction she had expected, she also felt hollow. Something in her chest felt empty, as if the pieces of her that had once been tethered to the moment had been pulled away, leaving her exposed and uncertain.

The confusion that filled her just moments before quickly turned to something else—regret, maybe, or perhaps guilt. She hadn't meant to hurt Clover. She hadn't known that leaving that night would leave such a lasting mark, but the coldness that Clover had shown her now... it stung.

As the minutes stretched on in the silence that Clover had left behind, Paige realized something. The distance between them was more than just physical. It was emotional, and it ran deeper than she had thought. She could feel it, that growing gap. Clover had shut down, and Paige had no idea how to bridge the divide that was suddenly so wide and unspoken.

Her breath came shallow and quick, her hands clenching into the sheets as she replayed the last few seconds over and over in her mind. Clover had mentioned a date. A date.

The thought hit her like a bucket of ice water, dousing any lingering haze of satisfaction from her mind. Confusion and guilt twisted in her chest, but it didn’t take long for something sharper to bubble to the surface. Annoyance.

"Really?" Paige muttered to herself, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. She tugged her shirt back over her head with more force than necessary, her jaw tightening. The image of Clover’s nonchalant expression as she casually mentioned going on a date burned into her mind, setting her teeth on edge.

Jealousy twisted its way through her stomach like a knot, coiling tighter with every passing second. She couldn’t help the questions that began racing through her mind. Who was the date with? Someone Clover actually liked? Someone better than her? Was it that same waitress?

The thought made her stomach churn. Clover leaving so abruptly, leaving her this time, stung more than Paige wanted to admit. It left her feeling unmoored, exposed in a way she wasn’t used to.

Paige hated how much it bothered her. And she hated the idea of Clover going to someone else, smiling that same teasing smile, leaving someone else breathless and wanting.

Her scowl deepened, her heart racing in a mix of frustration and something uncomfortably close to longing. She didn’t know if she wanted to pull Clover back or push her further away.

taglist (open) @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @starlighttsv @ekisokay @st4rrzynight @ohmybueckers

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #mission jealousy #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x female oc

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lady-ashfade · 1 year ago

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Yandere Romantic Class 1-A With A Darling Who Is Touchy And Flirty

—£ This about how the class would react! I have just been in the mode to write for mha so that’s what I’m doing. Also love the yandere class with all my might.

—£ Warnings: Suggest themes, yandere behavior, possessive behavior, reader being very flirty, revealing clothing.

The class had a handful with dealing with you. it was always so much when you started right off the bat with giving them hugs or touching them in smalls ways. to you it wasn’t a big deal and you were just being you, you had no clue that they thought it was romantic. sweet little thing you were to not noticing how feral your classmates were with you.

Each of them always tries to get you to touch them in any kind of way. If you wanted to lay your head on their shoulders, give them a high five? Anything is okay.

Quickly they realized you just did physical touch to show you care, or that you had a flirty personality. You never noticed how truly dazed and embarrassed they got when you flirted with one of them. Or, the death glares they sent to the other that had your attention.

Bakugo was one to quickly pull you around. he’d pull you by the waist and make you walk with him while he yells at you(He’s to flustered to do anything else). He’d give you pointers on how “Not to suck.” when you train. even saying he needs help dealing with those shitty extras he is friends with.

Bakugo gets so red when you touch his muscles and his chest when you praise him for a job well done. he could have beat you in a training match but here you are praising him. “You’ll be a great hero.” You’d wink at him and tell him to remember you when the time comes. but how could he ever forget you!

The class always watched out for you when they needed to. like once they saw you with a person from class 1-b and you put your precious hands on that person. oh boy did they get pissed. they let you out of sight for a minute and here someone is taking advantage of you. don’t you know that smile and praise is only for them, along with your sweet touches.

“We missed you,” Mina spoke as she held you close as the class surrounded you. “Dumbass, stop talking to those fuckin’ idoits.” The loud blonde growled.

You only giggled and smiled, “They were really nice guys. no need to worry,” you smirked “you guys are the only classmates I want.”

Their hearts melted there.

Soon, they got more comfortable with your attention. So much that they couldn’t go without them. They pouted when you didn’t hug them when you walked into class, or anything else. And of course that counted how much you hugged the others and made you do the same.

But, the more time went on your flirting was taken seriously, of course unnoticed to you. the dekusquad and bakusqaud would fight over who you actually like. the others would get jealous and maybe comment, but they would share. they would do anything for their darling.

If you are more masculine then you could touch the guys more because it wouldn’t be considered “Inappropriate” even if you are innocent. like feeling their chest and shoulders to comment them. The boys loved that, because they got to smirk at the girls.

Now if you are more feminine then the girls made you cuddle them, no matter what actually. throw your arms around the waist, or pull you so close to their bodies. the girls are bad because they are into PDA. Like, the boys touch you if you allow them- But the girls? They are touching you all the time.

“Aren’t you the cutest,” Ochako coo’d at your puffy cheeks full of food, you looked like a deer in headlights as you continued to chew. “They have sauce on their cheek, kero.” Tsu chirped up from beside you.

“Here let me!” Momo took a napkin and whipped off your pretty cheek. “Much better.” You thanked her and continued to eat. you were used to your friends behavior so it wasn’t a problem, though sometimes you found it weird.

“I made you a playlist.” Jiro said as a buzz at your phone went off. She had stayed up all night looking for songs that you’d like, maybe even praise her for it later.

But the class fond over you not matter what you are. you’re their darling. you can get anything you want if you bat your eyes at them.

in training they put on a show for you just so they get get your praise at who wins. it’s almost a blood bath each time. the class is constantly fighting over you. And will fight anyone who is not them because it’s only them who can have you.

Just be careful not to make them faint with your actions because it’s easy. Their pretty little thing.

#yandere izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki Bakugo x reader #mina ashiro x reader #yandere mina ashido x reader #denki kaminari x reader #yandere denki kaminari #yandere class 1a scenarios #yandere class 1a x reader #yandere class 1 a x reader #class 1a x reader #poly class 1 a x reader #yandere ochako uraraka x reader #yandere ochako uraraka #ochako uraraka x reader

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meetmypointlessaddiction · 1 month ago

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let me chase your demons away | l.howlett

First post of the New Year, hoping to write bigger and better things this year :)

Summary: Logan struggles to sleep... but not when you're around

Warnings: nightmares and panic attacks

Pairings: leaning more towards a fem!reader

Enjoy and please like and comment if you do. Something as simple as an emoji literally makes my day better so please don't hesitate to comment and obviously reblog to share my work.

Requests are also open if there is anything that people want me to write 💛

Logan had struggled with nightmares for as long as he could remember. Up until now, there had never been anything that could prevent the neverending terror loop his brain played on a night. Up until you.

You hadn’t been at the school long, Charles had invited you to come and teach English to some of the younger students, but Logan could tell there was something about you, something about your scent that made him relax. Your sleeping habits were just as messed up as his meaning that, whenever you both found yourself unable to sleep, you would both end up on the couch in the mansion’s living room, watching shitty movies to try and tempt you both to sleep. More often than not, it worked for Logan but little did you know that it wasn’t the mind numbing films or the peaceful silence, it was your company.

For weeks, Logan would simply allow himself to fall asleep on the sofa beside you and it was the best night’s sleep he would have all week. He would ensure there was a good amount of distance between the two of you, not confident enough that he wouldn’t have a nightmare and go all Wolverine on you. You would wait until he fell asleep and then arrange his legs and neck comfortably on the couch, laying the thick blanket over him and then heading off to bed.

When you were out on a mission or away from the mansion on a long period of time, Logan would have many nightmares. Nightmares meant a sleep deprived Logan and a sleep deprived Logan meant suffering for everyone else in the mansion. One night in particular, snow was falling heavily when Logan went to sleep and you were out of town, visiting some friends in a nearby village meaning a nightmare was 100% guaranteed. Snow was hard enough for Logan to manage, reminding him of Stryker and the physical and mental toll he went through.

He woke with a start, his chest heaving and feeling tight, dripping sweat and struggling to concentrate on taking deep breaths. He didn’t know why it occurred to him but for some reason his first instinct was to call you so that’s what he did, not even considering the late hour, knowing that you were more than likely awake.

In the next village over, your phone buzzing interrupted the conversation you and your friends were having over a bottle of wine. “Who’s calling you at this time?” Your friend, Georgia, asked with a smirk.

“You got a secret boyfriend, you’re hiding from us?” Faith nudged you with a cheeky grin but you just gave them a half smile, standing and excusing yourself to take the call.

“Logan? Has something happened?” You asked down the phone, alarmed by the heavy breathing and almost whimpers you could hear.

“I-I think I’m havin’ a heart attack bub.” He said and you knew from then what was wrong. Since when does the Wolverine have heart attacks?

“Logan, you’re having a panic attack honey. You need to take deep breaths, sit yourself down and stop pacing, okay? Are you sat?” You asked and heard the creak of a bedframe as the man grumbled an affirmative. “Alright, in through your nose and out through your mouth. It’ll pass, Logan, I promise.”

After a couple of minutes, his breathing began to even out the amount of noise he was making reduced. “I… sorry for interrupting your evenin’.” He ended the call quickly and you were left standing in the hall of your friends house, confused. Why did he call you out of everyone?

~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later, upon your return from your friend's house, Logan pulled you aside with a stern look on his face. “What happened the other night, didn't. Understand? Forget it.”

You look at him, confused and slightly insulted. “What? You think I’m going to tell someone or something? You think I think of you any less because of it?” Your protest seemed to throw Logan off guard and he looked at you with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape. “I don’t know who you think I am, Logan but that’s not the type of person I am.”

~~~~~~~~~~

For the next few nights, Logan didn’t go downstairs to sit with you on the couch and watch shitty films, didn’t allow himself to bask in the comfort your company gave him. Instead, he suffered on minimal sleep and caffeine, causing headaches for everyone around him and snapping at every minor inconvenience in his life.

Eventually, you grew tired of it and grabbed him by his forearm just as he was about to head to bed, dragging him towards the couch. “Everyone’s tired of your shit, Logan. Sit on the damn couch, watch a movie with me and sleep.” You demanded, pushing him to his side of the couch and putting the blanket over him before plopping yourself down at your side, closer than the pair of you would normally sit. Logan resisted for as long as he could but pure exhaustion gave him no other choice than to relax and sleep. His eyes fell shut and within minutes he was asleep, snoring and drool coming from his mouth. However, instead of going off to bed like you normally would, you rested your head against his shoulder and let yourself doze off.

When the students and teachers of the school began waking up and racing downstairs to fight for the tv, they all fell silent at the sight of the notoriously grumpy Wolverine cuddled up with the cute English teacher, his face pressed into your hair as he spooned you, deep snores emanating for the man. Storm and Jean ushered the children out of the living room, telling them to leave the pair of you to rest for a little while longer while Scott immediately found a camera to take a photo to tease Logan with as soon as he woke up.

Dividers: @coolcatsgraphics

I'm also on A03 :)

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fluff #hugh jackman #james logan howlett #logan wolverine #logan howlett fic #logan howlett angst #hurt/comfort #nightmares #logan has nightmares #logan howlett x fem!reader

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fishfooddude · 6 months ago

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No Phone Policy 3.0

Baby girl Berzatto needed a metal name, and this felt like the choice, ya know?

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Part 2

“Hi, beautiful… oh, this is hella trippy buggies. I remember holding you for the first time, and now I’m holding my granddaughter for the first time…” your Dad laughed as he stared down at the tiny pink bundle in his arms. You smiled as you watched him pace beside your bed. “Where’s Carmy? I have a present for this little princess—I’m surprised he isn’t glued to her, or you, for that matter.”

You grinned as you adjusted yourself in the incredibly uncomfortable hospital bed you’d been in for the past 48 hours. “He went home to grab me some stuff I forgot.” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t see through your bluff. With a narrow stare, your Dad nodded. He could tell you weren’t telling him something, but he didn’t want to upset you by pushing the topic.

“Well, what did you two name this perfect little angel?” your Dad questioned as he handed you your daughter. You shrugged, “Haven’t decided yet… the papers are over there on the table, but we can’t decide.”

“What were you two thinkin’? I’m team something unique and magical, especially since that lil girl was born on one of the most magical days of the year.” he smiled, putting a hand over his chest. You chuckled and adjusted the infant in your arms.

“July 23. Best day of your life.” you answered, “You know, I know the story by heart… but she hasn’t heard it yet.” the sing-song nature of your comment made your Dad lean forward in his chair. “Baby’s first Grandpa story! May I?” he asked, offering his hands to you. You laughed as you handed the baby back to him.

“I better get my daughter back, Dad,” you playfully scolded as he held her close to his chest. He shrugged and responded, “No promises. She’s my new favorite person in the world—your Ma and sisters, and the boys are a very close second, but right now—it’s all her.”

“You hear that gorgeous? Grandpa has known you for 30 minutes, and your greatness has already superseded your Mommy’s. You’re my perfect lil angel.” he cooed. As he babbled at her, you rolled your eyes, “Tell the story, Grandpa.”

He scoffed in your direction before turning on the story-telling voice he would use when telling your nephews' stories. “The year was 1986. Your Grandpa was traveling with one of the greatest bands mankind will ever know, Van Halen. Metallica is also a pretty fuckin’ awesome choice for music- don’t let your Daddy ruin your taste in music, princess. You will be my little metalhead.”

“Dad.” you scolded. He shot you an exasperated look, “He’s not even here bonding with his daughter. I’m GOING to shit on his shitty taste in music.” he challenged. He noticed your subtle wince when he brought up Carmy for a second time. Something was going on, but he didn’t dare bring it up, “Ok, ok, I’ll stop shittin’ on Carmy. Back to baby’s first Grandpa story.” he chuckled, leaning back in his chair and adjusting the baby in his arms.

“Grandpa was in St. Louis. I’d followed Van Halen for 12 weeks across the continental United States. I was broke as shit, hungry as hell, and I STANK. I’m at the truck stop right- there’s this little diner called Olivette. I ordered the cheapest breakfast I could, and at the end of my meal- this GORGEOUS waitress brought me a piece of gooey butter cake- a Missouri delicacy, in time you’ll have your fair share, princess.” he assured the gurgling bundle in his arms, “The waitress goes, ‘it’s on the house sugar’ in this cute ass little twang and I about died. That was your Grandma Dottie.”

You smiled as he continued the story. He went in to explain how he’d worked up the courage to ask her if she was going to the Van Halen show that night, and when she said ‘yes,’ he knew she was the one. You laughed as he explained that his mutual love of music had brought him an amazing life.

“I met Dottie on July 23, 1986, so the fact you were born on July 23, 2024, is a sign. I think I can convince your Mommy to give you a metal ass name. Auntie Pamala was named after Panama- the best Van Halen song. Your Mommy’s middle name is Olivette because that’s where I met your Grandma. Then Auntie Mars is Mars because Grandma wouldn’t let me name her after Lars Ulrich, but Mars was acceptable.” you laughed as your Dad explained the Y/L/N family lure. “Your Auntie Pam is my favorite, though- she named her boys after Eddie and Alex Van Halen.”

You rolled your eyes. “I love you, Daddy, but I’m not naming my daughter after Van Halen or Metalica.” He scoffed in response. What about Pantera or Megadeath? I’m just sayin’ with a last name like Bearzatto. She needs a metal-ass name.”

You laughed as you collected your daughter back from him, “Okay, buggies, I love you, and I’m really proud of you. Not just for procreating but for everything you’ve done. Your Ma would be real proud, too.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t have a name yet?” your sister Pam laughed as she cradled your daughter in her arms. You shrugged, “We just can’t decide.”

“Didn’t he insist on some Van Halen reference?” Mason, Pam’s husband, laughed as he entered the room with a brown paper bag. You shook your head, “He gave her three band onesies, but I think I got out of the Van Halen references.”

Mason shook his head as he placed the bag on the end of your bed, “I wasn’t sure what you’d be cravin’, but I figured a sub and chips was a safe bet.” he grinned. “Thanks, Mason.”

“What about Jade Van? Dad would freak over the reference.” your baby sister Mars laughed as she put her head on your shoulder, and she snuggled closer to you, craning her neck to get a better look at your still-unnamed daughter. You shook your head, “I don’t know how Carmy would feel about that one.”

“Bitch. He isn’t even here. Name her whatever the fuck you want.” she said with an overly dramatic eye roll. Mars was the only one who knew about the issues you and Carmy had been going through, but you couldn’t stomach telling her that Carmy missed the birth.

“How about Blade? Blade Berzatto—fuckin’ metal, right?” you joked, trying to brush Carmy out of your mind. Mars erupted into laughter,, which startled the baby in your arms. You cradled the baby and nudged Mars to shut up. “I love it. But let’s go more norm-core,” Mars said as she ran her thumb against the baby’s chubby cheek.

“Are you an Erin? Jasper? Kali? Luna?” you listed off baby names as you did skin-to-skin after the baby’s afternoon feeding. You were finally done with visitors for the day, and you’d turned your phone off to avoid dealing with Carmy. You’d inevitably have to talk to him at one point, but having at least one more day of peace was a priority right now. You didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, but it was a safe assumption that he was probably working himself to the bone at The Bear. The Bear… Bear… “Wolf.” the name came to you. “Wolf Berzatto… Daddy goes by Bear. We were calling cub while I was pregnant… you don’t call baby wolves cubs, but I like it. You do need a middle name, though. I know Daddy liked the name Bonnie.” you rattled off before leaning over to kiss the baby’s hat-covered head.

“What if you hate the name Wolf? I mean, you could go by your middle name or a nickname… Daddy’s name is Carmen, but he goes by Carmy. Okay, Wolf Bonnie Berzatto. I like it, and if Daddy doesn’t, he can suck my dick. Am I swearing too much around you? I feel like I am.” you laughed, “Okay… also, you’re only getting your Daddy’s last name because I changed my last name when I married him.”

“Wolf… that’s quite a name,” Natalie awkwardly complimented, trying not to pass too much judgment on her niece. She can go by Bonnie if she hates it.” You defended your name choice for the hundredth time in the short eight hours since announcing her name to your family group chat. Turning your phone back on had been anxiety-inducing. Carmy had left you hundreds of texts and voicemails begging to be allowed in the hospital room and apologizing for anything and everything he could think of. It was endearing, but you were still pissed off.

“Does Carmy know about the name choice?” Natalie carefully prodded as she watched you shove stuff into your bag. You shook your head, “I haven’t talked to him yet.”

Natalie knew you hadn’t talked to him and knew about you barring him from the hospital. He came back to the restaurant. Natalie had seen Carmy upset in the past, but this was a different kind of upset. He went off on Richie about the ‘no phone policy’ he’d enforced on all staff. Carmy was never a fighter, but Marcus and Sweeps had to hold him back after Carmy had punched Richie in the side of the head. Richie, visibly disorientated, screamed a ‘what the fuck’ alerting the kitchen staff of the fight going on in the thankfully empty front of house. It took a while for Carmy to calm down enough to tell anyone what had happened. Richie apologized but said Carmy missed the birth, which wasn’t his fault. It was Carmy’s fault. Richie went off about Carmy knowing your due date and how he should’ve planned better and asked for an exception to the rule.

Natalie sighed, remembering how that comment had riled Carmy up again. She drove him home while he called you repeatedly, getting progressively more upset each time his call went to voicemail. “She can’t do this to me, Sugar- I know I fucked up, but-but she can’t-” Carmy stopped midsentence and began rocking himself forward and backward in his seat. “Carmy, wh-wh-what can I do? How can I help you?” Natalie begged as she parked in the driveway of the house you two owned. “Do you have a fuckin’ time machine so I can go back and not miss the birth of my fuckin’ daughter!” he screamed, making Natalie freeze in her seat.

Natalie stayed with Carmy the entire time you were in the hospital. He was a mess. He flipped between extreme rage and full-blown panic. He ranted about how you were going to leave him and prevent him from seeing his daughter. He cried so hard he threw up multiple times. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t eating. Natalie had never seen her brother like this before and was at a loss for what to do.

When you called her to come pick you and the baby up from the hospital, she didn’t know what to say. You’d asked her not to tell or bring Carmy, which she understood, but it still conflicted her. You hadn’t filled her in on Carmy’s minimal involvement with your pregnancy the past weeks, but Natalie could put two and two together. After enlisting the help of Syd and Richie, Natalie felt as if she could leave Carmy and come pick you up.

“Are you okay, Nat?” you questioned as you strapped Wolf into her car seat. It’s nothin’. I just feel really guilty that I’m meeting my niece before Carmy had the chance to…” Natalie explained as she crossed her arms over her stomach. You knew Natalie had a point. You felt that same guilt. You wanted nothing more than to cuddle with your husband and daughter.

You sighed, “Well, I guess I have to talk to Carmy at one point, so let’s go.”

Part 4

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spitdrunken · 1 year ago

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i am absolutely insane about your headcanons with the vee's, my mind is so full now... this is exactly what i was hoping to find when searching through the hazbin x reader tag after watching the episodes 👁️🙏🏻 please i'm so!! the being a writer for the vee's imagine is such a good idea, val and his.. comment especially got to me..

also, for your consideration:

Val — or all of the Vee's, really —, but, in the beginning, he's really not convinced about the quality of your dialogues, despite all the lines he's read (or, well, has had Vox read to him), so naturally you have to read your previous stories out loud to him, cheeks flushing and squirming when it gets to particularly graphic scenes and his gaze on you is so very heavy, smoke caressing your jaw while you stumble over your words.. It's worse if you've written about them and a character who resembles you, and Val's smile widens when you skip from story to story, mentioning the character — definitely not you — sucking Vox off, bending over willingly for Val and begging for Velvette to touch her, or even take all three of them at once, greedy...

Also the. love potions Velvette makes have me feeling things.. Her or Vox but they might end up putting a drop or four into your glass — purely accidentally, of course! —, and...

this is terrible.. my mind is too full now... i might have to post writing for hazbin now and it is your fault alone.. (affectionate; truly, I've enjoyed your thoughts so very much!! thank you for sharing!)

I'm glad you enjoyed it so much :D!! I had an absolute blast writing it myself, and I've been thinking about it lots!! Your ask made it even Worse (/pos) and I simply had to write more!! Please please please let me know if you write something for Hazbin, I can tell from your ask already that it'll be wonderful! And if you ever wanna chat about these guys, feel free to message me again, haha.

Notes: power imbalance, sexual harassment, heavily dubious/noncon due to love potion usage.

The fact Vox even bothers at all to take the time to sit Valentino down and read to him is already a show of your quality— He really wouldn’t go through wrangling him like that for just anyone, especially not with Val getting a bit pissy when being reminded your works were being compared to his. He needs to be told that, obviously, Val, some mere written words are never going to compare, especially not in earnings, to his creations. This placates Valentino. But all Vox gets for his efforts are a lazy flick of one of Valentino’s four wrists, his eyes not even looking at him. “Look, I still think it fucking sucks. But if you wanna hire them so badly, whatever. I’ve got better shit to do than listen to daddy’s horny story-time.” Suffice it to say, he becomes a lot more… Amiable (poor you) once you’re actually working there, and he has a face to attach to the stories. He can tell upon first glance that you’re one of those pathetic little hermits, too scared to leave your own shitty apartment, barely scraping by— He’s recruited plenty of those types as whores, after all. So easily pushed around that it shouldn’t give him nearly as much satisfaction as it does.

When Valentino practically demands you join him in his room and read your previous work to him, you sputter out protests, heart skipping a beat. Every employee in the company has something bad to say about this man, and so he’s about the last person you want to be caught alone in a room with. Especially not his bedroom.

“Ah, sir, I’m not really sure—“ But he’s already wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side as he drags you through the halls. The first thing that strikes you is how different the texture of coat is than you were expecting. It doesn’t even feel like anything at all. “Oh, sweetheart, call me Valentino. No need to be so unfamiliar with each other.” He practically purrs, a single finger tracing up the contours of your chest. “I feel like we’re going to get quite familiar.” If all the alarms weren’t ringing in your head before, they most definitely are now. But there’s nothing you can do. His grip on you is tight and, underneath his red coat, you can feel the hard metal of a pistol pressing against you.

He takes you to his room, walls covered with posters featuring himself, and you hardly have the time to look around before he sits you down on one of his red couches, still caught underneath one of his arms. It’s hard to think, much less speak, as Valentino starts to prod you to pull out your phone and start reading. “No need to be shy. You’re such an artista, aren’t you? Don’t keep me waiting.” It’s easy, at first. When the scene hasn’t grown explicit yet, and you can pretend you’re only reading the text out loud to yourself like you always do, making sure the sentences sound right. But Valentino makes it hard for you to distract yourself entirely. He rubs circles on the skin of your thigh, and the smoke from his pipe has long since been the only thing you can smell. The red smoke makes your head a little hazier, tongue a little looser— Though that all just might be because you’re not getting enough oxygen. Your every muscle is tense and, you think, this is what being a prey animal must feel like. The first time you stutter out the word ‘cock’, Valentino barks out a laugh, loud and sudden, entirely contrasting with the sultry demeanour he’s been putting on the whole time. You jump, gaze flickering from the screen to his face, before continuing. It gets worse when you realise exactly what story you’re reading out loud to him, one of the ones you’d never even posted anywhere, so utterly self-indulgent and poorly thought out that you regret it with every ounce of your being. (Unbeknownst to you, Vox has already read every draft you’ve ever typed up, but that’s neither here nor there.)

“Sorry, can I maybe, um, read a different one?” You practically squeak out. “I realised I have some better drafts, and…” “No,” Valentino shuts you down, tone temporarily harsh. “Don’t get too fucking cocky now, you’re already taking up enough time as it is. Shit’s about to get interesting, finally.” He’s saying all of this as if he wasn’t the one to drag you there in the first place.

So you trudge onward, reading as fast as you possible can, just trying to tough it out. As you read about a scared, unaccomplished demonic main character catching the eye of a trio of some of the most famous demons in town—through entirely unrealistic circumstances—you can see his grin grow wider from the corner of your eye. His nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, the smoke surrounding your face turning to caress your cheeks.

“So, let me gets this straight… You wrote about a trio of powerful demons with matching names, taking turns fucking an absolute nobody silly. One of them’s a pimp, the other a fashion designer, and the other a business man.” Valentino doesn’t give you the chance to respond. “Greedy little slut. You even chose this one specifically to read out to me, huh? Seems I got you all wrong,” he hisses out. “This must be a dream come true for you, isn’t it?”

Let’s just say that you got enough ‘material’ to write another four or so stories, just from that line alone.

----- A drop of love potion, and models always behave the absolute best, or so Velvette thinks! (As long as you don’t put in too much. It’s very hard to take good pictures when the girls keep trying to kiss you.) No bitching, no whining, only an easy to pose, cute demon to work with. And if she dresses you up in clothes that reveal more than they obscure, purely for her own enjoyment and usage, who’s going to blame her?

Certainly not you. You won’t remember a single damn thing. Not even the parts where you babble on about how pretty and gorgeous and cool she is, and how you’ve admired her for so long— All things she’s heard a million times before. Normally, she wouldn’t care less about it, but such words coming from someone with only a drop of her potion in her system means they’re all the absolute truth. She thinks it’s almost cute when it’s coming from you, really. ------------ Vox, on the other hand, would be more likely to use his hypnosis on you than a love potion. Just to have a few minutes in the middle of a meeting where you’re practically putty in his hands, all of your usual anxiety and shame having slid right off of your shoulders. He doesn’t feel any guilt about it whatsoever. Having read all of your works, he finds it safe to say that this is the exact kind of scenario you would enjoy…

And even if you didn’t, he still would. He gets a bit of a thrill out of the loopy, relaxed smile on your face as you nuzzles your cheeks against his arm, professing all of the thoughts you had about him before working at VoxTech, and the ones you still have today. It’s during one of these exact moments, that he’d likely find out that Valentino had fucked you already, something he hadn’t found necessary to mention. They’ll have a bit of a discussion about that later!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #valentino x reader #vox x reader #velvette x reader #cw.drugging #cw.noncon #cw.dubcon

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mimimui · 2 years ago

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bllk boys as your not-so bf

includes: isagi, bachira, chigiri, nagi, reo, rin

tags: use of profanity, use of 'babe', one-sided(?), angst if you squint hard enough, discord in nagi's

a/n: inspired by my not-so bf (we don't talk anymore) :b srsly idk if that guy actually liked me or not but anyway .. enjoy !

even if he's at soccer training, he answers all your texts right away. you've seen him reply, or rather, not reply, to his other friends whenever he was with you. it feels as if isagi gives you special treatment, but in reality, you barely talk in real life. he pays you no mind when you pass by him, as if you were strangers. sure, he can act like that all he wants, but he can't forget all the late night talks you had.

you've shared secrets, fears, ambitions, and questions with each other. you've exchanged greetings, selfies, and "i love you"s, yet he's able to act as if you're nothing more to him. you look at him and there's a familiar pang in your heart, one you've experienced many times before.

how much longer is he going to hide his true feelings for you? does he have feelings at all?

the morning of the sleepover your friend hosted, you and bachira lie down comfortably on the bed, clicking through your friends' instagram stories. you're on his chest and his head is on your shoulder, him being the one clicking through while you hold your phone. he occassionally makes comments about them, saying things like "that was funny" or "ooh that one's pretty, introduce me sometime?"

you frown at his comment, but he doesn't see it. you two are always so close, holding hands and whatnot. you're always mistaken as a couple, but bachira denies it quicker than you do, which is a sign you should probably take. when you all go home, your friend sends you a picture they took of you and bachira on the bed and teases you.

your heart wrenches as you tell them "we're just friends."

you share a lot of your things with chigiri, and he does the same. you always find him asking to borrow your hairbrush, if he can take a bite of your food, use your phone, and more than you can remember. can you recall when you let him use your shirt after training? yeah, that was the only thing of yours he never gave back. why would he even keep that shirt?

on his way home, his teammates asked him if the shirt belonged to his significant other. he pauses for a moment, but then ultimately denies even having one. you get a bit irritated at times, and he has to snap you out of your thoughts at the cafe you two frequent. here you are, once again sharing a drink with one straw. yes, one.

from all the indirect kisses you've shared, you should actually just kiss at this point.

you and nagi play video games together everyday. you're always seen duoing together, so a lot of people mistake you two for a couple. after soccer training, nagi's quick to turn on his computer and ask you to play games with him. fps, rpg, horror... you've played so many games together you've lost count.

in vc, he hears you groan and he stifles a laugh. you complain the player that killed you is cheating as you click through the players to spectate nagi. when you're about to mention the flank, he says something that makes your heart pound. maybe you're imagining it, or maybe it's because of a shitty headset, but did he just call you 'babe'?

you shake your head, brushing it off. you probably just heard wrong.

reo connected his online payment to your food apps, so you don't have to pay for your orders. you refused at first, but as your face recognition detects his face, your phone was now his domain. he tells you to order food whenever you want, and not to tell him when you do, he doesn't mind.

but as you see him carrying an extra lunchbox with food he made himself, you wonder who he's going to give it to. you're not bothered, of course, it was just a cooked lunch. made by reo. personally. you mentally slap yourself for thinking about it so much. are you even allowed to be jealous of the lunchbox's recipient? you're just reo's friend, and you already have access to his online wallet, so what's the problem?

yeah... what's the problem?

he's annoyingly good at minesweeper. rin effortlessly completed the board, while you're still stuck deciding between the bottom or top tile. he acts nonchalant about his umpteenth win that day, but you know he wants to brag about it to you so bad.

you sigh in defeat, asking him for another rematch, which he gladly agrees to. and, just like all other times, he completes his board first. this time, instead of laughing at you for being slow, he takes your device and completes the board for you. he complains you take too long, and that he gets impatient when his love isn't done with the game.

wait. his what?

thanks for reading (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #isagi x reader #bachira x reader #chigiri x reader #nagi x reader #reo x reader #rin x reader

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thecloudsaremyhome · 11 days ago

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Abo neglectful concept

・you were born as a beta surprising right? Well you never really new love from both of your parents them being to focused on your other siblings to pay any mind to the beta outcast. Shitty nickname am I right? Well you didn't really mind you don't have th normal instincts like an Omega or alpha would so you don't feel the need to best. Or always be near. Your parents maybe that's what makes you so different you can't even smeel their scents one of the side affects of being a beta I guess. Maybe that why they didnt pay attention to you, maybe that's why they never bothered. Or forced you to best with them like they do with your siblings no matter how old they are. You tell yourself your fine but you don't feel fine.

・you still want the same love an affection your siblings get just because your a beta shouldn't have changed their live for you right? But eventually you just gave up and your at peace with being the outcast of your pack of your family. So when your 18th birthday came around you were. Ecstatic to finally be free from this unloving household of course they forgot your birthday again but that's fine. You spent your 18th birthday out partying and drinking with friends having a blast an the next day you immediately packed your stuff and left deciding to stay at a. Friends house for the time being before you could get. Your own place not wanting to stay a second longer in thar dreadful household.

・after four months that you were gone your parents finally noticed. Your absence as well as. Your siblings they decided to check your room first thinking you where in their but to no surprise. You weren't which leads to all of them frantically searching their household for you their instincts screaming at them to find you their precious baby that's when one of your father stumbles. Upon one of your diaries in your room as well as a photo collecting of you. He frantically reads the pages of all your pain and loliness the suffering you had to face all because of them. Of they are horrible parents but they promise they will bring you back no matter what

・you sigh as you enter your dingy apartment coming home from a long day of work you turn on the light to your. Loving room. Nd jump back in ailrise to see. Your two parents. Sitting in your living room with feral. Lie looks in their eyes. "What-what the h-hell ar you guys doing here?!" one of your father then says "is that any way to greet your parents after leaving for so. Long honey." your father says with a honey like tone to his voice trying to coax you to let down your gaurd

・" what are you guys doing here how did you even find my apartmentbi didn't give you the address" you state in pure confusionnignoring their earlier comment your father Gabriel Coos at you and says " oh wer are just bringing you back home sweetheart I'm sure your tired an very hungry, have you not been taking acre if yourself? Poor baby don't worry me an your papa willvtake care of you."

・"what-" before you could finish your sentence you feel a needle poke into the side of your neck. Your vision slowly starts get blurry as the affect of the drug set in your other father Sebastian scoops you up in his arms and removed the needle cooking at you as you slowly drift off thenslip th last thing you remember takingnin is your fathers face then everything goes black you then heat your father say "your going home sweetheart"

Authors note: okay I'm defiantly making a part 2 of this concept I absolutely love it be sure to share your thoughts and be on the look out for the Naga fathers oneshot coming up soon

#yandere platonic #yandere oc #yandere concept #yandere omegaverse #yandere #yandere x reader

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lostbookmark · 7 months ago

Text

WHISPERED SECRETS MASTERLIST here

MAIN MASTERLIST here

MDNI 🔞

Summary: After four years your sister's ex-boyfriend comes back into your life. Can you keep your entanglement a secret? Will the guilt eat you alive?

Pairing: Sisters ex Yoongi x Insecure F. Reader.

Genre: SMUT, angst, hurt - comfort, romance.

Warning: Explicit sex, fingering, Possessive Yoongi, swearing, reader is insecure, jealousy, punishment, unprotected sex, drinking, dirty talk, praising, very light degradation, spanking, spanking as punishment, teasing, hair pulling, arguments. Overuse of the name, baby.

A/N Edited by me aka I just throw commas in and see if my document corrects it.

Yoongi is a bit…mean(ish) in this one.

Yay!! I have the next 2 chapters written. Posting will be every Sunday US time.

A little SMUT under the cut.

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Kevin….Kris….Kihyun. No, none of those names sound right. He's good-looking and easy on the eyes, pretty smile but boring as hell. It's been a week since Yoongi took you home after the intense night you shared. You had stayed the night, and the next morning, you made up an excuse for needing to get home. You were scared to stay longer, afraid he would kick you out. He never questioned you or begged you to stay. You exchanged numbers, but he never contacted you. You felt defeated. You didn't tell anyone. Not Lisa or Jisoo. They would never let you live it down. Maybe this is why you let Lisa talk you into showing up at the “hot guy she ditched you for” house party. His name is Jimin. He seemed okay, you guess, but you haven't really gotten to know him. Her love interests never last long. Key…Kang…Kyle. That's it! You think his name is Kyle.

“I just got back from Milan,” Kyle boasts. He is giving you what you think is probably his most charming smile. “I'll be heading to London again soon. Got quite a few photoshoots lined up. Mostly magazines, but I got a commercial too. I even have some contacts for Paris fashion week. I'm going to be a big deal.”

You really don't care, and you know that sounds mean. Why did Lisa introduce you to him? Did she really think you would hit it off with him? Damn Lisa for making you come here. Damn Yoongi for not calling or texting you. Damn him for making the feel of his touch still linger on your skin. Did you do something wrong? Were you just bad at sex. You know that you are pretty inexperienced, but it seemed like he enjoyed himself. He even cuddled you after he cleaned up with a warm washcloth. He was a pure gentleman. He even ran a hot shower for you as he made a quick snack afterward. You may or may not have tried to remember the brand of his shampoo. After some light bickering, he let you sleep on his side of the bed. So, why didn't he call? Was there someone else? Oh my god! Were you the side piece? Of course, someone like Yoongi would have someone waiting for him.

“Lisa said that you two have been friends since you were young. You work together too, right? ” Key…no Kyle said and you nod your head.

“Yeah, umm..” You started but were interrupted.

“Baby,” you turn to see Yoongi staring daggers at you. How the hell did he know you were here? You're pretty sure that your jaw is on the floor right now. Yoongi places himself right behind you. He rests his chin against your shoulder and hands coming together around your stomach. “Who's your friend?” Why does he say it so calmly despite his glaring eyes?

You freeze, your body rigid, and can't say anything. One week, it's been one week, and now he's right here. You don't know what to say. Are you supposed to throw yourself at him after he ignores you? You wish you could throw a shitty comment his way, but you don't. It's not who you are. You wish you could tell him that since he isn't interested, maybe you will go home with Kyle. He looks at you and Kevin…no Kyle impatiently. His glare, thankfully, is fully on Kyle now, and you don't want it back on you. Nope, you are definitely not going to say that, even if it’s a lie.

“Hey man, I'm Kai,” Kai that's his name! You knew it started with a k. “Didn't know she had a boyfriend. Lisa lied to me. Sorry about that.” Kai apologized and rushed out of there. Literally, he walked away as fast as his legs could carry him. You wish he would take you with him. Technically, you guess Lisa didn't lie.

You turn in his arms to look at Yoongi fully. He looks pissed. You don't know if you should be scared, angry, or turned on. Is it possible to be all three? His eyes looked hard, unlike a week ago. It seems like such a long time ago. Maybe it was just a fever dream, and you made it all up. This Yoongi is different, and it is making you anxious.

“We're leaving,” he breathes heavily in your ear.

He takes your hand and threads your fingers through each other. He starts heading for the door, and you have no option but to follow him. You don't want to fight him and cause a scene. You try looking around for Lisa, hoping you spot her. You don't see her, but you do catch a glimpse of Kyle…Kai chatting up another girl. She seems thoroughly excited about it. Good for her. Looks like you probably dodged a bullet there. When you get through the door, you notice his car just down the street a little ways. Lisa picked you up earlier, and now you're kicking yourself for it. Yoogi practically rips the car door open and looks at you expectantly. He holds the door with one hand while his other is on his hip.

“What are you waiting for?” He asked. His stare is still cold. “Do you want me to go get Kai for you? Do you need him to help you?”

“Wh…what? No, why would I…” you were cut off.

“Get in, baby. I'm already mad, don't make me tell you again,” he told you.

With one last look back at the house, you get in the car. The same car and spot you sat in a week ago. God, a week ago, you were shivering with anticipation. Now, you were confused and honestly a little scared. Where was he, and why was he acting like you had done something wrong? You knew deep down that Yoongi would never do anything to hurt you. However, this is a side of him you have never seen. You didn’t see it years ago either when he was still with your sister. Even during their fights at the end of their relationship. You even spent a lot of alone time with him back then, annoying him. He never snapped at you. When you couldn't figure out how to parallel park, he never snapped at you. When Lisa got you drunk at homecoming and he had to pick the two of you up, he never snapped at you. He never did anything like this.

“Cold?” He asks you. You're rubbing your hands together.

“A little,” you answer softly. You want him to grab your hands and warm them with his own. Instead he cranks the heat.

The only sound in the car was from the radio and the heat blowing on your cold fingers. You don't know what the song playing is, but the deep bass is slow. It's almost comforting. You want to close your eyes and drift to sleep. Maybe if you go to sleep right now, you'll wake back up in his bed, and you can redo everything. Obviously, that's not possible. Your eyes slide over to him. He's concentrating on the road, and there's a small tick in his jaw. His hand had stayed on the steering wheel. His knuckles were white with his grip. He didn't touch you, not even once. You want to cry. What did you do? Why is he so mad? How did he find you there? What did you do? The song on the speakers switched to something less moody, and your eyes moved to look out the passenger window. The sky is clear, the stars shine bright and twinkling in the late night sky. You didn't care for it. Not even one little bit.

That soft yellow glow of the bedroom was exactly the same. So were his sheets and pillows. The memories were completely vivid and fresh in your mind. The sound of your skin slapping together, his grunts and your gasps. The way he held you when you drifted off to sleep. You look at Yoongi sitting on the corner of his bed staring at you. His elbows resting on his knees and his right knee bouncing slightly You can't tell what he is thinking. You stand next to a large desk in his room. You think he must use it for work. There's messy paper everywhere and pens scattered all around. You try to focus and see what's on the paper but can't make out the scribbles. Poems, maybe? Does he write? You can't remember if he ever mentioned wanting to write back then. Maybe you didn't pay close enough attention.

“Look at me,” he snaps at you. Your eyes immediately obey his command. “What were you doing there with Kai?” Yoongi spits his name out in disgust.

“I…I..Lisa introduced us. We were just talking,” you said softly. “I don't know him.”

“So, you were just going to go off and fuck someone you don't know?” He asked and you were taken back. He was basically snarling at you.

“NO!” You cried out. “I wasn't.” You were getting worked up. “Why do you care? I haven't even heard from you in a week.” You shocked yourself by actually saying that outloud. Shit. You can't take it back now.

Yoongi didn't seem amused by your outburst. Cracking his neck, he stood up from the bed and stalked up to you. You wanted to take a step back, but that messy desk prevented you from doing so. Yoongi rests both his hands on the desk, caging you in. His breathing and the sound of your own heart beating in your ears ring loudly in your ears. He runs the tip of his nose against the shell of your ear. Goosebumps race down your arms. Your body betrays you, wanting you to give into him.

“You know,” he whispers in your ear. “The phone works both ways, baby. Get on your knees.”

You swallow thickly. You aren't exactly sure what he means. Right here on the floor? On the bed? You decide not to make him wait and drop to the floor right in front of him. Are you supposed to undo his pants? Is that what he wants? You have never given a blow job before. Maybe you can fake it and figure it out as you go. You’ve seen porn. Just don't bite him, and you'll be fine. Your hands reach up and start to undo his belt around his hips. Yoongi chuckles a humorless laugh as he swats your hands away. Oh, that's not what he meant. Tears well in your eyes out of embarrassment.

“On the bed. On your knees, ass up,” he snickers at you.

You stand up slowly and walk with your head down to the bed. You don't want him to see the unshed tears or your embarrassed face. You know it's red. Your knees hit his mattress, the sheets are still soft. You lean down onto your elbows as you look at him, and he shakes his head at you. God, you probably look like such an idiot for not knowing what to do. Yoongi walks over to you and puts his hands on the back of your shoulders, and pushes you gently down. Your chest and the side of your face meet the bed. He turns your head gently to look at the other side of the room. There's nothing to see over there besides his closet. You feel the dress that you're wearing starts to rise up. Yoongi next adjusts your hands. Making sure that your fingers are interlocked above your head. You feel him get closer to your face. His breath tickles your ear.

“Are you okay?” He asks you.

“Yes,” you say meekly.

“Good. Stop me anytime,” he tells you as he kisses below your ear. “You thought I was ignoring you? You think that’s why I didn't call you?” He asks, but you don't answer. You can feel him slip your dress completely up and over your ass as he stands behind you. “Yes or no, baby?”

“Yes,” SMACK! As soon as you answer, he spanks you. It wasn't overly hard but just enough to sting. Your body goes rigid, and your eyes widen comically in surprise. Oh! You honestly were not expecting that.

You wait for him to say something, but you're just met with silence. You don't feel his presence near you. You strain your ears to try and listen for him. Did he leave the room?

“Y..Yo..Yoongi?” you asked softly and he didn't respond.

Suddenly, there was a tick…tick..tick noise in the room. Slowly, you turn your head, and you see him sitting at his desk. His shirt is off, hair beautifully messy, pants undone, but nothing obscene showing. Tick…tick…tick. It's one of those music things, a metronome you think it's called. The pendulum swings back and forth again and again. Tick… tick…tick. Yoongi is watching you kneel on the bed while playing with it in his hands. He almost looks bored.

“Turn back around,” he tells you slowly. You turn your head back around. Tick…tick…tick. “You know what i was thinking all week?” He asks you. “I thought I was a horrible person. Did I force you here? Did I make you do something you didn't want? You wanted out of here so bad the next morning I thought you were going to have a panic attack.”

The chair groans a little bit. You can only assume that he got up. You can hear the clicking of his belt buckle as if he's walking to you. You anticipate his touch, but again, nothing. Tick…tick…tick. The oscillating noise is putting you on edge. The sound of his belt tells you he's close. Your breath is starting to come out as pants as adrenaline starts to flow through you. Your interlaced fingers twitching.

“I wanted to give you space. I see that was the wrong thing to do. Why didn't you get a hold of me, baby?” He asked. You still can't see him.

“I didn't want to bother you,” you mumble. SMACK! SMACK! You press your hands together tightly and screw your eyes shut. Tears blurred your vision as they started to fall. You sucked in a shuddering breath.

“You could never bother me. Instead of talking to me, you decided to ignore me to fuck around with Kai? How do you think that makes me feel?” His voice raises some. SMACK! His hand gently starts rubbing your reddened cheek. Soothing the stinging with his cool palm. You hear him take a deep breath. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say through tears. “I'm fine.” You really were. “I didn't…”

“What?” Yoongi asks. His hand is still gently rubbing your reddened skin.

“I thought you realized you made a mistake. I thought maybe I wasn't good enough for you. I'm not like my sister,” you hiccuped. You pressed your hands tightly together before he delivered the next smack. It never came. Tick…tick…tick.

“Why would you compare yourself to her? Why didn't you say anything?” He asked. His hand stroked some hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The strands were wet from tears.

“Have you met me,” you try to joke through tears. You highly doubt Yoongi thinks it's funny. Yoongi leaned over to look at your tear stained face. Bending down, he kissed the tears away. You close your eyes and welcome him. He's here. The soft, gentle Yoongi is here now.

Yoongi moved again and stood behind you. He hooked his fingers into your underwear and slowly slid them down your legs. His fingertips tickled the outside of your thighs as they traveled down. He lifted your knees one at a time so he could completely remove them from your body. Then, nothing. Why does he keep disappearing on you? You were tempted to turn and look for him again. Tick…tick..tick. Suddenly, his tongue is on you. You close your eyes and sigh, escape your lips , and fingers tighten together. You push your hips back against his face to get him closer. His tongue swirls magical circles against your bundle of nerves. One week, and you realize how much you missed this. How starved for his touch you were. You should have made the first move. This all could have been avoided. He was right. You didn't think about how he felt. You shouldn't have gotten in your own head. You always get in your own head. Yoongi pulls away. Disappointment floods through your body. Disappointment doesn't last, though. You hear his belt rattling, and pants hit the ground. He roughly pulls your body to him in one smooth move. Your own clothed back to his naked front. He gently tangles his hand in your hair, pulling your head back. Just like that, gentle Yoongi is gone. Dipping his head, he slants his mouth over yours. Tongue demanding entrance. You relax and press your tongue against his, tasting yourself on him. Soon, he lets go of your lips and hands roughly yank your dress down to your waist. You thrust your hips back with an arch of your back. He's hard.

“Still good?” He asks again, hands and slowly coming up to cup your naked breasts. His fingers tweak your nipple. It sends a jolt right down to your core.

“Yes, Yoongi,” you reply somewhat breathlessly.

Yoongi pushes you forward so you were down on the bed again. Chest flush with the bed, ass in the air. His hands grip your hips, bringing you back to him. You feel him run his cock up and down your wet folds. Dipping the head in and taking it back out. He does this several times and it's driving you mad. You try to swivel your hips but he completely backs off with an airy laugh. SMACK! He slaps your ass once more. Grabbing your hair again, he pulls you up savagely against him. His arm crosses over your chest, hand on your shoulder. He's supporting your weight against him. You tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder. Chest rising and falling with every pant of your breath.

“I should have fucked you in front of him,” he hisses in your ear. “That way you wouldn't have to doubt me again. Everyone at that party would know your mine now. Kai….Lisa….Jimin.”

Yoongi's free hand cups your pussy, giving you teasing strokes. Teasing just like before. Fingers enter you shallowly just to pull back quickly. You look at him and you don't even have time to question him before he's answering you.

“How do you think I found you tonight? We work together, baby. He likes talking about Lisa.” He explains with a chuckle. “Lisa… she likes to talk about setting her pretty little friend up with a date, but her friend is kind of shy. I took the chance that she was talking about you. Lucky me, huh,” Yoongi answers you as his fingers finally start pumping into you. Your wet, you thought maybe too, went given the situation. Your noises make it obvious how much you are enjoying this. “Too bad you're not available. Kai was pretty good-looking.”

“Please, I'm sorry. I need you. Yoongi, please,” you beg him. Yoongi kisses your neck. Lightly sucking on your sweat slicked skin as his fingers pump into you faster. Marking you, making you his.

Yoongi lets his grip on you go. You fall to the bed and scramble to get back onto your knees in front of him. You lift your head and look over your shoulder at him. Trying to beg him with your eyes to do something…anything. Tick…tick…tick. Yoongi finally grips your hips and pulls you back to him. Leaning over you, he places you exactly like he had you before. Chest flush with the bed, hands above your head. Rubbing your red marks with his hand, he deals one more blow before he sinks all the way into you. You sigh. He feels like home.

Tagged reader

@unicornbabylover

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manicpixiefelix · 12 days ago

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 27.

Summary: Felix takes charge of his own story, his own romance, and with intent to confront Ollie about his lies. He doesn't want you to fee like you have to do this alone. But neither does he.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons. Reader's biological parents are named Pearl & Andreas.

Warnings: discussions of the reader's parents continuing to be shitty to them via legal documents and wanting nothing to do with them.

A/N: 6032 words. google 'how do words work'. also HELLO! NEW YEAR!! since we last spoke like this, i proposed to my partner (i have a fiance now!!) i took more photos in my silly, little Saltburn costumes, both as Felix and Venetia (when they say 'get u a man who can do both' they mean me), i became a licenced Dogger (if u need someone for ground rigging at an event message me) and I continued to be UNWELL about saltburn. i missed you. how was your new years? Is this chapter at all coherent. OH ALSO WE GET A FELIX CHAPTER NOW! I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOUR!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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It's your voice that echoes in Felix's mind as he tries to fall asleep that night. So often it is, but usually the words are far sweeter than the broken whisper that plays on repeat when he closes his eyes.

"I want to know why he did what he did before I tell you."

Felix is desperately trying to make himself believe that this isn't like last time, that this isn't like Eddie, but right now, from his shockingly limited perspective, it's hard not to focus in on the similarities. So he has to believe in you; if not you, then who, or what? Oliver? That's a hard no right now, but something about Oliver, despite everything has you believing, and Felix has never not trusted your judgement before. He's not going to start doubting you now.

And fucking hell, he can't even begin to process the revelation that it had been you who had caught Venetia and Eddie last Summer, not Farleigh. He might owe Farleigh an apology after all of this, or some kind of thank you basket... for what, he's not exactly sure of in this moment, but it definitely feels apt. Maybe for still putting up with him all this time, all things considered. Farleigh had never liked Oliver -

Again, Felix has to remind himself to trust in you in this moment, to breathe deep and believe it's not like last time. However the smug devil on his shoulder - that definitely looks like Farleigh wearing those two party hats and a shirt that simply says 'Easy', telling him 'I told you so' - is very loud.

But by his side, your breathing has evened out, and the air that flutters in through the half-open window is surprisingly cool for the Summer, and though the stars you'd painted and stretched across the ceiling have lost their glow after hours in the dark, if he squints, he can still make out his favourite constellations.

Felix has never been as sentimental as you, at least that's what he tells himself. That's what he lets everyone believe. If you knew better, you'd be the only one, not that you'd ever tell anyone. That's one of the many things Felix likes about you; you're sentimental enough for the both of you. The things you hold onto are so often special to the two of you; as much as Felix is glad you hold onto them, as much as he loves that they so often end up in his - your shared - room, the only person who he lets see that affectionate appreciation is you. You're the only one that matters.

He's entirely too aware of how he's perceived by others. He'd argue - again, to you alone and never anyone else - that he had to be. Felix had always been more self aware than most people liked to give him credit for, despite his best effort. Efforts to not be self aware that is, because when he thinks too hard about it, his life becomes almost claustrophobic. The privilege, the constant eyes on him, the expectations.

"You're Sir James' and Elspeth's son." Sometimes he thinks about the first conversation the two of you had shared, how you'd identified him before he'd even said his name; "you're Felix Catton." Ten years old, and the first person in all the years that Felix had already been paraded out like a show pony, to make him feel like a person.

Right now, his role had barely changed, it was that of fanciful youth; be pretty whilst headed in the direction of success. One day there'd be responsibilities, but both his parents were in good health and sound of mind, so he was to do what he pleased so long as he kept up appearances, wore a suit when they asked him to, and barked on command in front of their impressive, vapid friends.

For all that the estate dripped with it's own kind of sentimentality, it's impressive history oozing from the walls themselves, his parents, and the company they kept, so often favoured novelty. Felix does too, he knows this, he's a Catton after all... most of the time.

Sometimes, around you, and once or twice this Summer with Ollie if he's being honest, he felt like he didn't belong amidst these people, his family, at Saltburn... Or, well, no; he felt like he didn't want to belong at Saltburn.

Right now, staring up at those stars you'd painted for him all those years ago, he feels it so strongly he aches. He wants to belong to that little apartment in London you'd asked him to run away to, wanted to belong to something that wasn't a sister who'd roll her eyes at his heartbreak, or parents who'd sweep it under the rug. His role in this home, this family, had never been one that allowed for him to be broken hearted. For Venetia, it had always seemed almost expected, but Felix was expected to be the one breaking hearts if he was ever in that situation.

Love was meant to be freeing. For most of his life, it had been. After all it's why he'd always been so grateful to have found you so early in life. He knows it's a big part of the reason his family had taken to you so quickly, why his parents had allowed you to stay, to get so close.

Felix closes his eyes and he still sees the stars above.

Still, sleep eludes him. If you can tell, or if you could feel the absent-minded way he was still stroking your back when you'd woken up and realised he hadn't thought to stop, you don't say anything. The air is different, Felix is exhausted already, and you are tender with him. You always are, but this morning is different. Almost difficult for you.

It's soothing to focus on you. He knows you've always struggled when confronted with a problem you felt like you weren't allowed to solve, however he's grateful that you're letting him step up. He's done being passive, done being the one in this relationship that things just happen to at the behest of the people around him. That's his usual role when there's even a hint of genuine emotional investment. It's suffocating; like his role at Saltburn, his role as Future Lord Catton, he doesn't want to belong in that neatly defined identity.

Felix wants, no, he needs to believe he can do for himself what you've always happily done for him. So he's grateful that you're letting him try... even if he sees how uncomfortable you are, how you're holding yourself back from offering to make all his troubles go away, if only he'd ask. Usually, he didn't even have to do that. Now, you can't even look at him, can't stand to see him exhausted and unhappy and being unable to help. You'll spiral, or break the agreement the two of you had come to the night before, so you don't look at Felix. But he looks at you.

Even with all the emotional turmoil the two of you found yourselves in with Oliver, there's no doubt about you in Felix's mind. Honestly, he's even ashamed that there ever was back at Oxford, even if it was only akin to a heartbeat of time in your relationship.

Except that wasn't the whole truth. That golden afternoon he still recalls so clearly, you surrounded by newspapers, searching for Ollie's dad's obituary to try and memorialise the man who, by all accounts, didn't deserve it. Felix has always kind of known that you were far better than he deserved. It was never you he doubted, it was himself.

He hated that he'd made you cry that afternoon, hated that you'd so clearly seen and spelled out how scared he was of the idea of you finding someone better than him, someone like Ollie who could love you, could treat you right, without needing Felix as an audience. Hated that you were right. Hated everything that said about him. Most of all, he hated how he couldn't even bring himself to ask the one goddamn question you wanted him to.

Could you love someone without me?

The thought of any answer was terrifying to him at the time.

If you'd answered yes, he'd have to face the idea of a life without you, no matter how small the possibility. But if your answer was no, he knows all he'd feel is guilt. Even if he'd pretended not to notice, he'd loved Eddie without you. Felix had still loved you, he's certain he'll never stop, but as much as you'd liked Eddie before he'd come to Saltburn, you never loved him.

And even if he ignored every single red flag at the time, Felix knew in his heart that Eddie had never really even cared about you as a person. Then again, had he even cared about Felix? Considering what happened last Summer, how things had ended, how Felix has never heard from him since, he - he doesn't want to think about it. It's in the past, he tells himself.

But Felix loves this thing between you, Oliver, and himself more than he'd ever loved what he had with Eddie. Felix isn't afraid of the question anymore, because he knows you well enough to know your answer would be just the same as his. It's the essentially the same answer he'd given that night he'd asked if you could live without him.

Even if I could, I wouldn't want to.

Which is why he's doing this. Because despite all his attempts at denial, he loved Ollie, and you love Ollie, and aside from this one issue - and the subsequent lying - it seemed that Ollie loved you both too. So he has to do this; you've been caught in the crossfire of Ollie's lies for Felix's sake, now it's his turn to step up and sort things out. Make things right.

That's why he watches you, he's doing this so he can see you smile again. Without hesitation, or reservation just behind your eyes.

And right now you aren't even able to smile.

Nothing feels real at breakfast. Felix thinks he can taste static. No Farleigh. Ollie, oblivious. Venetia reading at the table and avoiding looking at anyone. His parents, as always, in their own, little bubble.

"Venetia, please no headphones at the table," Elspeth sighs. Venetia sighs louder, but obliges without looking up. She's not even pretending to eat breakfast with them this morning, book open on her empty plate as she sips tea. The only person she engages with is James, who asks about her book. Venetia doesn't even look up, and her voice is forcibly light, like it alone can mask how she looks like she'd rather be anywhere else.

"I forgot we had it," she admits softly, though her next words have Felix instinctively scowling, "I think Pearl left it here for Farleigh a few years ago after one of those Arts dinners, but he's never touched it. It's a biography of that performance artist in New York, the controversial one, Marina Abramović. I found it going through his room the other day."

"The one that Aunt Fred cheated on her husband with?" Felix can't help but ask as the name lights up something in the back of his mind.

"Supposedly," Venetia's tone is dismissive, and she turns to the next page, "Farleigh thinks it's a load of bull his dad was spouting when he found out we'd cut her off, but I have seen Fredricka Start mentioned as a collaborator here. Maybe Aunt Fred did have a lesbian affair with a controversial, Serbian, performance artist. Seems like something she'd do."

Before Felix can even process any of this, James steers the conversation away from his estranged sister's potential affair with all the subtlety of a bulldozer, asking if the book itself was any good. Shrugging, Venetia takes another sip of tea, sounding so utterly nonchalant.

"I'm still making my mind up about it, I'll tell you when I'm done."

Remembering the utter state you'd been in last night coming back from spending time with Venetia, Felix can't help but hope his sister is hurting over whatever words the two of you had shared.

It seems Duncan senses the strangeness too, as he's uncharacteristically mobile, at least for him, making the rounds about the table when they all know the maids are more than capable of collecting the dishes themselves. Felix watches him circle like a vulture.

For just a moment, their eyes meet. Usually looking into Duncan's eyes is like gazing at a stone wall of unshakeable professionalism, today however there was... something there. Something utterly unreadable. Still, it was an anomaly. Duncan definitely feels the strangeness in the room.

"Is there anything I can get you, Felix?" He sounds as curt as ever though. Felix gives a practiced smile, declining. Finally, he looks away. Duncan gives a moment of pause before adding, "anything for the Captain?" When Felix looks back to him, he sees the way Duncan's eyes flick to you, by Felix's side, how he must sees what Felix does in his peripheries - the barest shake of your head that he's sure all others at the table miss, but Felix and Duncan never would - but he still waits for Felix's answer. Because you too are quiet, in trapped in your own mind in a way none of you can articulate, but all seem to understand.

"No, they're fine," Felix gives a more genuine smile, "thank you, Duncan." Duncan nods, stepping back from where he'd been hovering by Elspeth's chair, striding over to take Venetia's empty tea cup and pass it on to a bemused, waiting housemaid.

"Are you alright, Pet, you seem rather out of sorts this morning," Felix and Duncan's interaction had caught his otherwise oblivious mother's attention, as she finally turned to you. As if woken from a trance, you look up to Elspeth, almost surprised by the question.

"Yeah, I -" but you take a moment to breathe. Beneath the table, Felix gently pets your thigh in silent support. After taking a moment to compose yourself, you start again, "I think I may have to quarantine myself in the study for the morning," you sighed, though your smile doesn't reach your eyes. When Elspeth asks if you're feeling alright, you give a humourless laugh, gaze going back to your food. You take another bite before explaining, "I'm fine, however this contract from Andreas and Pearl gets more convoluted and ridiculous the further I read; I think a quarantine is the only way to save you all from their toxic bullshit."

"Have you had a lawyer look it over?" James asks with genuine interest, putting down his paper, but your expression just scrunched up with vague confusion.

"I think that breaks the contract?"

"That you haven't signed?" Ollie points out. Clearly your mind has actually switched to thinking about the contract, rather than the clusterfuck of a situation with Ollie himself, because you do take his words onboard.

"Which I haven't signed," you agreed, face scrunching up further, as if you're trying to recall details outlined in the document itself, "I think if I'm able to find an untraceable way to contact them, um, somehow indirectly, they might send me a lawyer of my own?" You don't exactly sound sure, however you follow it up with a humourless smile, "but if I contact them directly, I believe they think it will curse my entire bloodline, even retroactively, and therefore they will trebuchet me directly into the sun."

Despite everything Felix laughs at that, as does Venetia. Farleigh would have too, if he were here.

"Darling, they're not going to trebuchet you into the sun -" Elspeth tries to soothe you, surprisingly genuine care in her tone.

"Mum, I think you underestimate how much Andreas loves that stupid trebuchet he built during college," you respond flippantly, before gesturing to James at the end of the table, "you helped, didn't you? You know he loves it."

"I-" James actually seems a little surprised, taking a moment to recall what you were speaking of, "I had forgotten all about that, but yes," he begins to smile fondly, "quite an impressive feat we pulled off that Summer, building that - was it a trebuchet? Have I've been misremembering it as a ballista all these years?"

While James was fondly caught up in his reminiscing, Elspeth just looked a little forlorn. However Oliver, seemingly bewildered by the entire concept, can't help but voice his surprise.

"You spent your Summer building an actual trebuchet with Y/N's dad?"

"Yes, I suppose I did," James chuckled, "at the end of our first year, I believe, just a few months before Andreas and Pearl got engaged. Andreas invited myself and a few of our mates to stay at his family's townhouse in - oh, it was so long ago now - Kensington, I think? Four of us from Oxford, Andreas, and his brothers, all working on this project and otherwise having a grand, old time around London."

"Wait, was that the Summer you kept running into Freddie Mercury and his husband?" Venetia piped up, to which James smiled broadly.

"Garden Lodge was just a few doors down," he enthused brightly, "it seemed like every other day Jim would have to come and collect one of their cats from where we were working; Delilah was very fond of Andreas especially."

Felix himself is bewildered by the information; he knew your parents attended Oxford at the same time as his, but sometimes he forgot that they were actually friends before you and Felix got involved. Of course he kind of knew, considering both of your mothers' heavy involvement in the Arts' Collective, but to think his father had once spent a Summer with your own... It felt uncomfortable in ways Felix hadn't expected.

But when he looks back to you, there's something faraway in your gaze. Your smile doesn't even begin to reach your eyes.

"He's still very proud of it, I'm sure," you tell him with as much warmth as you're able, "the trebuchet, I mean," which Felix knew to mean 'he was proud of it when I was a child, but I haven't spoken to him in years'.

"Darling," Elspeth brings the conversation back around, her tone firm but sweet as she reiterates, "they're not going to trebuchet you into the sun."

At face value it sounds ridiculous, but there's something about how his mother can see through your hyperbole to how genuinely hurt you are by the whole situation that makes Felix quietly marvel. Even with all of her strangeness about you, your identity, and even your relationship with Felix at times, she honestly cares about you. Sometimes she seems to see you as clearly as Felix does.

Maybe she can help Felix see the whole situation with Ollie more clearly too.

In the moment that follows, you let the tension in you break for just a moment, fixing an endeared smile upon Elspeth for her kindness.

"I know," you assured her sincerely, "I'll be okay, I'm going to give nan a call and talk things through with her." With that, you stand, having had enough of this charade for the time being.

"Good," Elspeth nodded firmly, then adding, "give her my love."

"I always do," this time, your smile is entirely genuine, and for just a moment you turn it upon Felix. There's actual amusement as you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"Am I allowed in the quarantine zone?" He can't help but tease in an attempt to play along and lighten your mood; your smile, for just a moment, widens.

"Even you, my love, are excluded," though you pause, giving it some thought, "until lunch." But then, as you contemplate leaving, as you seem to remember the totality of your situation, you face starts to fall. Felix takes your hand, giving it a squeeze, which you return, and press a kiss to the top of his head.

And then you're gone.

Ollie's looking at the doors you'd just left through, and Felix wonders if his concern is at all genuine. But before anyone can say anything else, Felix turns to his mother, trying his best to keep the mood light.

"Mum, could I have a word with you after breakfast?"

Immediately Venetia's head shoots up, looking sharply at Felix. It's a struggle to keep his focus on his mother's surprise and act like his sister's sudden attention in his peripheries didn't make his blood burn. She should be scared.

"Of course, Felix," Elspeth actually seems delighted that he wants to spend time with her, though for a moment her brow furrows, "is everything alright?"

"Yeah, of course," he lies easily, "Y/N was just telling me about some stuff they wanted to chat to you about, and I said I could talk to you about it if they wanted to focus on their family stuff this morning. They made me a list," he adds for good measure. Elspeth's concern softens to understanding. Her thoughtful, helpful boy, he can almost hear her thoughts. Technically she's right.

Venetia's expression is sour, but she goes back to her book.

"Darling," Elspeth turns to James, who once again lowers his paper to give her his attention, "you were going to head into town this morning, were you not?"

"Yes," James perked up considerably, suddenly enthusiastic about his day, "one of the boys back from when I played polo invited some of the team to catch up over fish and chips," he seemed positively gleeful at the very novelty of the idea, "at a pub! I should be back before dinner."

"Oh, that sounds marvellous, I hope you have a wonderful time," Elspeth coos, before turning back to Felix, "would you like to have morning tea on the balcony of the sitting room next to your father's study?"

"Sounds perfect, mum."

However as he leaves the table, he's quickly followed by Ollie, who's asking what's wrong the minute they're alone.

"What?"

"What's wrong," Ollie repeats in earnest, "with you, with Y/N, with Venetia? Everything feels a bit off, you know? But I don't know why." He knows exactly why, the lying, little - but that thought's cut short. Considering the company his parents' keep, Felix knows all too well what fake concern looks like; Ollie is being infuriatingly genuine.

"My best mate's family is attempting to excommunicate them," Felix says through his teeth, gazing anywhere but at Ollie, "Venetia-" he huffs an irate sigh, lying when he says, "I couldn't begin to guess at the source of her mood, you'd have to ask her," which he regrets as soon as he says it; the last thing he wants is Ollie spending any more time with Venetia, especially when she's particularly volatile.

Rocking back on his heels, Ollie takes a beat to consider this, before ultimately coming to accept it. Side by side, they start back towards their rooms in silence. There's anger simmering just beneath Felix's skin, but if he opens his mouth, all he's going to do is start shouting. Being alone next to Ollie less than twelve hours after your revelations and his subsequent taking of responsibilities, not to mention his utter lack of sleep, means he's definitely not in his right mind to have a reasonable conversation about... well, anything.

"I want to know why he did what he did before I tell you."

That's what you'd kept repeating. Felix wants to be in a state of mind where he can get that information out of Ollie before actually passing judgement. But it was fucking difficult if he was being honest.

And outside of his room, Ollie apologises quietly. Felix keeps his mouth shut, but suddenly is levelling his furious gaze upon Ollie. Who doesn't see it. He's looking at the ground.

"S-sorry about Pearl and, um, their dad," he clarifies into the silence, "I can't remember his name."

"Andreas," Felix bites out automatically. Ollie's expression wrinkles reflexively; it's almost amusing, the way his reflexes give away his disdain for just the name itself. It's a wanky, asshole name, for a wanky, asshole man.

"Right," Ollie quickly recovers, finally meeting Felix's gaze. Thankfully the intensity of that gaze had softened, "I don't think they'll ever apologise, but I think Y/N deserves an apology," he admits. It's... conflicting; the sentiment is sweet, but Ollie has so much more he actually has to apologise for. Felix keeps his mouth shut. Clearing his throat, Ollie doesn't seem to be done, "but at least they're not Y/N's actual family," and in seeing Felix's faint confusion, he actually smiles, that small, sweet smile that's frustratingly endearing, "you are," he explained, "they said so themselves; you and Venetia and your mum and dad. Pearl and Andreas are excommunicating them, they've got better family than that."

Felix kind of hates how much he loves Oliver Quick and his thoughtful, insightful mind. How can he say things while Felix is mad at him that still make him want to sweep Ollie off his feet and kiss him? Bastard.

"It's what they deserve," Felix finally manages, reaching out to his doorknob, feeling the conversation coming to a close, "we love them a lot."

"Me too," Ollie agrees quietly, opening his own door, "hope morning tea with your mum is nice, I think I'm going to head down to the pool."

And he leaves Felix alone with his thoughts.

The minute he's in his room, Felix closes his curtains and flops into bed. One of the staff will come and fetch him when his mother is ready for morning tea. After this morning and all of last night, the only thing Felix knows for certain is that he can't have another serious conversation without at least an hour of sleep.

Thankfully he gets that hour. Actually his mother has the grace to give him several, as Duncan comes to collect him just before eleven. Felix feels like a child, still yawning and shuffling his feet for at least half the journey as the butler always stays three steps ahead. As if Felix could get lost in his own home. The only person who's ever been better than him at hide and seek around Saltburn was Venetia, and only because she's smaller and can fit in more obscure places.

All that to say that he doesn't need Duncan to lead him to his mother's favourite sitting room, but that's just how things have always worked around the estate. Felix doesn't even think to comment on it beyond thanking the head of staff as Duncan lets him in after a cursory knock on the door.

Felix has always liked his mother's favourite sitting room. It's one of the few rooms in the house that actually feels like someone lives there. It's where his mother keeps the portrait James commissioned of their family when Felix was a child. He remembers how his parents wanted the experience to be authentic, just as the royals on their walls would have had. It had been a real bonding experience for the Catton siblings, who absolutely hated said 'authentic' experience; right next to the beautiful, oil painting, Elspeth had lovingly framed the hand written letter a six-year-old Felix and eight-year-old Venetia had angrily written together, threatening to call the government if they were ever made to stay that still for that long in clothes that itchy ever again.

There's framed photos his mother loves but feels like she can't display in the rest of the house - unflattering or overexposed photos full of motion, and laughter, and love. An uneven throw that Venetia had made for a school assessment over the back of a sofa, accompanied by an lumpy, little pillow Felix had made for a similar school project only a few years later, amongst others bought from expensive, eclectic stores over the years. All the letters James had written Elspeth whenever they were away from each other, from the week they'd begun dating, to the day they got married, professionally bound amongst other coffee table books.

Gilded glimpses of his family's humanity.

If things somehow work out with Ollie, Felix makes a mental note to bring him here and show him every last thing. He'd never even thought to show Eddie this room, his mother had never even brought it up last Summer, though perhaps it was for the best. Or perhaps it was on purpose.

Elspeth is absolutely thrilled that he wanted to spend time with her. Before he's even halfway across the sitting room itself, she's off of the sofa on the balcony, and has met him halfway, kissing him on both cheeks with the biggest smile. Then she's taking his hand, asking him if he was able to get any more rest, as she leads him out to the little balcony, and the tea and biscuits waiting for them.

Felix tells her he had as he sits down beside her, but Elspeth takes gentle hold of his face, expression concerned. He knows he still looks tired before she even says anything.

Something in his mother's eyes changes, like she can see the sword of Damocles held aloft by a gossamer thread above his head. Usually she shies away from moments like this, from ugly ideas like heartbreak and discomfort, but she sits with him in this moment, quiet, giving him space and time to find his voice.

For just a moment he is a child again, and he is exhausted.

"I'm always glad to spend time with you, my darling," Elspeth tells him with the kind of softness he rarely hears from her anymore. She squishes his cheeks fondly, and Felix, going with his youthful impulse, shifts on the sofa so he can lay his head in her lap, squeezing his eyes shut.

He's too big for the tiny sofa at the best of times, but they make do, with Elspeth gently stroking his hair as she finally decides to break the silence.

"I was thinking of having Nana Bijou over, I'd love for her to meet Ollie," she says carefully; Felix can't manage more than a noncommittal hum right now. Depending on how things go with Ollie, he may have to talk his mum out of that idea, but he doesn't want to tip his hand just yet, "actually I was wondering what you would think if I invited her to Ollie's birthday."

Your Nana would probably have a blast at what you and Elspeth already had planned for the event, but Felix still held reservations. As cool as she was, he wasn't sure he wanted her to see either you or himself shitfaced, and no matter how things turned out with Ollie, Felix still kind of wanted the party to go ahead either way.

And if it went bad he'd definitely be shitfaced.

"Maybe," is all he can give his mother in this moment. It's like he can feel his mother's concern in the face of his perceived apathy; Felix loved your Nana as much as he hated your parents, his apathy was worryingly uncharacteristic, "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night," Felix admits softly after a long sigh.

"I could tell," Elspeth gives his cheek a sympathetic pat, though she chooses to follow it up with - "though I must admit, that was my concern with you and Y/N sharing a room."

"Oh god, mum, not like that!" Felix hissed, mortified, his whole face scrunching up with embarrassment.

"Though I suppose I was fighting fate with that one, wasn't I?" She continues blithely, and Felix sits up, hunching over with his face in his hands.

"That's not- mum, please, I wanted to actually talk to you about something serious, can you not do this -" Felix groaned, and when he lowers his hands, he tries to give his mother an imploring look.

"Oh God, darling, please don't tell me you're pregnant," Elspeth bemoaned, expression practically pleading, "I'm too young to be a grandmother." This... wasn't the direction he'd been expecting. Actually, it might be worse.

"I'm... not?"

"You don't sound sure; is Y/N pregnant?"

"No," Felix answers flatly, but his confusion is only heightened as his mother continues on.

"It's not Oliver, is it?"

"It... it kind of is." His exhaustion and confusion are definitely about Oliver -

"He's pregnant?!"

"What?! No! Mum, what?!" This conversation is quickly veering out of control, and Felix has absolutely no way of stopping it. Unfortunately, his mother doesn't slow down.

"I'm sorry, I had assumed it would be either you or Y/N -"

"Why? Why would you assume that?" Felix tries to wrap his head around this, but it's not quite working, "especially me, the son you gave birth to?"

"Oh, Felix, please don't remind me," Elspeth mutter, looking vaguely squeamish, "I spent a lot of time repressing those memories."

"Isn't it the birth of your children meant to be the happiest days of your life?"

"Don't take it personally, dear; I love you, but I never enjoyed bringing you or your sister into this world. Hospitals are dreadfully ugly, even the nice ones, and the smell -" before she can continue, however, Felix cuts her off.

"Sorry, I just - I tell you I want to talk to you about something serious, and your first thought is that my best mate got me pregnant? I cannot stress this enough, mum, I am physically incapable of getting pregnant. I do not have the equipment."

"Which is why I then asked about Y/N -"

"Mum -"

"Well I don't know, Felix!" Elspeth huffed, "what was I meant to think when you and your- your- your gender-defying- subverting- whatever they are -"

"Non-binary, mum," Felix corrects automatically, but Elspeth continues like she hadn't heard him.

"- when the two of you are loudly debasing yourselves all over the estate?"

"Oh my god," oh, Felix kind of hates this.

"Don't be ashamed, dear, the rest of us just tend to avoid your wing of the house after sunset; it's not that hard, it's a big house. As long as you're both happy," Elspeth insists, before offering casually, "and I think Pamela, god rest her soul, was telling me about male seahorses just before she left -"

"I'm not a seahorse!" Felix cuts her off loudly, unable to believe this was a real conversation he was having, "I'm not pregnant! No-one's pregnant!" He throws his hands in the air, "I think I'm in love with Oliver, fuck, that's what I came here to talk about!"

"Oh thank god," Elspeth breathes with a laugh, petting Felix's knee. Her earlier concern has evaporated and she fixes him with a fond smile, "I know, sweetheart. Your father and I love you very much, and we always have, no matter who you love. We're glad you and Y/N have found such a beautifully interesting man who makes you both happy," she tells him pointedly, as if his whole point was that he was worried about coming out to her. Christ, like he hadn't explicitly introduced them to his whole boyfriend the year before.

Like you and Felix had any idea what the hell subtlety was when you were at Saltburn.

So maybe his mother sees the situation too clearly, if she can see how in love you and Felix both are with Ollie.

And maybe, despite her best efforts, she wasn't someone who could help Felix sort out all the bullshit in his head and heart. He'd have to bite the bullet and just talk to Ollie... preferably soon, because the stress was going to give him a headache. He has no idea how you held out for days, over a week, with this kind of thing weighing on you.

At least if things went well, he knew his mother liked Ollie.

But wait, what was that last bit?

"'Makes both of us happy'?" Felix frowned, "what's that supposed to mean?"

It was Elspeth's turn to look tired.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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ddejavvu · 2 years ago

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The Right Person - Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: You're good friends with Jack Hotchner, and his dad finds you crying at a house party.

Contents/Warnings: best friend's dad!hotch, legal age gap (reader is over 18), mutual pining, soft!hotch, mention of alcohol/drugs, cheating (reader's unnamed, faceless boyfriend), hurt/comfort, fem!reader

WC: 3.6K / navigation

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Very few things are more embarrassing than crying at a party. You're wading through a sea of high, hammered young adults, and even if they're too out of their minds to notice the tears on your cheeks, you feel like a fool for letting them fall.

You probably shouldn't have been as naive as you were going into your relationship. You'd been blinded by the prospect of someone being interested in you, and you hadn't stopped to consider the odd behavior he'd presented. You didn't want to be the overbearing girlfriend and check his phone, but walking in on him sucking face with someone else was just about all the evidence you'll ever need.

So now you're crying, stumbling down the hall and into the front yard for a breath of fresh air. Inside it's stuffy, booze and weed clouding the air and burning at your lungs. The front steps feel like a new beginning, away from your asshole (now) ex-boyfriend and the shitty music blaring from the house.

You're not offered much solace, though, because sirens blare through the streets. You squint through your teary eyes at a squad of cop cars that screech into the driveway, black SUVs trailing behind them. Fear drags your stomach down to your feet, because despite knowing that you're sober, you still probably hold some accountability for whatever drugs they're doing in there.

You're the only one outside, save for a couple moonbathing around the side yard, but the cops start for the front door. It means you're scrambling out of the way, tempted to put your hands up just in case.

"Miss," One of the officers glances at you, "Go home. We're shutting this down."

"Oh- okay," You stammer, nodding and wiping a tear from your eye, "I-um... I have to call an uber."

The officers don't pay you any regard after that, streaming into the house. It's only when you're fumbling clumsily with your phone that anyone engages with you, and the booming voice that travels over the lawn brings immense comfort to you.

"Y/N?" It's Aaron Hotchner, Jack's dad. You'd become fast friends with Jack through a couple of shared community college courses, and you'd come to know his dad from study sessions and movie nights.

"Mr. Hotchner," You breathe, reaching up to smear a tear off of your cheek, "I- Are you- what's going on?"

"The neighbors complained about the noise" He explains, jogging across the grass to reach out for your shoulder, "What happened? Are you alright? Why are you crying?"

"I'm okay," You sniffle, now infinitely more embarrassed to be caught blubbering by your best friend's very attractive dad, "We all have to leave?"

"Don't worry about that," He murmurs, shrugging his windbreaker off of his shoulders and wrapping it around your own. Your top is sheer and too-short, and the cold air had been nipping at your skin. His jacket is warm, soft, and you realize with an aggressive heat to your cheeks, it smells like him.

"Now," He tries again, keeping his jacket securely over your shoulders, "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm alright," You shake your head, chin to your chest, "It's dumb, it's nothing. I- I need to call an uber, I'll-"

"I will drive you home," Aaron promises, voice soothing as his hand brushes over your back, "But I need to know what's wrong."

"I don't-" You stammer, eyes rolling at how silly you sound while another wave of tears streams down your cheeks, "It's just- my boyfriend, I saw him kissing someone else. Really, it's dumb, it's nothing."

Aaron doesn't respond, not right away, but you know he's heard you. You know by the momentary tightening of his grip on your shoulder, the way that his fingers dig into your skin like he's trying to make a fist but you're getting in the way. Then he eases up, touches all soft and gentle.

"I'm sorry, honey." He coos, stepping against your chest to wrap you in a hug. He rubs your back, up and down, up and down, up and down, until you're sniffling and sobbing into his chest. He keeps his arms around you, strong and firm, his cheek flush with the crown of your head as partygoers stream out of the house around you.

He's the epitome of comfort, all sweet, low reassurances and grounding touches. He murmurs only loud enough for you to hear as you curl your fingers into his shirt, 'He didn't deserve you, honey.' and, 'You're better off without him.'

"I just didn't see it coming," You admit lamely, your voice muffled against his chest. He doesn't ease up on the hug, and you're grateful for that. The last thing you'd want to do is make him uncomfortable, but he seems to realize you need comfort right now.

"Jack... always had his thoughts about him." Aaron admits, "But I think he kept them to himself, he didn't want to ruin things for you."

"I could tell," You sigh, nestled snugly into Aaron's chest, "I... I thought they just needed time to get used to each other, you know? Like, get to know each other. But I guess not, I guess Jack was right."

"Don't tell him that," Aaron teases, "It'll go straight to his head."

You laugh, albeit weakly, against Aaron's chest, and he takes it as a win.

"Okay," He hums, giving one last broad sweep of his hand over your back, "Let's get you into the car. It's late, you should get home and get to sleep."

"Thank you for taking me home," You sniffle letting him lead you with an arm around your shoulders to one of the SUVs, "Are you sure it's okay to just take one? Weren't there other people riding with you?"

"They'll figure it out." Aaron assures you, knowing Derek will have to bite the bullet and sit in the middle seat of the back row, something he always takes an extra SUV to avoid doing, "It's okay."

Aaron helps you into the passenger's seat, even tugging at your seatbelt when you struggle to wrestle it over his jacket.

"Here," He reaches for the strap, easing it up and over a fold of the jacket that it was stuck in, "Let me."

He clicks it into place for you, and you smile tearily up at him.

He leaves you with a pat to your knee, then shuts the door.

You hear him call something to, presumably, another agent, trying not to think too hard about whatever team member of his you're depriving of a seat. Aaron doesn't let you think much about it, though, because as soon as you're pulling away from the curb, tears no longer pouring down your cheeks, the interrogation starts.

"What were you doing at a party, anyways?" Aaron glances over at you, a frown creasing his brows, "You're not the drinking type."

"I didn't go to get drunk," You shrug, "I went 'cause my boyfriend invited me."

"He invited you," Aaron repeats, "And then... wow."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," Aaron looks at you, stopped at a signal just outside of the neighborhood, "Really. That's awful. You deserve so much better than that."

"Thank you, Mr. Hotchner," You sniffle, "I really appreciate how kind you're being. The ride, and- and the jacket, and-"

"It's no problem," He assures you, looking you in the eyes through the mirror, "That's what you deserve, sweetheart. You don't need to thank me for it."

You have the ironic urge to thank him again.

"And you can call me Aaron." He reminds you, smiling knowingly at your reflection, "You know that."

He's made a point to tell you time and time again that you're allowed to call him by his first name. During impromptu, mid-study-session dinners, at pick-ups in the college parking lot, but you've never felt acquainted with him before, not like this. Wearing his jacket while he drives you home after a ten minute hug seems a lot better of a reason to use his first name than seeing him in passing while you're laughing with Jack.

"Aaron," You mumble, and he chuckles warmly.

You don't have much time to enjoy the sound, even if it flips your stomach into cartwheels. You wish you could savor it, but you watch Aaron take a wrong turn to your house, and a frown tugs your brows down.

"Uh, I live that way," You point behind you, "It's okay, you can just turn up there, I think."

"We're stopping somewhere first," He explains, car bouncing as he pulls into the parking lot of a convenience store, "Come with me?"

You nod, wordlessly, climbing out of the car. He's already around to your side when you step out, looking only a little upset that he hadn't gotten to open the door for you. He shuts it, though, and catches his jacket when it slips from around your shoulders.

"Oh-! Here," He holds the material open, urging you to fit your arms through the slots, "Put it on, honey."

You blame his honey-sweet tone of voice for how clumsy you are in slipping into the jacket. It's unfair, really, how he's treating you like a precious thing, wrapping you in his jacket and driving you home. Then he zips it for you, all the way up to your chin, and you think you're in love.

The cool night air feels even more now like a fresh start. Thoughts of your awful ex-boyfriend have been looming over you the entire time, but they ebb away with each caring gesture Aaron shows you. It takes every ounce of self control in your body not to tackle him into a kiss when he takes your hand, leading you into the convenience store.

He beelines for the frozen section, grabbing a handheld basket on the way. He stops you right in front of the ice creams, only dropping your hand to gesture at the display case.

"Go ahead," He urges you, "Pick some. That's proper breakup ritual, I hear."

"Aaron, no-!"

"It's a rite of passage," He cuts you off, something stern in his eyes even if they're primarily kind, "Just- here. You like cookies and cream, right?" He eyes a container of the flavor behind the glass, and you nod tentatively, wondering how he'd remembered. You'd only eaten it once at his house, and he'd only known because he'd caught you washing your bowl out, and insisted on doing it himself because you were a guest.

He pushes the basket into your hands, and you watch begrudgingly as he takes two quarts of ice cream from the shelf. You protest weakly as he ushers you to the counter, but he shushes you gently, stepping in front of you to pay.

"Aaron," You mumble, cheeks hot and voice whiny as he waits for the cashier to ring him up. You knock your face against his back, burying it there for safekeeping, and he reaches back to pat your side.

The total isn't egregious, but it's more than you're happy with him spending on you. Of course, you don't have cash, so you're unable to pay him back, either. You'll have to slip Jack money the next time you see him, but you have a sneaking suspicion he'd use it at the school's vending machine instead.

"Thank you," You gush, voice still thick with embarrassment and cheeks still burning as Aaron leads you back to the SUV. He's slipped his hand back into yours, and he tucks the ice cream at your feet when you're settled into your seat.

"Again," He urges, resting his hand over your own where they lay in your lap, "Don't thank me. I'm only treating you like you deserve."

If he notices the monumental smile you try to bite back, he doesn't tease you about it.

He pulls into your driveway shortly after, with no further detours. You're renting a little ground-floor condo, and he walks you to your door with your ice cream in hand.

"Alright," He sighs, passing the bag over to you, "I think you have to watch a romance movie with this," He glances at the bag, "It's the law, I'm pretty sure."

"Oh, yeah?" You grin, the expression brighter than it would have been a half-hour ago, "What if I don't? Are the police gonna show up?"

"I will," He threatens, a warm smile on his face, "And I'm a bit of an ice cream fiend, so don't tempt me."

"Well there's two quarts..." You raise your brows, a silent invitation.

"I don't want to intrude," He starts, but you cut him off before he can even try.

"Mr.- Aaron," You hesitate, voice coming out meager where you want it confident, "I really don't want to be alone right now."

You almost expect him to leave. Sure, he'd been sweet to you tonight. But you're nervous that his sympathy was temporary, and that it's waning. So you stare at his shirt instead of his eyes, and you miss the way his gaze softens.

"Okay." He nods, one foot stepping forwards towards the threshold of your condo, "Okay honey. I'll stay."

Your condo isn't much. You're a college student, not a CEO, and your shoddy furniture tells that story. Aaron doesn't seem to mind, though, setting the bag on the counter and rummaging for spoons.

"You sure you want to share?" He eyes you where you've sat yourself on the couch, quarts and spoons in hand as he joins you.

"I'm sure," You nod, reaching for the tv remote, "I think I'd get sick if I ate two cartons."

A romance movie isn't hard to find, but you feel yourself developing a pounding headache from the exhaustion of crying. The ice cream is sweet on your tongue, cookies crunching between your teeth and staining them dark. You munch through the first half of the movie, digging into the carton with a greedy spoon each time. You don't even breach the halfway point before you have to stop, eyes closing and head pounding.

Aaron's similarly engaged with his ice cream, spoon upside-down in his mouth as he sucks it clean. You try not to stare at his mouth, but you're bashful as you place the lid back on your ice cream tub.

"I'm gonna beat you," Aaron boasts, digging his spoon back in for more ice cream, "Quitter."

"Go ahead," You sigh, head lolling back against the cushions. Your voice is colored with defeat, sad and dull. Aaron suspects it's not just about your unspoken ice cream eating contest.

"C'mere," He sighs, jamming his spoon into his ice cream and wrapping his now free arm around your shoulders. He urges you against his shoulder, something that you'd wanted to do since the moment you'd sat down, but didn't have the guts to.

"I'm sorry, honey." He reminds you as you lay your head against his shoulder, his constant slew of sympathy warming your chest, "He's an idiot."

"I feel like the idiot," You admit, voice in a low grumble, "I should have known it was too good to be true."

He pauses, stiffens, shifts. He's turned to face you, now, nudging your head off of his shoulder so he can look you in the eye. He's frowning, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like... I dunno." You sigh in defeat, "I wasn't exactly everyone's dream girl in high school. And when I started college and everyone seemed older and more mature, it was comforting, like a fresh start. And then he took an interest in me, and I felt like things were finally starting to work for me, like I was finally a girl that guys liked. And then... well, you know the story. It just feels like I should have known better."

All the while, through your confession, Aaron's face has twisted itself into the deepest frown you've ever seen on the man. It looks like it's embedded permanently into his features, like he's stuck there from now on. It's almost cartoonish, and you'd laugh if you weren't so sad.

"Don't say that." He orders, voice stern.

"What?"

"Don't say that." He repeats, "This is not your fault. You were not supposed to see it coming, nor does it mean that people don't like you. College boys are..." He deliberates carefully on his word choice, seeing as he has one himself, "Impulsive. And impulsivity can sometimes be channeled into some pretty stupid shit. Like cheating on your girlfriend. Okay? It's not your fault that college boys are stupid."

"But-" You start with a choked voice, and his disapproving glare intensifies, "He wouldn't have cheated on me if I wasn't doing something wrong, would he? Or- or maybe I just am wrong, maybe I'm just not the type of person that's good enough to make someone stay."

"That is," He rushes to reply, reaching up to thumb a tear away from the apple of your cheek, "The dumbest thing I've ever heard." His hand rests there now, flush to your face, and there's a cold stripe down the middle where he'd been holding his spoon. His fingers are chilly too, but they warm against your skin.

"You are not wrong, there is nothing about you that makes you 'not good enough'. I can think of a thousand things that make you wonderful, but not one dealbreaker. Listen to me, please." He's leaning in, getting closer and closer with every word that tumbles from his lips, "There are people who fall in love with serial killers. No one is unlovable, certainly not you."

"But- but those people fall in love with serial killers because they're serial killers. That's- that's a thing about them, that's a lifestyle that people glorify. No one glorifies mediocrity, Aaron," Your heart sinks, "And that's what I am. I'm mediocre, maybe I'm good enough to take home for a night but I'm not good enough to live with."

In all of your frantic blubbering, you'd avoided eye contact with Aaron. Snapping back to focus, though, you see that it's impossible now, that he's close enough that your noses are brushing, and his breath is fanning over your mouth. Your own breath hitches in your throat, and your heart pounds.

His eyes, once stern and disapproving, are soft around the edges. They're chocolatey, and they speak to his sweet soul that's compelling him to stroke his thumb over the pudge of your cheek. You think for all the world that he's going to kiss you, you almost beg for it, but at the last minute, he tilts his head down, not forwards.

His forehead presses to your own, and his eyes shut.

"You are," He murmurs, holding you close, keeping your face flush to his, "The perfect girl. You're sweet, you're kind, you're funny, you're caring, you're so pretty, you're hardworking, you're resilient, you are... I could name a thousand other things. And, one day," His eyes flutter open, staring into your own as best he can at such a close proximity, "The right person will tell you that."

Aaron is the right person. He has to be, you can't imagine anyone else in the world being as kind or sweet with you as he is. And after all, that's what he says you deserve, right? The way his hand fits around your face seems like a piece of your puzzle you'd never known was missing until it snapped into place, and if you could steal his voice sea-witch style just to hear it all day long, you would.

It's a staring contest, and you blink first.

"I'm glad you told me," You admit, voice thick with emotion. You're not sure whether he picks up on the fact that you're designating him as the right person or not, but you choose not to think about it as he pulls you impossibly closer.

"Don't thank me," He reminds you, "it's what you deserve. Are you tired?"

"Yeah." You admit, slumping your forehead against him even as he tries moving away. It means that your skin slips against his lips, and he presses them into a pucker against your head. You'll savor the feeling forever.

"Go to sleep," He urges you, hand still on your cheek to guide it back to his shoulder. You curl into him much easier now, feeling lovey enough even to wrap your arms around one of his own. The movie plays forgotten on the tv, and your eyes shut to the vision of Aaron's lap, ice cream abandoned between his thighs. It's a nice image, but one you can't think too hard about while sleepy.

His hand comes up from where it had been draped over the cushions behind you to rub your back. He applies soft, gentle pressure, stroking up and down over the fabric of your- his jacket, one that you hope he doesn't take off of you before he leaves. It's grounding, and it only makes you burrow into him more.

The way you know he's the right person for sure is by fighting sleep. You want to conserve your time with Aaron, and you don't want to forget the feeling of his tender touches. You're in that floaty space between sleep and consciousness, somewhere with bodliy sensation but little cognitive ability. Your brain is pleasantly cloudy, and Aaron's hand on your back never stops.

When your breathing evens out, Aaron thinks you're asleep. You feel him shift ever-so-slightly, and you're worried he'll leave you. But he doesn't, he gets even closer, and you feel his lips land on the crown of your head.

"Perfect," He murmurs into your scalp, vibrations thrumming through your skull and wriggling their way into your brain, cementing the thought there, "G'night, sweetheart."

You drift to sleep knowing, without a doubt, that Aaron is the right person for you.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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sawyerconfort · 1 year ago

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the yellowjackets when you wear their shirts would include...

Hi, I promised I would come back and I just disappeared, I'm really sorry! As I mentioned before, my computer has been having huge problems, and I've tried to fix it before, but it looks like I'm going to have to format it after all.

In the meantime, I've got a laptop abandoned at home and I'm trying to write on it. Half the delay was because I was trying to adjust to the new method and the other half because I really had no idea for these requests and giving you shitty stuff would not be fair at all.

Ok, so here we go, probably for a wave of headcannons with other fandoms (AHS fans, I promise I'll answer all of your asks, don't worry!

Enjoy!

Requests will be a little closed for a while just until I get my act together! Sorry for the delay and closing!

If you can also let me know in the replies if you want more prompts and headcannons with the yellowjackets, I would appreciate it! And let me know if you want me to include Travis or\and Coach Ben on it too...

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

Jackie Taylor

I don't think Jackie would make a fuzz about it. Alright, she would probably be surprised on the first day. But because she's supposedly the most popular girl in school, she's even happy that you're being influenced by her style, after all, that's what popular girls are for, right?

It will also depend a lot on your relationship. If you are friends, for example, Jackie will insist on letting you take some clothes that no longer fit her. And if you're dating, she'll make sure to tease you as much as she can until you express the reaction that pleases her the most.

"You look beautiful, (Y\N), my style really suits you, like I always said."

Shauna Shipman

Shauna wouldn't mind too much about you wearing her clothes either, but unlike Jackie, I think she'd be pretty insecure about commenting on it, kind of afraid that it would make you stop wearing it, and also, of course, due to her internal issues with herself.

But Shauna would find it incredibly adorable, though, and would give you some signs that she liked the offbeat idea, her way. This includes not-so-subtle glances while you're wearing the fabric, or some clothes, which are her favorites as well, laid out on the bed when you come to visit… Little details that let you know that Shauna isn't bothered at all therefore.

I mean, unless it's her flannels, these inseparable fucking flannels… Those no one can take, not even a significant other.

"Uh… You look cute, (Y\N), in my outfit… I like it."

Natalie Scatorccio

I don't think Natalie would mind you wearing her clothes. In fact, I think it would be a good opportunity for her to take advantage of this and tease you as much as she can. She will do anything to make you self-conscious and blush, but not in a bad way. Like, that's just her love language.

And, let's face it, Natalie is needy enough not to let her scent wash off her clothes when you take them off. On nights when she needs to sleep alone, if you're dating, she'll purposefully grab one of her pieces of clothing and smell in the scent to keep you close.

"Hey, sweetie, lookin' pretty, huh? Is this outfit mine by any chance?"

Taissa Turner

I'm a hundred percent sure that Tai would be one of those people who abominate clichés, unless she's doing it herself. So, at first, this idea of sharing clothes with her significant other is something she would find completely silly. The first time, she would just kindly tell you to stop it, in a way that doesn't hurt your feelings (I love a soft-hearted Tai, don't judge me!).

But then, as time goes on, I'm also one hundred percent sure that Tai would buy clothes in her style that exclusively fit you. It's kind of her guilty pleasure, since spoiling you is one of her most practiced love languages. And well, considering the tantrum she threw the first few times, how much you've evolved is impressive.

"Okay honey, which one do you want to wear today?"

Lottie Matthews

Okay, get ready for the biggest love bomb you've ever received in your life. Lottie would be completely adorable about your wearing her clothes, and not only would she not mind at all, she would make a point of convincing you that you are one of the lost paintings by one of the famous artists of past centuries, or something like that.

In fact, it's kind of a headcannon on my part that Lottie doesn't have her own style and that she's always looking for something that makes her belong somewhere (some clothes in her teens she wore because of her mother's influence, just because it would please her, you know? )

So, seeing you wearing the dresses that she finds extremely over the top, or the blouses that have too much detail and too little simplicity, is like one of the greatest achievements of her life, if not the greatest. I don't think Lottie ever liked that flashy style more than when you started stealing it from her.

"Wow, wow, wait a minute! Wow, (Y\N), I think you wearing this made me a hundred times more in love with you! Wear it more, babe. You can wear my clothes as much as you like."

Van Palmer

(Okay, since Liv identifies as they\them, I'm going to change the pronouns for this one, hope you don't mind!)

Van and Natalie would have the same approach when it comes to stealing their clothes. But, I think, as an honest opinion, Van would turn this more into a flirting game than anything else. They are simply obsessed (it reads turned on) when you wear something of theirs.

And of course, this opens the door for some good teasing that will inevitably end in making out. Like, how would you handle it, with Van looking you up and down and smirking with that smile you're completely drawn to every time? It's almost impossible for nothing to happen.

I'm also pretty sure that if you were dating, they wouldn't let you have only your clothes in your closet or in your bags. There would always have to be three or more pieces of them that you could use as much or as little as you wanted.

"Wow! Watch out, everyone! There's an extremely hot living being crossing the room, and look what a coincidence, they're wearing my clothes!"

Misty Quigley

Misty would probably have the best reaction ever. Then she, who was always ridiculed for her attitudes and style, having someone who was able to wear her clothes as if they were completely ordinary. Are you kidding? You'll practically make her day if you do something like that!

Obviously, she would be embarrassed and reluctant to ask you the first time why you were doing it, but Misty Quigley has two sides to the coin, and one of them being the impulsive side, I think that would be the one that would beat her to the courage. And your response of the type "because I love your style" would simply keep her up all night.

By the next morning, her entire circle of potential friends would have known about it…

"OH MY GOD! Are these… are these my clothes? Okay, now you really need to let me do your makeup, (Y\N)!"

Laura Lee

(Same thing as Liv\Van, but I don't really know if Laura Lee would use neutral pronuns... It's all because of Jane Widdop, our baby!)

Laura Lee would be pretty surprised if you showed up wearing their clothes, and honestly, I don't think there would be any malice on their part when you did. More than a possible sign that they could be more than friends to you, this would mean that you could, above all, be friends.

They would find it extremely sweet, actually, the effort and dedication you put into choosing an item of clothing that they loved, but was also comfortable for you. In short, Laura Lee would just adore you even more, if that were even possible!

"Oh! Oh! I can't believe it! You look beautiful wearing this, (Y\N). In God's eyes and mine mostly."

#lgbt #romance #oneshot #fluff #headcannons #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #jackie taylor x reader #shauna shipman x reader #van palmer x reader #taissa turner x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #lottie matthews x reader #laura lee x reader #misty quigley x reader

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thisismeracing · 2 years ago

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Love sips | MS47

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x fem!reader (she/her) ― Word count: 1.7k ― Warnings: +18; not proofread; mentions of food and a bad day at work; graphic description of sex; oral (fem and male receiving) - 69; slightly sub!mick and dom!reader; ― Summary: Some bad moments leave the feeling that your whole day was destroyed. Sometimes, all you need to navigate life’s ups and downs is someone to remember you that bad events don’t equal a bad day, Yn decides on a very peculiar approach to remind herself that, and Mick, her boyfriend, is happy to help. ― A/n: I actually liked this far better than I thought I would. I was very insecure at first because it was my first time writing a 69 scene, but I hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know your thoughts by reblogging and/or leaving me an ask (anons are on) *mwah* 🤍

⁕ Based on this and this request. ⁕ my masterlist and my taglist ⁕ you can support my writing by reblogging, and leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece)

Bad days happen. It’s a fact.

Sometimes they’re a series of bad things that happen during the whole day.

Sometimes they’re just one bad thing that happens during that day and ends up tainting the rest of it.

Today, unfortunately for Yn, it was the former.

She woke up late, which made her skip breakfast and grab a snack in the cafeteria close to her work, which ended with someone spilling coffee on her white blouse. She didn’t have a spare. Then it was the whole stress at work, her boss got her new tasks when she wasn’t even finished with the ones she had, and she needed to deal with some rude people along the way. And by the end of the day, Yn wanted to Uber home, but only then, when everyone had left, she noticed she had forgotten her charger at home, and her phone was dead.

She had to walk to the subway, with a stained shirt, sore feet, and a headache.

When Yn got home, she kicked her shoes off and crouched down to pet Angie who was napping in her bed close to the stairs. She breathed in her house scent, the low light, and the peaceful atmosphere, before grabbing two water bottles and making her way to the bedroom where she knew Mick would be.

And there he is indeed. Mick’s sitting on the bed with a book, he seems deep in concentration, but the second he hears the door his head snaps up. Yn eyes wander from his naked chest to his gray sweatpants up to his face, and they share a look before she discards the water bottles on the nightstands and starts to undress. Mick closes the book and Yn nods.

“Lie down,” it’s a soft command, and the blonde shows Yn one of his trademark grins before his back hits the mattress.

“What happened?” He asks, watching her remove her panties, her bra still on.

Yn sighs, “I’ve had a shitty day, but I’ll tell you after you make me cum. I’m sitting on your face.” She got on the bed. “Now be a good boy and make me forget my own name, will you?”

Mick accepted the challenge with a proud smirk and hooked his hands on her thighs, helping her cross one of her legs over his face. Pussy right in front of his mouth.

He groaned and then moaned when she sat down without much pleasantries. Yn rocked back and forth, one hand on his hair pulling it tight, and the other holding onto the headboard for support. She threw her head back when his tongue invaded her hole, and his nose bumped into her clit in a crazy friction.

Digging his short nails into her ass, Mick let the adrenaline and passion lead the way, licking and sucking, while Yn demanded in heated and low moans. She told him how good he was making her feel, told him he was such a good boy, that she would cum all over his face, and he was going to drink it all like his favorite liquor. Because, of course, he would.

“Use your fingers, Mick!” she urged, lowering her other free hand to his hair, pushing his face deeper, and whimpering when he gathered her juices on two fingers before sticking it in.

He made ‘come here’ movements hitting her walls right on the spot, and Yn felt her toes curls.

“Faster!” her command echoed through the large bedroom, and Mick couldn’t help but follow. “Make me cum, Mick.” She whispered looking down, her eyes finding his pleading ones. He was getting off with it too, but she could clearly see that he was obeying and putting her first and nothing made Yn more aroused than seeing how much he loved and cherished her.

Yn reached for the clasp of her bra and took it off quickly, throwing it somewhere, and focusing her attention on Mick’s ministrations and her own hands playing with her hard nipples. The blonde closed his eyes, taking her swollen bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks while inserting a third finger inside, making Yn gasp and cry a string of profanities.

With that pace, it did not take long for her to forget about the stresses of the day. Spiller coffee turned into spilled love confessions. Her throbbing head turned into a pleasantly throbbing body. And she felt the exact moment her body toppled over the edge, jumping head first into pleasure land. Mick moaned, and the vibrations made her dizzy. Her back arched, and Yn whimpered praises to her boyfriend, who slowed down his pace, helping her ride the orgasm wave.

“Was it good? Did it help?” the German questioned, kissing the inside of her thighs, and Yn knew him long enough to know he wasn’t fishing for compliments, but, in fact, worried about her.

“It was great, baby. Do you think you can give me one more?” she asked, supporting the weight of her body on her knees.

When Mick quickly nodded in agreement, even looking excited, Yn turned her body, her pussy still directly on top of his face, but she was now facing his lower half. She draped her body on top of his, and he moaned, understanding what she was about to do.

“You’ve been such a good boy. I think you deserve some attention too.” Yn comments, playing with the hem of Mick’s boxers. She traces the outline of his hard shaft and chuckles when a strangled moan pass between his lips reverberating on her core. “Be patient, baby. I’m giving you some attention too. Your reward.”

And with that Yn lets his dick spring free from the clothing. She gives it a tug and pumps, before spitting on his pinky swollen head. The muscle of his thighs contract, and he involuntarily thrusts into the air. Mick moans into her core and licks a stripe of her sensitive pussy, while Yn takes part of him inside her mouth, taking her time to enjoy the feeling of each vein and dip. She could feel the salty precum on her tongue, and it only made her more aroused because truly Mick got off giving her pleasure. That was yet another proof of it.

“Oh- Ich-” Mick started but cut himself off when Yn hollowed her cheeks and sucked him just the way he liked. It was too much. Her smell on his nose, her taste on his tongue, her tongue on him, her body on top of his. All of his senses were high and it wouldn’t take long for him to hit his climax.

“You what, love?” She teased, grounding her hips harder against his face and taking him deeper into her mouth.

Mick let out a series of curses and praises in German and then stuffed three of his fingers through her entrance. She was as wet as before, and he was eager to get a sip of her again. He traced her clit, and played with her lips, all while trying to keep his body functioning with her teasing him.

“You wanna come?” Yn asked when she felt his hips start to leave the mattress again eagerly searching for her warm mouth.

“Please, Liebling. Please, let me come,” it was almost like a plea, and it fueled Yn to start again her game, this time, ready to let him explode on her tongue.

And that he did. The second Yn pumped what she couldn’t fit inside and contracted her throat with his invasion. Mick couldn’t help but dissolve into pleasure. His salty seeds filled her mouth and spilled onto her chin. Yn smiled proudly and kissed his head, helping him ride the climax road.

It didn’t take longer for her to reach her second orgasm too. It was easy with all the stimulus on her body and his own. It was hot seeing him come, and it was hot when he did so in her mouth. For some reason, her pussy loved it. And so Yn when Yn came for the second time that night, her breath hitches, and she can’t hold her weight, so she falls on top of his thighs. Spent and satisfied.

They both take a second or two to even their breaths, before Mick brings her to his side, kissing her forehead, jaw, and, then finally, her lips, tasting each other. Yn purrs and shakily pulls him towards her, deepening the kiss.

“Thank you,” Mick mumbles, starting a path of kisses to her collarbones

Yn sighs concently, “Thank you.” She feels him smile against her skin, his teeth sinking into some parts of her flesh, and then nipping and kissing it.

“You wanna talk about your day?” he asks now facing her.

And that she does. In fact, she almost cries while telling him she only got to take one sip from her coffee before someone crashed into her spilling it into her blouse, she tells him how she forgot her charger and had to walk with sore feet to the subway, and she lists a couple of stressful people she had to deal with at work. When she’s done spilling out her feelings, to which Mick only agrees -knowing that sometimes she doesn’t wanna hear anything back, just sharing everything already helps-. He starts his trails of kissing, biting, and nipping again, and Yn is so spent and tired after her long day and two delicious orgasms that she can’t help but fall asleep.

When she wakes up, stretching her body on the comfortable matters, Mick is in front of her, a boyish grin gracing his features.

“I got you your favorite, though it’s decaf. But this time, you’ll drink without someone spilling,” and sure enough, he’s holding her favorite coffee with one hand and a snack in the other, expectantly looking at her.

Yn can feel a wave of pleasure wash over her. The pleasure she gets whenever something reinforces his love for her, just like going all the way just to get her favorite coffee after she had a bad day. And sure enough, she sips on her coffee watching Mick with heart eyes. When their eyes meet, she’s sipping his love too, and enjoying how sweet it tastes.

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Don’t forget to water a plant and water this account too (you water this account by reblogging and leaving me a message if you’re comfortable, it means a lot to me, and makes my imagination bloom just like a flower would) *forehead kiss*

taglist: @sachaa-ff @dalsuwaha @mellowpizzapuppy @mishaandthebrits @mickslover @crimeshowjunkie @iloveyou3000morgan @formulakay3 @carojasmin2204 @saintslewis @wondergirl101ks @fdl305 @chaoticevilbakugo @shhhchriss @smiithys @f1kota @lunnnix @leclercsluv @babyiscrying @uuuseeerrr12 @karmabyfernando @balekane_mohafe @crashingwavesofeuphoria @81astri

⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher smut #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fandom #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #millie writes smut #ms47 #f1 x reader #mick schumacher imagines #mick schumacher fanfic #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine

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