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coffeeshades · 8 months

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LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART IV

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 7.2k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). mentions of sex. angst (heavy on this i'm sorry in advance) cussing, age gap, mentions of drugs and alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hi everyone! yes yes i know i disappeared for like 5 months but let's pretend i didn't. i've seen all of your messages and comments and i'm overwhelmed with all the love you've shown to the previous parts. thank you so much to everyone who likes, reblogs and leaves a kind message, i see you and love u. here's a new lil chapter, i hope you enjoy it. happy reading!!

February 28th, 2019

Cort Theater, NY

The day was here. The day he had been eagerly waiting on for months. The anticipation had been building up, and now he was finally going to perform in front of a live audience for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The months of rehearsals and hard work had all led up to this moment, and he was ready to give it his all.

He was starring in the new Broadway production of “King Lear" as Edmond, one of the play's most complex and intriguing characters. The role had challenged him in ways he had never experienced before, pushing him to delve deep into the character's motivations and emotions. As he stepped onto the stage, the bright lights shining down on him, he felt a surge of adrenaline and a sense of purpose.

And just like that, three hours and twenty-five minutes later, the final curtain fell on the play. The audience erupted into thunderous applause, their standing ovation a testament to their incredible performance. Exhausted but exhilarated, he knew he had given everything he had to the role and left it all on the stage.

His mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The rush of adrenaline slowly subsided, and as much as he wanted to hear what everyone thought of his performance, there was only one person whose opinion mattered to him right now: yours.

The last time he saw you was on your last day in Chile, almost two months ago. He vividly remembered the bittersweet farewell outside his family's house—you getting into the car and him closing the door. A door that seemed to separate their worlds. Since then, they had kept in touch through messages and occasional video calls, but it wasn't the same. Of course it wasn't. It will never be.

The distance between them had only fueled his longing, making him yearn for your presence even more. Constantly trying to derail his one-track mind.

He knows you're here. He had invited his siblings and closest friends. However, he was unsure of your attendance until an hour before the show, when he received a text from Oscar:

"She's coming with me. Stop pacing and good luck."

He hadn't really discussed what happened back in Chile with Oscar or anyone, for that matter, but he could tell everyone knew something was off about how the two of you interacted. So when he got the message from Oscar, instead of freaking out about him potentially finding out about you two, he felt relieved.

It gave him comfort to know that Oscar knew him so well that he was aware of the fact that you were the cause of his two-hour pacing in his dressing room. It was also fucking stupid and laughable.

The energy backstage was electric as he walked through the bustling crowd of crew members and performers. He entered his dressing room, grabbing his phone and immediately seeing all the texts from friends and his siblings. He opened one from Javiera: "Felicidades, hermanito! Killed it. See you at The Terrace."

They had planned on getting together afterwards to celebrate. He replied with a grateful smile, saying he'd be there in a few and to get there without him. He quickly changed into a more casual outfit: dark jeans and a comfortable white t-shirt. Wanting to unwind after the intense performance, he made his way to the restaurant. It was only a few blocks away from the theater, so he decided to enjoy the pleasant evening weather and take a leisurely stroll.

Once he got there and stepped out of the elevator, Pedro watched you from across the room. A delicate hand rested on Oscar's shoulder as you chatted and laughed together. He felt a bubble of pride in himself swell; it warmed him to know that you were enjoying yourself and having a good time.

He felt like an intruder in your intimate moment, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. At least I don't have to miss her anymore because she's right there, he thought.

Pedro made his way across the room, trying to appear nonchalant as he approached the table.

"There he is! the man of the hour," Oscar said, a wide smile spreading across his face.

You turned. Eyes meeting, and it was like a car crash. A collision of emotions and memories flooding back all at once. The air between you crackled with unresolved tension, and Pedro's heart raced as he struggled to find the right words to say.

"You came," he said, his voice stern. Not reflecting at all the turmoil inside him. "Thank you."

"Well, you called," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant as well. Deep down, though, your heart was pounding just as fast as Pedro's.

Everyone seemed to ignore the palpable tension in the room and how he was losing his mind over these unclear conversations between your glances, carrying on with their congratulatory words to Pedro as if nothing had happened. But for Pedro and you, time stood still.

People settled into an easy conversation, enjoying each other's company as the night went on. As the night went on, Pedro and you exchanged occasional glances, silently acknowledging the shared secret that lingered. He wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs: We slept together! We slept together, and I loved it! He wanted every single person in New York to hear it. To feel the exhilaration and passion that consumed him.

However, to say it was to make it real, and Pedro wasn't quite ready to face the consequences of that reality just yet. He knew his place in her life. He knew it was better this way. However, the ever-present question of 'Is it better to have something and lose it than never have it at all?' haunted his mind.

The laughter and chatter around you provided a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within both of you. After a couple drinks, the atmosphere became more relaxed, and Pedro found himself engaging in lighthearted conversations with the people around him.

"Ah, man. I need a cigarrette," he said to Oscar, reaching into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes.

"Go, go. I'll keep everyone entertained," Oscar replied with a smile, gesturing towards the lively crowd. Pedro nodded gratefully and stepped outside, the cool night air providing a brief respite from the chaos of his thoughts. As he lit his cigarette and took a long drag, he couldn't help but wonder if the temporary escape it offered was worth the potential consequences.

"I thought you quit," you remarked, slowly making your way to him, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. Pedro turned and exhaled a cloud of smoke, a wistful expression crossing his face. "I did, but you know me. I have a hard time letting go of old habits," he admitted, flicking the ash off his cigarette.

"Care to share?" you asked, gesturing towards the pack of cigarettes in his hand. Pedro hesitated for a moment.

"No."

"No?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't want to be the reason you get lung cancer."

You chuckled. "Ok, so you can do it, but I can't. Got it."

"I'm old; there's no use," he said with a shrug. "However, you have a whole life ahead of you."

"You make it sound like you're on a deathbed," you teased, taking a playful jab at Pedro's dramatic statement. He smirked and took a long drag from his cigarette before responding. "Maybe I am, in a way. But hey, we all gotta go someday, right?"

"That's...dark," you sighed. "mind if we changed the subject?"

"Sure, what do you want to talk about?" Pedro asked, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "Anything to distract me from my impending doom," he added with a smirk.

A laugh escaped your lips as you thought of a lighter topic. "How about we discuss your play?" Pedro's eyes lit up at the suggestion, momentarily forgetting about his earlier morbid thoughts.

"How are you feeling about your performance?"

Pedro looked at you for a little too long before finally responding, "It's funny I'm thinking about death because I've never felt more alive than on that stage."

"I could tell. I thought you were great, P."

He shook his head modestly. "Thanks, but I still feel like there's room for improvement. I want to push myself even further in the next shows."

"I get that."

Pedro watched you stare at the ground. His thoughts began to conspire against him, and as he was about to speak, you also looked up and opened your mouth at the same time. Words rushed out in unison.

You both paused, realizing you had interrupted each other. Pedro chuckled tentatively and motioned for you to go ahead. "Sorry, you first," he said with a polite smile.

You bit your lip, seemingly trying to gather your thoughts. "It's nothing. I just wanted to tell you I'll be in Europe for awhile. I got the Nolan movie."

"Woah, another one?"

"Yup. The role isn't as big as in interstellar, but I love working with him so much I couldn't pass up the opportunity." Pedro nodded, a mix of excitement and disappointment flickering across his face. "That's amazing; congratulations. I'm sure you'll do great, as always," he said sincerely. "I'll definitely miss having you around, though."

"Well, it's not like it'll be much different than now," you replied. "I haven't seen you since...since you know," your expression turned somber, cheeks flushed.

You were right. He was so busy with the play and his new role in the second installment of Wonder Woman that he barely had any time. He even had to cut back on his time on set for The Mandalorian reshoots this month and a few scenes for a second season that haven't even been announced.

"Yeah, I know."

"Should we talk about it?"

"I mean, there's nothing to talk about, really," Pedro said with a shrug, not daring to look you in the eye. "We slept together, and we both agreed that was it. No need to complicate things further." he tried to maintain a casual tone, but his voice wavered slightly.

Pedro wanted to scream. The nicotine clouding his lungs was the only thing keeping him from losing control. It seemed like all he was left with was a painful reminder of what could have been. He looked at you as he took another puff of smoke. Your eyes clearly searching for a trace of emotion in his face, but finding none.

A droplet of rain landed on Pedro's cheek as he inhaled deeply, feeling the coolness against his skin. It was as if the universe was reflecting his inner turmoil, adding to the weight of his unspoken words. He watched as you looked up at the darkening sky, the raindrops falling steadily on your hair.

The sound of thunder echoed in the distance, mirroring the storm brewing within him. He dropped the cigarrette from his hand, its ember extinguished by the rain.

"Isn't that the point of love, though?" you finally responded, your voice raspy and drunk with bitterness and resignation. "To complicate things, to make us question everything, to drive us to the brink of madness. Maybe it's not meant to be simple, Pedro."

His body tensed up, and your words clearly struck a nerve. The weight of your statement hung heavy in the air, leaving an uncomfortable silence between you both. It was no secret that his perspective on love had been tainted by past experiences, leaving him guarded and unwilling to let go of his pain.

"You're right. Which is why I would rather stay away from it. I've seen firsthand the havoc it can wreak on people's lives," Pedro admitted, his voice laced with a hint of frustration. He knows he's hurting you; he can see it by the way your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"So that's it, then?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Is this how it is always going to be?"

But he can't risk it. "I thought we were on the same page with this."

He sees how your jaw tightens at his statement. He knows he's hurting you. He's twisting the knife even deeper. He can't seem to stop just because he believes it's for the better.

Please know it's for the better.

"Yeah, I guess it's better this way," you spat back, your voice filled with anger. Of course, you could tell exactly how he was feeling.

"Guys! What the fuck are you doing outside? It's fucking pouring!" A friend shouts from the doorway. "Get inside!"

You both stood there staring at each other, momentarily forgetting the rain pouring down around you.

“Yeah. What the fuck are we doing?" you say, not even trying to mask the anger in your voice.

He wants to reach out and kiss you. Kiss you so hard that his lips would bruise. Kiss you so hard that your pain will fade away. But that action would go against everything he had just said.

So he just watches you turn around and leave.

What the fuck is he doing?

3 months later

After weeks of shooting in the United Kingdom and the Amalfi Coast, you and the crew finally had a couple of days off. Aaron, John, and Rob had the brilliant idea to take a quick trip to Monaco.

“It’s a Grand Prix weekend,” Aaron said excitedly. “Maybe if we make a few calls, we could still snag some passes.”

“Doesn’t that start this week?” Rob inquired, taking a sip of his drink. Ever since your arrival in Italy, the four of you finally got the chance to eat dinner together at a nice restaurant.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aaron waved his hands in the air, “but if we leave tomorrow, there’s plenty of time to get there and enjoy ourselves.”

You were so focused on your meal that you missed the sound of your name coming from Aaron’s mouth. “Hellooo?” he continued, and you looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you friends with Lewis Hamilton?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, we see each other sometimes at events and stuff. He’s really nice,” you tell him, still feeling a bit distracted.

“Could you maybe give him a call and get us those passes?” he asks, pouting like a puppy. John laughs at him, hitting him lightly on the arm.

“Sure, I can try,” you reply, feeling a bit hesitant. You rarely ask for special favors and don't want to come across as entitled, even more so when you haven't spoken to Lewis in so long.

“Yes!” Aaron celebrates by raising his fists. "Um, one more thing,"

“Mate, you’re pushing it now,” Rob remarks with a playful tone. You can tell he's enjoying the banter between you and Aaron.

“Go on,” you gesture at him to continue, a smile on your face.

“Could we also use your PP?”

“Use her what now?” John exclaims. Laughter erupts from Rob's mouth, making you and John join in.

“Her private plane, mate!” Aaron says, embarrassed.

“Yes, Aaron,” you get out, still laughing. “I’ll let you use my PP.”

"Thank you!"

•••

The flight to Monaco was smooth and quick. You spent most of it trying to focus on a script for a project after this one while the boys all slept. After your dinner last night, you made two calls: one to Lewis to ask about the passes and one to your publicist to let her know about your last-minute adventure.

Lewis was very nice as usual and said that, of course, he can get you the passes, while your agent said attending an F1 weekend would be good publicity and good fun. A win-win situation, she called it. She also said that since you were going to attend the race, you might as well attend all the events that come with it, which meant she had to fly in to assist you.

By the time the plane finally landed and you made it to the hotel, you were worn out. You spent the rest of the afternoon and night sleeping, without a care in the world. The next day, soft knocks on the door woke you up.

"It's me," Taylor's voice called out.

You groggily got out of bed and opened the door to find her standing there with her laptop, a cup of coffee, and a huge smile on her face. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

Although you hadn't passed a mirror on your way to answer the door, you had the feeling that you didn't look visually appealing at the moment. Your body ached, like you wrestled with a wild animal all night and lost.

"Did you just get here?" you ask her, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. She smiles and shakes her head. "I got here late last night, but you weren't answering the phone, so I called Renata instead, and she said you were sleeping. And like the great person I am, I let you rest." Renata is your PA/publicist, a great friend, and one of the two constants in your life, along with Taylor.

"Wow, so kind of you," you say sarcastically, but can't help the small smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. "Come in."

As Taylor enters, you shut the door behind her. She scans the space in fascination. There are floor-to-ceiling windows on the wall that run the length of the room and the wall to your left, which is behind the dining room table. A broad view of the harbor can be seen between the sheer, white, fluttering lengths of the floating curtains.

"Gorgeous suite," she says, sitting on the plush sofa across the room.

"Ren always chooses the best rooms, so yes," you tell her, sinking once again into your warm bed.

"You're still tired? You've slept for like 16 hours already," she chuckles, pouring herself a glass of water from the crystal pitcher on the side table. "I know, but I guess the jetlag is hitting me harder than I thought," you reply with a yawn, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath of the fragrant flowers on the nightstand.

"You didn't come to Monaco to sleep, did you?" Taylor chuckles, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Yes?"

"No! We have a full itinerary planned for today, starting with breakfast at Café de Paris across the street with the boys. And then we're off to the Hotel de Paris for a F1 brunch event. There will be lots of food, drinks, and hot guys. Specifically, hot F1 drivers," you groan-laugh inwardly at the thought of dragging yourself out of bed so early for the sake of hot guys. "You know that's the last thing on my mind, right?"

"Well, not on mine!" she replies with a wink. "But seriously, it's not just about the eye candy. The event is also for a good cause, raising funds for a local charity. And it's also a great place to network and meet new people—you know the drill." You nod in agreement, feeling more motivated to attend, knowing that it's for a meaningful purpose.

With a determined sigh, you sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. "Okay, I'll shower."

"Let me call Renata and tell her to prep the car and get the glam team in here."

"Thank you," you tell her, disappearing into the bathroom.

•••

Two hours later, you find yourself entering the venue of a charity event with your very impatient and rather enthusiastic co-star and best friend, Aaron. The venue is buzzing with excitement as you take in the elegant decorations and the well-dressed attendees. Since it's Monaco in May, you're sporting a light blue strapless top and white linen pants that complement the warm weather and the sophisticated atmosphere of the event.

"I can't believe Rob and John sat this one out because they were 'too tired', Aaron remarks, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Well, they don't have the energy of a 5-year-old, unlike you," you tease, playfully nudging him. "But hey, more champagne for us," you add with a mischievous grin as you grab two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. "Cheers."

The bubbles tickle your nose as you take a sip, savoring the crisp and refreshing taste.

Camera flashes illuminate the room as people mingle and engage in lively conversations. You're stopped every 5 minutes by someone wanting to take a picture with you. You oblige every time with a smile, posing for each photo and exchanging pleasantries. After all, that's why you're here for.

Everything was going smoothly until someone bumped into you, causing you to spill champagne all over your clothes. The cold liquid seeps mostly through the fabric of your top, leaving a sticky sensation against your skin.

"Oh, my bad," you hear a thick Australian accent apologize. You turn to see a rather tall, tan-skinned, handsome man with a sheepish grin on his face. Did you say how handsome he was? And what the fuck was he smiling for?

Once he realizes who you are, his eyes widen in surprise and anguish. People start noticing the commotion and turn their attention towards the two of you. The man quickly grabs your arm and pulls you away from the crowd, his grip firm but gentle.

"Hey! Where are you taking me!" you protest, trying to free your arm from his grasp. His grip tightens slightly, but he maintains a calm demeanor as he leads you towards a quieter corner. As you reach a bathroom, he finally releases his hold on you and takes a step back, his expression filled with concern.

"Relax, I'm not kidnapping you."

The chaos around you fades into the background as he shuts the door and starts grabbing paper towels. "Shit, here," he says, handing you one. "Sorry for ruining your clothes."

You start wiping the spilled drink off your clothes, a little annoyed at the inconvenience. You can feel his gaze burning into you without looking.

"Do ya want me to give you mine?" he offers, gesturing towards his own shirt. "It might be a bit big on you, but at least it's dry." he pauses, waiting for your response.

You stare at him. "And what? you're going to walk around shirtless?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. He chuckles. "Yeah, I have a banging body, so I'll just be doing everybody here a favor here, really," he replies with a smirk.

You roll your eyes at his cocky remark. "I think I'll manage without your shirt, thanks," you say sarcastically. "But I appreciate the offer."

He laughs as he observes you. "Okay, then let me find another way to make it up to you."

"There's no need."

"Do you have plans tonight?"

"I'm fine."

"Does 7 p.m. sound good to you?"

"Listen—"

"Where are you staying?"

"I don't even know you."

"It's Daniel."

"Okay, Daniel. I don't know you, so no."

"But you could," he says with a playful glint in his eyes. "And who knows, it could be the start of something new."

"Are you quoting High School Musical to me?"

"Hey, it's a classic. And it was right there."

You chuckle, unable to resist his charm. Something lights up in his eyes.

"Listen, I won't push you anymore. It's up to you. Can't blame me for trying, though." you raise an eyebrow, considering his words.

"I'm going to go now," you tell him, pointing at the door.

He nods understandingly. "See ya later."

•••

After about 30 more minutes of indulging everyone in conversation and enjoying the party, Lewis Hamilton finds you. "Hi sweetie, there you are," he greets you, ever so polite. "I heard chatter that you were here. I thought I wouldn't see you until tomorrow's practice sessions."

"Oh yeah, but you know duty calls," you say with a smile as you lean in to hug him. "It's so nice to see you. Thanks again for the passes."

"Oh, it's nothing. You would've gotten them without me, but I'm glad you called me instead. How have you been enjoying Monaco so far?"

"Good, good—" you begin, but before you can finish your sentence, a burst of laughter you recognize from earlier erupts from across the room. "Actually, do you happen to know him?" you ask Lewis, gesturing with your head towards the source of laughter. Daniel is joyfully engaged in conversation with a group of people. Lewis follows your gaze and chuckles, "Ah, that's Daniel Ricciardo. He's a fellow Formula 1 driver and quite the character, to be honest. He's a cool dude."

"Huh," is all you manage to say as you watch Daniel animatedly tell a story, his infectious laughter filling the room.

"What are we looking at?" Renata and Aaron find you and join the conversation; their curiosity is piqued.

"Nothing," you quickly respond. Renata immediately caught on to your evasive response and followed your gaze. "Oh, Daniel?" she exclaims, voice hushed and her eyes glinting with excitement.

"Wait, you know who he is?"

"I did my homework on the plane. He drives for Renault, and he looks great doing it."

Lewis and Aaron chuckle at Renata's enthusiasm, sharing in her excitement. "I think Renata will be watching a few races from now on," Lewis remarks, causing everyone to laugh. Renata shrugs, a proud smile on her face. "Trust me, I will, but not for him. Have you heard of Charles Leclerc?"

You're still staring at Daniel, dumbfounded. Wheels are turning in your mind.

Aaron's voice interrupts your thoughts. "So...why are we still staring at him?"

"I'm going on a date with him tonight."

Your own declaration surprises you.

"Wait, you are?" both of your friends say in unison, their eyes widening with curiosity.

"Yes," you say, setting down your drink. "You guys ready to go now?"

They nodded, not wanting to press further but clearly intrigued by this, and you said your goodbyes to Lewis, promising to see him on Friday at the track. As you made your way to the exit, you grabbed Daniel by the arm and pulled him aside.

"Hotel Hermitage, 7 p.m., Room 303. Don't be late," you whispered, voice calm and steady. Daniel's mouth curled into a smile, but he maintained his composure and nodded, a feeling of excitement in his gaze. With a final pat on his shoulder, you rejoined your friends and headed out of the venue, eager for the evening ahead.

•••

You don't know what the hell you were thinking when you said yes. You could feel your anxiety building as the time approached—face flushed, stomach twisting in knots. James and Liz, your hair and makeup team, paused, laying out brushes and curling wands. "Everything okay, love?" James asked. "You want us out?"

"No, keep going. You're almost done, anyway. I'm just internally freaking out a little."

"You're great and look beautiful," Liz replied. "There's nothing to worry about."

You give her a tight smile and try to believe her words, but the nagging doubts continue to linger in the back of your mind. As the final touches are applied, you take a deep breath and say your goodbyes to them.

"Good luck and have fun!" James says as Liz winks at you and closes the door. You chuckle at their enthusiasm. You walk back into the bedroom and pick up the black cocktail dress hanging on the closet door. The soft fabric feels comforting against your fingertips as you slip it on. The dress hugs your curves perfectly, accentuating your best features. You grab your clutch and check yourself in the mirror one last time.

A knock on the door startles you. "Coming!"

Breathe, you remind yourself.

"Wow," Daniel says with a warm smile. "You look absolutely stunning. Are you ready to go?"

You're sure your face must look like a tomato as you thank Daniel for the compliment.

"Yes, let's."

As you reach the entrance of the hotel, Daniel hands the valet a ticket, and he opens the door of his car for you. "My lady," he says with a playful bow. You can't help but feel a rush of excitement as you step into the very flashy luxury car. For an F1 driver, you didn't expect anything less. The soft leather seats hug your body as you settle in, and the sleek interior design adds to the overall opulence of the vehicle. Daniel starts the engine, and the car glides smoothly onto the road.

"Where are you taking me?"

He looks at you with a mischevious grin plastered on his face. "My friend Max is throwing a yatch party tonight, and I thought it would be the perfect way to spend the night," he says, revving the engine slightly. "But I intend to dine and wine you before we head there."

"Oh," you reply nonchalantly, "Nice."

"Still playing hard to get?"

You shrug and give him a grin.

"That's alright. I enjoy a good challenge," he replies, his eyes sparkling. "But I have a feeling that by the end of the week, you won't be able to resist my charm." He winks at you.

"You're quite confident, aren't you?" you say, raising an eyebrow. "But don't underestimate my ability to resist." You smirk back at him, ready to prove him wrong.

The car pulls up to the entrance of the restaurant, and you both step out onto the bustling street. You make your way inside. "Oh, I've been here before," you say lowly, feeling a little satisfied that it is something you've experienced already, so it's harder for him to impress you.

You couldn't have been more wrong, though.

The hostess greets you with a warm smile and leads you to the main dining area. As you follow her, you can't help but notice it's....empty. Not a single table is occupied. The dimly lit room feels intimate and cozy, with soft music playing in the background and red roses adorning each table.

The hostess gestures towards a table in the middle of the room. "The waiter will be with you shortly," she says before leaving you alone.

You turn around, facing Daniel. "Did you rent out the entire restaurant for us?" you ask, slightly surprised. Daniel chuckles and shakes his head. "No, I just made a reservation for a quiet evening," he replies.

"You're an awful liar."

"I just saw how hectic everything was for you this morning, with all the pictures and people clamoring for your attention. I wanted to give you a break from that and create a peaceful vibe for us to enjoy tonight," Daniel explains, his eyes filled with sincerity.

You smile. "That's very thoughtful. Thank you."

"I have my moments."

The night continues with the two of you enjoying the delicious food and engaging in fun and light conversation. The peaceful atmosphere allows you both to relax and truly connect with each other.

Just what you needed but didn't realize until now.

"You're literally always smiling," you tell him. In the very short time you've known Daniel, there's something constant about him: his distinctive smile. Daniel chuckles and replies, "It's amazing what surgery can do. Formula 1 pays really well, and I was able to put a lot of that money into permanent smile surgery."

You burst out laughing. "Well, they did a great job," you say, still chuckling.

•••

You glided arm in arm onto the yatch, dry martinis in hand and a revolving stream of waitstaff to refill your drinks as soon as they emptied. You feel more relaxed and comfortable now. Maybe it was the three glasses of wine you had at dinner and the drink that's currently in your hand, or maybe it was the contagious laughter and carefree attitude of your date.

Cote d'Azur was a smooth wash of precious stones at this time of year. The ocean's deep, smoky blue stretched out like a shiny carpet. Loud music blasted from the speakers, and the upper deck was transformed into a vibrant dance floor with people spinning and swaying to the beat.

You wished you could rest your head on Daniel's shoulder without looking like you were already drunk.

He excitedly introduced you to his friends, who instantly made you feel like part of their tight-knit circle. As the night progressed, you found yourself effortlessly blending in.

"So how did this insufferable clown manage to take you out on a date?" Max asked, his voice loud over the booming music.

You shared a brief glance with Daniel. "He spilled champagne all over me."

"And then she couldn't help but fall for my charming personality and good looks," Daniel interjected with a playful grin.

"Yes, that's exactly what happened."

Daniel puts a hand on your lower back, and you mindlessly lean into his touch. "You wanna go outside for a bit?"

The need for some fresh air and a break from the crowded room causes you to hum in agreement. You leaned over and observed the white waves as they cut through the water as you came across a section of railing near the stern of the yatch.

The sound of the waves crashing against the yacht provided a soothing soundtrack to your conversation. As you leaned against the railing, Daniel's playful banter continued.

"Are you having fun?"

"Very much so," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"So I'm winning sooner than I thought I would."

"Winning what exactly, Daniel?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully. "The game of enjoying this beautiful yacht ride? Then yes, I suppose you are."

He laughed, but it wasn't his usual boisterous laugh. It was a softer, more genuine sound that made your heart flutter.

He came closer. "Would you like me to whisper it in your ear?"

As he leaned in, you could feel the warmth of his presence enveloping you. His eyes were locked with yours.

"You're falling for me," he whispered, his voice husky. The words sent a shiver down your spine, confirming what you had been trying to deny for the past hour or so. Not because you didn't find him charming or attractive, but because you felt like you were betraying the person who broke your heart months ago.

How can someone break your heart if it wasn't theirs to begin with?

You push back those thoughts.

The playful banter that played out all night faded into the background as a new energy filled the air, sparking a connection between the two of you that was impossible to ignore.

You give in.

"You think?"

He nods, his eyes dark. Your hands were encircling his neck, one at the nape of his neck and the other against the side, where you could feel his heart pounding beneath the pads of your fingers. Your fingers scraped at bristled hairs as you held onto his curls, and you enjoyed the feel of them rubbing against the pads of your fingers. You were tightly gripping him in your hands, not allowing even a millimeter to pass.

Daniel couldn’t decide where to touch you. You huffed a breath against his mouth as the lightest of touches - the barest featherweight of fingertips, like your skin was made of silk, traced along the curve of your jawline. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, making you crave more of his touch. His fingers continued their exploration, trailing down the nape of your neck, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake.

He had pressed you against the railing at your back with no warning, and you felt the firm pressure of it. And now you arose from it, attempting to cling to every bone-hard surface of Daniel's body. His lips found yours in a passionate kiss, igniting a fire within you that consumed all rational thought.

"People are watching," you whispered breathlessly, breaking the kiss reluctantly. Daniel's eyes met yours, filled with a mix of desire and mischief. He smirked, his hand sliding down your waist possessively.

"Let them."

You were so fucked.

•••

You’d barely been able to breathe these past couple of days with events and rendezvous with Daniel consuming your every waking moments. It was fast paced and you found yourself completely swept up in the whirlwind of emotions. He was showing you his world and you were willingly diving headfirst into it.

It was Saturday morning, which meant is qualifying day and despite all of the media commitments and preparation that Daniel had to do, he’d promised breakfast as a way to make up for it. So here you were at a cafe only a short walk from the circuit, chewing your way through a delicious stack of pancakes while Daniel sipped on his coffee.

It felt oddly comforting to be sitting there with him. He was a stranger to you just a few days ago, but now he feels like a familiar presence. The conversations flowed effortlessly between you; he was funny, attentive, and attentive, but most importantly, he wasn't afraid of showing you off and telling you how much he liked you.

From the moment you crossed paths, he showed interest in you and made an effort. You haven't questioned whether he genuinely liked you or not. It was nice to be with someone who didn't play games or hide their feelings.

Your mind has also found a new way to torture you: whenever you felt happy with Daniel, a nagging voice in the back of your head would remind you of him.

Him. Him. Him.

You couldn't even say or think of his name. It was too much.

And yes, you were content, but you couldn't help but think about it.

The first time you tasted Daniel's lips, you were let down it wasn't the same. That feeling of disappointment lingered, but as days passed, it dissipated more and more. Maybe one day it'll be gone completely, you thought.

"So let me get this straight," you say, putting your fork and knife down on the plate. "You were on your way to winning in 2016, but a pit stop error cost you the race?"

Daniel nods. "It haunted me for so long. I couldn't shake off the frustration."

You grab your coffee and lean back on the chair, listening intently. "It was very dark. I should've been happy because I was on the podium in Monaco, and that's huge, but I was miserable. The whole time, all I wanted to do was smash everything to pieces and scream, which is something you do not want to do in front of Monaco royalty, by the way."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by Daniel's emotional upheaval. This was clearly a pivotal moment for him. "So, what finally helped you move past that?" you ask, curious to hear his response.

"Well," Daniel begins, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I won last year."

"Yeah, that'll do it."

You both laugh, and he places a hand on your knee beneath the table. "But honestly," he continues, his voice softening. "It wasn't just about winning. It was about proving to myself that I could overcome my own limitations and achieve greatness."

"So...winning basically," you respond, teasingly.

"See, I wanted to be humble about it, but let's be real, winning felt pretty damn good," Daniel admits with a sheepish grin. "I love winning."

You snort in amusement, "Well, I guess a little bit of bragging rights never hurt anyone."

You two carry on with your meals. His left hand still on your knee, and the air filled with contentment.

•••

While Daniel returned from the qualifying weigh-in, you waited at the back of the garage. You had gradually gotten to know the Renault team over the previous two days. Everyone, from the mechanics to the media team, has been friendly and welcoming to you. You're still trying to decide whether it's because of Daniel, your status, or that they were just nice. Pretty sure it was all three.

You were aware that it would be best for you to stay out of the way as the team worked and the broadcasting teams were filming in and around the pit lane, but you were unable to hide in Daniel's prep room. At the back of the garage, you found a calm area where you could watch the busy activity without being a nuisance.

You were aware that, although you might have been in the VIP sections, you couldn't be that far away from him. You were able to feel more connected to Daniel and the team's spirit by spending time in the garage.

The phone had been ringing nonstop all day in the back pocket of your pants; the screen frequently flashed with new notifications from your social media accounts or texts or calls from friends and family. You were aware that the countless pictures of Daniel and you parading through Monaco were the root of the problem.

It was truly a sight to behold to be watching him race around the track and walk around the paddock.

He was in his element.

"You look cute, baby," he says, referring to the oversized headseat on your head. His face flushed from the heat, and yours from the compliment. His hair was messy and a little damp from sweat, evidence of the intense racing. He looked perfect.

Fuck.

He leaned in for a kiss, his lips brushing against yours, electricity rushing through you.

Fuck.

"I think you're winning," you say, your eyes fixed on him.

"Aw, that's sweet of you, baby, but I didn't qualify that great," he chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"That's not what I meant."

His face is puzzled for a moment before realization dawns on him. He smirks, his signature smile spreading across his face. "Oh," he says, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

"Yeah," you say, barely above a whisper, your eyes never leaving his.

"I told you so," he replies, his voice filled with confidence and pride.

"Shut up," you say playfully before kissing him again.

Fuck.

You were falling for him.

a/n: oh oh pedro...someone's stealing your girl. are you guys team pedro or team daniel?

Reblog or like if you enjoyed it! thank you for reading :)

#happy october 1st 🎃#pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal fluff

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ballcrusher74 · 3 months

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hello. are you. perhaps 👉👈 willing to talk about the inspector/faux. ive only seen cool arts and no context so im rather curious.

OK!!! I actually love rambling about my ocs so small questions like this make me day. I just get nervous LOL But! I will say, there's gonna probably be a bit I'm leaving out because it does involve my friends' characters and it's still an on-going thing atm (we tend to roleplay on lethal company as our guys. btw the oc group is called Cleanup Crew ! it explains the recent reblogs and new tags I've added on posts with this guy) AND this does also involve my own little interpretations of in-game mechanics and other things, but otherwise, I'll get the rest of him down!

Inspector, also originally known by the name of Terrance Conroy (or Terry), was a typical scavenger working under 'The Company' after a couple rough times on his home planet. (This information isn't necessarily set in stone, but the idea of him being a washed-up rock star before quitting his passion to get a job that pays his rent has been bouncing around in my brain.) He used to be a normal guy, trying to find a little hope in his desperate situation, and was a social butterfly. He tend to bounce from crew to crew, sometimes staying in some for only a couple days, and some for months. He was a very careful man, and looked out for his fellow crew members.

And then, one day, his first death on the job happens.

But instead of being greeted by a bright white light at the end of a tunnel, or complete pitch darkness, he appears on the ship again- completely physically fine.

This.. confuses him at first, yet he continues on.

And then he dies again. And again, and again. Over and over, the more deaths he's endured, the more he comes to a morbid realization that he can't truly die, nor can those around him. He tries to keep this truth hidden away from the others, as they seem to not have mentioned it at all before. He remembers everything. Every time he was ripped to shreds by an eyeless dog, every time he blew up into pieces from a landmine, every time he was shot multiple times, every time he was left behind or ejected as part of the disciplinary process- He felt it all and remembered it all. This goes on for the course of years (around 8-10 roughly) and over that course of time, he begins to grow very careless. What's the point of saving someone if they'll just come back? What's the use of tears when you're only a couple dollars off quota with a shovel in hand?

What's the point of it all? And with that carelessness comes selfishness into the picture. With how long he's been stuck in the cycle, he has become a very manipulative person, putting up a playful and nice persona on the outside- almost sickeningly sweet- in order to help other's do his bidding. He believes that if he were to cause so much chaos, disorder, and disruption within a crew, to where it's like animals mauling each other apart, he'd be able to break free from it himself. He doesn't care anymore about leaving others behind. He's desperate at this point to find a way out. Faux, who is an alter ego / disguise for Inspector, ties more into the on-going events right now, but I can give a basic rundown on his personality. He's a klutzy and quiet man, typically only talking to others when it's just him and them, and nobody else around, playing himself off as a selective mute. Since this is just Inspector in a jazzy little jester outfit, he still possesses all the traits of that man, just hidden away as to not blow his cover. He's still tugging on the strings in some way, people just don't realize. Sure, he's off putting and just a tad bit strange, but how can a goofy man like that be terrifying?

WOOOW ok that's a lot more typing than expected, but here's also a couple fun facts about the guy !

He stands at 6 feet and 1 inch, and is a very lanky guy compared to others, but this wasn't always the case. He used to just stand at 5 feet and 6 inches, and had more normal human proportions. With how many times he has died and how long it's been of the cycle, it has fucked up his appearance a LOT. Other things include : his 'skin' being grey, his voice constantly sounding like it's coming from a walkie talkie, no visible neck, his face becoming the helmet itself (it still bleeds, but there's nothing in there), and inhumanly flexible.

The only thing left of him that represents his last strand of humanity, is a singular, dim eye behind the tape on his visor.

He is very much not a rational man anymore. He is quick to jump to things, and won't hesitant with his actions.

When waiting to return from death, he is able to manifest in someone's head as a disembodied voice, and will typically mock them, or try and manipulate them further. In this state, he can see everything through the eyes of the person he's haunting. ^ Fun fact about this! This was originally based off a stupid bit where my friend was streaming LC to me with other buddies on the game and I kept telling them to step on landmines and then kill someone for a promotion, and then Inspector was born!

and UH I think that's about it I have for the guy atm! If the rest of the cleanup crew gets dropped than I'll update this accordingly perhaps. As of right now, enjoy my oc slop 👍

#lethal company #lethal company oc #oc #cleanup crew #that inspector that i hate #render

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strawberry-lol · 1 year

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PROMPT TIME!!

So ive learned that i need prompts as my brain cant function at all so here are some prompts you can pick from

FLUFF

"can i lean on your shoulder?"

"here's my jacket, you look cold."

"you're shit at math"

"you smell good, like flowers or something"

"you look perfect, just perfect."

"i love your hugs."

"you're blushing." "I'm not!!"

"is that my shirt?"

"are you cold?"

"I'll drive you home?"

"need a ride?"

"are you bleeding?"

"don't look at me like that sweetheart"

"are you tired?"

"can i keep it? The photo of us?"

"i…uhm…..can i hold your hand?"

"my heart feels so full with you."

"let's go home, your freezing and i don't want you catching a cold."

"stop moving, I'm almost done!!"

"youre so important to me..you know that?"

"God, i missed you so much"

"will a hug make up for it?"

"can we just stay in bed?"

"it's too early..come back to bed"

"you have soft hands"

"you're warm."

"i think I might love you"

"A kiss for good luck?"

ANGST "Please look at me." "I'm just disappointed." "You… you never had a problem with it before." "You're making me think that what they told me about you was right." "Does it ever stop hurting?" "No, you just make room for it." "I'm trying, all the time, but it's just too hard." "I let you down." "I tried to move on, but nobody is you." "Do i look like I loved on?" "I feel like everyone just forgot I exist." "You're really drunk right now. I don't think you're gonna remember any of this." "No. I'm not drunk at all. You're just blurry" "Did it ever occur to you that you're hurting me too." "I just want to forget you." "How much do you miss them?" "More than I should." "I'd rather stay in my own head so I don't have to live in the world you ruined." "It wasn't your fault." "Don't leave." "Don't do this to yourself." "Stop pushing everyone away." "I need help." "I'm so, so sorry." "I thought that if I acted like it didn't matter, the it wouldn't." "I broke my rules for you." "Don't make promises you can't keep." "Damn it, are you drunk?" "I just need time to myself." "Let me help." "You haven't been yourself lately."

Reminder to support all writers by rebloging likeing or even comment anything helps!

#ky speaks!#fluff prompts #angst prompt #fic prompt #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #pierre gasly #lewis hamilton #george russell #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #max verstappen #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader

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anjaelle · 1 year

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White Light IV

Characters: Ghost!ATJ x Black Female!Reader Rating: T (slight flirting, mention of horny thoughts, ghost!bf being a little obsessed with his crush, and the hint of impending tragedy to come) Word Count: 3.0K Summary: In which the reader makes a brief list of pros and cons for reviving the dead... a/n: Not 100% where I want it to be, but I already know where I want the story to go and where it will end. And that's a new thing for me, because I literally never finish anything . HA! Please like, comment, and reblog! Also, let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the next updates.

You awoke to the sound of running water from your bathroom, and squinted to protect your eyes from the blinding sunlight. Your head was pounding like you'd been knocked out with a baseball bat. You moved to sit up, and your vision immediately began to double, causing you to slowly lie back down and roll over. Then you noticed the small bathroom wastebasket sitting beside your bed, just as bile rose in your chest and you vomited into it.

"Shit," you heard Aaron mutter behind you. The water cut off, and the quick thud of a cabinet closing seemed to rattle in your head.

"What happened?" You asked, hoarsely. As you rested your head on your hands, you could hear more busy rustling in the bathroom. "How? I can't--what's going on?"

It was like waking up in the middle of a dense fog, and you were unable to decipher which way was up. You didn't know what day it was, what time it was, how you ended up in this predicament. All you wanted to do was go back to sleep. Your eyes began to drift close again, when rapid footsteps crossed the room towards you.

"Hey, hey, hey, no. You gotta stay awake, c'mon." He crouched down beside you as the upper half of your body lie draped over the side of the bed. You couldn't remember how exactly you ended up in that position, but you couldn't be fucked to move.

"Too sleepy," you mumbled, sighing, "Give me 10 minutes."

"I can't."

He hesitated, and then you felt his arm wrap gently around your waist to prop you up in bed. You could feel how ice cold he was through the sweater he had on--your ex's sweater. You didn't remember bringing it. You should've probably given it back when you left. Or maybe you'd steal it for revenge and give it to Aaron.

Aaron.

"You can touch me? You can touch things?" you murmured, peeking at him through heavily lidded eyes, "How?"

You noticed that he was fidgeting with a damp cloth in a bowl with steaming hot water, and he shrugged.

"I really, really don't know what happened. One minute you were sweating in your sleep, the next you were up and staring at me...I don't know." A pause, then, "You seem a lot less surprised than I expected you to be."

On the inside you were screaming. You were beyond fucking confused. You wanted to call your grandmother and get some goddamn answers. But you were too weak to do anything but sigh.

"Why aren't you surprised?" You finally asked.

His hands stilled in the water and he sighed before continuing to wring out the cloth, "I was. I had my reaction while you were passed out. Um--it's--I guess I've just gotten used to it now."

You quirked an eyebrow at him as he pressed the hot cloth to your forehead. It was then that you realized how cold you were. The water was steaming hot, but still didn't feel hot enough. You shuddered under the warmth and shut your eyes.

"How long was I out?"

He said nothing and returned the rag back to the water.

"Aaron--"

"Three days."

You sat up straight in bed and stared at him with widened eyes. He no longer looked hazy and out of focus. He was here. Alive. Or, at least, the illusion of mortality. He looked at you with equally wide eyes and you could see the healing scars on his face and hands. He looked...older?

"Th-three?" You felt your hands shaking, and you shoved them into the blankets that you squeezed in your fists, "I could've been dead! Oh my god!"

"You weren't!" He responded, holding his hands up, "You woke up on and off, muttered some shit, and then went back to sleep."

"Why didn't you call someone?"

He shot her a look of confusion and motioned around her apartment, "You don't have a house phone. And I don't know how to use your mobile phone. What was I supposed to do? Scream out the window?"

"YES!" You responded, holding your head in disbelief, "What if I died, Aaron? Fucks sa--"

You leaned over and vomited into the trashcan again, though you couldn't begin to imagine what you were purging from your body. You couldn't have eaten anything. He cautiously pat your back as you retched uselessly into the trash and coughed your lungs out.

"That's also how I knew you weren't dead," he mumbled, passing you a bottle of water, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. You thanked him as you cleaned your mouth out. What did it all mean? What changed?

This started after he disappeared. What happened to him during that time? You briefly glanced at him as you spit water into the wastebasket, and you found him watching you intensely with a furrowed brow.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You asked before rinsing your mouth out again.

He worried his lower lip and looked you over.

"This is fucked."

You chuckled, "Yeah, no kidding."

When you were sure that your mouth was sufficiently clean, you sipped the last of the water. You already felt a little bit better, but you knew that this was just a sign of something more nefarious. He helped you sit back up, careful not to touch your skin, though you were hyperaware of how strong his hands felt on your waist. His fingers flexed against you as if he read your mind, and he offered you a small apologetic smile that you didn't expect.

"I've been careful not to get too close, since the last time seemed to have knocked you out good."

Oh...

You blinked at him as you tried to unscramble your thoughts.

"How do you feel?" You asked him with genuine curiosity. It couldn't have been exactly easy to go from dead to...whatever the hell this was. He seemed surprised by the question. You watched him work through his own thoughts.

"Cold." He simply stated with a small shrug. As he smoothed the thick comforter over your bare legs, absentmindedly, you felt your face heat up.

You hummed in thought, distracting yourself, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Neither. It's just a thing. Y'know? I went from feeling nothing, to feeling...cold. All over. Except when I sit next to you, mostly. You're kinda like a really hot furnace."

At this, you give him your best shit-eating grin and wiggled your brows, "A hot furnace huh?"

"Stop it." He crossed his arms over his chest, and you were mildly impressed by how good he looked in more modern clothes. He began to blush.

He definitely couldn't do that before.

"I-I just found this in your stuff," he explained nervously, "I'd never seen you wear it, so I figured you wouldn't care if I snagged it." He shoved his hands in the pockets of the gray sweatpants that also belonged to your ex and you schooled your features into complete nonchalance.

"You're fine," you said, "They were Marc--my ex's things. I don't think he'll miss them much."

You weren't 100% sure of that, but whatever. They weren't his anymore, anyway. You thought back on the running water from the bathroom, and noticed his wet hair and fresh face.

"Did...you shower?" You asked him, wide-eyed. Excited, he jumped up from the bed and motioned erratically.

"I didn't realize how much I fuckin' missed showering," he ran his fingers through his damp curls and let out a cheerful laugh in disbelief, "The water didn't feel like much of anything until I turned it to the highest setting. But god, did I miss it. I've been showering twice a day for the last 3 days!"

"Why are you not freaked out about this?" You asked. He stopped in his tracks and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

"As my dad once said, 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth'."

You rolled your eyes.

"You're dead, Aaron. You've been dead for 20 years. Now, out of the blue, you can touch things, and wear new clothes, and shower. And none of this is worrisome to you?"

It was then that he rushed to the bed and kneeled by your side, and you felt the goosebumps on your arms raise.

"I'm just as concerned as you--"

Doubtful.

"--but you don't understand how long it's been since I've been able to just do things for myself."

He grabbed your shoulders and you felt your body react through the thick fabric of your hoodie. Like you'd been splashed with cool water. You gasped and he removed his hands.

"Sorry. Got a bit carried away--"

"No, wait." You took a moment to sift through your thoughts again, and came to a certain conclusion. Maybe. You hesitated, and then reached out to touch his face, pressing a gentle hand to his left cheek. He shuddered, and you instantly began to feel tired. But you watched some of the color return to his face. His cheeks flushed red, and the blue in his eyes brightened as his pupils dilated.

"Oh." He whispered, leaning into your touch a bit more and shutting his eyes, "Fuck. That feels nice. So warm."

The gravely affect his voice took on was different from anything you'd ever heard from him before, and you squeezed your thighs together. His eyes landed on you again, and something flickered in his gaze. You felt your pulse quicken, and you could almost swear that you felt his heartbeat as well. His hand gently pressed over yours on his cheek, and then trailed down your wrist.

"This is different." He said, grinning at you with a newfound admiration you'd never seen.

You pulled your hand away from his face and you both shuddered with a small gasp. Energy returned to you in a slow trickle, though he still maintained some of the flush in his cheeks.

"I think," your voice cracked and your cleared your throat, "you might be like this because of me."

Aaron wanted to touch you again. Badly. The minute you found the strength to leave your bed, he trailed behind you like a faithful puppy. Admittedly, it was partially because you were still wobbly on your feet and he wanted to catch you if you passed out again. A bigger part of him wanted to grab you by your hips and pull you towards him. His eyes trailed down the curve of your lower back and ass as you searched though your closet for an old notebook that belonged to your grandmother. You muttered something about "witchy bullshit" and he couldn't help but laugh at the exasperation in your tone.

Though he probably should've cared more about the how and why of their current predicament, he couldn't give any less of a shit. He knew what it felt like to grab your waist and touch your skin, and he couldn't get it out of his mind. The way you not-so-casually brushed against him as you passed didn't make matters easier.

Aaron hadn't realized that he'd been watching you with the dopiest smile on his face until you turned with the notebook in hand and smiled back, confused.

"What?" You asked, scrunching up your nose at him.

Fuck, you were cute. And he had an undeniable crush. He wanted to hit himself in the face.

"Nothing," he lied. He nodded towards the book in your hand, "That it?"

You eyed him curiously. Whatever thought you had in that gorgeous head of yours was apparently not important enough to vocalize, as you shook your head to clear it.

"It is. My grandmother gave it to me when I last saw her, and I never even bothered to crack it open. Which was probably stupid of me." She called it a grimoire and mentioned that it was well over 100 years old. The leatherbound, thick book carried loose, yellowed pages and photos. Dried leaves and herbs seemed to poke out from every which way, and Aaron wondered how your family managed to keep it intact.

"Soooo you think you'll find out what's making me all zombie-like through that?" It's not that he didn't believe it, it's just that he wasn't sure if he wanted the answer. Going back to feeling the way he did before felt like a non-option now.

"Zombie-like?" You giggled and it sounded like a bell.

"Y'know," he stood over your shoulder, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around you, "not-quite-alive, not-quite-dead."

As you slowly flipped through the thin pages of the book, scanning the looping cursive for familiar words, you snorted. "If that's how you want to classify yourself, go for it."

At this, he leaned closer and whispered in your ear, "How would you classify me?"

He heard your breath hitch and your hand faltered over the next page.

"I don't know," you said, softly, turning your head to him. It was so close that your lips just barely brushed his cheek. "You feel very much alive, to me." You lingered there for a beat longer, before returning your attention to the next page. Warmth fluttered in his stomach and he felt like he was going to throw up. If his mates could see him now, he'd never hear the end of it.

He should've taken a step back to regain his composure, and he was just about to when you suddenly pointed to a string of words halfway down the page.

"Here," you said, tilting the book up so he could read it, "'Transformation of the Incorporeal and Corporeal Forms: Parasitism and Symbiosis'."

He hadn't a clue what the hell any of that meant. One look at his face told you all you needed to know, apparently, as you broke down the rules like he was ten. Which he appreciated.

"I don't know what happened to you while you were gone, but something changed. Something made you more..." she motioned with her hand, "adaptable? The first time you touched me was when you nearly gave me a heart attack that first time. And that was the first time I saw you. So the more you interact with me, the more tangible you become." You flipped through the pages eagerly, reading as fast as you could as he hung onto your every word.

"But the first time you touched me wasn't as intense as this time. And you weren't able to continue doing it for so long after the first time. So something is different now. But what?"

He felt the familiar tingle in his left hand from the very first time he touched you, and he flexed his fingers.

"It was purgatory."

At this, you paused your reading and immediately turned to look at him with a look of pure horror on your face. Suddenly he wished he'd just shut his mouth.

"Purgatory? I--how?" As you turned to face him, you hugged the book protectively to your chest, but inched closer to him in concern, "That's not fucking good. Not good at all. You can't just come back from there. That's impossible."

He motioned to himself and shrugged, "I did."

You mumbled something to yourself and rapidly began flipping through the pages again, looking for something specific. He wanted you to stop and look at him. Just to explain what he was missing, as you seemed to know far more than you let on. Your eyes scanned the pages in your hands, and your jaw dropped.

"The darkness..." you whispered, "The thing with many teeth. Did you see this?"

You flipped the book to face him, and pointed at the crude illustration of the grinning thing that haunted him for several nights. Even with smeared ink and scribbles around the image, he shied away from its gaze, avoiding eye contact.

"Ugh. Yeah. That thing. It wouldn't leave me alone. I still feel it watching me sometimes."

You immediately slammed the book closed and rushed out of the room, headed for the front door as he trailed behind you. "Wait, wait, hold on!"

"I've gotta speak to the elders! This is way out of my hands."

As you crossed the threshold into the main hallway, he instinctively grabbed your hand and you both gasped. He felt like he was on fire, and you felt like you'd been thrown into a freezer. Still he couldn't let go of you. The iciness and the blazing heat turned into a low buzzing sensation. Even when he eventually released his grip on your hand, he still felt the vibrations crawling up his arm from where he touched you.

It was then that you both noticed that he was standing beside you in the middle of the apartment building's hallway, with the front door of your apartment wide open.

"Did you pull me outside?" He asked, partially impressed and also terrified. You swallowed hard and shook your head.

"It wasn't me, it was this." You motioned between them, speaking in hushed tones to avoid detection from the neighbors. Then you swiftly turned on your heels and rushed down the hall to call for the elevator. He felt a strange pull emanating from you. And though he wanted to go back into the apartment, he blinked and found himself standing right beside you again.

"This? What's this? What are you talking about?" He was beginning to panic from the lack of information you were sharing with him. You fidgeted with your fingers, and he pleaded with you, "Please tell me."

You shot him a look of pure sadness just as the elevator doors opened to you, "The reason you're like this--the reason why you have a steady form and why you can touch me? I was hoping this was symbiosis but it's not. You're haunting me, and it's parasitic."

He followed you into the elevator as the doors closed, and you crossed your arms over your chest.

"What does that mean for you?" He murmured. You avoided his eyes and he knew right away what it meant.

"It means that you're slowly killing me."

#aaron taylor johnson x black!reader #aaron taylor johnson #atj x black!reader #atj x reader #aaron taylor johnson x reader #jaelle writes #fic: white light

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sleepy-timaeus · 7 months

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drawtober day 3! rhys strongfork from tales from the borderlands 😏

EDIT: noticed a month later that i spelt his name wrong after playing scrabble with the letters when trying to get the typography as close the the album as possible! *deep breath* ahhhhhHHHH. i did reblog the corrected version, but i dont think enough people will see that, so im just gonna edit my og post!

ramblings, playlist link, & alternate version under the cut :)

i have so many thoughts and feelings about this!! i got the idea for this bc of the attached playlist (love it a lot btw. good job), and i was so excited to do a piece referencing album art. ive like never done any art that does a reinterpretation of another piece of art (theres another word for it that i believe starts with R but im having a brain fart and can't remember, bleh), so this was tons of fun!

u can bet ur bottom dollar i was listening to touch tone telephone for a while as i drew this 💀 it truly gets me hype. and for those unaware, this replication (theres the word!) was based off of the album spirit phone by lemon demon! at some point while going though this playlist i had a Vision ™ for today's drawtober (aka tuesday's, but ive been busy working so) and HAD to execute it 😎

uh, i used a brush i havent really used before for this as well! i tried to be painterly and it was quite fun :3c it's called spectra and it's on procreate for all my ipad babies out there. 10/10 i recommend it. i think i'll be painting with it more when im in the mood for those vibes tbh

so yeah, this is basically my fav so far. like, i enjoy this piece an unreasonable amount. i made it my wallpaper 😭

oct. 6th edit:

I said id add the alternate version under cut and then never did 😭 my bad yall. here it is, actually under a cut

#rhys strongfork #lemon demon #touch tone telephone #drawtober #tftbl #timaeus art #album redraw

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answrs · 11 months

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Readmores And You - A Really Great Tumblr Feature!

(this is technically directed at stuff I've seen in a specific tag because of the content of said tag makes it more likely to spoiler things, but it applies to anyone likely learning the ins and outs of a new site. speaking of which, hello! welcome to tumblr!) (this got. longer than anticipated. apologies, I get bogged down in trying to make things as clear as possible. ^^")

I've seen this a lot recently in the VC tags especially, where the post goes something to the effect of "tw bloody animal!" then like six periods and the images of whatever dead thing the post is about.

I recognize this is probably being carried over from some other website (...reddit probably? maybe insta?) but please. I appreciate y'all so much for trying to do what you're doing. but this method of hiding pictures isn't effective on tumblr, but there is an infinitely better option!

"but why? it works fine on other sites?" firstly, a few extra lines typically don't even take up enough space on mobile (let alone desktop) to hide your pics, so even at a glance anyone is likely still seeing at least the top half of whichever picture you posted before even noticing the trigger warning on top. second, because you have to scroll all the way past the images at the bottom of your post anyway to get to the next one on your dash/in the tag/etc. so if someone comes across your post and the trigger warning is applicable as something they want to avoid, unless they have access to a keyboard to use a keybind shortcut that ive been here 12 years and still cant remember, they can't see any other posts after it without either having to scroll through the pics or outright block you. which is... not the most ideal of options I would say.

"but what else am I supposed to do then!?" I hear you ask.

READMORES!

tumblr has a wonderful feature known as a "readmore" that's built into the site! it creates a break in your post, which hides any content - be it words, images, whatever - that you place underneath it, not showing it unless the person viewing it clicks on the words "keep reading" (formerly "read more" - hence the name :D).

Cool, how do I do that?

on mobile you can place one by tapping an empty line and clicking the grey squiggle icon from the selection that allow you to insert an image/vid/link

which will place a squiggly line into the post you're making:

(desktop uses the same icon, it's just in a more compact row of icons.)

you can drag it around after placing it too, just like photos. (note: mobile can get finicky with this and it's usually just easier to remove it -click the big red X- and add it in the new place you want it.)

EDIT: some of the versions of mobile editor are broken and don't show the icons. to add it in manually type ":readmore:" (with the colons, but not the quotation marks) on its own line. Thank you for the reminder, LovingTogetic!

this is also a nice way to keep your blog tidy and not swamped in long and/or spoilery posts (say if you're posting 5k word fics, or extensive meta, or gushing over the ending of the latest game or TV show most people probably haven't seen yet)! it's not required, obviously, but it's generally considered a common courtesy for others that will be seeing your post cross their dashboard.

finally, an example of the readmore in action:

(ta-da!)

have fun out there y'all, I hope this is helpful ^^

as an aside (I wasn't sure where to put this but under the break seemed appropriate), you may also see a lot of personal/vent posts be fully under readmores as well, even if the post is only a sentence or two long. this is mostly so followers don't necessarily see it unless they specifically click, but there's a more frustrating history to it becoming a thing: when a post is reblogged, any content above the break is permanently frozen as it existed at the time, but anything under it will reflect edits made to the post. while not common, a certain type of user sometimes browse the various "do not rb" tags and will purposefully reblog personal posts in order to upset and distress the users. putting those things under a readmore make it so even if that happens, the text can be deleted from all iterations of the post. recently the site rolled out an option to lock a post to reblogs, but you gotta mess with the settings and it's mostly a habit after a decade here dealing with the nonsense.

#tumblr guide #hope it's okay to tag i'll remove if asked but #vulture culture #how to #tumblr how to #readmores #tumblr how-to

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tremendum · 1 year

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be like me [v]

trust

pairing: din djarin x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her) rating: explicit for violence and sexual themes. (18+. mdni.) word count: 7.4k summary: there are few things in this galaxy that made Mando want to run, and you were one of them. because he is starting to see himself in you, and you in him. warnings: canon-typical violence, graphic depictions of violence, blood, and injury, reader gets injured, reader gets verbally sexually assaulted, slimy gross men, mentions of sexual themes, minor character death, attempted kidnapping lol, use of one Bacta shot so needles, lots of fluff like tooth rotting pining notes: here’s part 5! thanks for all the love, it makes me smile to see all the feedback ive been getting!! this chapter is kicking things up in the storyline a bit more, and ramping up to the next chapter! i hope yall enjoy, and as always feedback/reblogs/likes are v much appreciated! also let me know if your tag didnt work/if i missed u it got a little weird lol.

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★

your stay on Valara soured quicker than Eopie milk the moment your bounty was sealed into carbonite.

the moment he'd fastened off the bounty to his frozen fate, Mando was as silent as the day you'd met. you could feel the anger brewing beneath his armor, festering and boiling as you stand on doe-legs; your jaw clenches in anxiety as you watch him storm past you, helmet not so much as tilting in your direction as he slams his hand against the hydraulics to open the entrance to the Crest. "Mando, where are you going?" you ask, voice strong despite its retirement from the last forty-five minutes.

a helmet whips over to even with you, as if just remembering your presence. "I need to get more information about where the drop was. it was weeks ago, Zuca could be anywhere by now."

"okay, well-" you know you should mention whatever just happened, or maybe you shouldn't - you don't know what to do, Maker, everything happened so quick; your heart hasn't calmed down, you can feel his proximity still on your skin, his hand on your hip, the burning hand over your mouth... his thick thigh with its beskar casing against your aching cunt. every step you take is a reminder of the slick between your thighs, the absence of an orgasm leaving you foggy-brained and erratic. you shiver, a mixture between desire and fear - there's a bounty on your head. yours. and with your face in the galactic system and your Mandalorian shadow, almost anyone could find you.

"no. stay here." he commands it. you barely move your mouth to speak before he's pointing at you sternly, "don't try to argue. it's not safe."

you know he's right, but you furrow your brows, "exactly, which is why we should be leaving." you glare. is there even a brain behind that tin helmet? your chest heaves with a vicious rage; maybe it's your newfound freedom, or perhaps its something entirely different inside of you. but there's a clear change, you can feel it. you've felt it in the last few weeks.

you're just so angry all the time - full of rage, full of the red hot desire for revenge that keeps guiding your mouth and hands before your brain can even consider the options.

"were you not just in the same bathroom as I was?" Mando snaps, voice angry as he points out of the Crest towards the direction of town, "I know you heard what they said in there. they'll be looking for you. I need to protect the the kid, and it's a lot easier to get things done when I'm not also dealing with you." his voice is his regular, deep rumble, but it's angry and laced with something you can't recognize.

you have to fight the flustered feelings in your chest at his mention of the bathroom from the cantina, but as he finishes his sentence, anger flares ruthlessly in your chest as you take a step forward, fists tightening.

weeks ago, had any of this happened, you'd have cowered, sat back, just let it happen. you'd have simply closed your eyes with a deep breath and dreamt of the day where you find your family; now, you're boiling over, the anger making you wish you could snap his neck; put a laser straight through his stupid kriffing helmet visor.

"do you really think they'll be anywhere other than the outpost? Batuu is not that big, you told me that yourself." you take staggering breaths to calm yourself, confused as to why he wasn't listening. "for someone who hunts bounty for a living, you sure aren't trying very hard to catch it."

Mando takes a menacing step forward, closer to you. "I'm trying to keep you alive. which, if you can't tell, is not the easiest thing."

you're seeing red. "well, sorry if I'm not more grateful. you're only keeping me alive to use as insurance for your precious credits." you spit, the words feeling foreign on your tongue; "collateral, right, Mandalorian? some bounty hunter you are." you shouldn't be insulting his profession, but there's nothing that can stop the rage that boils within you. every second you stay on this moon is one less second you'll have with your family.

you turn away, intending to storm up into the ship's body and away from the infuriating man. but his words that follow just ignite the flames even more, "you don't know the first thing about hunting."

"then TEACH ME!" you all but scream, turning around again, irritation boiling over and spilling through your voice. you feel strong emotions hitting your eyes at your mention of collateral: yes, at first it'd seemed like this was true, but recently it'd felt, perhaps, as though he'd kept you around because he liked your company. it just made it all the more painful as he grumbles out his next words, the wind of the night breeze ruffling his cape gently.

"i tried. but a few weeks out of the nest and you suddenly think you're invincible." his voice is maliciously sarcastic, full of spite. it twists the blade of his words deep inside of you, corkscrewing viciously as you take a sharp breath.

"out of the nest?!" you snarl, wheeling back around towards him. how dare he make it sound like you were just some sweet little innocent girl who stumbled too far away from home - how dare he insinuate anything about your life before him? "are you kidding?" you're shocked, overwhelmed with the emotions that swirl in your gut, a sour taste in your mouth.

the two of you are like bombs. lighting each other's fuse and then dousing each other in kerosene, just to see who blows first. it was a fire lit the moment you'd stepped into that stall in the cantina; he'd coaxed feelings out of you that you'd never even imagined before... you shudder. you don't understand why it's gotten so bad recently, why you're so frustrated - but he's been just as bad.

despite yourself, a tear of frustration slides down your cheek. quickly you whip it away, holding your ground as Mando crosses his arms, "you know-" "-no, stop it!" you interject. your fingers wish to throw something at him, kick him - or hit him without breaking your fist. "fuck, Mando," you feel your eyes well up with emotion as you throw your worst look his way. "you've never trusted me. I know Zuca and the Ark'uz'iman. did you ever consider that I might have some good insight for you?"

it's quiet, and in the silence you can't held but shake your head, the anger simmering back down as you stare in wait. but it's Mando, and he's never been one to apologize. something in you deflates. you don't know why you ever allowed yourself to get your hopes up about him.

he's a weapon. a killer. he could never care for you.

Mando takes a breath. "fine, we'll go to Batuu. but I taught you how to wield a blaster," he shoves the hilt of it into your chest harshly, as he moves towards the ladder of the hull, "so you better use it this time."

you glare at the back of his head as he walks away.

Batuu's outpost is as deteriorated as your spirits when you and Mando trudged into town.

the rain leaks through the rafters that cover the market and dribbles down onto the cobblestone, the quiet bustling of the natives hushed and calm. lanterns are strung up above your heads, twinkling and reflecting onto the wet stone as though they were little stars. the market must have once been fruitful, lively - but it's now riddled with hushed whispers, empty vendor kiosks, Batuuian rats, and old stains of mysterious maroon splatters.

"look." Mando says stiffly, nodding up towards a rickety sign that swings in the rain; you have to fight the downpour to look up even through the partial cover of shelter. there's the insignia of the very syndicate you'd been tethered to for years, sitting plainly on a rusted metal, brazen and in the open. a huff escapes your lips, dry and unimpressed: it's insulting how little they tried to hide themselves in this outpost.

"subtle." you mutter to yourself, shaking your head. Ark'uz'iman was once strong, but in the years since the fall of the Empire, it'd also fallen from its grace; there was nobody to hold guard in the entrance to the building at all as you follow Mando through the alleyway and duck into the small hall that leads into the building.

your fingers are tight around the blaster at your thigh, swallowing back the warmth of your throat when Mando mutters, "stay close to me."

you roll your eyes, about to mutter something witty back before he stops in his tracks, coming upon a large room that holds crates of galactic goods; your eyes graze over the weapons stacked in the crates, strewn between canned bantha meat and other smuggled delicacies.

there are voices in the room, too. they're subtle, quiet, and you have to strain yourself to hear them. "there's six of them." Mando says quietly, and your brows barely furrow before you remember he's got heat sensors in his helmet.

your throat goes dry at the thought of him using his heat sensors - has he done it around you? could he tell how weak he made you between your legs when he so much as spoke to you?

you shake out of it as he motions for you to follow him, his helm poking over to corner briefly before turning back to you, "none of them are Zuca. they're all wearing green."

you nod, not surprised. you doubt he'd still be here, after all. he's probably out in another planet, indulging in whatever sins he can get his hands on. or, perhaps, he's out there somewhere looking for you too.

"the green jackets are for smugglers. none of them will know where he is." you whisper back, but a call from the room makes your head whip back, "hey!"

as if on command, Mando whips around the wall and starts shooting; you're frozen for a second, the fear gripping you like a vice - you'd never really fought someone yet besides Mando; and you know that no matter how much he denies it, he goes easy on you.

but these people are unforgivable; the scum of the galaxy, fueling hate and agony and danger and despair.

the thought alone springs you into action, sliding yourself around in order to latch your sight onto one of the men in the room shooting at Mando; your first shot bounces off the wall and explodes a crate of jargon fruit cans.

gritting your teeth, your face heats in embarrassment, dodging a shot that singes a few strands of your hair. your next shot in return hits the wall but then reflexes into the man's back, sending him yelling to the ground. he's out in an instant, your arm buzzes as your chest constricts - you just took someone's life.

a grunt of pain snaps you out of it again as Mando's arm jerks back, a shot taking a rip out of his flight suit at the elbow. you don't hesitate as your blaster's triggered, hitting Mando's shooter right in the chest.

the one to your left starts to charge towards you, catching you off guard as you shoot at the one near Mando. his arms are strong as they grab you, lifting you off the ground. panic floods through you at the feeling of his arms on you and you let out a scream, groaning as your breath leaves you.

you try to jab backwards towards the man's chest, but he lifts you and pulls back, effectively pushing hard into your chest cavity, a sickening crack following a searing pain that blossoms in your ribs. you let out a strangled, pained yelp, struggling to breath as the pain spreads, licking your throat, your stomach, your arms. the room smells like smoke and blaster residue, the other man shooting at Mando and lighting the room up with blaster red as the shots ricochet off of his beskar. you're panicking as you struggle in the man's arms - you can't suck in a breath, it hurts, so bad- (you have to remember to breathe, cyar'ika.)

in a split second, you suck in a sharp inhale before slamming your heel down hard against the man's foot, the cracking noise sickening against your ragged breath. there's a chink in his hold as he reels from the pain and you kick back again, hitting his shin this time. it's a good thing this man wasn't wearing the beskar you'd grown accustomed to fighting against.

you fall away from him, sliding towards Mando's legs as you roll, protecting your side as much as you can. you grab your blaster as you slide, and when you stand, the man who'd held you is crumpled on the ground with a shot through his forehead. your chest throbs along with your heartbeat, the pain making your vision swerve for a moment. you gasp to catch your breath, each shallow gulp ringing pain down your side.

the last one standing raises his blaster; but as your eyes take in his face, the excersized flush drains from your face.

you recognize him instantly. "Vros." your voice is strong and cuts through the droplets of water that trickle down the gutters outside. just when he looks at you, you pull the trigger, barely adjusting your aim.

instead of hitting his chest, his own pistol flies from his grasp; he lets out a strangled yell of pain as he clutches his hand, the smoke rising calmly from the wound in his palm. Mando kicks back the pistol as it skitters towards you both and you tuck it into your waistband.

Vros. one of Zuca's subalterns; he'd been based at Csilla's quarters for years with you, one of the largest confidants of your boss and certainly one of the most disgusting men you've ever known. shivers run down your spine, but you're shocked when you search for the fear you know would be instilled in you, instead coming up with red, hot anger.

Mando's blaster is aimed at Vros's icy blue head as the man's eyes land on you.

"oh, my my." Vros nods his head as his eyes take in your figure, "so what they say is true."

you don't say anything, your heart thundering as your hand squeezes the pistol. Mando is unmoving beside you, a statue of cold resilience, of patience - he was letting you take the reins.

at your silence, Vros grins, gesturing to you as if beckoning a lover. "i've missed you, pretty girl. i was wondering if you'd really left Csilla." he coos, and it's slimy as it slicks through his mouth. you feel sick.

"where is he?" you grit your teeth. all you see in your mind is a blaster shot between the eyes of Zuca.

"he's heartbroken." he chides, tsk-ing as he shakes his head, "he's been searching for you. he's going out to your old stomping grounds, you know." his eyes glint maliciously.

your eyes widen; Zuca? on your home planet? your heart strikes cold with fear: he knows where your family is; what if he hurts them? is he going to use them as collateral for you?

your heart flutters with yearning, desire... something else. you resist the urge to look up at Mando, yet you're still comforted by his warmth, the proximity of your two bodies. your stomach twists as you realize the burning smell is coming from Mando's arm wound, just to your right.

"what planet?" you push, your pistol almost shaking with the anger that flows through your veins. but it's like you aren't saying anything, the way his eyes move over you, a grin on his face.

"you clean up nicely, don't you? you want to come home with me tonight, girl?" he smirks at you, eyes dark. but you don't cower; no, you fume. "Vros, where the fuck is he?" you ask evenly, hand leveled with the pistol down the barrel of his nose.

but you're ignored, as always. Vros's eyes widen in understanding at his one-sided conversation. "oh, so you're... you're his. i see." his eyes flicker from you to Mando's looming figure. something sour swirls in your gut. "let me have her for a few hours, at least?" he smirks as he boldly asks Mando. Vros's words make you grit your teeth; want to squeeze his neck until it snaps.

at Vros' prompting, Mando takes a step forward, concealing half of your figure. pressing forward, Mando's weapon threatens the man's skin with unwavering calmness. you can feel the anger that swirls up around Mando in plumes as he nearly growls, "where is Zuca?"

but Vros still doesn't even bat an eye, instead craning his neck to catch a glimpse of you yet again from behind the concealment of Mando's wide body. "are you sure, Mando?" he looks to him, "I'd pay you handsomely for 'er. girls that look like her are worth hundreds of credits, even after i'm done with them-"

and then there's a loud sound, an echo of a blaster shot and a moment of a scream; then it's quiet, the breeze running cold through your veins.

Vros lays, lifeless, on the ground. Mando's blaster is smoking slightly as he lowers his arm - you can't tear your eyes away from the sickly smirk on Vros' lifeless body; the smile etched onto his blue face forever, grinning up at the stars.

you blink, deflating.

"you killed him." you state dumbly, anger starting to bubble up again in your chest. you look up at him as he turns to you, "why did you kriffing shoot him, Mando?" you yelp. he knew where Zuca was. he may have been your only chance.

it's silent for a moment, the anger radiating off of you both and onto each other. something in you twists as you swear you can see a glint from behind the mask.

"he wasn't going to tell us any more than he already had," he says simply. "he was spewing nonsense."

you swallow dryly. that's for sure.

your hands shake, the adrenaline of the fresh blood on your hands and your aching ribs causing tremors throughout your body. it doesn't go unnoticed by Mando. he says your name.

"are you okay?" he asks, hands jerking towards you before hesitating, hovering in the air awkwardly. they drop as quickly as they reached out, and it leaves you feeling colder than before.

you swallow the bile that sits heavy in your throat, pressing your lips together slightly before nodding, not trusting your voice. you drop to your knees to avoid his stare, unable to look at that pitying feeling emanating from his mask. it makes you squirm.

you rifle through Vros's dead body, trying to even your stuttering breaths as the pain throbs through you as you pull miscellaneous items out in search for anything that could hint as to where your home planet is. there's a fob in his pocket that you pull out quickly, pocketing the credits alongside it. Mando's staring at you, and you stare back, "what? it can't hurt to have some extra pocket money." you defend.

"show me that." he says, palm out stretched towards you and the fob you hold. you simply place it in his hand, standing back up to your full height to examine it with him.

there's an etched few symbols that you recognize faintly in your mind; it's associated with lights, a festival - your home. "this is- this is from my home." you say, surprised at the void in your voice where affection and yearning should be.

Mando looks at you, "how are you sure?"

you swallow. "i'm not." you admit honestly, the vulnerability leaking through your features, gnawing on your lip. this isn't the first time you've wondered if he's annoyed with the burden of your amnesia, but you realize now that the sweet sting of knowing it'd be so much easier if Zuca had never taken those memories from you is no longer just yours to bear. somehow, it almost makes you feel better despite the guilt that Mando can carry some of this weight alongside you. if he chooses.

the fob turns over in his orange-tipped gloves. the leather is cracked, and the fabric is covered in jet grease, blaster residue, and a blue smudge that looks suspiciously like the Kid's breakfast. his flight suit is a dark, deep brown, creased from a lifetime of work; your eyes trail up slowly until they land on the wound that has cauterized but is red and angry nonetheless. a strike in your stomach pangs you: you were so fond of him... you almost flush in embarrassment.

"-we still have some bacta in the Crest, right?" you say then, eyes not moving from where they observe his arm. your ribs are sharp as you take a breath, but you keep your eyes away from his gaze - the muscles underneath his left vambrace clench and flex as he turns over the fob in his hand.

"I can tend to it later." he dismisses you easily, as though his injury was a splinter and not a shot wound. you shake your head at his pain tolerance, but you gulp. you're afraid to admit your fears of the break in your ribs - was it residue from the physical trauma you endured back at Csilla? were you still afraid of Mando, after everything? did you just want to prove to him that you aren't a burden?

you lick your lips and swallow, knowing you can fight through it and possibly sneak off to find some healing ointment for yourself on your way back to the Crest. "maybe they have some information stowed here." you suggest, dropping it in hopes that he wont notice the pain laced onto your face.

"it better not be DNA encrypted." he mutters, and you huff, wincing slightly at the sharp shooting of pain through your chest. your hand holds your side as you walk towards the hall, blaster raised, "you're telling me, Mando. I'm done pricking my fingers for this piece of shit."

"I'm not going back to Ryloth with you ever again, that's for sure." Mando gently jokes as he kicks away the weapons and wipes the blood off his cuirass. you roll your eyes when his back is turned, hiding your grin as you slink around the room, grabbing some cans of food to stuff into your satchel.

"there's something here." Mando's voice calls from behind you, sifting through several papers that look like receipts on the table next to a crate of automatic rifles. you find your way back to him with winded breaths, sharp pain stinging your chest. you grit your teeth through it - how the hell did Mando just walk around so normally with such wounds all the time? you come up beside him, blinking down at the full paper he holds in his grip: just to be met with your face staring back up at you. "woah." you say dumbly, reading over your own file, as seen by the Ark'uz'iman syndicate. your name is up top, followed by your name day, height, age, an image of yourself; your throat dries up as you keep reading.

Planet of Purchase: Daluuj.

"Daluuj." you echo the words you read. "that's where i'm from..." you swallow thickly, emotions swirling around in your head heavily. your tongue feels heavy, but a sharp pain in your ribs makes you gasp.

Mando's head turns down towards you, but you avert your gaze, grabbing the file from his hands, folding it to stick into your waistband. "can we- can we get back to the Crest?" you ask meekly, the sudden weight for the day pulling you down, drooping your eyelids.

his hand falls onto your forearm with no hesitation this time; your eyes snap to the touch, surprised at the sudden contact. it's warm and feather-light, almost timid in nature. "are you okay?" his voice is soft when it hits your ears, sending a warmth striking down into your stomach.

you nearly shiver at the tenderness laced into his words, looking up at him through your lashes, "yeah. I kind of- I think that guy may have broke my rib. it's fine." you nod, shrugging lightly, playing off the pain as casual.

he's stoic, hand resting on your arm as he stares down. the visor is dark, but you can feel the concern ebbing from him, as if his brows are drawn, eyes searching to assess your injury. you almost squirm under his attention. "come on, we have a Bacta shot back home." he draws away from you, making a beeline for the exit of the building. on his way out, he pockets two smuggled grenades for himself, holstering them on his belt; though his hesitation in the threshold of the entrance does not go unnoticed by you as he waits for you gently to catch up to him.

you bite your lip; he was going to give you a Bacta shot? those are terribly expensive. you follow him, sticking close to his side as you walk out of the Ark'uz'iman building.

but you don't notice the hooded figure's reflection in the rainy cobblestone until you're being tackled to the ground, a net smothering your body.

you can't help the scream of pain that escapes you as the force of another body smacks you into the pavement, but you don't intend for it to be his name. "Mando!"

you barely see through the net as Mando's soon shot with the same kind of netting as yours, a grunt as he smacks into the side of a market building. "dank ferrik!" he groans, struggling to fight against the restraints. you moan in pain, the sharp pain aching your whole body as you struggle against the person above you; they lay on top of you, struggling to force bindings onto you through the net. you kick hard, you head-butt, throw elbows, groaning as you struggle.

hands grab at your sides roughly, pulling at your net and slamming you back down hard; you see stars float in your vision at the impact on your ribs and you can't breathe at all - kicking, shoving; your mind reels to remember everything Mando's taught you.

finally, your hands grasp the dagger that lives on your hip, unsheathing it and swiping it across the figure's body near your head as hard as you can. your knife gets stuck in something hard and you can't help the cry from your throat at the sickening feeling of warm blood, dripping down from the perpetrator onto your own face.

the dagger stays sheathed in the body’s neck as it is thrown off of you with a force of a gundark. your scream ripples through the empty cobblestone street, spitting furiously as you try to keep the foreign blood out of your mouth and your lungs full of air.

hands grab you and you kick hard, your knee contacting hard metal that sends echoes of agony throughout your shin - beskar. "M-Mando, fuck." you whimper, pain searing though you as your companion pulls apart the net that suffocates you, his own still caught by his legs and hip.

he shushes you, looking around as you blink the pain and stars from your eyes, hands shaking to help him rip apart the net. "he was a hunter." Mando explains, looking back from the slumped, lifeless body to your right. "he had our pucks."

you're dizzy, exhausted, and you let your head fall against the wet cobblestone, eyes closed as you tilt up towards the weeping sky; fuck, you needed help. you were hurt, and you needed help. "M-Mando," you gasp out with a wince, opening your eyes and craning to look at where he crouches next to you, "it hurts." you sound broken, and you hate it. the man's blood flows off of your face and throat in streaks, the hot, thick liquid mixing with the light and viscous rainfall as they swirl into the street. you spit his blood from your mouth, fighting the rising bile.

"we're going back. can you stand?" he asks, leaning back as you try to sit up, a sharp pain stuttering your movement until you wail, jerking back in pain. "fuck," you hiss lowly, hands shaking as they come up to your abdomen. "sorry." you groan, shaking your head.

Mando's glove falls onto your shoulder, the touch warm and unprecedented; you nearly jump as your eyes fall onto his mask. droplets of rain slick down his helmet, curving into the contours of false cheekbones; your eyes follow their small trails and you wonder if they curve into his skin, along the phantom jawline you'd so dreamt of in the dark hours of the night.

"okay." his hands slowly move, snaking under your knees and shoulders gently, "I'll have to carry you. hold on to me and try not to move."

his voice is gentle in his instructions as he starts to lift up, your groans cutting through the trickling of rain gutters; the outpost was miserable and desolate, and your cries fell upon empty alleys.

you don't remember much from the end of the walk back - your hand streaked with someone's blood upon his contoured helmet, holding on as if it was tethering you to this realm; everything fades fast until the sway back and forth of Mando's pace and the thrum of his heart against your cheek carries you into Mando's quarters, strewn onto the bed.

Mando hoped you couldn't tell how badly his hands were shaking.

you lay now, spread before him on top of his charcoal sheets - an image he'd seen in his mind countless times the last few weeks, though always in this circumstance.

in his mind's eye, you'd always be writhing around in pleasure, face flustered as he took you apart; methodical, slowly, passionately. your hair would be splayed out on his sad, flat pillow, your eyes shining with pleasure, ecstasy.

but as he looks down at you, all your eyes hold is pain.

Mando, you breathe out. his breath hitches as he leans down, setting the med pack next to you; he reminds himself to thank you later for replenishing your stock of medical supplies on the last run.

"I am going to have to put it into your ribs." he says matter-of-factly, eyes searching your features for any more fear, but only finding acceptance. you nod sharply at him through your shallow breaths, your chest rising and falling sharply, "okay," you say smally.

"I trust you."

his chest flutters at your words and he's thankful you can't see him blush as he nods at you, pulling out the prep swabs, alcohol, sterilized needle.

despite his worry over your injury, he was so proud of you.

you hadn't even hesitated when you'd ran into all those members of the syndicate; you'd fought and avoided and dank ferrik, you'd even remembered to go for the feet and shins. and then, after he'd been shot - you'd stood and not hesitated to shoot the man who had shot him.

Mando watches you, the way your eyelashes flutter closed, the breath that puffs from your plumped lips through sweat-flushed cheeks; he swallows roughly. everything seemed so normal, you'd barely batted an eye after killing three men; those same hands which had trembled just a moon ago when they'd first held a blaster in their soft grasp.

he can't help the shuddering breath as he realizes it: you were becoming like him.

it sends anxiety through his whole body, the crushing realization that you had been imbrued with the burden of another's life. your eyes, bright and more alluring than any sight in the whole galaxy: now dimmed with the pain that comes with his line of work.

he'd broken countless ribs in his time, and it twists his stomach to see you go through it for the first time. you were corrupted by him. he sees that anger in you now - it's in your face, your eyes... there's a vengeful anger that spits words from your mouth when he tells you what to do, there's a stubbornness in your body when a threat poses itself. and then, there was Vros, the slime that Mando had lost control of and shot dead before they could get any more information. he shudders slightly, remembering the rage that boiled inside of him at the words he'd spoken about you.

(girls that look like her are worth hundreds of credits, even after i'm done with them.)

the memory of it makes him clench his fists, resisting the urge to destroy. it makes him sick, the way that he couldn't control himself. you are dangerous for him, and you have no clue.

as he gently coaxes your shirt up, coursing over the softness of your bare stomach, your hand falls onto his forearm fleetingly before falling to the cot below you.

he sees the goosebumps on your skin under his gloves and it twists his heart even further: he'd been attracted to you immediately when he'd first seen you, though he knows he'd started to have feelings for you after only a few days of your company; that hurt him, it scared him -

there are few things in this galaxy that made him want to run, and you were one of them. because he is starting to see himself in you, and you in him.

you're staring at him again.

it's weird when you do it, so openly, so devotedly, as if you couldn't bare to look away. as if you could see him through the mask; a stupid thought, he knows, but one he liked to indulge in nonetheless.

trust was a hard thing to find in this life. it was flimsy, fleeting, unreliable - but one thing that's been constant is you. you're changing, he can feel it, but throughout it all, all of the fear, the anger, the ambivalence, the arguments that seem to bubble up daily between you and his clashing personalities; through it all, you were there.

he's realized after saving the kid that even someone like him, with a life like his, needs love.

and you are a testament to that.

Mando knows his strength, he knows that he could plow through a crowd to get to what he needed; but as he looks down at you in pain, near tears on his bed because of him, it's simple. it's clear.

he'd put the entire universe to the blade for you. every time.

you're stuck in the world of your discomfort until Mando's gentle tone cuts through the ship. the kid is in his pram, wide eyes peeking over the edge in concern. you smile to him weakly, cooing softly. his head tilts back in response.

"are you ready?" is all he says, voice low. you swallow, wiping the sheen of sweat from your brow, "yes." you respond, breathing shallowly. he nods once, moving to set down the sterilized needle onto the side table before moving to pull at his gloves.

your eyes widen as the first one is removed, a hand that nearly glows in the damp room in its bareness. his skin is tanned, the same tone as the skin of his back you'd seen last; your breath leaves you this time not from pain, no, from wonder.

you don't say anything until Mando's flicking the needle, testing the Bacta inside it. "you don't have to." you say gently. he doesn't have to. you know he could just as well give you this shot without taking his gloves off, he's certainly done everything else with them. no, he's chosen to take of his glove. to touch you.

his helmet cants towards you, "I know I don't have to." he's sure. the butterflies flutter through your torso and it makes you bite back a sheepish grin, flustered by his kindness.

you're helpless as his bare hands touch you. you're putty, pliant, giddy, full of wonder as the warmth of his dry hands cascade over your shivering body, gently easing the bacta shot into your ribs and soothing over it easily. you barely feel the sharp pinch as he injects you.

"there, done." he leans over you slightly, until you open your eyes and see him looming over you. "it should start to work pretty soon." he nods.

you send him a smile, a flush blossoming through your chest at the silence. he doesn't move, just staring down at you in peace. "so how'd I do? I shot someone." you say, the healing medicine of the Bacta shot soon coursing energy through you. you gently scoot, making room for Mando if he so chooses to sit next to you.

he actually laughs at your words, you can see it in his shoulders and the way he shakes is head in amusement. it's a deep rumble that soothes your stomach and makes your cheeks heat up. "you did. a few people."

you lift one shoulder, still breathing shallow as the pain starts to dissipate gently, slowly. "I'm sorry, though. that I got hurt. I just-" you cut yourself off, embarrassed. but Mando's patient for you, always. "i just thought maybe..." maybe you'd be proud of me, for how I fought. but you don't say that, "that if I wasn't there, you wouldn't have had to use the shot on me. and maybe you could have avoided getting hurt if I'd done better."

your eyes fall pointedly to his arm, where the skin is still marred.

"no, ka'ra, it's not your fault." he shakes his head, leaning down to his knees. you swallow as his helmet is evened with your eyes, kneeling down to your height. your handprint, crusted maroon with the blood of another man, is still smeared down the front of his helmet and it makes your heart thump in pain. "you did well. I'm glad I had you by my side."

neither of you say anything; the air is tender, thick with the memories of the last few days and everything that's happened - you briefly wonder if Mando's even slept in the last cycle.

but soon, your breath catches in shock. Mando's slowly reaching out to thumb a loose strand of your hair, smoothing it gently and snugly near your temple.

his bare hand, the skin tingling against the intimate touch of your head; you're breathless, afraid to move to as to startle him. it's like sighting a rare, desired animal while hunting in the woods. his hand is warm and bare against you and it blankets you in a peaceful comfort.

calmed by his gesture, your eyes flicker away, up towards the small ledge that holds the few items Mando keeps in his room: a spare handlight, one of the kid's llittle toy balls, and-

your heart skips.

the Sable, just next to his cot.

it sits, polished next to the other items, of which have caught a layer of dust. but the Sable, it sits proud and clean, as though he's cared for it all these weeks. he'd accepted your gratitude, he'd accepted your culture even though you didn't truly know it. you had no true religion, no culture, just a family waiting out there for you. and he'd accepted that. cherished it.

you want to cry.

your swell of emotion must be misinterpreted by your companion as his touch lingers; his hand drops from your space gently. "look at me." he says gently. though just as his hand slips away, you catch it in your own grasp; warm skin on warm skin, the electric touch of two beings who long for a connection in a vast and isolated universe.

you yearn to do it, to feel your lips pressed against his knuckles; to express your gratitude for everything he's done, despite how you sometimes treated him - but you don't.

instead, your breath hits his hand warm and heave, a breath of thank you barely a whisper as it passes your devoted lips. he doesn't pull his hand away until you release it, and you finally break the moment by looking back up at him.

"you did amazing, c'yare. and we know where to go. we will wait until you are healed." he says gently, affection lacing his words. it makes you grin, nodding a watery agreement. stars, you needed to rest.

amazing, he'd said. you want to mention the Sable. you should, you should tell him- you should tell him how fucking much he means, how important he and the kid are, how - how this is the one place in the universe you feel safe. but it doesn't allow itself to fall from your lips - not yet.

"i wish i could be more like you." you say softly instead. you're feeling better and less in pain by the second, and the soft breath that falls from Mando's modulator eases your shoulders and swirls in your stomach. "no, you don't." he says gently, a lullaby that rocks you into a deep affection as he moves, rising up from crouching in front of you to sit next to you. he leaves a sizable space between you, his thigh not touching yours.

staring down, your lips quirk up into a half-smile. despite your injuries, you can't believe you found out where your family is. you were going to finally find them. you don't let the tears fall, for fear that Mando may have a heart attack thinking he'd upset you again.

"I guess," you start, turning to look at him as you pull the med kit towards you to begin your applications on his arm wound, "despite it all, it was a good thing. I'm going home. thank you for teaching me."

Mando's pulling the child into his arm that is not occupied by your healing ministrations, "you are becoming a great fighter. I'm... I'm happy for you." you barely notice the lilt laced through his words.

"you can't have success without a hiccup, right?" you lick your lips, repeating something Mando had mumbled to you once last week when you'd been repairing the Crest, "so I guess you can't have glory without a little gore." pulling out bacta wipes and bandages, distracting yourself from your shaking hands as you prepare to help Mando dress his own wound.

it's silent, then with a huff of amusement, "that's why our faces are over every single bounty in this system, ka'ra."

and despite yourself you grin.

taglist: @toobsessedsstuff @tizylish @millersdjarin @cloufire @kalea-bane @daddy-long-legolas

@dontletyourchildrenwatchthis @ponyboys-sunsets @leithatnight @imobbssed

#din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #mandalorian #tremendum’s space cowboy✒️

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oldmemoria · 8 months

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i have a lot of unorganized miguel headcanons that float around my brain at times but since i usually think of them at night and forget about them the next morning im just going to continuously update this post probably? anyway here are the ones that i do remember

i will either leave this in my drafts and update it when i want to or ill just edit/reblog with new stuff idk

edit after i stopped typing:

ok its time

fuck you

posts

identity headcanons first, because idk getting those out of the way feel free to get pissed off about these ill just block you 💖

trans man. he/him pronouns. probbably doesnt care if you use gender neutral terms for him because like... why would he, he has a multiverse to stare at

asexual, can't really figure out of i see him as being aromantic as well, i personally just think he's too busy to think about it atm but i dont think hes incapable of it. maybe arospec, like demiro or greyro or smth idk, i just know this mf is asexual.

he is autistic (and probably undiagnosed?) i will die on this hill as if i was a warrior cat defending the sunningrocks i will commit an oakheart fight me on this and i will throw rocks at you and then promptly get crushed by rocks as well (is that warrior cats spoilers um oops sorry)

now to the rest- that i remember- i have not read the comics yet so if some of these are like.. actually canon lmk because that would be really funny

this one might be a hot take but he does not hate miles. he wants to look out for him and definitely either currently regrets or is going to regret what happened in that chase scene. i genuinely doubt he hates any of the spider-gang hes just very, very worried about the multiverse. in his head thats the only way. (i am hoping and pleading that miguel and miles make up somehow, maybe miles doesnt forgive miguel and that totally understandable and would make sense but pLEASE writers i would die if you kept them as being rivals i genuinely would)

he hates Audrey Hepburn, fangoria, harry houdini, AND croquet. he CAN swim, he CAN dance, and he DOES know Karate. he still wont make it though. sorry man.

since hes from the future i dont think he'd be terribly confused by current slang/terms, hed more look at it like we see terms from like... the 80-90s or anything before that as "oh wow people used to say that? huh. interesting."

im going back on a headcanon ive had since i saw the movie im SoRRYYY but he cant curse. from what ive seen from the comics he uses replacements like "shock" and "bithead", thats it. maybe he says fuck on accident or in spanish (he technically kind of does depending on how you see "Ay Coño" being said but thats beside the point).

probably a blue eyes hater idk he just gives me the vibe of saying "jesus christ your eyes are way too blue, get contacts please im begging you stop looking at me" which is probably why him and gwen have so much beef.

i dont give a shit about what the movie says his fangs are not retractable fuck you. (he still has crooked teeth though i will never forget about those <3 )

autism be damned my guy can work a grill 🔥🔥🔥🔥

a lot of people cant really tell if hes pissed or not by his tone sometimes. is this projection? yeah, next question.

he hardly ever sleeps but when he does its like hes dead (at least when its dead quiet, which again, isnt often so he hardly ever gets a good nights sleep). you'd have to use a fucking blowtorch to the face to wake him up.

i also see him as not only having hypersensitive vision but also having elevated senses period. hearing, smell, touch, etc. probably the main reason he sits in the dark with no other noise.

branching off of that he frequently gets migraines of things get to stressful or too loud or if anything is very off about his schedule.

arachnophobe. ha.

cat person.

cat person as in he likes cats not like hes a catboy.. i shouldnt specify that actually that just makes it worse but i will anyway because tumblr hellsite will be tumblr hellsite

he partially likes lego peter because his daughter really liked lego.

ok but like think about it he'd probably be really good at taking legos apart with those claws. like imagine. it'd be nothing for him.

hasnt spoken to gabriel in years. he cant bring himself to reach out and when gabriel does he just doesnt have the energy to try and respond. he has no idea how to, especially now.

this is very specific but he stims a lot with his claws. like extend and retract over and over absentmindedly (mainly because thats what i'd do if i had claws imagine how fun that would be)

he usually bottles up all the emotions that he has, including anger. kind of explains why he lost it in the chase scene in my head because he reached a boiling point. he hates talking to people about his problems.

empanadas are his safe food, also theyre just easy to eat when your mouth is a little funky (i would know i have some fucked up braces theyre great for that 10/10), its mostly just easier on his fangs.

definitely horrible at the whole self are thing. he just forgets, all the time. would forget to breathe if it wasnt involuntary

if you say anything he doesnt particularly like (eg "hey bro are you okay do you wanna talk") he'll just stare at you with his rat eyes like 👁️👁️ until you stopped idk what im saying.

he is a bit touch starved, depending on his mood he'll let people touch him in a friendly (emphasis on friendly. friendly friendly friendly dont take it any other way :/) way.

OH I almost forgot about this one: he hisses. some spiders hiss. so does he. vampire furry energy

he also gets pissed when people call him a vampire so uh... im counting my days oops.

will go out and sit in the rain. (wait would it still rain in the future? is the climate still fucked in his timeline or nah)

like "ah, its water time" and goes out to sit like this:

Man if only there was a rain filter

that is all i have for now maybe if something else comes up ill reblog with new stuff >:)

#across the spiderverse #atsv #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spider verse #headcanons #his specific tag that i have for him might be.........#errrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmm #critter moment #eureka!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#CRITTER MOMENT YES!!#ok you can post this now ash no more stalling

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fizzyxcustard · 2 years

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Betrayal (16)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Crossover of Spooks and Pilgrimage (Modern AU)

Pairings: Lucas North x OC/Raymond de Merville x OC

Warnings: Love triangle. Angst. Language. Sexual references/language. Cheating. Stalking. Some spoilers from season 9. Su*cide.

Summary: Amy Holland is Lucas North’s girlfriend of six months. Amy is aware of his job as an MI-5 agent and supports him. However, Lucas’ cousin, Raymond de Merville, has always loved Amy and uses their one night stand together as leverage for something more.

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. I’m gradually removing people from my tag lists who do not interact.

If you enjoy this fic, please remember that a reblog is always much appreciated and helps us writers out immensely with getting our fics circulated. <3

There is an explicit warning in this chapter for su*cide. Please read with caution if you feel that it something that may affect you.

Amy remained at Raymond's side for the rest of the evening, and gradually darkness began to fall over the world outside. Droplets of rain patted against the window, and for a few seconds, Amy stood by the window and peered out. She was wondering where Lucas was and what was happening to him.

"Are you okay?" Raymond asked, watching Amy from across the room.

"I'm just wondering what will happen to Lucas," she said, but remained turned away from Raymond. The police had been, and questioned both of them. Neither of them had uttered a word in regards to Lucas' real identity. That was not something they wanted on their conscience. Surely Lucas would be thrown into prison for identity theft. For the first time since Amy had discovered who he really was, she burst into tears. "Everything has been a lie."

"Aim, come here," Raymond urged.

Amy swept across the room and leaned over the bed, falling into an embrace. She felt Raymond kiss her head. "I know what he did, but I can't just wipe out all the feelings I've had for him, you know? I still care about him."

"That's natural. I get that," Raymond replied. He was still holding her. "You can't fall out of love with someone completely overnight. That's impossible."

"How many times have you been in love?" Amy asked. Her green gaze met his.

Raymond looked at her tear streaked face and smiled. "Twice."

"Really? I'd have imagined you'd have been in love more than that. I've only been in love twice, too. Who have you been in love with?"

"The first person is obvious," Raymond chuckled. "Someone who isn't a million miles away from me now. The first time I fell in love was with a woman I worked with at my very first job before I enlisted in the army."

"What happened?"

"Unrequited. And she was married."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Amy said softly.

"Nothing to be sorry for. Between her and you, I just never found the right person. Well, she wasn't the right person. That right person is you."

"How can you be so sure?"

"How can you not be?" Raymond asked. His tone was stern. "I watched you with Lucas; how attentive you always were to him, the way you looked at him, how happy you made him. No wonder he always called you his angel. But when I think of all the guilt you carried around for months because of sleeping with me, but I knew the secret he was hiding. I always knew that you couldn't stay with him, Aim. One day he would lead you into danger."

***

Amy remained with Raymond overnight, sleeping awkwardly in the chair that was next to his bed. All night, they held hands, their arms outstretched to one another. However, the officer the unknown caller had mentioned, never came that day.

Raymond was checked that morning. The doctors were happy with the progress he had already made in twenty four hours. His pain relief was administered through his IV and the dressing on his stomach changed.

Early afternoon, a call came through to the ward. The call was transferred through to the portable telephone which was just outside Raymond's private room. A nurse rolled the phone inside and handed the receiver to Amy. Her hands were shaking at the thought of who this could be.

"Amy Holland?" a male voice came.

"Y...yes. Who is this?"

"It doesn't matter who I am. I'm with Lucas and he wishes to speak to you."

The voice of the man was the same as the unknown caller the afternoon previous. It was professional and straight to the point.

"Amy?" Lucas' voice came. Immediately she could hear that he was crying.

Raymond watched on, his eyes studying Amy and his jaw clenched in apprehension. "Who is it?" he asked. "You don't have to talk to them."

"Lucas?" Amy asked. "What's happening?"

"I needed to talk to you one last time, angel." Then she heard a sob. "I'm sorry, for everything I put you through. I can't go back to prison, Aim, I can't." There was more sobbing.

"Lucas, please," Amy begged. "You need to be strong."

"But I'm not. Raymond kept my secret, and I owe him for that. He deserves you so much more than I ever did. Makes sure he looks after you. This world doesn't need me."

"Stop talking like that. Please."

"I can't do this anymore, angel. I love you so much."

"Lucas, please."

"Bye, Aim. Maybe we'll meet again on the other side."

Amy could only hear wind gusts in the background and then nothing at all. She gasped, still asking for him but knowing that the line had been terminated. Panicked, she dropped to the floor on her knees.

"Aim? Fucking hell. What's happening?" He shouted for a nurse, and within a few seconds, a young woman came rushing in.

She helped Amy up from the floor and into a seat. Amy continued sobbing, gasping for breath.

Raymond reached over and grabbed her hand. "I'm here. I'm here."

"I think he's going to kill himself," Amy wept.

Raymond dragged himself out of bed, gritting his teeth through pain, and took Amy in his arms, where she wept. The pain was ripping through his stomach, but she was more important in those moments. Embracing her, comforting her.

The nurse who had come into the room to help Amy called out to Raymond, advising him not to move out of the bed. But he grit his teeth at her, and his steel blue eyes bore into her with such intensity that she backed off in nervousness.

"Maybe I could have stopped him?" Amy sobbed, her voice shaking. "I should have been able to stop him...."

"Amy," Raymond said. "Look at me."

She looked up at him.

"You couldn't have stopped any of this. Please, please...Just....don't blame yourself. We don't even know yet if he went through with it."

***

Follow Forever tag list: @lathalea @i-did-not-mean-to @linasofia @xxbyimm @guardianofrivendell @knitastically @middleearthpixie @meganlpie @msjava1972 @asgardianhobbit98 @luna-xial @rachel1959 @sunflwrnsunnieshine @eunoiaastralwings @tschrist1 @quiall321

#Raymond de Merville #Pilgrimage #Raymond de Merville x OC #Modern Raymond de Merville #Crossover #Fanfiction #Lucas North #Lucas North x OC #Lucas North/John Bateman #Richard Armitage #Spooks #MI-5

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sennaverstappendiary · 5 months

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australian grand prix ✩ 02.04.2023

SOOOOO HERE WE FUCKING GO‼️‼️‼️ my journey into f1 has finally started. now, is it because i'm dutch and max is slaying? well, that has something to do with it, but! i actually have to instead thank the other driver in my username for getting me into f1! 🥰🥰🥰

🗓️ march 23th, 2023. i was in bed, trying to sleep, and i simply couldn't. i don't know why - might have to do with recovery symptoms, but i COULD NOT sleep. and my now ex was sleeping next to me, so couldn't watch video's. what did i do instead?

wikipedia deep dive. 😁😁😁

i'm not sure how it happened, but eventually i found myself on the... "crashes in formula one" page. and being the morbidly curious little freak that i am, i scrolled through everything. one of them caught my eyes though, more than any other.

💕💕ayrton senna💕💕 - the last driver to pass away during a formula one race. i clicked on his page, and, woah. it was like something clicked inside of me as i scrolled through it. especially his rivalry with 💕💕alain prost💕💕 seemed so interesting to me... like what happened there...

needless to say: i was hooked. more than hooked, to be honest. 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

i ended up scrolling, reading more and more, and i only slept when it was 5 am. the days after that were a blur of FORMULA ONE FORMULA ONE FORMULA ONE. it was genuinely the only thing i could think of/talk about. genuinely felt like i was on cr4ck... 💥💥💥

funny thing: my brother, who had introduced me to f1, wasn't even home at the time i got hyperfixated. sometimes i wonder how that would've gone. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

another funny thing: i was very sad to find out that the prosenna community wasn't thriving on tumblr 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

another VERY funny thing: i literally laughed the first time i saw lestappen. like in a mean way. i have no clue what happened but about 2 days later i was reblogging it and it was becoming my fav modern ship alarmingly quickly 🤯🤯🤯🤯

so yeah. went kinda (really) fucking crazy the week before this grand prix. of course i decided to wake up at 7 am to watch it 😁😁 god bless. i didn't gaf about fp at the time (smartest thing ive ever done, like, i should stop caring about fp now)

qualifying was just... confusing for me seeing as i didn't understand too much. i do vividly remember how AWKWARD the picture with the top 3 was 😭😭😭 i was very sleepy and i think i accidentally woke up my (now) exin the other room PLEASE 🤣🤣🤣

the race was... i'm both shocked and glad that this was my first ever race. waking up at 7 for it was fun as fuck i can't even lie i LOVE me an early race 💕💕 i was so hyped for it!! i didn't understand much, and i didn't have any friends to chat with yet, but it was fun. if i had been into f1 longer i would've probably been more scared of the mercs leading lap after lap, but i was blissfully unaware AND very very faithful in max... just kept repeating to myself "i'm not gonna worry about it lol" which DID work in the end. i rewatched this race for this post and man. i remember not really giving a fuck about charles dnf because i wasn't THAT much into any modern drivers yet except max LOL. 🥲🥲🥲 and i remember alex's crash being way later than it actually was in the race? maybe because of the crazy fucking red flags PLEASE 😰😰😰 george's car lighting on fire... nyck flopping... my first impression of carlos being his fucking complaint about the SUN i'm screaming... what a crazy fucking race.

after the race i was gleefully telling my dad everything (his ass was NOT waking up at 7 for this which i respect greatly) and shakingly eating breakfast (i was so excited fdjhgdhfgdfh)... and then i realised... 4 weeks without f1 😵‍💫😵‍💫 whilst in the height of my hyperfix!! how did i survive!!!

anyway i'm so glad this was my first race, even though it was a really weird one dfhghdg 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 AUSTRALIA 2023 U WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS TO ME‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

✩ song of the race: Industry Baby - Lil Nas X

I just fuck heavy with this song LMFAO. also it's kinda maxcore if u think about it... i certainly think about it... 😭💕😭💕😭💕

#australian gp 2023

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agustdiv1ne · 7 months

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i dont wanna reblog on this acc for reasons, but i just finished telepathy (got off track so many times im sorry) and its literally the best thing i have ever read in my entire life. like istg there were a few moments when i laughed out loud (taehyuns "thats nepotism" caught me so off guard i giggled) (there was another moment at the beginning i don't remember the line) and i genuinely laughed when he first found out what she listens too 😭 i think this fic is the most relatable to me, tbh, bc like if you saw me in the street, i look like an innocent chubby girl, not someone who writes hybrid smut about people on the internet 💀 like im totally the type to get off to someone i saw randomly somewhere (ive done it before)

AND THE SCENE WITH HIM JACKING OFF>??????? like i was reading with a straight face until the fUCKING BUTTON UP???? LIKE ITS THE LITTLE DETAILS THAT COUNT ISTG (mental reminder for when i write later)

i already knew what was gonna happen as soon as i read pseudo-fingering in the warnings last night, but reading it was a whole fucking other story, i swear to fucking god. i've become kind of immune to reading smut in my experienced age (😭), so it's rare for me to find a fic that gives, like, ALL the tingles (iykyk)

and this one gave so much more than that- like if i was home alone right now, this would be jackoff material, i am not kidding you. like the pretty girl thing was already a little sjkhbdehdfb to me, and then just the whole "dont make it obvious" was so sjkdhbshjdi

AND THEN THE FUCKING SCENE???? LIKE IM SORRY I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT AT ALL and like, im sorry gyu but if this ever happened to me i would not be able to stay quiet at all. like legitimately i'd be crying.

i was just WAITING for that ending if im being honest, like i LIVE for stuff like this where its so nonchalant at the beginning like "are you alright? 🥺" and i was just waiting for her to recognize his voice ACK and then the "pretty girl" GOT ME LIKE IF THIS HAPPENED TO ME AND IT WAS SOMEONE SO FUCKING ATTRACTIVE ID FAINT

here's my actual reaction to that last line (the middle is cut off because i had my hand over my mouth going "oh my god oh my god") (and dw im okay that squeak was a laugh)

ADA I LOVE U.

mannn what if i cry. then what. genuinely that is such an honor :'))) no bc same, like u would never guess what i do on this hellsite j from what i look like LMAO

SCREECHES i loveee adding little details to my scenes (it's also why my fics are becoming obscenely long,, sorry everyone, idk what happened to the 7-8k projection,,,,), idk why but writing that had my heaving trying to hold myself together...yeah

pseudo-fingering LOL i truly still don't know how else to describe it...my guy was mind fucking her fr,,, can't believe i actually broke ur immunity for a hot second that's so funny to me

HGKDJL i was projecting heavily in this one i'm ngl 🤣🤣 like exhibitionism is kinda,,, yeah. Yeah. i also dream abt being called pretty girl one day 🤣 manifesting it rn actually

HAHAHA no bc same, i wouldn't be able to keep it together i'd writhing and crying and disintegrating LMFAO,, mc was so strong ngl i wish i could be like her.........but alas, i am Weak

UR REACTION I'M FUCKING DYINGGG,, but that was what i was going for so i'm glad it worked 😁 THANK U FOR READING!!! AND SENDING ME AMAZING FEEDBACK ILY ADA PLS TAKE CARE OF URSELF <3333333

#ada ⭐#moots!#banggyu0308 asks #asks #🪐 — feedback #agust.nsfw

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 1 year

Text

I posted 1,985 times in 2022

That's 1,649 more posts than 2021!

624 posts created (31%)

1,361 posts reblogged (69%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@radiowallet

@whataperfectwasteoftime

@honestly-shite

@leslie-lyman

@pedropascalsx

I tagged 1,433 of my posts in 2022

Only 28% of my posts had no tags

#comment reblog - 386 posts

#fic rec - 214 posts

#marcus pike - 179 posts

#dave york - 86 posts

#pedro pascal - 71 posts

#marcus pike x reader - 43 posts

#marcus pike x you - 43 posts

#the mentalist - 38 posts

#to read - 36 posts

#taglist rb - 35 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#htkai was born in the panda express drive thru after a totally unhinged conversation with you about the concept and i will always remember

My Top Posts in 2022:

Everything

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Anal sex, anal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), Marcus Goddamn Pike is his own warning.

Summary: Marcus is obsessed with your ass.

A/N: I'm embracing the fact that I'm a one-trick pony. This is per the request of @honestly-shite and @pedropascalsx, who both agree that anal with Marcus Pike just hits different. Alternate titles for this include "She made his day, he made her hole weak" and "Episode IV: A New Hole."

Masterlist

You rise up on your tiptoes to reach the glasses in Marcus’s apartment. Keeping them on the top shelf is no problem for him, but with your smaller frame, you have to really stretch to reach them.

You can tell that the borrowed shirt you're wearing is riding up, showing off the lacy underwear you'd worn to impress your boyfriend.

Without warning, a large, warm palm envelops one cheek and squeezes softly, a whispered Fuck falling past Marcus's lips as he feels the swell of your ass underneath his shirt.

Startled, you let out a squeak of surprise and the glass falls from your hand. Not skipping a beat, Marcus grabs it mid-fall and sets it down roughly on the counter before pressing up behind you. You laugh in shock at his impressive reflexes and he chuckles softly too, burying his face in the crook of your neck and scraping his soft stubble lightly against your skin. Both of his hands come to your hips, caging you against him.

"Can't take you anywhere," Marcus teases. "Dropping my glassware."

"You startled me," you murmur, leaning back against him.

The two of you are still in the honeymoon period of your relationship where you can't seem to get enough of each other, always needing to touch, spending weekends like these wrapped up in each other.

Marcus’s hand migrates back down to the globe of your ass and he makes a soft noise of appreciation. "Can't help it," he mutters, "when you're walking around my kitchen in my clothes like this."

"I know," you retort. "That's why I do it."

"You're a bad girl, aren't you?" He teases. "I like that."

Marcus's fingers start to dig into the flesh ever so slightly, and you hum in amusement. This man is obsessed with your ass. He never says anything, but his hands always gravitate there–when you're standing next to each other like this, or when you're straddling on the couch, when you're on your knees on the bed taking everything he has to give, or even in the afterglow laying beside you, with one finger tracing your curves in reverence.

You want more than caresses and light squeezes. You want his tongue, his fingers, you want him to slowly, carefully push his cock inside of you. You wonder if he ever would.

You already know that Marcus Pike is much dirtier than his sweet personality would have you believe–you've seen it in the way he can utterly ruin you in bed (or any surface he can get you on). His dirty talk is unparalleled–murmuring it in your ear, urging you to take it for me, oh, fuck, baby, take it all.

He's never asked, but you just know by the way his fingers dig in so intimately close to your little puckered hole that he wants to take you there, too.

You start to leave little hints here and there. You buy a bottle of lube and put it on Marcus’s nightstand. You constantly wear thongs, enticing him with the sight of your bare cheeks underneath more borrowed t-shirts when you stay over at his apartment.

You even leave an explicit video up on your iPad for Marcus to find. It's one of your favorites–featuring lots of teasing with a sleek jeweled plug, then fingers, before his cock slowly dips just inside, teasing her with the tip again and again until finally sliding home.

You've never done it yourself, but you can't stop watching it in videos. You can't get the image of Marcus patiently working you open before giving you his cock out of your head.

You "accidentally" leave the iPad at his house over the week. If Marcus finds the video, he doesn't say anything about it, although when he opens the door to you on Friday night, his jaw does seem a little more tense than usual. He's always a model gentleman, treating you nicer than anyone's ever treated you before. He's kind, gentle, sweet, and loving, but part of you longs for those kid gloves to come off, for him to let go and lose himself in his pleasure. To take something for himself.

You know exactly what you want him to take.

After dinner, the two of you cuddle on the couch with the pretense of watching a movie, but you straddle him almost immediately, pressing your core down against his stiffening cock ad you subtly rock your hips.

As always, his hands come up under the skirt you're wearing to grab your ass and squeeze, using his grip to guide the movement of your hips.

"Fuck, you're killing me, baby, you know that?" Marcus says breathlessly as you lean down for a messy, passionate kiss.

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460 notes - Posted September 16, 2022

Best Bike Crash Ever

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Bike crash, descriptions of an injury, hospital visit, one very fluffy kiss

Summary: After a hit and run at a crowded intersection, you are suddenly very intrigued by your rescuer–the cute FBI Agent who just happened to be a bystander.

A/N: I can’t do angst today. As a little break from my series, I finished this fluffy little one-shot up to post on a Monday. Everyone needs fluff on a Monday.

You bring your bike to a halt at one of the busiest intersections in the city. It's congested on any day, but on Memorial Day Weekend in Washington, D.C., the thing is damn near impassable.

Your gaze flits around the cars with disinterest as you wait for the signal to cross. The car closest to you is one of those black, unmarked cars with the distinctive look of a government vehicle that are ubiquitous in this area of the city.

You like to make up stories about the people inside them sometimes as you're walking. This one, you decide, is a crooked CIA agent who's secretly an assassin on the side. Right now, he's on his way to the National Gallery of Art, where he'll sit on a bench and pretend to study a painting, but instead he's waiting for someone to drop off the envelope with his next assignment.

You smile to yourself as the light turns green and you jump back on the pedals to turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue.

You don't see the car attempting to run the red light until it's too late.

At first all that registers is pain. Then, you realize that there is someone beside you, speaking to you in a steady, low voice.

"Breathe," the voice says. "You're hyperventilating. I need you to take slow, deep breaths with me."

You focus on the person's face–a man, wearing a suit, with warm, kind eyes. He asks you your name, and you tell him in a strained voice that you hardly recognize.

The man repeats your name back to you with a soft smile and you feel your breathing start to slow a little.

“My name is Marcus,” the man says in that same calm tone. “I’m an agent with the FBI. I’m gonna help you, okay?”

“Okay,” you gasp. God, everything hurts. Your whole body feels as if it’s on fire, but especially the side that you had landed on. Why did it feel like you couldn’t move your arm?

"Did you hit your head?" he asks.

You shake your head. "Don’t think so… landed on my arm." And then you look down at it for the first time.

It's… well, it's definitely broken. Arms aren't supposed to bend that direction. The pain your brain registers doubles, triples, and your breath starts to come in sharp gasps again.

Marcus snaps his fingers rapidly in front of your face. “No, don’t look at your arm, look at me. Keep your eyes on me.”

He speaks with a quiet authority that makes you automatically obey, tearing your eyes away from the injury and looking up at him.

"There you go. Keep taking deep breaths–that's it, you're doing so well."

You can't help but hold his gaze. He's so… disarming. He's making a show of breathing in and out slowly, intending for you to follow his lead, and you do–concentrating on the rise and fall of his chest.

“This can go two ways,” Marcus says, when you're no longer panicking. “I can call you an ambulance and wait with you, or we can go to the hospital right now in my car.”

Ambulances are expensive, you think. Out loud, you say, “C-car?”

“Good choice," Marcus says with a smile. "Now, we need to splint your arm before we move you. It'll help keep your arm immobile. I'm going to go get some stuff for a makeshift splint from the car and I'll be right back."

You finally notice the black car parked beside you. There aren't any lights on top, but you can see blue and red flashing from behind the dark windows. You realize that it’s probably the car that had been beside you before you had tried to turn.

You watch as Marcus opens the trunk and comes back to your side with an umbrella and a faded FBI t-shirt. He immediately starts ripping the shirt into strips and you must gasp because he looks over at you with a wry grin.

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493 notes - Posted February 28, 2022

Break

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader wife (no y/n)

Rating: E (smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Descriptions of a break-in, BAMF!Marcus, protective!Marcus, multiple mentions of a gun, competency kink, Marcus knocks someone out. Then we’ve got GUN KINK in a big way. dom!Marcus, explicit consent and kink negotiation, restraints, gunk kink I say again, Marcus ‘King of Aftercare’ Pike, good communication.

Summary: After a terrifying night where someone breaks into your house, you realize that you have a very specific, forbidden fantasy about your husband and his job.

A/N: This is a direct follow-up to the little break-in drabble I posted ages ago. I’ve included it here at the beginning for continuity purposes–so this fic can stand on its own–but if you don’t feel like reading it a second time, feel free to skip to the first break. This is a gun kink fic. Please heed the warnings. If a gun going anywhere inappropriate bothers you in any way, please do not click read-more. I don’t know why I wrote this lmao I hate guns. This is written with the ‘Born to Run’ couple in mind because they’re my favorite vehicle for exploring kink and BDSM, but you don’t have to read that series to read this at all.

You didn't know what awoke you, at first, but here you were–suddenly wide awake next to Marcus some time in the middle of the night. You tapped your phone. 1:12 AM. You were about to roll over and try to go back to sleep, when you heard it.

The crash of broken glass, as if something had broken a window. You sat up, heart pounding. Thud. You could hear it–someone was in the house. Your house that you shared with Marcus. You shook your husband awake.

"Marcus. Marcus!" you whispered through clenched teeth.

"Guh?" Marcus shot up at the sudden awakening.

"Marcus there's someone in the house. I heard–" you began frantically.

Instantly awake, Marcus put his hand on your arm to quiet you. You both sat up in bed, listening.

Creak-creaaaakk

A floorboard in the kitchen? Oh, God. You could feel yourself trembling.

Marcus was out of bed in an instant, reaching inside the nightstand drawer for his gun. He drew it out, along with the clip, which he always kept separate for safety. You watched as he expertly engaged the clip, cocked the barrel, chambering a bullet, and thumbed off the safety, all in one swift, practiced motion.

You forgot, sometimes, what an incredibly capable man your husband was. Dangerous, even.

He fixed you with a stony stare, jaw set and eyes as black as the night around him. You had never seen his face look like this, in all the years you'd known him. Despite the obvious terror of the situation, you felt a frisson of desire run down your spine.

"Stay here," he whispered. "Do not move from this spot."

You rapidly nodded your head up and down, and then watched as he opened your bedroom door carefully, his gun pointing ahead of him as he stared down the hallway. You watched him, cataloging every movement of his tense body, until he stepped forward and disappeared from view.

You tried to keep your breathing soft and even so you could hear something, anything, above your own frantic inhales and the sound of your heartbeat.

You counted each trembling breath.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Fi--

A crash sounded from downstairs and you shot up, your heart in your throat. You heard Marcus shout "HEY," in a deep, intimidating voice that you barely recognized as being his. "DROP IT."

Marcus yelling was terrifying. He wasn't a yeller, in general. His voice got quieter when he was upset, and he was frustratingly even-keel, so even those moments were few and far between.

You listened to the horrifying thumps and crashes that followed. You heard a few sharp exclamations from Marcus, and some grunts from another, unfamiliar voice.

See the full post

496 notes - Posted March 1, 2022

All the Time in the World

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Rating: E (SMUT, 18+ only)

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: body insecurities, internalized shame around sex and orgasms, use of vibrators, oral sex, fingering, PIV sex (unprotected, but let’s pretend they had that talk “offscreen” because they’ve been together for 2 months), Marcus Pike being the Absolute Fucking Most(™)

Summary: You’ve never been able to climax without the aid of a vibrator. Due to your insecurities and internalized shame, you rarely involve any toys during sex with a partner, and have been “faking it” for years. You and your new boyfriend, Marcus Pike, have been taking your relationship very slowly–building up a beautiful connection without ever having seen each others’ bedrooms. Two months in, neither of you can wait any longer. How will Marcus react when he discovers the thing you consider to be your deepest, darkest secret?

A/N: I know I said that this was on the back-burner until my OTHER Marcus stuff was completed, but then I got such lovely (and heartbreaking) responses to a snippet of this WIP that I picked it up again and couldn’t. stop. writing. This fic wouldn’t exist without @ezrasbirdie ‘s Going Slow, which is the only other fic I’ve read out there that deals with sexual dysfunction, and I can’t post this without acknowledging that her fic really paved the way and made me want to write about MY experiences, however personal, vulnerable, or “unsexy” they might be. It’s really fun to read (and write) about people with clitorises who can have multiple orgasms in one session, by intercourse alone, or by their partner just touching their clit, like, one time. This is not always the case in real life, a fact that is not well-represented in fic despite being very common. I think we should acknowledge that sex and pleasure can and do look different for everyone and can still be fun and sexy to read about. This is the fic I always wanted to write with Marcus Pike. I mentioned in the tags when I posted a snippet of this fic that the reason I write sooooo many Marcus fics is because I’ve kind of made this man an outlet for my trauma around this exact subject. When you’re too insecure or ashamed to prioritize your pleasure, sex can be fraught, even painful. If you’re reading this fic and think, “Hey, that’s me!” please know that you are NOT alone, it’s TOTALLY normal, and you deserve a partner who encourages and prioritizes your pleasure.

Additional thank you's to @leslie-lyman for reading this over and being so lovely and encouraging in the DMs, and to @katareyoudrilling for letting me bare my heart and soul to a stranger on the internet, as one does. I love you both.

Main Masterlist

"Do you wanna come up?"

Those words are always laced with meaning, but with your new relationship, they seem even more significant.

It was no secret that your new boyfriend, Marcus Pike, has had a rough go of things before you started dating. And really, so have you–hence why both of you insisted on taking this fledgling relationship very slowly. It has been two months–two incredible, happy months–since your first date, and the two of you have developed a beautiful connection over dinners, walks, movies, lunch dates, even baseball games, without ever having seen each others’ bedrooms.

You know that you’re falling for him. How can you not? Marcus is considerate and kind, with a secret goofy side that you know he usually tries to hide. It seems as if his arms are meant for cuddling, and he’s generous with his affection, even though the two of you had agreed to keep things chaste until both of you are ready. He doesn’t shy away from difficult conversations, and he’s been forthright about his past hangups and flaws. It’s refreshing, and the fact that he’s so damn earnest makes you want him even more.

The minute those five little words escape your lips, Marcus’s gaze turns to full-blown lust. It’s been really important, really meaningful, to wait–but both of you are at the peak of sexual frustration, and you both know it.

It doesn’t help that Marcus is absolutely gorgeous, with those deep eyes, artfully mussed hair, broad chest and deliciously soft tummy. You and your vibrator have become very close over the last two months, when you would come home after yet another wonderful date staring at his full lips and feeling his large hand at the small of your back, or holding yours as you walked.

One of those hands comes up now to brush the backs of his fingers across your cheek. “Are you sure?” he asks quietly.

“Absolutely,” you answer breathlessly, the word more air than speech.

Marcus leans in close, a small smile on his face as he stops just short of your lips. “Lead the way, then,” he murmurs. You push down a pang of anxiety. You like him so much, want this night to be perfect, but you know better than to assume your body will cooperate. You wonder if he’ll mind if you… if you don’t…

Marcus’s hands travel as you ride the elevator up to your floor–the touches growing bolder, more blatantly sexual than they’d ever been before. He pulls your back flush to his front as the floors tick up, kissing a gentle path down the side of your neck as his fingers scrape over your hipbones and down, his hand resting just above your mound like a promise.

You waste no time when you finally open the door to your apartment–kicking it closed and then grabbing Marcus’s face and pulling it towards yours for a desperate, longing kiss. He makes a surprised little sound and returns your passion in kind, crushing you to him with an intensity you’d never felt from the man.

“C’mere,” you mumble hastily when you come up for air, and you pull him along until you’re stepping into your bedroom. The rush to take each others’ clothes off is more than a little frantic–both of you practically ravenous after so much time spent longing for one another. Shirts and pants are discarded haphazardly in your rush to feel skin against skin. You move to the bed in a tumble of bodies. Marcus is loud–groaning in your ear as he palms your ass and grinds his hips against you.

“Wanted–fuck–wanted this for so long, baby,” he says into your neck. “Been… been wanting to feel your skin against mine, be able to touch you…” he trails off as he starts to move down your body, kissing and nipping with enthusiasm.

“Better than I ever imagined,” Marcus murmured, as he brushes his lips softly–the barest of touches–against your clit, making you whimper softly.

He starts out so gently, licking you as if he’s simply exploring the area–unhurried, leisurely, patiently. As if he’s doing it just for the enjoyment of it, for the feel of your soft skin against his tongue. Every so often, his eyes flick up to meet yours, gauging your reaction as he eats you out.

It feels amazing, of course, but you feel that little tinge of anxiety starting to grow, knowing that even with his obvious enthusiasm and dedication, it probably isn’t going to be enough for you to come.

You and your stupid body.

You aren’t sure how much time he’s been down there already, but you know it’s probably conspicuously long. Suspiciously long. It doesn’t help that you’re starting to freak out a little, stressing out over the time–wondering if you should… should you stop him? Would that insult him? Most guys would have given up by now, and the fact that he hasn’t–fuck. The last thing you want to do is hurt his feelings. You like him so fucking much. You don’t want to ruin it.

Marcus, who is obviously unaware of your inner struggle as he flicks his tongue over your clit and gently thrusts one finger into your soaking cunt, says “Gonna come for me, honey?”

And you know he doesn’t mean to telegraph impatience–he probably meant it to be encouraging, but after he asks the question, you feel the pleasure that he had built up retreating quickly as you stare down at him with an anxious, apologetic expression.

“It’s, um… it’s not–I usually… I-I usually need a vibrator, it’s not you, it’s–” you babble.

See the full post

581 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Of All the Gin Joints...

Rating: E (SMUT, 18+ only)

Word Count: ~7k

Warnings: Oral sex, fingering, PIV sex, rough-ish sex, good aftercare (Marcus ‘King of Aftercare’ Pike y’all), one (1) spank, lil bit of a praise kink for Marcus, soft dom!Marcus AS ALWAYS lmaoo

Summary: You and Marcus are both trying to re-enter the dating scene after bad relationships, and you’ve been set up on a blind date. You really hit it off, but after a few dates, it seems like Marcus is being really distant. Before you can ask him about it, you run into someone from Marcus’s past…

A/N: This is from a prompt from @imtryingmybeskar for my 400 follower celebration! My dear, I hope you like it! It's certainly long-winded. They asked:

Could I have a Marcus story where he is with reader, perhaps they're on their first few dates. He hasn't told her about his past yet because he's trying to play it cool but then somehow Theresa and Patrick are at the same bar/restaurant as you and...well I don't know. Does it turn into an awkward double date from hell? Does it make reader realise how much she likes him? Does it all go horribly wrong? Or something else?

“I’m not interested.”

“Oh, come on, Pike, you’ve gotta get back out there sometime,” says Agent Miller around a large bite of salad.

“I don’t think going on a blind date is a good way to re-enter the dating scene,” Marcus argues, poking at his own lunch. “I need to build my confidence back, not get it torn down,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh.

“How else would you go about it?”

Marcus raises one eyebrow. “Well, I like to start with talking to the person first, finding common interests, letting it develop organically, that kind of thing,” he grumbles sarcastically.

“That’s not exactly how dating works in the age of Tinder,” replies the other Agent.

“I don’t care how Tinder works,” Marcus says emphatically. “I’m a traditional kind of guy, and I don’t plan on changing that.”

“Oh, that’s a good strategy,” responds Miller. “Who knows, maybe this time it’ll work out for you.”

Marcus glares at him. “Are you going to keep insulting me for the entire lunch hour, or are you going to take a break to eat?”

“Just listen to me on this one. She works at the Smithsonian, she’s an Archaeologist or something. You have a lot in common–she just got out of a relationship and is trying to get back out there, same as you. All you have to do is have dinner the once, and if it doesn’t work, you just walk away. Simple as that.” Agent Miller takes another huge bite of lettuce, and Marcus looks down at his own plate in thought.

“If you’re wrong about this, you’re not allowed to try and give me dating advice ever again,” Marcus declares.

“That’sh th’spirit!” Miller answers, before swallowing. “You’ll like her. Trust me.”

Marcus isn’t sure if he’s disappointed that the coworker he considers to be more of a ‘frenemy’ than a friend turns out to be correct in his judgment, or just happy that, yes, the woman he had been set up with is beautiful, smart, talented, funny, and all-around perfect for him.

She appears just as nervous as Marcus feels when she walks up to him at the bar in the restaurant she had chosen for them to meet. The booth where they end up being seated is too cozy, the already-flickering candle on the table casting a romantic glow that seems wildly inappropriate for the occasion, and Marcus spends far too long debating whether or not to blow it out as he pretends to peruse the menu. It's too much. Is he being too much already?

Marcus eventually decides that extinguishing the flame would be more conspicuous than leaving it be, when the waiter comes back for their orders. He chooses an entrée at random–having been too preoccupied with the candle dilemma to actually read the words on the page–and when he finally really looks at her for the first time, he realizes he can see all of his anxieties reflected back at him in her eyes. He feels himself start to relax, just a little.

She tells him she works for the National Museum of the American Indian, then immediately launches into a little mini-rant about her area of study–pre-contact Mississippian civilization in the Midwest–which Marcus finds both relatable and endearing. She tries to apologize for veering into a debate about ancient pottery firing methods, but Marcus only smiles kindly and asks her more targeted questions about her research.

She stares at him, stunned, and tells him that no one else has ever listened without their eyes glazing over, let alone asked her to elaborate.

That's when Marcus decides he is absolutely going to kiss her goodnight.

And he does–eventually, after a walk through the National Mall (where she excitedly tells him all the details of her “favorite” mound at Cahokia, the archaeological site she goes to every summer to excavate during field season). Her energy is addicting, and there are so many little ways their disciplines overlap–mainly when it comes to the looting and illegal selling of antiquities, which they talk about at length.

When she launches into a tirade about Hobby Lobby, Marcus can't help but laugh and thread his fingers through hers as they continue their walk.

When the two of them arrive at her modest little townhome, she bites her lip shyly and asks, in the smallest voice Marcus has heard from her all night, if he’d maybe like to do this again sometime.

Marcus finally allows himself to step in close and he brings his hand up to gently caress her cheek as he assures her that yes, he would like to see her again, and soon.

And then, giving her plenty of time to anticipate the move, he slowly closes the distance between them, bringing his lips to hers in an achingly tender kiss.

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641 notes - Posted February 9, 2022

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