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rindreamery · 7 months ago

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out of breath, got me going like...

some of the attractive things that the blue lock men do. featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku, yukimiya kenyu ─ content: fluff, suggestive

note. yukki debut on my acc ??? do we fw the casual, less poetic writing cuz there was really no way to make this poetic 👩‍🦯 just astronomically down bad writing all around

itoshi rin sends you gym pics without you having to ask.

it initially took a lot of convincing, at first, to get rin to send you a picture. in his eyes, it was embarrassing— the idea of pulling his phone out mid-workout, taking a picture, sending it to you, and then going back to whatever he was doing. his mind would drift off to the weird stares he would probably get from others, and the fact that he also wasn’t exactly known for knowing how to pose to begin with. as much as he loved making you happy, there were just some things he was not willing to do.

it took a lot of begging, and for the first few months, the answer was always, “no.”

the first picture came unexpectedly. your phone was thrown off to the side of the bed, not really anticipating any texts from rin for the next hour or so, given the fact that he was at the gym. so you were surprised when you heard a familiar tune come from your phone— one specifically assigned to his contact. you had no idea why he would be texting you.

you’re absolutely floored at what you see; jaw left hanging and eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, almost dropping the phone.

it's a gym picture. he's doing a normal pose, nothing too special. he’s standing in front of the mirror, one hand shoved into the pocket of his shorts, and the other holding onto his phone. his face was partly covered by his phone, but you could see the blush spread across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. but it wasn’t that that got your attention— no, it was something entirely different.

he was wearing a sleeveless compression shirt, giving you a full view of his arms. they were glistening in sweat and perfectly toned. the arm that was propping his phone up was slightly flexed, from the position it was in, adding to the bulk and definition in his biceps. and you could see the veins traveling up the arm of his hand, the one that was shoved into his pocket, crawling up from the back of his hand to his forearm. the bright overhead lighting, with a combination of the dim background lighting, served to emphasize every line and crevice of his exposed skin.

“this what you wanted?” came a message right after, “i know you’re reading this right now, respond.” you felt weak. he definitely researched how to do this.

words couldn't describe how you felt. so, your immediate response was to send him a flurry of incoherent texts; a mixture of randomly pressed keys and crying emojis. but that’s what feeds his ego— your reactions are what makes smile smugly to himself, covering his lips with his hands as he reads your texts over. he starts to send you gym pictures more consistently after that, patiently waiting for your response after each one. at this point, it’s become a part of his gym routine.

itoshi sae drapes his arm over the back of your seat while reversing.

driving with sae was a true test of control— specifically, yours. it had become increasingly hard to focus whenever he was driving, with every little motion of his body seeming to pull your attention away from the road. he was just so distracting, to the point that you had started offering to drive instead. yet to no avail, because he always insisted on being the driver, furthering your silent suffering in the passenger's seat. but, there was nothing more testing than whenever he was reversing the car.

it’s an internal battle; it takes everything in you not to ogle him so openly. and somehow, you’re losing a battle to yourself.

it’s as if your eyes instantly become magnetized to sae— the way he moves when he rests his arm so casually, yet so securely, on the back of your headrest’s frame. and it doesn’t help that this position gives such a perfect view of him. the way the muscles in his arm ripple and flex ever so slightly, but visibly, under his loose dress shirt. the way his folded sleeves ride up every time, and the exposed part of his forearm constantly taunts you to take a peek. you hate that you suddenly become hyperaware of everything he does in that moment. especially his fingers, and the way they tickle the back of your neck, almost touching you but not quite there.

you have to hold back the subtle shudder that sweeps over your body.

it feels like he’s taking up so much space, demanding you to notice him. the way the scent of his cologne wafts over to you, the bergamot and sandalwood notes of it slowly overwhelming your senses. the faint shift in his posture, emphasizing the subtle stretch of his neck, giving you a view of his collarbones and necklace. and the way his lips curve ever so slightly when he speaks, his voice in a low tone, with his eyes flitting over to you momentarily before they’re back on the road.

it has to be intentional, he has to be aware of what he’s doing. “you’re doing this on purpose,” you mutter under your breath, willing yourself to turn away and look out the window.

“doing what on purpose?” he asks, but the mirth in his tone is evident— you can practically hear the tiny smirk that’s splayed on his lips. you’ve concluded that he’s sick in the head, that he’s playing with you right in your face. “i’m just making sure we don’t get into a crash, you baby.” and you willingly fall for it, every time.

nagi seishiro becomes clingy when it's just the two of you.

laying in your lap, while you’re absorbed in your own hobby, is one of nagi’s favorite pastimes. it keeps him close to you, but allows you both to do your own thing. sometimes, he’d take a nap while you work, one hand loosely holding onto yours in his sleep. other times, he’d play video games on his phone, making sure his volume is turned all the way down to not distract you. but most of the time, he likes to just lay there and admire you, with a barely noticeable smile on his lips.

but he becomes somewhat miffed whenever your hair falls in front of your face, blocking his (initially) flawless view of you. and it annoys him more whenever you don’t push it out of the way.

so, he decided to take it upon himself to move it for you, arm lazily stretched up to reach for you. you barely noticed it at first, so absorbed in the book that you were reading. the sensation of his fingers ghosting over your cheeks doesn’t register in your mind, and his touch is barely there. and then you feel it. his fingers are in your hair, gathering the strands on the back of his hand before he’s brushing it out of the way. it’s so gentle, the way he locks your hair behind your ear, and the way his hand lingers a little longer on your skin after. his fingers then travel from your ear to your jawline, finger lightly tracing the side of your jaw, and it makes you curl in on yourself at the feeling. (it tickles, but also oddly comforting.) and then, he’s pulling his arm back down to reach for your wrist instead, fingers wrapping around it.

your skin is tingling, and the surface of your skin feels warm— taken aback by the sudden act of affection. you glance down at him with a curious look, only to see that he’s already staring attentively at you, and you feel his hold on you tighten. “you know,” you begin, “you could’ve just asked me to do it for you.”

"you always get so lost in whatever you're doing," he mumbles slowly, his voice sounding almost whiney at the fact. his hand, the one firmly holding onto your wrist, is traveling up until it’s wiggling the book out of your hand. (you don’t miss the small furrow of his brows when you jokingly grip onto the book, before giving in and letting it fall to the side.) he takes this chance to intertwine your fingers, his larger hands completely enveloping yours. "i don't mind it, but i hate when i can’t see you."

michael kaiser holds intense eye contact with you when you're talking.

at times, you found it hard to talk to kaiser. he's constantly exuding such an intense confidence, one that's often present in his gaze, that you could never truly hold face-to-face conversations with him. you're always shying away from it, crumbling under the intensity, and he finds twisted pleasure in how flustered it makes you. the way the words always die on the tip of your tongue whenever your eyes meet, when you see that his focus is locked on you

it makes you look away, because it's the only thing you can do to escape it. but kaiser doesn't like it when you're looking away from him— he wants your attention. he wants to see you when you talk excitedly about your day.

he’ll get that attention however way he can. from where you're seated on the couch gives him quick access to you. you can feel his tattooed hand crawling up the skin of your thighs, sliding up slowly, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he goes. he stops short of the hem of your shorts, planting his hand firmly on the spot. he gives it a firm squeeze, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs— trying to get you to cave into him. “why won’t you look at me when you talk?” he’s leaning into you, invading your personal space despite the spacious couch. you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear with each word, “mein liebling, i want to see you when you talk. look at me.”

“you can listen to me talk without needing me to look at you,” you swallow, and his grip tightens ever so slightly at your words.

you're shifting awkwardly, trying to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster at the proximity, at the fact that his voice has started to sound almost pleading. almost— because he would never admit to something as desperate as pleading. it’s hard to focus when he’s this close, when he’s right there. his fingers remain on your thigh, tracing deliberate lines over your skin, and despite the way you're trying to resist, you can feel your resolve crumbling.

it’s not every day that you see someone like kaiser be on the precipice of begging for your attention.

“i promise, i’ll stop teasing you. look—” his other hand is hooking under your chin, coaxing you to look at him. and you do— his eyes, once intense and teasing, now holds a softer and almost guilty looking gaze. “keep talking, yeah?”

oliver aiku likes to loosen his necktie with one hand after a formal event.

neckties are the worst, an opinion oliver will stand by ‘til the end of time. he absolutely despises having to put one on for formal events, and he’ll do his best to charm his way out of having to wear one. it never works, so the second he puts it on, he’s already thinking of the moment he gets to pull it off of himself. he doesn’t think much of it when he does it— one finger looping in the space between his neck and necktie, and he’s pulling at it without care.

but recently, he’s started to notice how intently you’d been staring each time he did it.

oliver’s got a keen-eye; not even the smallest thing can get past him. he drinks in the sight of you when he does it, eyes fixed on you, and taking joy in the fact that you don’t even seem to notice. you’re too busy being fixated on his hand, and the way the vein on his hand becomes prominent when he flexes it to pull, or the way his fingers seem to play around with the fabric. your eyes are so sharp, but somehow so unfocused, all at the same time. he loves how it gets you worked up.

it’s entertaining, so he takes it up a notch.

he drags his fingers, slowly, down to the first button of his shirt. and then he’s unbuttoning it with one hand, putting in extra effort in exposing his collarbones. he can’t fight the grin that makes its way to his lips, at your reaction— your eyes are widening, and he can visibly see you gulp at the sight. and then your eyes are shooting up to meet his, and his grin becomes impossibly wider.

“like what you see?” the teasing and flirtatious lilt in his voice is unmistakable, and you can’t help but draw your eyes back down to where his hand is twirling the tie around his fingers. he makes you tick, but he’s also so attractive, and you hate that he can easily make you blush with his words.

“you wish.” you choose to look away with a scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s gonna take more than that.” that makes him oddly excited, brows raising in mild surprise, and you honestly should’ve known better. it’s like you’re offering up a new challenge to him, and he gladly accepts.

oliver still hates neckties; that’s an opinion that will never change. he still looks forward to the second he gets to pull it off. except now, he gets to play a little game with you while he does it.

yukimiya kenyu keeps a hand on your back at all times, in public.

it’s a habit formed purely from the fact that the streets of shibuya have the tendency to become really crowded, and yukimiya hates it when you get separated from him in such a crowd. he likes it when you’re right by his side— he can keep a close eye on you at all times and protect you from getting pushed around. and originally, it started off with holding your hands. it was fine during the colder seasons, providing the two of you with extra warmth. but you had both quickly realized that it could become quite uncomfortable during summer, making your hands all sweaty and sticky.

so he experimented. he let his arm drop from your shoulders to the small of your back, his palm hovering over your skin, initially unsure of how you would react.

“is this okay?” he would lean down to whisper in your ear, and his voice was so gentle and so concerned about you. even when he was the one getting shoved around by the crowd, with people constantly running into the sides of his shoulders, he was still only thinking about you. you and your comfort. “tell me if this is uncomfortable, and i’ll figure something else out. okay?”

it made you shiver— you felt a heat crawl up your spine, and your stomach was immediately fluttering with butterflies.

you nod, “no, this is okay.” more than okay, actually, but you keep that to yourself. “thank you for asking.” he flashes you one of his pretty smiles, and he leans up to look straight ahead in the crowd again. but this time, his touch is more present— his palm is now firmly planted onto your skin, and he’s actively weaving you through the crowded streets.

whenever someone would get too close to you, or if he anticipates that someone is about to crash into you, his hand would travel to the side of your waist. and yukimiya grips on it, pulling your body flush against his side, effectively pulling you out of the way. “sorry,” he’ll whisper an apology, not having intended to hold you so tightly. his hands will go right back to where they initially were, not without trailing his fingers on the way back, leaving sparks tingling across your skin where he touched. “did i hurt you?”

“no, i’m fine,” you can keep your hand there, you almost tell him. it drives you insane that everything he does is unintentional— but maybe, one day, you'll be able to tell him exactly what you’re thinking.

tags. @choccorin @mininji

#blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro x reader #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #yukimiya kenyu #yukimiya kenyu x reader

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mostly-imagines · 8 months ago

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Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

warnings: heavily implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), smut, oral fem!receiving, nervous but enthusiastically consenting reader

You’d tried to calm your nerves but they couldn’t be helped.

You’re anxious about everything, all of it. What he wants you to do, what he’s expecting you do, whether it’ll hurt, whether you’re ready.

You think you trust Bruce, but you also know that these things are different for men and women. You don’t necessarily expect that he’ll have a mind for what you’ll need, but honestly, neither do you. You don’t know what to do to make this easier for yourself—you don’t know what to do at all.

You bought the lingerie, you’ve got it on under your clothes and it feels like a costume. You can’t tell if that aids or worsens the anxiety.

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and you wish you could quit it, you’re radiating enough nervous energy as it is, you don’t need to be sending him visual cues on top of it.

Bruce holds your free hand in his as he guides you through the manor, you think it’s a different section than you’ve seen before. His hand engulfs yours unfairly as he leads, but the touch of his skin is so warm and inviting that you can’t tell if your hand is still shaking under it. If it is, he pretends not to notice.

He guides you up the stairs and into a corridor and then another before you arrive at a set of double doors. You’ve never seen double doors on the inside of a house before.

He lets you in ahead of him, and you have a distinct thought that you’re glad he can’t see the look of awe on your face as you walk in. His bedroom has an entire living room inside of it, and altogether it’s bigger than your whole apartment. A maroon couch and matching chairs surround a grand fireplace at the front of the room and the resulting glow from the active embers has the area shrouded in a warm light ahead of the shadows filling the rest.

You glance past the seating at his bed; large and proud. It’s definitely bigger than a king sized, with an overhead canopy and streams of dark burgundy curtains draping down from the corners. There’s another set of closed double doors past the bed, you imagine leading to the bathroom.

The end of the room displays a large window seat that looks like it’s never been used, and vast tinted windows. You look up to find the ceiling higher than you’ve ever seen in a bedroom with a very expensive chandelier hanging over it all.

He takes your arm, steering you out of your wonderment and leads you towards the couch rather than the bed, gesturing for you to sit down with him. You do, quietly glad when he positions himself so that you’re close to each other but not pressed right up against you. He’s able to relax his body more than you’re able to fake it on yourself, and you think your thoughts must be vibrating out of you by now.

One hand comes to rest on your thigh as his other nudges your cheek towards him. “Hey, nothing’s happening right now. No need to be nervous.”

You nod blankly, but your thoughts are running wild with everything that you very much are nervous about.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb.

“You’ve got to relax,” he coos, “Remember what I said?”

You take a breath, “You’re not going to throw me in the deep end.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Just wanna make you feel good, right?”

You nod, easing your posture.

He looks you in the eye, “You gonna let me?”

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

You quickly find that the distance is not at all what you want, and you decide to push forward—as forward as you can—sitting up again to peel your jacket off. He watches you move with a look in his eyes, you take it for intrigue but it may just as well be something akin to pride. Pride in you? He’s openly flirted, kissed you, and straight up propositioned you for sex—but sure, he’s proud of you for taking your jacket off.

Your nerves transition into insecurity before you can catch them, and you’re starting to feel a little stupid, like a child playing pretend.

You watch tentatively as he tilts his head at you, running his own assessments of your actions.

“Will you come sit on my lap?” he asks you after a moment.

You suddenly become acutely aware of the amount of air in your lungs. This feels like a big request and you’re not even sure how to take his meaning. Does he want you to sit sideways? Your back to his front? Or fully straddle him?

He wants whatever you want, he’d said. What do you want?

You glance down at his thighs, covered by fabric more expensive than you can imagine. Positive confirmation rings through your head immediately, willing you to push yourself forward a little more.

You reposition yourself over him, straddling his lap in spite of your nerves.

Again, he looks pleased. Happy even. One of his hands comes to stroke soothing patterns across your lower back, the other resting on your waist.

He makes sure to catch your gaze, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop.”

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

He places a tender kiss on your cheekbone, “How did shopping go?”

“Um, good. It was good. One of the sales girls helped me,” your breath is shaky as he kisses your jawline.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I, uh, I just went to this little boutique up on third street,” he places another kiss on the column of your throat as you talk. “Um, it took longer than I thought it would. There were so many choices.”

His hands come up to soothe over your ribs, pulling you a little closer as they do. He hums for you to keep talking, his kisses continuing to lower until they’re down to your collarbone, though they remain relatively chaste.

“I—I didn’t really know what to look for,” you admit, breath shaky as you exhale.

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

He hums, smiling against your skin. His fingers inch under the seam of your shirt, caressing your waist. “Can I take this off?”

You nod timidly, trying not to seem so on edge with anticipation. You’re not confident that he can’t see right through you.

He presses another chaste kiss to your neck upon receival of the permission, and your shirt begins to come off slowly, his hands skimming every new bit of skin revealed. As he pulls it over your head, he glances down at the baby pink bralette you’d picked out for yourself.

He groans quietly as he takes in the sight, “Oh, pretty girl. Beautiful girl,” He noses at your chest, leaving little kisses where his lips make contact with your skin, “Look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your stomach flutters as his hair tickles your cheek. His hands roam up your sides, stopping to stroke placid circles along the sides of your breasts.

His touch makes its way around your back, expertly undoing your bra clasp without a second thought. Your bra hangs forward a bit off your shoulders, but he leaves the work of entirely removing it to you. And you do, with more confidence than you’d imagined yourself mustering.

He immediately shows his appreciation, kissing and caressing your chest with lover-like admiration. Your head falls back involuntarily as he noses at your soft skin.

He’s breathing heavy when he pulls back, humming low and deep before lifting you up off his lap to stand. The sudden shift has you a bit thrown off, working to catch up as he kneels down in front of you and repeats his earlier process with your skirt—kissing your thighs and tugging the fabric down bit by bit.

When it’s discarded on the floor you stand only left in your underwear, the lace practically illuminated against your skin.

He looks up at you from his place on the floor and smiles as he takes in the sight of your body. His hands find your hips as he asks you, “Has anyone ever seen you like this before?”

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

His smile grows, “No, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s nodding, “Yeah, I know.”

As he rises to stand he scoops you up by the back of your thighs and lifts you in the air with no discernable effort. Now at face level with him, you get a bit bolder and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back, pleased, beginning to walk the two of you over towards the bed.

He sets you down gently atop the soft mattress, kisses pushing you backwards to lie back on the bed. He scoops your wrists up and leisurely moves your arms up above your head. His grip is benign as he releases one hand in favor of holding your jaw. Your kiss is deep and controlled on his part, but in a way that makes you feel light in the head. You like the cloudy-sensation very much.

After a while, he pulls back to look at you with clouded eyes.

He practically purrs, “You’re such a kind girl. So sweet to everyone, all the time. Will you let me be sweet to you?”

Your breath is shaky as you nod, attempts at hiding your anticipation failing.

He nods back at you with a faux-sympathy across his face. “Let me hear you say it.”

You force air into your lungs, giving you the willpower to speak the words. “Will you touch me? Please?”

The corners of his lips turn up, “Of course, sweet girl.”

He nips at your jaw as his hands travel down, petting the inside of your thighs with a touch so feather light it almost tickles.

Your knee jerks inward towards his hand, your body desperately seeking out more of this new sensation. He obliges, tracing his touch back up, up, up until his hand dips under the lace trim of your panties, skimming over your clit. Your hips flinch back away from him momentarily in surprise, only to press back forward a second later.

He actually laughs at the action, like it’s endearing. You feel a little silly for it, but you’re not given much time to dwell as he persists, brushing against you with a bit more pressure.

He tilts his head, watching your expression carefully with a remarkably pleased look on his own face. “How’s that, sweet girl?”

You nod, beside yourself. “Feels good,” you whimper. “Feels really good..”

You don’t necessarily mean to, but your hips grind up against his touch, your body too mesmerized with the sensation to remember to be embarrassed.

He’s certainly not complaining about it though, his quiet coos encouraging you to chase the feeling.

He lets you grind up against his hand, taking in the needy look on your face with contentment.

“Poor girl,” he tuts. “Just need somebody to take care of you, huh?”

That makes your cheeks burn, but your attention finds itself more concerned with the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

You whine when he pulls his hand back out of your underwear, only for him to stand resolute in his actions.

“Not yet, sweet thing,” he hums, pressing you back down to the bed with a light but firm touch when you try to sit up.

He hushes you gently, murmuring for you to be patient as he shifts his position over you.

He starts to move down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. The sensation of his lips tracing down your stomach has you feeling butterflies.

By the time he reaches your waistline you’re borderline dizzy from the anticipation, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache.

He pauses there for a moment, torturously, and noses at the seam of your panties. A whine from you has him chuckling and finally moving to where you need him.

He kisses your clit over your underwear and you’re fighting thoughts of embarrassment over how sure you are he can taste how wet you are over the fabric.

It doesn’t seem to be enough for him though, as he tugs your panties down slowly, kissing your thighs as he goes.

Bruce’s hands hold onto your waist as he eats you out, holding you in place with an easy grip.

You squirm against the feel of his tongue and you can’t quite figure out what to do with your hands. You almost wish he’d made you keep them above your head but really you’re not sure you’d be able to keep it together if he had. You’re not sure you’re keeping it together now.

He groans against your pussy, and one of your hands flies to grip his hair without permission from your brain. If you’re being honest with yourself though, your brain isn’t really the one calling the shots anymore.

You gasp when he licks a bold stripe, “Bruce—”

He groans again, briefly breaking away from you. “Oh, say that again.”

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.”

He makes a pleased hum. “Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in.

He complies with your pleas generously, giving you more. He’s gradual but resolute as he inserts two fingers into you, giving you the time to adjust. But he’d evidently done a very thorough job prepping you for it, you’re so wet that the initial entry doesn’t sting like you’d expected. No, rather the first thing you register is closer to pleasure. A lot closer.

He begins to pump in and out of you at he continues to suck at your clit, and somewhere during you have a distinct thought of “oh this is it.”

You let out a little gasp and for once, you break out of your own head and just relish in the way his fingers curl inside you.

The way your thighs squeeze around him as you come, doesn’t hinder him one bit, only has him applying his ministrations with more intent. It doesn’t take long for the trembling of your body to give way to full on shaking, your body stuttering beneath him.

He continues working at you the entire way through your orgasm, until you’re flinching from overstimulation.

He gives you one more lick before looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Y’taste sweet too, you know that?”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he starts to move back up to face-level, kissing the high point of your cheekbone.

He pulls down on your bottom lip, your slick wet against your mouth.

You open without question, a clouding urge to please him the only thing running through your mind.

He grumbles a low, pleased sound as you do, moving his hand only to provide room for him to kiss you again.

He sits back up over you and starts unbuttoning his shirt and you realize only now that he’s still fully dressed.

He glances down to his belt as he undoes the buttons.

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

You blink a couple times before registering the request, still overwhelmed by how quickly and skillfully he’d made you come.

You struggle a bit to push yourself up into a sitting position, but he supports you by your waist, nipping along your jaw as encouragement.

Your hands shake as you undo the clasp, and while you’re still very much eager, if not moreso, you’re suddenly confronted with the very real possibility that you’re about to have your limits pushed. He ate you out and did a damn good job, stands to reason that he’d want you to return the favor.

So it takes you by surprise when he’s nudging you back against the pillows, removing his pants himself.

He keeps you occupied with an intense kiss as he does, and the distraction so smooth it’s almost like it’s rehearsed.

You follow his lead easily, though surprised by his lack of desire to get his fill too.

He drapes himself over you nicely, his size easily dwarfing you out. He’s quick to block your chin from tilting down, gently bringing your face back up to meet his.

He shakes his head lightly, murmuring, “Don’t worry about that. I got you.”

You are worried about it, but you trust Bruce, you know you do now.

You feel the weight of his cock against your stomach, at this exact moment, feeling like not much more than a daunting task.

“S’alright, sweet girl,” he lulls, brushing your hair back. “Okay?”

As heavy as the simple question is, you don’t need to think about it before you’re nodding and moving your hand to hold onto his bicep.

He peppers kisses all over your face as he starts to push in, effectively starting to distract you from the pain of the stretch. He hushes your whines soothingly and kneads at your waist with confident hands.

Your arms lock around his shoulders on instinct, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to convince yourself he’s almost all the way in, but you know you’ve got aways to go.

He pauses halfway, imploring you to open your eyes so he can check up on you properly.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he softly urges.

You will yourself to blink up at him and try to take on the challenge of both him and his gaze. Surely, an impossible task.

But you manage shaky eye contact that occasionally gives way to glancing down at his lips.

It doesn’t feel good yet, but it only makes you more eager to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a breath. “You can keep going.”

He waits to find that reassurance in your eyes before he continues to push in, bestowing you a deep kiss in reward for your bravery.

Once he’s nearly bottomed out he waits a moment, then begins to rock in and out slowly, letting you get used to a starter of the sensation.

He brushes your hair back, weaving through the strands. “There we go,” he coos as you look down between you. “Doing so good.”

Your gasp is louder than they had been before, and closer to a sigh now.

He’s fucking you gently, with a decorum that exceeds what you’d earlier told yourself you were stupid for hoping for.

It doesn’t take long at all for his movement to start to feel really good and your grip around his shoulders comes around to a different kind of intensity.

He noses against your jaw, applying kisses whenever convenient. “‘S that feel good, sweet girl? Hm?”

He hits a particularly deep spot in you immediately after and it makes you borderline squeak. He huffs out a laugh that’s nothing short of affectionate.

“Yeah?”

He then attacks that spot with extra intention, hitting it absolutely expertly every time. He speeds up a little, lips latched onto your neck as he fucks you nice and deep.

He drops a hand down between you and starts rubbing circles onto your clit with a pace that makes you want to scream.

You can’t help the moan you release when he teeths at your neck, clearly aiming to drive you crazy. But damn if he isn’t going about it the right way.

His circles pick up pace and you can be sure you’re leaving nail marks on his back. He seems to only get more encouraged by your sounds, working you closer and closer to the edge with every whimper.

He finally lets you over after a minute of shamelessly relishing in your moans, himself following close after.

He continues moving in and out of you until you’ve both completely finished, slowly coming to a stop.

You get a moment to catch your breath before he pulls out delicately. You don’t even realize he’s moved before he’s got his boxers back on and is halfway to the bathroom.

You’re a little alarmed by the sudden shift in proximity, though you guess that’s the playboy experience, isn’t it? After a second you hear water running and assume he’s taking a shower.

You push yourself to sit up fully, minding your achy thighs, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You glance at the foot of the bed where your underwear lies, then back over by the couch where the rest of your clothes lay discarded. You briefly contemplate how quickly you can get your clothes back on when the bathroom doors open again.

You glance up at Bruce, dazed, who looks surprised himself to see you sitting up. As he makes his way back to the bed you notice the supplies he has in tow and your brain begins to slowly start turning its gears again.

You don’t realize the glass of water in his hand is for you until he’s pushed it into your palm.

His other hand carries a wet wash cloth that you, again, aren’t able to register the purpose for until it’s in action.

“Drink,” he tells you as he spreads your knees apart gently, wiping away the mess between your legs with a notable amount of compassion for your sensitivity.

You do, gulping a few as he finishes, tossing the rag in a hamper before setting your glass down on the side table.

Your eyes return to the end of the bed and you nearly decide to get up, but he’s still standing so close to you, you’re not sure this is the right time.

You seem caught halfway between decisions now, you know you do. You’d honestly preferred when you thought he’d just ditched you for a shower because at least then this part wouldn’t be so awkward.

He watches you closely as you deliberate and seems to draw a conclusion about your hesitation rather quickly. His brow pinches as he processes, tilting his head at you.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, bewildered. “Right?”

“I—” you falter, looking to the couch and back to him again. “No?”

He stares at you for a moment with an expression you can’t define.

“Lay down.”

You don’t have a second to process before he’s climbing back in bed too, pulling you down to lay your head on the pillow.

He pulls the covers over you and splays an arm over your waist, clearly firm in his decision for you to stay.

Your eyes are heavy and his bed is so comfortable, it’s difficult for you to even consider either of you wanting you to leave now.

Maybe you’ll just sleep for a little while, get some of your energy back.

The way he traces soft patterns across your stomach certainly encourages the idea and doesn’t give you much power to resist.

You let your eyes flutter shut to the feather-light touch and listen to the steady deepness of his breaths.

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

🐲 reblogging is an ancient art form, only the strong may master it 🐲

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abbotsanatomy · 3 months ago

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⨳ taking care of each other in the ER

pairing: jack abbot x chief resident!reader warnings: age gap (28 and 49), resident/attending relationship, just fluff. author's note: this is purely inspired by the fact that i need someone to take care of this man.

As ER doctors, no one's really looking to take care of you. Not in the moment, anyway. Sure, they'll send their thanks in letters and buy you coffees and desserts later. But when you're in the midst of a grueling 12-hour night shift and you haven't eaten in nine hours, no one notices. So, you and Abbot learn to.

It's a habit born out of necessity. An attending can't have a starving chief resident, and a sleep-deprived teacher's no good for any student. It all begins long before any ideas of a romantic relationship ever popped into either of your heads.

Jack started it by buying your coffee most nights. He'd gradually come in with two cups of coffee more often than one. He always gets your order just right.

‘The usual’ at his favorite coffee shop becomes your coffee and his. He finds himself requesting it, even if you aren't even going to be at the ER that day. He isn't a wasteful man, but the ritual of holding two cups to work is one he cherishes. It tricks his brain into thinking you'll be there. Sometimes that's exactly what he needs.

On a Thursday in January, you notice the muscles of his shoulders are a little tighter, his walk is more tense. It worries you.

You desperately want to just get in there and rub the tension away with your fingers. You know it'd be wildly inappropriate, though. You try your hardest not to think about the suppressed noises you could pull out of your attending, as you give him the kneading of a lifetime.

It's all so unrealistic, you quickly realize. Instead, you look for the best rated masseur in town. They sound really nice on the phone, and that solidifies your decision. You find him at the hospital counter, with the proposal, an hour later.

“Hey, boss,” you joke.

He barely even looks up. You can tell he's suspicious of your tone already.

“What are you up to?” he asks.

You laugh it off, looking away. You pull your phone out. It’s immediately shoved into his face, because you know the only way you can get yourself to tell him is if you’re met with the possibility of ending this a lot more awkwardly.

Your voice comes out more happy than intended, “I know this great place for a massage.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, but there's a tight smile on his lips. You throw the huge pitch you had planned out of the window, and just decide to be direct.

“I just... You've been a little slow on your feet lately. You look like you're in pain half of the time. I wanted to help,” you ramble.

Jack turns away from the computer he was typing on to face you fully. His arms are crossed in front of his chest. He's still smiling at you, nodding his head at every word. You're just trying to give him your best 'please don't fire me' smile.

“You think I'm getting too old? Is that it?” he whispers.

“What?!” you scream, “No! No. Of course not.”

“You're fine. You're great,” you insist, and his shoulders shake as he starts laughing quietly at you.

Your face is stuck in a grimace from the unimaginable embarrassment you’re feeling. When he starts laughing more openly, you find yourself doing the same.

He turns his head to the side, and leans in, “You know you're not my assistant, right?”

You nod quickly, “Of course I know that.”

This is serious. You're not going to let him derail the conversation like he usually does when it gets a little personal.

“Just...let me. Please,” you plead. “I'm trying to repay you for all of those coffees. I'm scared if I don't the universe is going to drop a piano on my head or something. I owe you, like, a lot of money.”

His eyes narrow, and his lips are set in a thin line. After a good minute of just staring at each other, he's called away by a nurse. He sighs and gives you a look that tells you he's giving in. Then, he just starts walking away wordlessly.

“Is that a yes?” you yell after him.

“Sure! Fine, whatever,” he yells back.

You grin victoriously, and confirm your booking on the day you know he isn't working.

The smile you have on your face when he finally comes in a lot more relaxed is much bigger.

Eventually, the massages become a monthly thing. You book him one whenever you notice he's a little more tense, and just text him a screenshot of the booking. He hasn't missed a single one.

Jack Abbot is very good at observing patterns, especially when it comes to his team's work ethic. He sees how you thrive on validation. His, specifically. And the man's more than happy to shower you with praises, if that's what you need.

He tries to tone down how it makes him feel when you get flustered at his compliments, when you're stumbling over your words to quip back every time he jokingly says something like your incision was "more clean than usual."

It gets to a point where it's almost like he's always on the lookout for a way to celebrate you. Always hovering, always prepared to tell you you're doing a good job.

Every single time you're trying something new, he's there. Mostly because he has to guide you through it, but also because he knows that if he's telling you you're doing fine, you'll be confident on your second, third, and fourth time. He tells himself the reason it brings him so much pride when he sees you doing well is because you're his resident. Your skill is reflective of his teaching, after all.

His, his, his. The word replays in his mind every single time.

You, on the other hand, can't exactly tell your attending he's so great all the time. He doesn't need a complex. Besides, you know it isn't what he wants. You focus on expressing your admiration when he isn't doing so good.

When he looks more tired than usual, you stand a little closer. When he reaches his tipping point, you tell him to take a break with a hand to pull him away by his arm. When he loses a patient and it hits him hard, you make sure no one's looking and put a hand on his shoulder to ground him.

The amount of respect and appreciation you have for him is hidden in all of these touches. Every time your skin comes into contact with his, you're pouring all of the things you feel for him into it. Hoping, begging, praying it all reaches him.

Even if it doesn't, you're glad to see him sigh in relief. You're happy, watching his breathing even out, and his eyes flit to yours in gratitude.

There are moments that give you both equal, sweet relief. They happen during those nights when it's quieter in the ER. Everyone's just getting through quick non-emergency emergencies. It makes you feel less guilty when you take a break for some lunch outside.

There's this unspoken pact, that whenever it's one of those nights, you both meet at the same bench. You share your food, you laugh, you talk about your lives outside of work.

It's new, completely undiscovered territory.

Sometimes, you'll let yourself drift off to sleep on his shoulder. It only ever lasts a few minutes, but it's always the best sleep you ever get.

Sometimes, he'll open up about his past. You try not to cry, every time. It's hard. When he tells you about how he lost his leg, you do. He ends up being the one to comfort you with a smile on his face.

Sometimes, you hold hands. It's the most either of you can manage without having to admit how you feel about each other.

One time, he asks to walk you back to your apartment after your shift. When you're at your front door, you beg him to come inside. You make breakfast together. You fall asleep on the couch.

When you wake up, it's time for another shift. For the first time, you're actually glad to be going. Because you know someone's looking out for you, and you have someone to look out for.

#jack abbot #jack abbott #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbott fanfic #dr jack abbott x reader #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot drabble #jack abbot imagine #the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt hbo #the pitt 2025 #the pitt show #the pitt x reader #jack abbot fluff

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lieslab · 1 month ago

Text

Maybe dreams are meant for sleeping

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend's sudden coldness towards you causes you to assume the worst.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I've been giggling over this for a while now. Shout out to the requestee because this made me giggle and kick my feet. I love a good misunderstanding that leads to something exciting. Anyway, since my schedule was train wrecked, I'll post my next fic on Sunday, schedule on Monday, another fic on Tuesday <3

_ _ _

Rain-swollen clouds burst open at approximately four-something in the morning. The heavens opened and the rain poured. It hit the roof so hard, Minho was certain his movement would be muted, but your body had other plans.

Twenty minutes later, your arms wrapped around the robe you put on. The shuffling of your house slippers fell victim to the pounding rain drops above. Minho’s body sat in the dim fridge light. He moved about in the dark kitchen, stirring through items, and looking for last night’s leftovers.

He didn’t realize you were there until you reached up and flicked on the kitchen light. “Minho?” You called, reaching up to rub your sleepy eyes. “Minho? What are you doing? It’s so early, you should be sleeping.”

He froze with his eyes locked on the glass container of rice. He made a large batch last night. Large enough, it’d last the two of you a few days. He planned to put it with his lunch. Of course, he could have eaten in the building’s canteen, but he wasn’t sure he’d have the time.

Lately, the guys had been so busy. Time muddled between their busy schedules. Management wanted everything done all at once. Twenty-four hours wasn’t enough time for a single day. You understood that, right?

“I have to go to work early.” He avoided your sleepy eyes. Instead, he spun back to the marbled countertop. He worked quickly, placing the leftovers into his lunchbox. “I didn’t know until late last night. You were asleep when I got the text from my manager. There’s a photoshoot we have to attend.”

“I wish I would have known. I wanted to make breakfast for us to enjoy together. I’ll have to wait for another day.”

He nodded and sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah. I’ll let you know when I’m not so busy. I’ll try to talk to management. I’ll see you later.”

You waited for the words, but they never came. You shut your eyes, expecting the warmth of his body, but that didn’t show up either. He left you standing alone in the kitchen. Without kisses. Without an “I love you.” He left your heart as cold as the downpouring rain outside.

Your eyes reopened. You assumed he’d rush back and make amends, but he didn’t. The front door opened and then it shut. A faint jingle of keys, the lock turned, and then nothing. You were left alone to your own thoughts.

A deep breath in and letting it out slowly. It hurt, the startling realization that you weren’t imagining things. Distance grew between you and Minho. You couldn’t place what you did wrong.

It's always been a fear, deep down, he’d find someone better than you. Maybe, he finally realized he didn’t have the time for love in his life. Being an idol is hard. He spoke so openly about it, maybe his own words struck a chord in his heart. A realization drove the point home and now he’d abandon you, unsure of how to state the truth.

You tried not to let it bother you, but it stung. Invisible wasps flew above your head and stung your brain; a thousand different thoughts, each one pierced the skin with a more potent venom.

It all circled back and clouded your self-worth. What if you weren’t good enough? What if he really did find someone better? What if? What if? What if?

It’s always been good, the relationship between the two of you. You cherished it with everything you had. It meant whispered words of affection while you played with his hair. A silent fondness in your eyes while you watched him consume the food you made.

He always joked he could make the dish better. Suggesting things to add, gesturing to different items housed in their locations. Nonetheless, he still ate everything you put in front of him. Every grain of rice, every smear of sauce, he scooped it up with his spoon and swallowed it. He never thanked you out loud, it was more of a silent thing.

He’d wash the dishes afterwards, insisting he had to do them because you spent so much time cooking. Other times, he’d walk behind you and wrap his arms around your body; a human-formed shroud of love. He didn’t need to thank you for the dish. You would have made him a thousand dishes without the need for compliments.

Compliments were nice, but the warmth washed over you when he scooped up a second bowl. Ladling in broth, using chopsticks to grab more meat, scooping up vegetables while he mindlessly said something needed seasoned more. Yet, when you offered him the option, he refused, insisting he’d manage.

The one time he insisted something needed more salt, he added a few more sprinkles. Popping the warm dumpling in his mouth, he paused and his eyes widened. An eye twitched and you forced a hand over your mouth to keep your laughter at bay. He never proclaimed something needed more salt again.

In the silence, ground sausage sat in the fridge. Eggs hid in the darkness of a cardboard carton. You purchased fresh bagels from a bakery last night. You figured you’d have so many hours before they lost that fresh-baked taste.

You expected to share a homemade breakfast with Minho, but his disappearance left your soul aching. You stared where his body once was. A coldness crept down your spine and your heart wavered. The burn of tears brimmed against your eyes, but you didn’t stop it.

Like the downpouring rain, your sadness leaked out. It soaked your cheeks, but you didn’t wipe it away. Instead, you sniffled and flipped off the light. The early morning darkness made you feel worse. You spun around, heading back to the safety of your bedding. You’d cocoon yourself in and try to feel normal again.

More importantly, you’d tried to pretend Minho was at work and not at someone else’s house, making their heart his newfound home.

~ ~ ~

A few days later, the sound of forks scraping against porcelain plates caused your eardrums to shrivel. You winced when your own fork caught the plate. In front of you, Minho twirled pasta around his fork without a care in the world.

You came home from work to the scent of tomatoes, oregano, and italian seasoning. Garlic wafted through the air and greeted you when you stepped into the kitchen. With his back to you, Minho used tongs to place pasta on plates. “You’re home just in time.”

You hummed, unsure of what to say. Things between the two of you felt different since the other morning. You wanted to bring it up, but fear stopped you. What if you were right? What if he really moved on, or decided he didn't want to do this anymore? Whatever it was, you hated it.

Fear kept you cautious and on the tip of your toes. Your heart wavered around him. Paranoia grew and you hated to admit it, but it followed you around like a shadow. When would he slip up?

Maybe you’d overhear a phone conversation where he’d admit his real feelings. Perhaps, his new significant other would show up and you’d catch it all in the act. You couldn’t stand the waiting, it felt like torture. The scent of a body spray that wasn’t yours. A hoodie that Minho had never owned.

So vigilant, you were on the constant lookout. You wanted to point and accuse him, drive the nail home, and have a final aha moment. You waited and waited, but it never came. The longer it went on, the more irritable and restless you became.

If Minho could have his secrets and stop loving you, you could do it, too. In your own way, you’d play his game. You’d treat him just like he treated you.

So you sat in silence at the kitchen table. Your fork scraped against the porcelain plate. You didn’t thank him for the meal. In fact, you didn’t say much of anything. You picked at your spaghetti, not feeling like you could consume much of it. The garlic bread, you managed to get in a few bites.

“Are you feeling ill?” Minho asked after a while.

You looked up blankly, not sure you heard him correctly. “Huh?”

“I asked if you’re feeling okay. You’re not eating much. You’re not talking a lot either, it’s not like you.”

You shrugged, brushing him off. The clock on the side of the egg-shell white wall ticked. Your fork scraped the plate again. You twirled the fork and waited.

Minho stared at you and his eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t say anything else, he waited for a confession. You refused to break. Maybe you were being petty, or maybe you were giving him a taste of his own goddamn medicine.

Hurt turned into annoyance and that annoyance grew into anger. You wanted him to hurt. You wanted to break his heart. You wanted to do everything you could to make him feel like how you felt.

Hurt.

Isolated.

Angry.

Afraid.

You wanted him to be afraid. You wanted fear to grip his heart and squeeze, causing longing to take over. Maybe he’d realize you were irreplaceable that way. Without you, life would be miserable, wouldn’t it?

The ticking of the clock marched on. Soft breaths came from your chests. You didn’t meet his eyes. Another sharp squeal of your fork. His eyebrows creased with worry and then his chair grated along the tiled floor.

A hand reached out, gently cupping the top of your empty hand. “Hey, talk to me. What’s going on with you?” You looked up for a brief moment, enough for your eyes to meet for a few seconds, and then you pulled away.

Your hand left his. Anger rose up the back of your throat. The acidic tomato and basil seasoning of the pasta sauce swirled in the darkened depths of your stomach.“Nothing,” you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze. “Nothing is wrong. I’m fine.”

“Don’t do that. You’re clearly not fine. Talk to me. I can’t understand what’s happening to you.”

“How ironic,” you grumbled.

“What?”

“I said I’m fine!” You snapped, jerking yourself away from the table. Your wooden chair jerked back with a loud sound and you stood up. “If you can’t understand the problem, Minho, maybe there isn’t one at all.”

His face fell and his head tipped to the side. He watched your disappearing body in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He called after you.

“Figure it out!”

He sat in silence, unsure of the issue. Tears blurred your eyes, but you didn’t sob. You didn’t spin around and demand answers from him.

Instead, you stormed into your shared bedroom and slammed the door shut, a loud and cold action; the painful reminder that you wanted to be alone for now.

~ ~ ~

Over the course of the next week, the relationship between the two of you grew more and more rocky. You avoided Minho more and more, pulling away from who you thought was the love of your life. In your eyes, he let you.

You waited and waited for the day to come. You knew it was only a matter of time before the truth rolled out. At least, you were expecting it this time. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of breaking your heart. You broke your own heart mere days ago.

He didn’t have time to explain himself. He couldn’t, not fully. Not when you worked and his work was dragging him further and further away from you. New things popped up. Fan signs, photoshoots, interviews, and the finishing touches on an album planned for early next year.

He wanted to find the right time to confront you, but it never worked. You didn’t give him a chance. You’d been going to bed early. By the time he came home, you were sound asleep in bed. He didn’t want to wake you up, so he let you sleep. When you woke up, he’d already be back at the studio.

You missed him like an abandoned dog craved the warm hand of their previous owner on a dark winter night. He filled your dreams. When you’d wake in the middle of the night, between his gentle snores, you’d roll over and curl into his body, holding him tight. You needed him far more than you’d admit out loud.

Too afraid to lose you, Minho made plans for today. On a Friday, you’d be home earlier than usual. Today, so would he. He’d confront you and things would go back to how they should be.

Dozing off on the suede couch, you didn’t hear the sound of Minho’s keys jingling and hitting the lock. The front door creaked open and he cautiously stepped inside. Holding his breath, he paused and waited.

The murmurings of some romance show fell from the television. You picked romance because you were swaddled in your own self-pity. What better way to bring yourself down again? Watch random couples fall in love. Watch it pull them together and break apart in painstaking ways. Love has always been such a contradicting thing.

When Minho called your name, you glanced up with half-droopy eyes. Sure you were dreaming, you mumbled his name. “Go away. I’m so mad at you, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Why are you mad at me?”

“Because you’ve been distant and ignoring me.” Your bottom lip trembled. “It really hurts my feelings to watch you become so closed off. It’s like you don’t love me anymore.”

“Is that what you think?”

“So I’ve been trying to ignore you,” you continued, “because I can do that, too. I can ignore you and maybe you’ll see how much it hurts me. I can’t even recognize you anymore. What are we?”

You jerked upright, letting the tears fall down your cheeks. “I love you, you know? I love you and you’re making me feel like I don’t exist.” A sweater sleeve wiped across your nose. “So who is it? Who is the lucky new person that stole your heart?”

“You are such an idiot.”

“An idiot?” You wailed. “You broke my heart! It’s like you hate me now! I don’t even know what I-” Your words caught in your throat and a pathetic whimper came out.

He walked over to you and gently grabbed your hand. “Hey, I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been nervous and I guess I’ve done this the wrong way.”

“Nervous to break up with me?”

His head shook and he smiled. “I can’t break up with the love of my life.” He reached up, gently brushing your hair back. “You look like a splotchy clown when you cry.”

Your bottom lip trembled. He grabbed your other hand and squeezed, trying to hold onto you. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

“Then why do you keep acting like it? Stop dancing around the question and tell me. Trust me, I can handle it.”

“I…” He trailed off and sighed. “Just stay here for a moment, will you? I’ll show you instead of telling you. Just stay here and I’ll be right back.”

“Promise?”

He nodded and stood up. “Give me a minute and I’ll be back.” He spun around and disappeared.

You wiped at your eyes and blinked rapidly. Murmuring voices came from the television until you reached over and turned it off. When footsteps reappeared, you looked up. Minho approached you with a small box in his hand.

“What is that?”

He sank back down between your legs, letting his elbows rest on your thighs. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a good boyfriend lately. I’ve been struggling to keep this a secret. Every time I look at you, you make me want to blurt it out loud.”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he meant. He lifted up the small black box. About the size of his palm, he reached down and tugged the box open. To your surprise, a ring sat pressed between two velvet flaps. Your eyes widened and you gasped, it jerked you right awake.

“Wait, what?”

“I was trying to figure out how to do it. I wanted to propose to you properly. I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I know you mentioned you wanted to get married. You’ve never exactly told me how you wanted to be proposed to. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but…”

“This entire time, I thought you hated me. I should deck you for making me feel worthless. Is this my birth stone?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty, isn’t it? Almost as pretty as you. Do you want to try it on?”

You nodded and let him grab your hand. He popped the ring onto your left ring finger. As you observed the glimmering oval stone, he grabbed your other hand. “How does it feel?”

“Perfect.” You didn’t take your eyes off of it. Instead, you lifted your hand, letting it catch the sunlight slipping through the window. “Why didn’t you bring this up from the start?”

“You like surprises and I only get to propose to you once. I love you so much, but I was so nervous about this. I’ve been restless. Every time I look at you, I want to gush right then and there. You make me feel like a little kid with a huge crush.”

Your bottom lip wobbled again and his face fell. “Hey, hey, please don’t cry. I’m sorry, okay? I won’t do it again. I’ll take the ring back and plan something grand. Tomorrow, I can-”

“No.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

“Excuse me?”

“Can you hear? I said yes, you loser. This implies we’re getting married. Look at it!” You shifted your hand again, letting the reflection sparkle. “It’s gorgeous.”

“But-”

“Do you want to marry me, or not?”

“What? Of course, I do!” His hands dug into your thighs desperately. “Yes, absolutely. I want to see you walk down the aisle and everything. The whole nine-yards.”

“Then yes. Let’s get married. What are we waiting for?” You tried to stand up. “Let’s go to the courthouse now.”

“WHAT?”

“You heard me. Come on,” you shifted again. “No take-backs. You wanna marry me soooo bad. You’re down so bad, you’re a simp.”

His face went blank and he blinked. “I suppose I deserve that for being distant.”

“You deserve to shine my shoes until next year.”

“Hey!”

But I’ll be nice and say you can make it up to me by doing the dishes for the next month. You know how I feel about the dishes.”

“Only if you cook for the next month.”

“Ha!” You reached out, playfully slapping his chest. “I knew it! You love my cooking!”

“You can’t poison me if we’re engaged.”

“But it still means I can kick your ass any time of day.”

“Kiss it, you brat.”

You stuck your tongue out. He reached up and pinched it between his fingers, causing you to freeze. Your cheeks went bright red and your eyes met his.

“Fine. You can keep the ring, but we’re planning an actual wedding. We’re not rushing the wedding. We’re going to communicate and talk to one another. Do you understand me?”

You timidly nodded and he let go of your tongue. You pulled back, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Wow, that was um…”

“Hot?” He guessed.

“Gross, actually. Now you’ve got my tongue germs. How does that feel?”

He reached up and wiped his fingers against your bare thigh, causing you to squeal. “You really love pressing my buttons, don’t you? Keep pressing them and see how far that attitude gets you.”

A grin lit up your face and he pulled away. “Don’t even start.” You grabbed his hand before he could get far. He groaned and tipped his head back. “What more do you want from me? I said I was sorry.”

“I want a proper kiss.”

“Oh, that I can do.” He jerked forward, grabbing the front of your shirt. He pulled you back to his face. “Just remember who’s in charge here.”

You reached up, flicking his nose playfully. “Who has a ring on their finger and who doesn’t?”

“You brat.”

“Jackass.”

“Dipshit.”

“Bastard.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off with your lips against his. Heated and flushed, you chased the kind of kiss you’d been missing out on. Desperate and hungry, you clutched the front of his shirt and pressed him closer to your body.

You wanted it to last forever, but he pulled away after a few seconds. You whined his name in misery. “Easy there, brat. You’re kissing me so much, you’re forgetting to breathe. Take a deep breath before you end up dying from lack of oxygen.”

“What a beautiful way to die.”

“Who’s the simp now?”

“Minho, shut the fuck up and kiss me again.”

Before he did, his hand curled around yours and the cool ring brushed against his fingers. As your lips met again, he took pleasure in knowing you were his. His and his alone.

Even if you were a brat, he loved you just the same as he always had; the same as he forever would.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike

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Taglist and inbox rules

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#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #lee know #lee minho #lee know fanfic #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #lee know angst #lee minho angst

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shinhyunjin · 4 months ago

Text

── .✦ fan service.

⟢ pairing: bang chan x female!reader

⟢ genre: fluff, idolverse, friends to lovers (kind of)

⟢ word count: 2.3k

⟢ summary: when you and chan were expected to do tons of fan service because of how much your fans loved your interactions, it was only fair to take a little advantage of it at times.

⟢ author’s note: helloo, this is a request from @cant-see-sam, who asked for “something where she gets protective over one of her younger members and chan is just like one the corner giggling and kicking his feet” hehe. i don’t know if this is close to what you had in mind, but i enjoyed writing it and i hope you enjoy reading it<3

“Loverboy’s staring again” your second to oldest member, Kyungmi, let you know with a smirk.

She didn’t need to mention who was staring at you for you to know it was Chan, and you loved the thought of it so much that you found yourself fighting the smile that threatened with curving up the corners of your mouth.

“Don’t call him that” you murmured.

“He is, though” she pushed it, looking over your shoulder to the idol she was shamelessly throwing under the bus. “All he can see from over there is your back, yet he’s been stealing glances every two minutes”.

“Kyungie…” you warned her, carefully looking around and making sure there were no cameras pointing at your table—thankfully, there weren’t any. “There are cameras everywhere,” you reminded her regardless. “Be careful with what you say”.

She shrugged, lying back on her chair as her eyes went to the Award’s stage in front, which was now filled with staff members rushing from one side to the other as they prepared it for the next group to perform.

“There’s nothing interesting happening over here right now, they won’t bother filming us just yet”.

“Still…” you leaned back on your chair as well. “There are fans in the venue”.

“And they love your interactions with him!”

Rolling your eyes at her cynical excitement, you remained quiet—her words being far too truthful for you to even try and deny them.

Openly being friends with an idol of the opposite sex was always a hit or miss—people either loved it and asked for more interactions, or they hated it and wanted you to stay as far away from each other as possible.

Luckily for you and Chan, his fans, as well as yours, had loved your friendship ever since he first mentioned you in one of his weekly lives back in the day.

He didn’t think much of it when he did, as he had mentioned a handful of other idols before. He simply read a comment asking if he got along with the girl group that had recently debuted under JYPE—that being your group—and his genuine answer ended up with him bringing you up; mentioning how out of all the members he was the closest to you, since you were the leader and, as a very inexperienced one who wanted to do her best, you used to turn to him for advice.

That simple mention of your name was all it took for the fans to go wild, asking for more and more interactions between the two of you as the time went on, to the point the company itself would make sure to put the two of you together for dance challenges, variety shows, special stages, and whatnot.

It was fan service at its finest—until it was not.

You were both human, at the end of the day. It didn’t take long for the two of you to discover how much you had in common, and the chemistry you shared was so strong that it was impossible to ignore. And so, what started with your company forcing you together for clout, ended up with the two of you becoming closer than they expected.

What started with casual corridor conversations soon turned into daily chats over texts and casual video calls, where you would talk about anything but work, and you would find yourself blushing over his dorky—yet smooth as hell—way with words.

Just like that, although most of your interactions in front of the cameras were planned by the company in order to make your fandoms happy and increase your groups’ popularity, sometimes even taking it one step further by telling you what to do or say, since both you and Chan were quite private and definitely needed a push or two to act in front of everyone the same way you did when the cameras were off, it came a point when you simply let loose.

Fan service or not, whether it seemed too much to the viewers or not, you started to act just as close as you were regardless of there being cameras pointing at you or not.

A dream for many, as not all idols got to publicly interact with each other without having either rumours or hate spreading all over.

Unfortunately for you, however, sometime along the way of your forced proximity, bickering turned into flirting and friendly smiles turned into heart eyes—each day making it harder for both of you to hide your growing feelings from the media.

That seemed to be the case for Chan that night, as he found his eyes being drawn to you every couple of minutes. But what else was he supposed to do when your table was right next to theirs, and his seat gave him the perfect view of you? Well, the perfect view of your back, but still of you nevertheless.

And, well, you weren’t doing any better either, for you found yourself turning around to look at him after Kyungmi stole another glance his way and smirked over how amusing the situation was to her. Your eyes locked with him immediately, feeling your heart flutter and laughing under your breath when he tried to play it cool by looking at the stage instead.

You had already caught him red handed, though, and you could only feel relief and shyness altogether when it was confirmed to you that Kyungmi wasn’t just making it up for the sake of teasing you.

“Maybe we should invite him to sit with us,” Kyungmi proposed. “The fans would love that”.

“Stop” you laughed this time, hiding your face in your hands for a moment before you watched everyone get off the stage, as the next performance was apparently about to start. “Should I call the girls to rush back here? I think Aespa is coming up and Yumi really wanted to watch them”.

Kyungmi shook her head no, gesturing towards their empty seats. “The dorks left their phones here. I’m sure Yumi’s already dragging Soomin over here, though”.

“We’re here! We’re here!” Yumi announced a little out of breath, reaching your side as if on cue.

“The line to the restroom was so long,” Soomin whined, not wasting another second to slump down on her seat next to you. “I thought we wouldn’t make it back in time”.

“But we did, right?” The youngest asked, going around the table to her seat. “Aespa hasn’t performed yet?”

“No, th—”

Your words were caught in your throat when, just as Yumi was about to sit down, a staff member pulled her chair and took it with him.

She managed to catch her balance in time not to fall to the ground—with some help from Soomin, who had instinctively held onto her upper arm rather forcefully—, but watching her lost eyes as they followed the man and the idea of her having fallen down because of his careless action, were enough for you to call him out before he could leave.

“Excuse me, she was using that” you tried to sound as polite as you could, considering how you had to raise your voice in order for him to hear you from across the table.

He turned to you with an annoyed semblance, and you could already tell this wouldn’t be a pleasant exchange. “She wasn’t sitting on it”.

“But she was about to,” you argued. “That seat was assigned to us, can you please give it back to her?”

“Another group is missing a chair and I have instructions to take one to them”.

“Well, can’t you look f—”

“Y/N…” Yumi tried to ease the situation, carefully speaking up. “I’m okay, I’ll just go look for another one”.

Her words were like fuel to the guy in front, who took that as his chance to get out of there and trotted away from you before you could utter another word.

With a defeated sigh as you watched him leave, and with a visibly upset Yumi who was just left standing there as she had nothing to sit down on now, you stood up.

“Yumi, come here” you motioned towards your seat, pulling the chair back for her to sit down on instead.

“I’m okay, really” she shyly tried to reassure you the moment she realised what you were doing—still, she went up to you like you told her. “I’ll go look for a spare one”.

“Come on now, you’re way too shy for that” you smiled softly, receiving a genuine smile from her in return—both your heads turning to the stage when the lights went down and the performance she was looking up to the most began. “Let’s just enjoy the show for now and I’ll go look for a chair afterwards”.

Yumi’s smile now parted her lips, brightly showing her teeth as she agreed with you, and quietly thanking you before she took the seat you were offering her.

Placing your hands on her shoulders and quickly getting too immersed in the show taking place before you, you were completely unaware of the guy that was looking at you from afar, and how he needed to bring a hand up to his mouth and fake out a cough, in order to play it cool and—poorly—hide the big smile that was beginning to part his lips.

“What happened?” Felix asked him with furrowed eyebrows, leaning closer to his leader since the music currently playing made it hard to hear.

“She’s so cute” Chan answered, allowing his smile to take over yet still hiding his mouth under his hand.

Felix smiled, shaking his head and looking over to you, as he did not need his leader to mention your name for him to know he was talking about you.

“Did we just watch the same scene play out before us a minute ago?” He teased him. “Yumi literally got her seat taken from her and you’re laughing”.

“I’m not laughing about that,” Chan corrected him. He was mad about the whole situation, of course. “I just think Y/N’s cute when she gets all protective”.

“More like you think she’s cute all the time”.

“Whatever,” Chan rolled his eyes, knowing there was no winning this fight, for he could not cover the sun with a finger. “Can you go give my chair to her? I’ll go look for a spare one for myself”.

“Look who’s being all protective now,” Felix chuckled. “I mean, I could go up to her and give her your chair, but I’m sure everyone would take it the wrong way”.

“People might take it the wrong way if I do, too…”

“Everyone thinks you’re just friends, they’ll love the fan service”.

“We are just friends, though…”

Felix laughed—the sound of it overpowering the one coming from the stage. “Okay, whatever you say. I’ll look for a spare seat, you go give your friend your chair” he proposed with a taunting smirk. “I don’t think she’ll take it as a platonic gesture, though”.

Chan shook his head in defeat, resting against the back of his chair and focusing on the performance taking place on the stage instead.

God, he wished you wouldn’t take it as a platonic gesture. It was hard to draw the line when your interactions were expected to be merely friendly.

As soon as the performance ended and the lights were back on, he channeled the courage he had been earning up for the last minute and stood up, grabbing his chair and bringing it with him all the way to your table.

He could feel your members’ eyes focus on him the moment he reached it, yet you were too focused gushing about the show with Yumi to even notice him standing right behind you.

So, with a small tap on your shoulder, he brought your attention to him.

“Um…” he hesitated when you turned around and your eyes met his, feeling his confidence abandon him as it hit him just how much more beautiful you looked up-close. “Here”.

Feeling your piercing stare on him as he placed the chair on the space Kyungmi had just made for it by sliding her chair to the side, he couldn’t ignore the goosebumps on his skin. And when you were still far from saying anything after he rested his hands on the back of your new seat, he couldn’t help the breathy, nervous laugh that escaped his lips.

“Don’t tell me you actually wanted to stand for the rest of the Awards and I brought a chair over here for nothing”.

“N-No, um… thank you” you breathed out, feeling your heart pounding against your chest. “I didn’t think there were any seats left”.

“There weren’t” he laughed.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Please don’t make me say it and just take the chair” he felt his cheeks burn.

Feeling your face heat up like only he could make it, you decided to take it easy on him and not push for an answer. Instead, you smiled at him and nodded before you took the seat he was offering—feeling your heart race all over again when you did and he gently pushed you closer to the table.

You looked up to him with a smile, covering your mouth just in case before you said, “You just went a little too overboard with the fan service there, don’t you think?”

He chuckled, shaking his head and looking down at you with a smile. “It stopped being fan service a long time ago now, didn’t it?”

Hearing your members giggle, and turning around to see his members shaking their heads as they looked at him with amused grins, Chan realised that maybe this particular interaction would be hard to defend as a platonic one.

The image of the heart eyes you were looking at him with right before he went back to his table, though, was enough for him not to worry about a thing and to be over the moon for the rest of the night.

Fan service came in many ways, after all. He just got lucky enough to be able to court the person he had feelings for while at it.

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bunni-v1 · 22 days ago

Note

wellll since you are taking requests! Can I request Sylus, Caleb, and Zayne with a fem reader who's playful and loves to tease them in public but when their having sex, she's all shy and that?? <33 (I haven't requested something in such a long time, I forgot how this works 😭😭)

Don't Hide~

Pt. 2

🍓Baby, you fucking know you can. My little MC is exactly like this, so thank you soooo much for allowing me to write her vicariously through this ask. I have sooo much fun with brat taming, you have no idea, I should write it wayyyyy more. Anyway, I really tried not to let my favoritism for Caleb show here, but he still has more than the other two. Sue me, I love my man.

TW: Intense eye contact in Caleb's; Brat taming; cat ears mentioned but not relevant in Sylus' part; Sylus is crazy big; teasing; softcore otherwise; editing/grammar errors (i am one college student)

Info: Sylus, Zayne, Caleb x Reader (Separate); NSFW

Word Count(s): Zayne (1.2k); Sylus (1.2k); Caleb (1.5k)

MDNI

ZAYNE

You loved to just push, didn't you? It was an annoyingly charming part of you, one that Zayne just adored in most situations. Playful poking and prodding was part of your daily routine, something he expected and honestly needed from you. If you weren't causing some kind of problem for him, you weren't doing well. He would rather you annoy him than see you sad and quiet.

Still, you really could get under his skin when you tried. Bonuses of knowing each other so well, he guessed. Even framing it like a positive was hard when you were trying your very best to get him to react.

Having your arms wrapped around him was a more than welcome experience in most cases. He loved it when you were so openly affectionate in public; it made him feel better about how badly he wanted to hold you, too. What he was not a fan of was the way your sneaky little hands seemed to be creeping lower and lower down his back. It was cute, at first. Easily mistaken as a comforting gesture when your fingers drew themselves back up after dipping just a little lower.

Yet, they didn't stop dipping a little lower. Each stroke got longer, went further down his back, until your fingers were dancing along the hem of his pants. If that weren't bad enough, you were doing it in front of a colleague of yours. Tara, you'd excitedly introduced. Chirping along happily together like two birds of a feather, like you weren't pushing your luck with each passing second. You knew that, though, didn't you?

He shoots you the subtlest look when your hand hovers over his behind, a warning. One, you do not heed, clamping your hand down and pinching his cheek with a Cheshire grin. And he squeaks, despite expecting it, the feeling still takes him off guard. Your grin only widens, especially when Tara blinks in surprise.

"Are you okay, Mr. Li?" She asks, befuddled at how such a stoic man could make such a noise.

He clears his throat, glancing at you, less subtly, "Fine. We should be going, though."

"Aww," you and Tara pout at the same time, though yours is far less genuine than hers.

"Well, it was nice to see you. Have fun with the rest of your day!" She waves, skipping away, oblivious to the tension between you.

Zayne lets out a deep and heavy breath, annoyance leaving him all at once. His eyes zero in on your smirking face, expression even despite the intent clouding his green eyes. He tugs your hand away, wrapping it around his waist in a firm grip so you don't do the same thing again.

"You can't behave for a second, can you?" He sighs.

Another self-satisfied smirk, "It's not my fault you have such a cute butt! It's just begging me to grab it."

He hums, pulling you along with him without another word. He can feel the excitement rolling off you in waves, practically leaping and bounding at his side to get home. How obnoxiously adorable. Your ability to manipulate him into giving you what you want was admirable; he'll give you that. Besides, it's not as though he'd be the one feeling embarrassed by the end of the night, so he'd let you have your little victories.

He'd had you on your knees before the front door could even fully close. Shaky hands struggling with his belt, fumbling futilely a few times before finally wriggling it out enough to unzip his pants and slide his member out. It bobs uselessly in front of your mouth, begging for some semblance of friction. Naturally, as if magnetically attracted, you lean forward to take him into your mouth.

A firm hand stops you before you can, making your face scrunch up in confusion, fluttering up to his. The intensity in his eyes is enough to burn you up from the inside, heated and full of intent. You look away quickly, trying to ignore the heat searing beneath your skin. He doesn't allow you to run, gripping your chin and bringing your eyes back to him.

"Use your hands," He commands, "and look at me. Understood."

You nod, letting out a shaky breath. Not good enough.

"Words."

You swallow, "Yes, Zayne."

The grip on your chin softens, stroking the skin there as if apologizing for the roughness, "Good."

Your shaky hands come up, spitting on them for lubricant, then carefully wrap around his cock. Gentle, easy, practiced. You know what he likes, slow and easy. You watch the way your hands glide along his shaft, smiling when the sticky pre-cum coats your fingers. So pretty.

He clears his throat, and you correct your mistake like you've been Pavloved. Looking up at his flushed face, chest heaving, and body, eyes watching your every move. Nervousness tends to build up in your chest when he looks at you like that. No walls or hidden meaning, just sheer desire. You want to hide away from it, but you know he won't let you. All you can do is swallow the ever-growing lump in your throat and let your face burn hotter and hotter.

You watch his Adam's apple bob in his throat, rubbing your thighs together to alleviate some of the need between your legs. It's useless, as expected, and only serves to make you feel more pathetic. You don't stop, though, obediently tugging his member at an even pace. His breath grows more shaky with each stroke, mouth slightly ajar and puffing the hot air out unevenly. Much prettier.

His fingers trace along your chin, down the sensitive column of your neck, and back up again. Mirroring your movements from earlier, giving you a taste of your own medicine. It makes you shy away a little, flinching back when they dip between your collarbones. He spreads them out as he comes back up, pausing in the center of your throat and giving the smallest press, prompting you to swallow against them. He shudders when you do, having to use the door to keep himself upright.

He was close, so close. It made you want to speed up, but you don't. Not unless he tells you to.

"Are you sorry?" He suddenly asks, low and gravely, like it was hard to get out in the first place.

You bite your lip, shrinking into yourself as you mumble, "'m sorry..."

"Clearly," he commands, "or else I'll make you stop right now."

You jolt, shaking your head adamantly, "I-I'm sorry. I am! I promise, please?"

He scoffs a laugh, "Brat... open your mouth, now."

You comply, sticking your tongue out, and within a few moments, he's spurting out onto it. You lap up his release obediently, never breaking eye contact, no matter how much it drives you insane. The hand on your chin comes up to pet your hair, a silent praise for your good work.

"Did you learn your lesson?" He asks lowly, scratching your scalp gently.

You nod, proud to please. It's cute. Really cute. But he's not quite satisfied. With a low hum, he helps you off your knees, nudging you through the house on a straight path to the bedroom.

"Why don't we test that theory, then?" He whispers, a promise that you were in for a long night of behavioral correction.

SYLUS

Sylus was a tease at heart, always pushing your buttons and getting on your nerves with little to no effort at all. He'd admitted to you on more than one occasion that he found your feisty reactions positively adorable. You were his little kitten, after all, what kind of man would he be if he didn't get you swatting your claws at him?

However, teasing him was a difficult endeavor. One that you'd become an expert in. See, you couldn't just whisper sweet nothings into his ear or draw your hands along him sensually. He didn't react to that; he found it more funny than alluring. Calling you needy, which you weren't. No, if you wanted to get something out of him you had to be smarter than just sheer sex appeal.

You had to be cute.

Not so cute that you came off as childish and stupid, he would catch on to things too fast and ruin your fun. Just cute enough that it would get his heart racing, make him pause, and take a second to admire you. When he did that, you knew you got what you wanted.

Which is why you were walking hand in hand with him now, swinging your arm just slightly between your bodies. You were in some expensive shopping district, looking around for something to wear for a mission you were assigned to. He'd insisted on buying you a dress when you'd mentioned it offhand. Who were you to deny him the privilege of seeing you spin around in glittering dresses like a teenager picking out a prom dress?

You'd gotten a bit... off track, though. Purposefully, of course, not that he needed to know that. Excitedly bounding from shop window to shop window, gazing in at the silly souvenirs and cute little stuffed animals like a kid on Christmas. Sylus allowed you to tug him around, a soft smile on his face as you rambled about how cute that little teddy bear is, then in the same breath refused to let him buy it for you.

You stopped short when you came across a little standee outside of a costume shop, laughing at its contents. Cat ears of various types hung on the little turnstile, the perfect killer. You bounded up to it, scanning across the different types before plucking two off the rack. You turn back to Sylus then, a giddy smile as you show him your little treasure, lifting it up with pride.

He leans down without another word, letting you set the white pair on his head. His eyes softening when you clap your hands. You know you've got him right where you want him. You just needed the finishing blow. You set the second pair on your head, pointing your chin to the sky like a proud lion.

He smirks at the sight, petting your head like he would a regular cat, "Aren't you cute?"

You bite your lip, going in for the throat, "Now I really am your kitten, huh?"

He pauses, visibly processing your words and realizing just what you were up to. A scoff tumbles out of his mouth, eyes rolling from the sheer idiocy. He'd fallen for your cutesy little antics, again, just like he always did. Steady fingers grip your chin, forcing you to keep your eyes settled on him.

"I wasn't aware she was so prone to misbehavior. Tell me, are you looking for punishment, kitten?" He purrs lowly.

Mission successful, "I'dunno what you mean, Sy..."

Riding Sylus always felt impossible thanks to his incredible size. You always managed to fit it, but it was more than just a little fight. This is what you asked for, though. Your little cry for attention earlier rewarded with a brand new pair of cat ears, and Sylus’ lazy smirk as you struggled to adjust to him.

Your hands weakly kneaded at his chest, trying to ground yourself from the intensity of the stretch. He merely watched you, red eyes drawing across your figure slow and steady, pleased to have you on display for him. His calloused hands rested at your waist, thumbing over the skin there in approval as you settled down.

It was impossible to hide from him like this, making the burning sensation across your body all the more apparent. You just couldn’t help but be embarrassed at the way he seemed to drink you in, savoring you with every sense at his disposal. You were sure he had a secret sixth one made just to relish in your humiliation. Yet, he does not say a word to shame you or make you feel less than. Just watches and appreciates you as you are.

Somehow, that was worse than degradation, melting your mind to a mushy pile of nervousness.

Still, you’d practically begged for this, and as always Sylus had given it to you as you wished. You wouldn’t want to disappoint both of you, so you took a deep breath and began rolling your hips. Slow little circles at first. Unsure, but gradually building as you grew more comfortable in your place on top of him.

Each movement set your nerves alight, sending shocks of pleasure across each inch of your skin. The heat building in your core, spanning across every nook and cranny of your body, wrapping you in a blanket of warm pleasure. Sylus seems to track it with his eyes, drawing up from the sensual roll of your hips, to the way your muscles tense, across your bouncing tits, and landing on your scrunched up little face.

You could practically hear him purring — no, he was purring. A low grumble shaking his chest, traveling through your trembling fingertips and sending the signals directly to the heat between your legs. To be admired so much was just too much for you to handle right now.

You lean over him, tucking your face into his shoulder. It’s a weak attempt to hide at best, not that you’d be able to hide no matter what you did, but you make it all too easy for him to pull you up with a gentleness that seemed too loving for the moment. All too Sylus as he eased your pouting visage back into his line of sight.

“Running away already?” He coos, fingers massaging your neck as if placating you.

You’re far too embarrassed to argue with him, so you just nod, “It’s too much.”

He hums, mocking thought as he takes in your weak excuses. You’re far too cute for him to know what to do with, but he would figure it out, “Do you need my help, kitten?”

In the second of clarity you have, you debate telling him no. Yet, he twitches inside of you when you open your eyes to take in his all consuming stare, and the thought evaporates from your mind. You do need his help, very badly. You’ll probably burn alive between the scorching pleasure and his fiery gaze without him there to placate the flames.

You give him a weak little teary eyed nod, and he eases your face back into his shoulder. He was always so accommodating with you, so gentle and loving that it made your stomach tie into knots. Only forgetting the feeling when he helped to work you along his length, humming sweet words of praise into your ears, letting you hide away from him all you wanted. That’s what you wanted after all, right?

CALEB

Teasing Caleb was an art form that only you had mastered. You would think that after knowing someone for so long, it would be easy to rile them up. Yet, Caleb was the most controlled man you had ever met when it came to handling your light-hearted jabs. Part of it was thanks to how well he knew you, but the other part was simply because he was good at ignoring his own feelings. He could push and push and push them down to the depths of his mind until they were practically non-existent, and your teasing was no different.

The most you'd get for your efforts was a smirk, maybe a ruffle of your hair as he scolds you, and if you were really annoying, he would chase you around the house and tickle you for your crimes. Rarely was it anything more intense than that.

Rarely. Not never.

There was one way to get Caleb hot and bothered enough to do something, and that was your favorite game of all time: Look, don't touch. It was fun to see just how far you could get, doing all his favorite things with an air of innocence, just to see how long it would take to get him to crack.

Your personal favorite method of torture was to find a shirt of his - dirty, preferably - slide it on and walk around the house with nothing but it and a lacy pair of red panties. (His favorite, judging from how often they go missing from the laundry.) It's a long game you have to play, because winning against Caleb's disciplined ability to pretend was always a long game. Luckily, you were just about the one weakness in his mental fortitude.

You start in the morning before he leaves for work, or else it won't work. If he's at home all day, he'll just take care of it without thought. You walk out of the room, and his eyes catch on your legs. They rake over the exposed skin like trying to burn it into his memory, as if he hadn't done that a million times before. Then, like clockwork, he realizes what he's doing and tries to look anywhere but you as you waltz around. Knowing he has a responsibility that he can't skimp on, even for you, keeps him stiff and robotic as you kiss him goodbye.

Then, step two kicks in: text him frequently. Keeping yourself at the forefront of his mind (which you always are, mind you) and letting him know you're thinking of him makes him squirm in a way that's unbefitting of a soldier. He can't stop himself from thinking about your legs, the way his shirt rested against your body, and what was beneath it. Waiting, begging him to get a peek as you stretched your arms over your head. His eye twitches when you send him yet another suspiciously worded text - never incriminating, but always implicative.

Then, when his shift is nearly over, when you spent your whole day playing coy, you reach the final phase of your plan. You send pictures. Nothing explicit. That would ruin the fun of it all. Just cute, mundane tasks. A downward angle of you cooking dinner, reading a book on his bed, or maybe just a picture of a movie you're watching with your bare legs in view. All visual reminders of what he left at home, all reminders of why he needs to get back now.

Normally, Caleb prefers you to tell him what you like in bed. He's soft, attentive, a little sloppy, but entirely obsessed with your pleasure. It's not as though he's neglecting that part of himself, quite the opposite, actually. You were the one who had made it abundantly clear that you wanted- needed him to put you in your place. He knows your little games, he knows you like no other person on the planet - in the galaxy, hell, the entire universe.

So, of course, he knew you wanted him to fold you in half and show you what happens to misbehaving, teasing little pipsqueaks like yourself for all your efforts. Who was he to deny you of what you'd been begging for all day? Wouldn't that make him a bad Caleb? It almost means that the way he makes you look at him, knowing full well that the eye contact sends you into a flurry of embarrassment. He's just so... intense, in every sense of the word, especially when he's having sex with you.

One leg bent up to your head, the other wrapped around his waist, and two strong arms boxing your head had you surrounded. Chest to chest, buried to the hilt, there was no escaping the little prison of pleasure Caleb had built for you. Your reward equaled your punishment, and you wished you could complain, but you knew your voice would catch in your throat and Caleb would tease you for it. You had no choice but to sit there and look up at him, hoping he'd be a little nicer than you were to him today.

His eyes are hot as they trace along the planes of your face, eating up the sight like his last meal on earth. The subtle shift in his expression as you squeeze around him, feeling the intensity of his gaze far more deeply than you'd ever admit out loud. His eyebrows twitch up in surprise, before a lazy smirk crawls over his face, leaning down to kiss along the apple of your cheek to the shell of your ear.

"Y'know," He starts in a low drawl, sending your head spinning, "If you want me to take care of you, you can just ask."

You shake your head, though there isn't a real purpose for it. You're just a little too flustered to think right when he's got you like this. His dominance really is something all-consuming, and it reminds you why you don't tease him like this often. You would be a dead man if you had to put up with his relentlessness every time you had sex.

"No?" He asks, as if he's confused, but the condescension in his voice gives him away.

He adjusts himself slightly, rubbing against your walls just enough to get you to tremble a little. Then, all at once, he pulls himself out to the tip and pushes his way back inside in a fluid motion, "You don't want me to do that? Then tell me what you need, won't you?"

You whimper, tossing your arms on your face like that might help you here. Nearly forgetting how easily he overpowers you in your hazy headspace until he seamlessly pulls your hands over your head, interlacing your fingers as if they belonged together.

"No, no, no. None of that, you gotta look at me, 'kay?" He hums so sickeningly sweet it makes you want to swing at him.

A whine tears through your throat, tossing your head to the side to bury into his arm. Defiant and bratty to the end, as always. He huffs out a laugh that's all too affectionate for how annoying he was being, then chases your face with his own. You feel the warm press of his sweat-slicked forehead against yours, heated breath fanning over your face. You don't budge, not even when he nudges your nose with his own as encouragement.

He's reaching the end of his limited patience; you can feel it in the way his fingers tremble around your wrists. He could hold back all day when you weren't physically near him, but he was inside you for god's sake. Any man - well trained soldier or not - would collapse under the extreme pressure of a nice warm pussy. Your nice warm pussy was simply one of the greatest weaknesses he had, second only to your oh so pretty eyes he was being deprived of right now.

"Pips," He whines, voice uncharacteristically squeaky, "Lemme see your pretty eyes, yeah?"

You curl your hands into tight fists, trying and failing to fight him off one last time. A little voice in your mind reminds you of how mean you were to him today. Listen to his voice, he needs you just as bad as you need him. It's okay to give in, Caleb will take care of everything, it whispers so sweetly. You can't refuse its logic, not when it seems so totally right as he twitches inside you again.

You slowly peel your eyes open, nearly jumping at the way he's staring so intently at you. Brows worried, lip caught between his teeth, and pretty purple eyes darting across your face. You expect some kind of comment from him, some words of praise or thanks, but all you get is his hips pulling back and slamming back into you. It gets your toes curling instantaneously, a moan ripping from your vocal cords in surprise.

You shouldn't be, though. This is what you wanted. Caleb was just giving it to you. He would always give it to you.

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irisluvsabby · 6 days ago

Text

cam girl reader x perv abby

tw: this is terrible but oh well

cw: lesbian sex, strap on sex, abby is older than reader, oral sex, use of a vibrator, some aftercare? sex in front of a camera (livestream), and probably other stuff

you were a college student, studying art in 2025 and of course you were broke, the scholarship you got was nearly not enough for your daily expenses and an idea crossed your mind after a few videos popped on your fyp, why not start a cam girl career?

it's now been 3 months as a cam girl and honestly? best decision you ever made, you got at least 200$ for every stream and as an openly lesbian cam girl your followers were mostly girls, and older woman who were in an unhappy marriage. but of course you had a few favorites viewers who interacted with you the most and sent the most money of course.

amongst those, one of them stood up, a girl who's name you learned as soon as she hopped into your stream..

"fuck.. thank you guys for the donations.." you were fucking yourself with a vibrating wand on your clit, and your rule was, with each donations you would put the settings of the toy even higher. it was all fun and games until a certain 'muscle mommy abs' donated 100$.

"oh shit.." you moan as you turn the settings of your wand higher. "thanks 'muscle mommy abs', what's your real name?.. so i can moan it properly.." you tease with a smirk, trying to stay composed as the wand kept its assault on your clit, and as you were getting close to orgasm. then you see it pop up in the chat: "abby :)"

"fuck, please abby i'm gonna cum please can i?" you moaned, completely fucked out from the vibrations on your sensitive clit, then you saw it, abby saying something along the lines of "cum for me please." it felt so needy and desperate that it immediately threw you over the edge, cumming so hard for all of your viewers, almost squirting as you could feel the gaming chair you were on wet under you.

"shit- well thanks everyone, i guess i'm gonna end this live now and go and try to clean up, bye bye" you say before ending the live.

since that day abby has been attending every single live stream of yours, and always sending you some donations during it, hence to why she was one of your favorite, but aside from that she was just really cute

abby was a 27 years old mechanic who worked in an old crusty garage kinda lost in the middle of nowhere, but hey at least the pay was good. she's always been rather lonely true high school, and college. never had a proper girlfriend aside from some flings she's had in the past. but now that she had found her new obsession, you, a new cam girl she found online as she was just trying to get off, well there's no way that she's getting a girlfriend any soon now. abby attended your streams religiously, it was like the highlight of her day but knew that nothing else than that would happen.

until one day you made an announcement after one of your many hectic live stream; "oh my god guys by the way- wait let me get dressed-" you said before quickly putting on an oversized attack on titan shirt. "okay so, i was thinking, why not finding a way to reward my most loyal viewers right? well i though that one of you guys could maybe win a moment with me so we could live stream together?" you waited for approval of the viewers in the chat only to be met with most of them showing you their excitement in the chat.

ynsleftboob: god please make it be me i NEED to fuck you

minecrftellieee: this is the best day of my life

musclemommyabs: holy shit

behind her screen abby couldn't believe her own eyes , she actually had a chance to be with you for real. so she waited, mouth open, for you to give more details on the upcoming event. abby watched as you explained that there will be a poll and all the boring logistics before sending a link into the chat for your viewers to participate. and with little hope abby went in, filled the forms and agreed to a few terms she didn't have the patience to read before accepting.

the next few days, abby kept imagining what she would do if she actually won that event, how she would fuck you so good you'd only wanna come back to her, how she would appear on your stream and make all of the viewers jealous and how she was gonna be the one fucking you. she also took more hours at work to get more cash and buy a brand new strap on (just in case you know) and went to the gym in the little free time she had, just to get off to your videos when she got home, moaning your name and waiting for the day she would finally have you.

then saturday night came, the day of your weekly stream, but this stream was different, you wouldn't do anything really, just annonce the winner to your event, and that was more than okay to abby and probably all of your other viewers.

"oh my god hey guys!!" you said happily as you watched all of your viewers join the stream excitedly, and amongst them of course was abby, waiting for you to announce the winner. "okay i know what you're all waiting forrr" you teased with a wink, making the viewers act up in the chat. "okay okay- i'm not gonna drag this out but i just wanna say, i would've loved to make everyone happy buttt there is only one winner tonight" you smile.

abby was intently watching you, waiting for you to say the username that would get to film with you, she was hoping for it to be her but there was a little voice in her head telling her that was not possible. that was until, pulling her out of her thoughts, she heard your sweet voice, calling out her username.

"'musclemommyabs, im really glad to tell you that you're the one that's getting to spend a moment with me and will do a stream with me on here.. i also can't wait to see if your username is actually true"

abby felt her heart beat in her chest, that could not be happening. while she was trying to take in the fact that she was going to have you in real life, you were talking about how you're gonna send her a private text about the details, and before she knew it, the stream was over, and many people were still talking in the chat, disappointed about not winning.

it was now a few days later, abby was getting in her car to get to your place, which was thankfully only an hour away, she was making way too many scenarios in her head about how she was going to have you, which made the drive way quicker. when she got there, abby didn't waste a second to knock at your door, mentally preparing herself to actually see her biggest crush ever. and when you opened the door, she thought she was going to faint. there you were, wearing a soft pink robe that was clinging to your curves like it was made for you, and abby could see a bit of your pink lacy bra that was peeking out.

seeing abby in real life also made you nervous, she was older than you, taller than you, very very bulky and wearing overalls that were hanging loose at her waist, dirty security boots and a basic t shirt that made her look so good, just your type.

you couldn't hide your blushing as you welcomed her in and closing the door behind you guys. "omg hi abby, i'm so glad to see you, and you really do live up to your username." you said with a wink. with that a rush of confidence ran over abby "yeah you like what you see?" she asked getting closer to you and closing the front door behind her.

"mhm i love it.." you teased with a sultry voice, slowly undoing your robe, letting it fall on the floor, letting abby take in your brand new pink and white lingerie that you wore just for her. abby couldn't take it anymore, and fortunately for her, you knew what she was here for and vice versa. there was no more thinking when abby pushed you into the nearest wall, tilting up your head to put her lips on yours, finally, turning it into a heated makeout session as abby dominated the kiss, her hands were everywhere, you couldn't take it anymore as you ran your hands under her t-shirt, feeling her abs.

abby went down to kiss your neck, making you moan out and dig your nails into her back, abby moaning from the feeling of your acrylics on her skin. "abby- fuck.. bedroom please..". she quickly understood and threw you over her shoulder with minimal effort, which made you even wetter for her. when she found the bedroom, abby saw the place she's been seeing on her laptop for all this time in her life and couldn't believe it, she looked around for a few seconds before not wanting to lose any more time and putting you on your bed. but before abby could get on top of you, you stopped her "wait- turn on the stream please- cameras and all are already set up." abby got up with a groan before going to your laptop "how do i do this thing.." she whispered to herself before finally turning on the stream. "all good" she winked at you before crawling back on top of you and peppering kisses to your breasts as you tried to speak to the viewers. "hi guys- sorry we got a little carried away- fuck abby- um so yeah.." you stopped talking, going back to abby who was centimeters away from the place you needed her the most.

"abby please.." you begged, looking down at her. "please what?" she said, not even looking back at you as she was taking off your panties, she looked like she did not care a bit about your stream as she finally looks back at you, waiting for some more begging. "please fuck me.." you finally say, and she doesn't waste a second, licking a slow strip on your pussy, making you shiver. after a few seconds of teasing abby finally gets to it, eating you out like a starved woman and you couldn't love it more. she was sucking on your clit so deliciously, then switching to slide her tongue inside of you and rubbing your clit with her fingers, it was the best head you ever had and you were seeing stars.

"i'm gonna cum- fuck" you moaned, feeling yourself getting closer and abby couldn't be happier, "mhm?" she hummed almost as if giving you her approval and sending vibrations right to your clit, and that was it for you, you came on her tongue with a moan so loud your neighbors would probably leave notes on your door the next day. that didn't matter to abby as she kept sucking on your clit making your orgasm never ending and licking up all of your juices. when she finally stopped, you were breathless and abby had your juices all over the lower half of her face. what got you out of your "post orgasm" state was the never ending ding sounds coming from your laptop announcing new texts in the chat.

you squinted you eyes to check some of the messages

minecrftellieee: oh wow that abby girl can eat pussy

lesbiannmommy: should've been me 😔

ynswhore: how i wish i was the one eating you out like that

you smiled reading some of the messages. "you okay?" you the heard abby ask you, her hair was messy and she was still fully dressed. "mhm im great" you smile at her "but get undressed and fuck me for real now." "right away ma'am" she said before taking off her shirt and reaching for her bag to pull out her brand new strap. "bought this just for you, i hope you like it." she admits before taking off her pants, staying in her boxers and putting the strap on.

you couldn't help but blush, abby was this super hot, muscular older woman and she bought a strap on just for you, you might be falling in love right now. "fuck- you're so hot" you tell her as you watch her adjust the strap on her waist. she simply chuckled before getting back on the bed. "get on your hands and knees for me yeah? so your little viewers can really see your face while i fuck you so good you'll only remember my name". this made you even wetter than before, if that was even possible, and you quickly do as she says, putting your ass up and teasing her. "good girl.." she whispers as she gets some of your wetness to coat her strap with it, you were still sensitive so that gesture made you whine and buck against abby's hips. with that she saw how needy you were and decided to finally fuck you how you needed, she slowly sinks her strap into you, to not overwhelm you, and once she saw that you were okay, she rammed into you, hitting your g-spot so easily you didn't even know it was possible.

with abby's thrust into you it was impossible for you to stay on your hands and knees as your arms were already giving out. she quickly took notice of that and pulled you up so your back was against her chest, which made her thrusts into a different angle. "oh my god- fuck fuck abby" you whined as she fucked you so good you couldn't think. "you like that? i'm sure that feels better than all of your silly toys yeah? better when i'm there to take care of you." you whined as abby repeatedly hit your g-spot making it impossible to answer her, only whines came out of your mouth as she doubled her pace.

"fucking you so good you can't even speak yeah?" she chuckles as she kissed the back of your neck, and sliding one of her hands down to toy with your clit, and that was it for you, you came with a cry, shaking in abby's grasp, as she slowed down her thrusts, letting you ride out your orgasm. "abby- too much fuck!" she continued a few more seconds before stopping and settling you back down on the mattress. she gently caressed your back as she pulled out of you gently.

you then rolled over to get on your back, to see abby taking off the strap and going back to you. "you liked that?" she asked with a smirk, knowing already your answer. "hmm it was okay." you tease her with a wink.

after sitting up on the bed you look at your laptop to see that the chat is going crazy and you definitely beat your viewers count record, but you couldn't pay too much attention to that when abby found your favorite ever toy on your bedside table. "do you have a few more left in you? i'd love to use that thing on you after sawing you using it on yourself so much."

next thing you know, you were tied to the headboard as abby used your own vibrating wand on you, and for some reason, it felt way better than when you used it by yourself. "my god you're shaking, does it feel that good honey? you're going to cum yeah? come on cum for me." abby said, trying to make you cum one more time tonight. "no- abs.. it feels different wait wait!" you tried to warned abby but she upped to settings of the wand to the maximum, the vibrations being now way too much for you.

you couldn't handle it and you felt a strange sensation, like you were going to cum but way more intense. and before you could even stop yourself you were squirting all over the wand and abby, you couldn't help but moan so loud as the sensation was so much for you. "holy shit- that was so hot" abby was mesmerized, quickly turning down the settings to not overstimulate you.

when you finally came back to your senses you couldn't help but feel so embarrassed by what happened but abby assured you that it was the hottest thing she ever saw. you were still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm as abby brought you a towel to help you clean up before quickly turning off the stream, to the dismay of your many viewers.

"you okay?" abby asked as she kissed your forehead. "mhm yeah.. it was just so much but i loved it" you admitted looking back at her. "well, i'm glad.. i don't know if this is the right time but can i take you out for a date sometime?" she asked and you could see that she was nervous so you chuckled "of course"

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dmitriene · 1 year ago

Text

cw: possible dubcon, cheating in toxic relationship, reader is simon's dream girl.

retired simon ghost riley that dreams about having a sweet little bird to himself, adorable housewife that would make his days brighter by her tasteful cooking and little sanctuary between her supple thighs, all his to keep and devour.

that's when he meets you, sugary sweet thing that moved into his neighborhood, just a small road across his house where your own located, place slightly big for you alone to live, until he founds out you have a husband.

some disgusting likeness of a person, a man that treats you nothing like some pet, all sugary to you when someone's near, but making you carry your things all by yourself inside the house, letting himself huff at you displeased, tell you to “not annoy him„ when you suggest to say hello to the neighbors.

simon knows it's not a problem for him at this point, when someday he hears how you argue with your husband outside, for everyone near to hear, with your soft voice breaking down, hands clutched in shaking fists.

it's clear as a day that you need someone better, him, and not anyone else, not your pathetic type of a husband that makes you always wander outside alone, you need kind of a man that wouldn't make you shed your tears in vain, on the porch outside.

that's how he founds you, sitting late in the cold evening with your hands concealing your face that you can't stop wiping, your eyes and nose a watery mess, not even noticing someone approaching you.

simon's appearance makes you yelp, like a ghost appearing in front of you to snatch you away, and you jump on your legs, skittish, looking at him with hurt and distrust as you back away towards the door, until he lifts his arms in surrend and grumbles for you to “calm down, little tigress„

you do calm down, defiance slipping away under his hard and dark gaze as you mumble about what he wanted, that your husband isn't home right now if he's here for him, and it makes simon frown, all but wondering why would your husband mess with men that look like him, as you break in tears again.

little hiccups and chocked sobs slipping past your lips in broken melody, streaming down your wet cheeks and lingering on your lips where you lick them off, whimpering, and simon takes it like an opportunity.

his rough voice turning in grumbled coos, as quiet and soothing as he can muster when his hand settles on your lower back, a light touch, making his skin tingle as he tries to press you closer to him, close the distance and step away from your porch, which you do.

walking towards him on your own, where you brush against his sturdy chest gently, making him tug you in his arms for a careful hug, he knows he needs to be cautious with you, studies the way you remain a little stiff, and there's a lingering doubt in your head, because he's a stranger, an unfamiliar man, but you need this.

need these soothing cooes in your ear, a small pats on your hair as his thumb rubs circles on the small of your back, murmurs reassuringly about how “it's gonna be alright, little one„ and leads you with him, further away.

across the small road, from your house and towards his own, and you don't really resist, only hiccup brokenly about where he leads you, still attentive, smart girl that soon would be his, as he murmurs something about a cup of water.

he lurs you inside his house so easily, pressing a glass of water inside your hand and making you drink it down, cold liquid soothing your slightly raw throat, as he gazes at you openly, swallowing whole and still pressing you closer, calloused hand on your back that he can't stop rubbing.

you don't understand your own situation until he takes the empty glass from your shaking hand, as his own lifts to cup your cheek, and it's too intimate for a stranger, despite that you both live in the same neighborhood, because you barely talked once to each other, yet, it can't down the yearning inside of you.

for some care, the gentleness with which simon rubs at your cheek, looks into your still slightly damp eyes, before he lowers his face and brushes his lips carefully against yours, testing the waters.

through he's already bounded you against him, your softness brushing against his sturdy frame, and it takes nothing for him to take you apart, devour, greedy hands all over you without a fuss, every little whine and whimper devoured by simon's mouth.

devoured like your glossy pussy that he eats on the counter, perching you on the cold and harsh surface with his warm tongue ravaging the rich sweetness between your puffy folds, pink muscle wiggling inside your tight hole as he slurps and thrusts inside of you, hungry.

separating your soul from flesh and bones with his kisses, feral and ardoring touches that he softens as soon as you twitch under him, soothing you with a sharp suck on your clit that makes you mewl, shooting sparks to your eyes.

simon spares you on his cock in his own bed, on soft and dark sheets that look better with your body sprawled on them, supple flesh naked with your fat for him to grope, at your round tits, at the doughy thighs that he spreads to see the way his rudy cock nudges against your sopping and tight entrance.

he would keep you here, to himself alone, fuck you until his hips would sputter and his cock fill your pulsing hole with thick cum, intil you would pass away overstimulated and trembling, satiated, cheeks wet and warm with tears not from hurt, but from pleasure, the one simon kisses off your face while you curl on his chest and snore quietly.

you wouldn't need to come back to your husband, to the house that next day would be empty from half of the things that were belonging to him, he will disappear without a trace and leave your life as pure as if nothing had happened, letting simon keep you, make you his.

main masterlist. quidelines.

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charles-leclerizz · 9 days ago

Text

touch first, talk later

on the runway : max verstappen x fem!reader

inspiration ( warnings ) : smut !! (f + m receiving oral), jealousy, unresolved feelings, possessive energy, ex situationship, bathroom scene,

VIP's in the front row ( taglist ) : MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @ksthegreat]

before the show begins ( synopsis ) :

You left because he never wanted to go public. He just didn’t realise he did, until after you were gone. And now you’re at the same party again. Talking to someone else. And Max is staring like he’s ready to burn it all down.

designer notes : so. apparently I can churn these baby's out at record pace, just know- im sleep deprived. anyhoo, love yall, dont read too fast <33 and wear your seatbelts

The party swirls around you like a golden haze-soft laughter dripping from lacquered lips, heels clicking rhythmically against marble floors, and the murmur of voices blending into a steady hum beneath the bass-heavy music. You feel the warmth of champagne pooling at the bottom of your glass, the sharp bite of citrus lingering on your tongue. The air is thick with expensive perfume and the faint, sharp tang of adrenaline, the kind that always clings to race weekends like a second skin.

You drift through the crowd, a practiced smile in place, a flicker of fake amusement in your eyes when you exchange polite words with familiar faces. Here, everyone is performing- pretending the world outside these sparkling walls doesn’t exist or at least doesn’t matter tonight

Then you see him.

Max.

Across the room, leaning casually against the bar, dark eyes cutting through the noise with a focus so intense it feels almost physical. It’s impossible to look away. It’s like the noise around you dims, just for a moment, narrowed down to that stare.

It’s been months since you left, that night when everything between you unravelled, when you walked away because he wouldn’t say the words you needed, but it feels like no time has passed at all.

You turn your head away, pretending to focus on the conversation at your side, but you know the weight of his stare follows you-unrelenting, accusing, hungry. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat you don’t want to admit

It’s the weight of his stare, that subtle prickle at the nape of your neck that never quite fades when Max is in the same room. You’d hoped the distance would kill it. That after all this time, he wouldn’t still have this kind of hold on you.

But there he is. Dressed in black, drink untouched in one hand. And you?

You’re smiling at someone else.

The guy - what’s his name, Liam? Lucas? - is charming enough. Handsome in that easy, polished way that doesn't set your nerves on fire. He’s been talking for five minutes straight about his classic car collection. You nod, let him touch your arm, laugh when it’s expected.

But you’re not really listening.

You’re too aware of Max across the room. Of the way his jaw tenses when the guy leans in. Of the way he hasn’t spoken to anyone else. Of the fact that he’s still watching you - shamelessly, openly, like the entire world could burn down and he wouldn’t blink.

The music is loud. The room is full. But none of it seems to matter when he starts walking toward you.

“Hey.”

His voice slices right through the conversation like glass.

You blink. “Hi.”

Lucas-or-Liam frowns. “You two know each other?”

Max doesn’t answer him. Doesn’t even look in his direction. Just says, “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t,” you say as civil as you could muster.

Max’s nostrils flare. “We do.”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

He glances down at your arm where the other man’s fingers rest too casually. His voice drops. “Didn’t realize you liked posers.”

Lucas-or-Liam looks somewhere between confused and irritated.

“Max.” Your tone sharpens, but he’s already looking at you again, blue eyes locked in on your contemplative expression.

You sigh and turn to Lucas, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. “Give me a minute?”

The man looks confused, but nods. Max is already pulling you away before you finish thanking him.

Before you can regret your decision, Max’s hand tightens on your wrist, firm but not cruel, and he starts dragging you through the crowd. The noise fades behind you, a muffled roar compared to the sudden sharpness of his presence beside you.

You follow, breath shallow, heels clicking against polished floors. He weaves you through bodies and laughter and flashing lights like they barely register past his determined pathway.

Then the bathroom door swings open, and he pulls you inside. The bathroom is glossy and dim, smelling of some fancy cologne and warm wood. He shuts the door behind you and leans against it like he needs to catch his breath.

You stand by the counter, tapping your foot.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you say finally, breaking the silence

“Why did you leave?”

Your throat tightens. “Because you never wanted to—”

“Don’t,” barely moving, simply shifting his head to look at you, “Don’t say that. I did want to. I just didn’t know how to say it. Or when.”

You search his eyes, looking for the man you thought, knew, you lost. “But you never showed it. Not when it mattered.”

Max steps forward. Just once, “I wanted to go public. You just left before I could figure out how to say it.”

Your brows knit. “You think I waited for nothing?”

“No,” he says. “I think I fucked up. And I want to fix it.”

You stare at him, every cell in your body buzzing. “Say that again.”

“I want to fix it,” he repeats, gentler this time. “You were never just casual. You were never a secret I wanted to keep.”

Your breath catches, and the anger you’ve been holding for months, twists and knits into something rawer. “Then why did you let me go?”

Max’s jaw tightens. And he treads closer, his feet heavy, magnetised to the bathroom floor. "Because I thought you didn’t want to wait for me to figure it out.”

You shake your head, the weight of months in that tiny space suffocating once he reached you, sharing each other's air. “I left because you wouldn’t fight for me.”

He cups your face, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “I’m fighting now.”

The distance vanishes in an instant, heat crashing between you. His lips find yours-urgent, claiming, desperate-and you give in to the flood of everything you’ve been holding back.

Your back digs into the counter, hard wood punishing through thin fabric, and his hands are already on your waist, fingers splayed like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you all over again.

You kiss him like you’re trying to punish him.

It’s teeth, heat, months of unspoken things.

His hands are in your hair, your thighs, lifting you onto the counter like he never stopped memorizing how to touch you. The kiss is messy and bruising and so full of everything he never said that it feels like drowning.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your mouth. “I missed you.”

“You didn’t act like it.”

“I know.” He groans, trailing kisses down your throat. “Let me make it up to you.”

He sinks to his knees like he’s not even thinking, like gravity just drags him there. His hands push your thighs apart with a roughness that makes your head spin, makes the ache between your legs throb harder.

“You think I forgot how to touch you?” he mutters against your knee, hands sliding beneath your dress. “You think I don’t still dream about this?”

Your breath hitches when his fingers brush against the edge of your panties. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Max.”

His eyes snap up, dark and blazing. “I mean every fucking word.”

“You’re not going back out there,” he says, voice low, almost hoarse. “Not with him. Not like this.”

You grip the edge of the counter, palms pressing flat against the wood. “And if I was never yours to begin with?”

Max doesn’t even flinch. “You were. You still are.”

And then his mouth is on you. Through the lace first, dragging a slow, wet stripe with his tongue, teasing the fabric just to feel your hips jerk. Then he pulls your panties to the side, and you forget every damn reason you had for staying away.

He eats you out like he’s starving, like it’s punishment for leaving and apology all at once. Like he wants to ruin you for anyone else.

“Oh fuck, Max-”

He groans against you, hands gripping your thighs tighter as your back arches. His tongue works you over with practiced precision - licking, sucking, flicking the spot he knows makes you come undone. He doesn’t let up. Doesn’t let you breathe. Every time you try to close your legs, he just pushes them wider.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, lips slick, voice smug and dark. “You missed this too, didn’t you?”

You hate how much you nod. How honest your body is when your mouth won’t speak.

And when you come, it’s sudden and sharp - the kind of orgasm that rips through you and leaves you gasping, trembling, eyes squeezed shut as your fingers twist in his hair.

He doesn’t stop until you push at his shoulders, breathless and overwhelmed.

When he stands again, his mouth is shiny with you, his lips swollen, and his eyes impossibly soft beneath the storm.

“Say it,” he whispers, fingertips stroking your jaw.

Your voice is barely there. Your nails barely dragging against his jaw, “I still want you.”

He leans in close, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I never stopped.”

The air between you feels thick now, buzzing with what just happened - your body still humming, your breathing uneven. Max hasn’t moved far. His hands rest on either side of your hips, grounding you, his forehead still pressed to yours like he’s afraid if he steps back, you’ll disappear again.

You study him in the mirror behind him. Hair tousled. Lips bitten raw. That rare softness in his eyes - the one he always tried to hide when things got too real.

“You, okay?” he asks, voice low and almost shy now. It’s strange, how quickly the fight melted into this. Into something quieter.

You nod, brushing a strand of hair from his brow. “You look wrecked.”

He huffs a breath, half-laugh, half-sigh. “You just ruined me. So… yeah.”

A beat of silence passes. You reach down, fingers trailing the waistband of his trousers.

His breath stutters. You loop your knuckles into his belt loops, spinning around until he's in your position.

“Let me,” you whisper.

He doesn’t stop you - just watches, swallowing hard, like he can’t believe it’s happening. His knuckles go white on the counter when you drop to your knees, slow and deliberate, right where he’d just been moments ago.

Your hands work his belt open, your movements gentle. Intimate. You feel him twitch in your palm, already hard and aching.

“You always looked at me like this,” you murmur, kissing along his length, teasing him the way he teased you earlier. “But you never said anything.”

“I was a coward,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut as your lips close around him.

He’s warm and heavy on your tongue, and the sound he makes, sharp and broken, makes you want to stay down here forever. You take him slow at first, just letting him feel it, letting you feel it, your fingers curling around the base as your mouth works him over.

“Fuck,” he groans, hand sliding into your hair. Not pulling. Just holding. Like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

You glance up at him, eyes meeting his, and he stares like you’ve undone him completely. No ego. No bravado. Just Max, real and flushed and yours, even if only in this moment.

You hollow your cheeks, letting him slide deeper, moaning softly around him until his hips twitch and his hand tightens just slightly.

“Stop,” he rasps, breath hitching. “I’m gonna- ”

You don’t. You want this. You want to make him fall apart, just like he did to you.

And when he comes, it’s with a low groan and your name, broken in half across his tongue. His head tips back, eyes shut, chest rising and falling like he’s been sprinting. You swallow everything, hands smoothing over his thighs as he trembles just slightly.

When you finally stand again, he pulls you into his chest without a word, arms tight around you. There’s no party outside the door. No months of silence. Just this.

Just him.

Just you.

“You’re not leaving again,” he murmurs against your hair.

You don’t answer. Not yet.

But you don’t pull away either. You stay there, tucked into his chest and hold him tighter, re-learning every indent of his heartbeat and every undulation of his breath.

The hallway feels louder than before.

You step out first, fixing your dress, smoothing your hair. Max follows close behind, his hand brushing your back in a way that would feel casual if it weren’t him. If you weren’t both still vibrating with what just happened.

You reach the edge of the room. The party is still in full swing - bodies dancing, glasses clinking, music pulsing. The guy from earlier spots you.

“There you are,” he says, half-smile curling at the ends. “Thought I lost you.”

Max stiffens behind you, but you rest a hand on his wrist. Subtle. Calming.

You offer the guy a polite smile. “Just needed a minute.”

His eyes flick to Max, and then down to where your hand touches his.

He gets it.

He nods once, then turns away.

You exhale.

Max leans in, voice barely above the music. “So… that was new.”

You glance at him, amused. “The bathroom thing? Thought we did that one ages ago”

He rolls his eyes and snakes his hand around your waist, bending down to press his mouth to your ear, “The part where you held my hand in public.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers find his against your body. “Don’t get cocky.”

He grins - that same crooked, boyish thing that always cracked your resolve, always kept you in bed with him an hour later. “Too late.”

A pause. He tilts his head. “Want to get out of here?”

683 notes · View notes

f1-mcmuffin · 1 month ago

Note

Hiii! Can i ask you to make a one shot where Alexandra and Rebecca (no hate for them obvi) are jealous of Lando's girlfriend because she is loved by all drivers or because their boyfriends do not pda like Lando.

You can make 2 one shots if you don't want to make this two together.

(Ps Lando is very in love with his girlfriend and she is the bestfriend of the 2 Lilys)

Please please please make one of this, i requested this at other 2 blog and they don't make it...🥲🥲🥲

If you write that. THANK YOU SOOOOO MUUUCHHHH🥰😍

Jealousy, Jealousy

Lando Norris Masterlist | Main Masterlist

A/n: hopefully it's the way you like, if not send me a request and I'll post again, and 123 followers omg thank you all so much

The paddock was alive with the usual buzz before the race, drivers and teams preparing for the day ahead but there was an undercurrent of tension in the air, one that only a few could feel, and Alexandra and Rebecca were the ones most attuned to it. They exchanged a glance as they observed the scene in front of them.

She stood in the center of a group of drivers, a smile on her face as she laughed at something Daniel Ricciardo had just said. Lando stood next to her, his arm slung casually around her waist, his fingers tracing circles on her skin as they exchanged whispered words.

The energy between them was palpable, and it wasn’t just the fact that Lando Norris was openly in love with his girlfriend. He was always touchy with her, always affectionate in a way that had begun to make waves in the paddock. It was how he wasn’t shy about showing it. He kissed her forehead in front of the cameras, pulled her close in the middle of interviews, and made sure the world knew she was his, every single moment of the day.

The other drivers—Max, Charles, George, and even Lewis—often looked on with a mix of admiration and amusement. It was no secret that she was well-loved among them. She was funny, smart, and always had a way of making everyone feel comfortable. But for Alexandra and Rebecca, it was something more.

It was the way she was loved.

Alexandra crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. "I just don’t get it," she muttered, half to herself, half to Rebecca, who was standing a few paces away.

Rebecca arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Alexandra nodded toward her, who was now wrapped in Lando’s arms, their heads close together as they whispered something to each other. "Her," Alexandra said, bitterness creeping into her tone. "She’s just… everywhere. She’s got them all wrapped around her finger. Look at Lando—he’s obsessed with her and then there’s the Lilys, always around her too. It’s like… the entire paddock just revolves around her."

Rebecca snorted, a sound that was more dismissive than anything else. "Right? And don’t even get me started on how they act around her. It’s like… she’s their golden girl or something. When’s the last time you saw a driver act like that with us? I can’t even remember the last time Carlos did anything remotely close to that in public."

Alexandra's eyes flickered to the side, where Lando stood with his arms crossed, talking to Pierre. He wasn’t touching her, wasn’t even looking her way. For the briefest moment, she felt the sting of that distance. It wasn’t anything new, but seeing Lando and her so effortlessly affectionate only highlighted it more.

"We should try that," Rebecca muttered, though there was no real enthusiasm in her voice. "You know, public displays of affection. Maybe they'd wake up and realize we’re here, too."

Alexandra shook her head. "It’s not just that. It’s the way everyone loves her. It’s like they can’t help themselves and not just the drivers—fans too. Have you seen how they go on about her on social media? She’s everywhere."

Rebecca’s lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced over at her again, catching her laughing with Lando. Her jealousy was palpable, but she wasn’t about to admit it out loud. "She’s not even that special. I mean, come on. What makes her so great?"

Alexandra shrugged, her eyes still locked on her and Lando. "I don’t know. It’s like she’s this perfect little package—smart, pretty, always so bubbly, and then Lando just makes it worse by acting like she’s his world. No one else has it like that."

Rebecca let out a sharp breath and rolled her eyes. "It’s so over the top. I swear, if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to prove something."

They both watched as Lando whispered something in her ear, causing her to giggle and swat at his arm. The way she responded—it wasn’t just affection; it was an ease, a comfort that was so natural, it made everything else around them seem almost forced.

Alexandra's fingers curled into her arms, and she bit her lip. "I don’t think I’ll ever understand it."

Rebecca’s gaze turned to her once again, and she couldn’t deny the envy that bubbled up inside her. It wasn’t just about the PDA—it was about everything. She had somehow become the center of it all, and it made her want to scream.

"I hate how they just... have it. They’re the couple everyone roots for, and we’re just… us."

Alexandra tilted her head toward her friend, noting the tone in her voice. "You think we could be that? Like, with our boyfriends?"

Rebecca considered it for a moment, her jaw tightening. "I don’t know. Maybe we’re just not as... perfect as she is."

A silence fell over them, thick and unspoken, both women lost in their own thoughts. It wasn’t just jealousy—it was frustration. The attention she seemed to effortlessly attract, the love she garnered without even trying, was a sharp reminder of their own struggles in relationships, of the distance they felt from the men they loved.

Meanwhile, she was completely unaware of the undercurrents brewing around her. Her attention was fixed solely on Lando, the way his fingers lightly traced over her hand, how his eyes sparkled when they met hers. It was like they were in their own little world, and for a brief moment, nothing else seemed to matter.

The Lilys were nearby, laughing and sharing some inside joke they all had together, their connection obvious. Everyone was captivated by her, and it was as if nothing could break the siren spell she had cast over the entire grid.

Lando leaned down, whispering something else in her ear. She blushed, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek. The intimacy between them was so apparent, so natural, that it almost felt like everyone else had faded into the background. Their connection wasn’t just public—it was inescapable, unavoidable.

She smiled, blissfully content in her little bubble, unaware that for some, her happiness was the very thing they longed for.

Rebecca glanced sideways at Alexandra again, her voice low but laced with frustration. "Do you think she knows? How much do they all... love her?"

Alexandra’s voice was quiet, almost thoughtful. "I don’t know. She probably doesn’t even realize how much it affects us. How it feels like we’re invisible sometimes."

"Right," Rebecca agreed. "Like we’re just... not enough."

Lando and her casual affection didn’t go unnoticed by others. Even in the rare moments when they weren’t physically touching, there was an undeniable pull between them. A few drivers who were in earshot exchanged knowing glances, but the attention they received didn’t seem to faze Lando. He was completely immersed in her, and she, in turn, was absorbed in him.

As the race preparations continued, Alexandra and Rebecca found themselves watching, more entranced by the affection between Lando and her than they’d like to admit. The jealousy wasn’t just about public displays—it was the constant reminder that their own relationships never quite measured up. The way Lando made her feel seen, adored, cherished—none of them had ever felt that way in the same way.

Alexandra sighed and straightened, breaking the silence. "I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to be jealous of her but I can’t help it."

Rebecca didn’t say anything at first, her gaze still fixed on the couple in front of them. It was a deep, quiet pain that neither of them had been able to shake off since they’d first noticed how much attention she attracted. They weren’t just jealous of her relationship—they were jealous of the ease with which she made it all look.

"Do you think we could ever be like them?" Alexandra asked, her voice low, tinged with both hope and uncertainty.

Rebecca shifted on the bench, crossing her arms. "What do you mean? You mean... them? PDA-ing everywhere and making everyone uncomfortable?"

Alexandra bit her lip, glancing over at the couple. "Not exactly but... you know. The way they are with each other. They make everyone around them feel like they’re the only two people in the world. It just... it feels real, right?"

Rebecca looked skeptical, her brow furrowing as she glanced at her boyfriend, Carlos Sainz, who was deep in conversation with a few other drivers. "Maybe, but I don’t think we could do that. It’s not... us. Besides, our boyfriends don’t act like Lando. You know how Carlos is—he’s always so reserved. I mean he’s goofy but still reserved."

Alexandra sighed, her eyes drifting toward Charles Leclerc, who was at the other end of the paddock, talking to a few mechanics. She tried to imagine them in the same scenario—Lando and her, so open and carefree and then Charles, who kept his emotions locked tight behind a mask of calm.

"Yeah, I know but that doesn’t mean we can’t try, right? I mean, we’re always playing the cool, collected girlfriend act. Maybe it’s time for a change."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "You want us to try and do what they’re doing? Be all touchy-feely and PDA-y, like we’ve got something to prove?"

Alexandra’s voice softened as she thought about it, her gaze lingering on Charles, who was now smiling at something one of the engineers had said. "I just... I want to feel seen. Like they do. Lando makes it so obvious how much he loves her. And I know that’s not everything, but sometimes I wish Charles would do more. He’s... distant, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s because I’m not enough."

Rebecca’s lips pressed together. She had the same insecurities but wasn’t quite ready to admit them aloud. "I know what you mean. All Carlos does is hold my hand to walk me through the paddock, sometimes not at all. I feel like I’m just a trophy girlfriend to him when we’re at the track but when he’s with the other drivers, it’s like he’s a completely different person."

There was a pause, both women lost in their thoughts. They both knew their boyfriends loved them in their own way but there was something about the attention and affection Lando and her shared that felt so undeniable, so effortless, and it made them feel as though their relationships were somehow lacking.

Alexandra stood up abruptly. "You know what? Let’s just do it. Let’s go over there, act like we mean it, and see how they respond. We need to show them we can be just as affectionate. We’ll be the ones everyone talks about."

Rebecca hesitated for a moment, but the feeling of frustration and longing was enough to push her forward. "Alright. Let’s try it."

They approached Carlos and Charles, who were now standing together near a quiet corner of the paddock. The sight of them standing side by side made Alexandra and Rebecca feel a little more confident. If they could just find the courage to replicate what they had seen in her and Lando’s relationship, they might finally feel seen.

"Hey," Alexandra said, her voice just a little too high-pitched as she approached Charles. She leaned in, placing a hand on his shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Charles gave her a small smile but didn’t move, his posture still stiff. "Hey, everything okay?"

"Yeah," Alexandra replied, forcing a smile. "I just thought... maybe we could have a little more fun today. You know, like, just let go a little. It’s not all about the race, right?"

Before Charles could respond, she reached up and put her arm around his neck, pulling him closer. The move was clumsy, too forced, and Charles immediately stiffened under her touch. He glanced around, clearly uncomfortable.

"Alex, baby," he began, his voice hesitant. "What are you doing?"

"Just... you know, being affectionate," she said quickly, trying to make it sound casual. "Lando and Y/n do it all the time."

Charles’s eyes flickered to Lando and her, who were now in the midst of another affectionate exchange. He looked back at Alexandra, a little unsure of what to do next.

"I don’t think that’s really... necessary," he said, his tone soft but firm. "I’m not... I’m not really into all that PDA. You know that."

Alexandra’s smile faltered as she tried to read his expression. "But don’t you want to show people we’re together? Like... like them?"

Charles ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting to the side as if searching for an escape. "We don’t need to prove anything to anyone, Alex. I’m with you. That’s enough."

Alexandra felt a sharp pang in her chest. She had thought that maybe, just maybe, trying to show more affection would change something, but it only seemed to make Charles pull further away.

Meanwhile, Rebecca had attempted the same with Carlos, trying to get him to wrap an arm around her waist. But Carlos, too, had stiffened under her touch. "Rebecca, I don’t think this is a good idea," he said, his voice quieter than usual, a little hesitant. "You know I’m not a big fan of doing this in public."

"But why not?" Rebecca asked, almost desperate. "Why can’t we just act like we’re in love the way Lando and Y/n do? Why does it have to be so complicated?"

Carlos looked around, clearly uncomfortable with the attention they were starting to gather. "We’re in a race paddock, Rebecca. We don’t need to put on a show."

The words hit harder than she expected. It wasn’t that Carlos didn’t love her; she knew he did. But the kind of affection she craved—the public displays, the hand-holding, the constant reassurance—was something he couldn’t give her. Not in the way she needed.

Both Alexandra and Rebecca pulled away, feeling the weight of their failed attempts to recreate something they had seen in her relationship. It wasn’t that they wanted to be them; it was just that they wanted to feel loved—seen and acknowledged in the same way.

They stood in silence for a few moments, the awkwardness between them thickening, as they realized that maybe their relationships just weren’t built the same way as theirs was.

"I guess... I guess some things just aren’t meant to be forced," Alexandra muttered, her voice soft.

Rebecca nodded, her eyes downcast. "Yeah. I guess."

The words were left hanging in the air as they turned to walk away, each woman reflecting on the differences in their relationships. Despite their insecurities, they knew deep down that love didn’t always look the same. But for just a moment, the girls couldn’t help but wish for love that was as obvious as the one her and Lando shared.

Once the race was over, the usual post-race celebrations had begun to wind down. The paddock was buzzing with the energy of success and disappointment, but for Alexandra and Rebecca, there was a quiet weight that hung between them. They had both tried to force something that wasn’t there, and now they found themselves standing in the shadows of the team garages, the crowd around them a world away.

Alexandra leaned against the cold metal wall, arms crossed, her eyes cast downward. She had hoped that showing more affection would somehow change things, but it had only made her feel worse. The uncomfortable silence that followed her attempt at PDA with Charles lingered in her mind, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe she was the one in the wrong. Maybe she had expected too much.

Rebecca stood beside her, arms folded tightly across her chest as if she were protecting herself. The tension in her posture mirrored Alexandra’s, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

"You know," Alexandra finally said, breaking the silence, her voice low and hesitant, "I thought I could change things. I thought... if I just showed Charles that I wanted more of what her and Lando have, things would feel different. But now it just feels... forced. Like I’m trying too hard."

Rebecca didn’t look at her, but she could hear the vulnerability in her friend’s voice. It made her realize that she had been holding onto her own feelings for far too long.

"I get it," Rebecca said softly. "I tried to do the same with Carlos. I thought maybe if I was more like them, more open, more... affectionate, he’d finally see me the way I want him to. But all I got was awkwardness." She exhaled sharply, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I feel like I’m invisible when I’m around him sometimes. Like I’m just... there. But not really there, you know?"

Alexandra nodded slowly, her chest tightening with the weight of the unspoken emotions she had kept hidden. "Yeah. I feel the same way with Charles. He’s so distant. I know he loves me, but I just want him to show it more. To... want to show it. I want to feel special. But when I try to get close, it’s like I’m pushing him away."

Rebecca shifted uncomfortably, finally turning to face her friend. "It’s not like I’m asking Carlos to be Lando, but... sometimes I just want to know he cares. I want him to make me feel... wanted. But it always feels like he’s holding back. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong."

Alexandra looked at her, her heart aching with empathy. "You’re not doing anything wrong, Rebecca. I think... maybe we’ve been measuring our relationships against something else—against her and Lando, against what everyone else seems to have. But... maybe what we have isn’t supposed to look like theirs."

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, Alexandra felt the tension begin to loosen in her chest. "I just wanted to be seen, you know? Like... really seen. Not just as the girlfriend, but as someone who matters to them, the way they matter to us."

Rebecca let out a quiet breath, a mixture of relief and sadness. "I think we all want that. But maybe we’re looking for it in the wrong places. Maybe Charles and Carlos... they show us they care in ways we don’t always notice because we’re too busy looking for something else. Something we think we need."

Alexandra sighed, her eyes drifting to the empty space around them. "It’s hard. Especially when you see what Lando and her have. They just... make it look so easy. So perfect. And it makes you wonder if you’re just not enough. If maybe they’re right to be so out there, but maybe we just need something more... personal. More quiet."

Rebecca thought for a moment, her gaze now fixed on the ground. "Yeah. I don’t need Carlos to be Lando, and I don’t need Charles to be that way either. I think I just need them to show me... in their own way... that I’m not invisible. That I matter. Even if it’s not perfect like them."

"Exactly," Alexandra said quietly. "We just need to stop comparing our relationships to theirs. It’s not fair to anyone. Not to them, and not to us."

They started walking through the paddock in silence.

"You think they know how much they’ve made us feel this way?" Rebecca asked, breaking the silence with a soft chuckle.

Alexandra shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I don’t think they have a clue."

Rebecca laughed, a sound that was light and free, a welcome release from the tension that had built up over the past few days. "Well, I’m glad I'm not the only one who feels like this," she said with a wink. "Maybe it’s time to stop trying to be something we’re not. And maybe we can just... be with them the way we are. No forced PDA. No comparisons."

Alexandra smiled fully now, the weight lifting from her chest as she nodded in agreement. "Yeah. No more pretending. Let’s just... be us. And if they love us, it’s going to be enough."

Rebecca placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "You know, I think we’re going to be okay."

"Yeah," Alexandra replied, her voice firm with newfound conviction. "We will be."

------

NO HATE TO ALEXANDRA OR REBECCA. This is strictly fictional

708 notes · View notes

eraenaa · 1 year ago

Text

Loathe to Love

Aemond Targaryen x Strong Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Seeking forgiveness is not a thing Aemond bothers himself with, but that quickly changes when he deeply offended you.

Warnings: ¿Softer Aemond?, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (F receiving), Targcest, Not Proofread

Word Count: 6,411

Prequel: Blessed Curse

A/N: Based on a request where they wanted "Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter, who, like her brothers, doesn't have Valyrian characteristics. A scene like at dinner, in which Aemond accuses his nephews of being strong and, consequently, his wife too." (!Not related to the past two fics that were Aemond x Reader Wife!)

A blessing or a curse? Neither of you knew how to take and label this marriage devised by your grandsire. It was a final plea to unite your estranged family, offering you as Aemond’s bride because the King’s fading mind was still set on how you and Aemond were entirely fond of each other in childhood. However, that sentiment had completely changed during the fateful night in Driftmark. Whatever fondness you and your uncle had in childhood had rolled away with the tides in your supposed father’s home. Affection turned into animosity, and animosity quickly turned into resentment.

However, with the marriage you and Aemond were succumbed to, you both tried your most ardent effort to work through past differences. And with half a year since your union, you and Aemond had almost fully buried the grievances you harbored against each other. Gone now was the reluctant prince who stood by the end of Sept waiting for his bride, who was practically dragged down the aisle. Looks of unbridled hatred had faded and turned to looks of passion and longing. Deep-rooted loathing was slowly fading into love that both of you had yet to admit to the other.

You broke fast in the gardens with your husband, a daily tradition that you and him established since the first days of your marriage. Most of the time, it would be just the two of you, but on some days, you two would be joined by his siblings and his mother, who surprisingly did not hold such great bitterness for you when compared to other members of your kin. And on a day such as this, you were joined by the queen and her only daughter, Helaena. “I saw the maids preparing some of the guest chambers. Are we to host a lord and their house, my Queen?” You asked your mother through marriage with a tilt of your head, your hand intertwined with your husband’s under a table, hidden from anyone’s view.

Aemond raised his eye from the book he was reading and placed it on his mother. “Not particularly guests… your mother and your brothers are set to visit,” She replied, and your brows shot up in surprise. Aemond turned to you, plush lips agape in shock. “Did you not know?” The queen asked, and you shook your head. “No… they had not written to me about such matters,” You said, your lips twitching into a smile of excitement as you had terribly missed our family. You turned to your husband; whatever reaction he had was hidden behind his ever-stoic expression. However, you did feel his hold on your hand grow tighter. Though his animosity towards you had died with every kiss shared and every hour spent in each other’s arms, you could not say that that would be the case for the other members of your family. You could practically feel the tantalizing anger within radiating off him.

“I’m going to the tiltyard,” Aemond suddenly announced and abruptly stood up, making you sigh. His mother and sister nodded, but before his departure from breakfast, you felt him place a chaste kiss on your temple before walking off. Leaving you wide-eyed and blushing before his kin for neither of you had displayed such affections so openly. The touches and kisses and pleasures you shared were saved for the privacy of your marital chambers, and to have him do such an affectionate action in front of others was completely uncharacteristic of him. You lower your head as you feel your cheeks burn red, but if you had kept your head held up high, you would see a small smile on the queen’s lips, for she too was shocked and amused by her son’s actions. Never had she imagined for her favored son to find a wife that would bring out the warmth and tenderness in him that everyone believed to be lost the day his eye was taken by your younger brother.

For the rest of the day, you were busied with your engagements with the other ladies of the court to the point that the day had faded into the night. It was past the usual time of your supper, and you were certain your husband was preparing himself for bed, which is why it was a surprise when you entered your marital chambers with Aemond seated by the table where a meal for both of you lay, untouched. “You still have not eaten?” You asked as you stood behind your seat that was across your husband’s. “I was waiting for you,” Was all he said, as he motioned for you to sit. You blinked at him; the warm, flickering light of the fire illuminated his silver locks that were unique to your house but you had not inherited. The silhouette cast made his angular, Valyrian features more prominent, and you could not help but feel a small pang of jealousy, for you were never blessed with such acclaimed features that your house was celebrated for.

You licked your lips and removed your gaze from your husband’s lilac eye. You took your seat and quietly watched him as he placed items of food onto your plate. “You should have eaten earlier,” you said quietly, knowing that Aemond’s last meal was the one you shared in the morning, for your husband did not eat luncheon nor any other small meal to aid him between the morning and the evening. “Like I’ve said, I was waiting for you,” He said as he poured wine into your chalice. You flashed him a small smile of gratitude, and like always, he gave a quiet nod of acknowledgment. “How was your day?” You asked before taking a bit of the temped meal that had been waiting for you along with your husband. “Fine. I trained, I read, and then accompanied my grandsire with business,” he said and took a sip of wine. “And yours?” He asked, and you smiled as you began to recall your day.

Aemond nodded along as he ate, and you went on to tell him about your day. He had no intention of telling you, but this was his second-most favorite time of each day. He quickly had gotten used to listening to you babble and tell him about the ventures you had just hours before. He had no particular care about the subjects of which you spoke of; all he cared about was hearing you speak. Watching you as you would reenact your encounters or how your expression would change when you told him about the latest gossip in court. He would always note how your voice would grow an octave higher when you spoke of an event you found most entertaining or exciting, and he loved gazing into your beguiling, brown eyes that would twinkle in the candlelight.

“Will you accompany me tomorrow?” You asked as you had finished retelling your day to your husband. “To where?” Aemond asked as he was slightly disappointed that you did not have many anecdotes to share that night; you would usually have prolonged stories that Aemond would listen attentively to until he had fished his meal. “To welcome my mother, father, and brothers by the pits when they arrive,” You say and play with the peas on your plate. Aemond was silent for a moment; you took in a deep breath and thought that perhaps your request was a bit much for him. Though you expected him to act civilly with your kin, wanting him to join you in welcoming them was perhaps a bit much. “Nevermind… I ca—“ Your husband interrupted your sentence. “I shall join you,” he said, and your lips agape in shock once more.

Aemond bit his tongue to hinder himself from smiling widely at the expression that flashed before your pretty face. His urges announced himself as his eye caught your plump lips parted; amusement and arousal swirling within him. “You will?” You asked, making certain you had heard no false agreement. “My lady wife had made a simple request; of course, I shall oblige it,” He answered and felt his heart flutter as a beaming smile spread to your lips. Aemond felt fire in his veins as you stood from your seat and went to him to place a supposed chaste kiss on his lips, but Aemond wanted more. You gasped as you were pulled to sit on his lap, your kiss deepening with each moment and your body aching with need as Aemond’s hands were holding your waist and the other cupping your cheek. You feel your husband’s need through his trousers and through your dress.

You moaned at the taste of wine on his tongue. His hand traveled toward your bosom, cupping your tit through the bodice of your dress, his fingers undoing the laces of your gown but the two of you never parted your intertwined lips. Aemond groaned as you accidentally bit his lip, but you would take it that he liked the occurrence as you felt his hips buck upwards and seek friction. Aemond reluctantly parted your lips to gasp for air; he watched you pant, eyes filled with longing and lust, lips swollen and shined with a glossy shine of him.

You yelped as your husband punched you on the table, sweeping away the meal you two had just shared, the plates and cutlery falling onto the floor with a loud noise, but neither of you heard as you two were completely lost and dazed with want for each other. You pulled Aemond towards you as you wanted to feel his lips once more. Aemond had fully undone the laces of your gown, and you felt the sleeves of it draping off and the hem of it being risen by your husband. You hummed in question as you felt Aemond push you to lie down on the wooden table. You propped yourself by your elbows to see what he was doing. Your eyes locked with his lone one as he sank to his knees. The hem of your dress had bundled up to your waist, and Aemond placed his cold hands at each of your thighs.

You bit harshly at your lower lip as he placed kisses on each side of your thighs, nipping the soft skin making you whimper at the stinging pain that he would immediately soothe with his tongue. “Aemond,” you called as he continued to tease you, his tongue licking strips upward to your needing heart but would abruptly stop before inching closer towards the place you need his tongue most. “Yes, wife?” He hummed, and you huffed as you sensed tease in his voice. “Please,” You pleaded in ancient tongue, and there was a long pause before he obliged your request. You breathed heavily as Aemond sucked on your delicate pearl, him humming in delight as he tasted your essence and as well to add to your pleasure.

Your moans accompanied the crackle of the fire as Aemond inserted two of his fingers, him curling the calloused digits and spurring you quickly to your peak. You could not understand how he was so skilled in such endeavors, able to make you quickly come undone even though he confessed himself that before you, he had only laid with a woman once, on the behest of his older brother.

Aemond smirked as he gazed at you laying on the table you two had your meals on, your pretty face that everyone tried to sell as plain still contorted in pleasure that he was the cause of. Aemond brought his fingers to his lips and sucked the essence of you clean, his other hand undoing the laces of his trousers as his cock painfully sought to be inside you. Aemond had always believed himself to be indifferent to the acts of intimacy, but he quickly learned that that sentiment was completely false when it came to you. On the night after your marriage, he had no plan to partake in the marital act, ready to cut his palm and pretend he beaded you so the court would not have a new gossip piece in the morning. However, that plan was quickly forgotten by just the sight of you undressing behind a divider. The candlelight illuminated your form and created a silhouette of your frame undressing and caused Aemond to need greatly. And ever since that night, the pleasures of the flesh he always thought he was indifferent to quickly turned, and he now harbored the same needing patterns he saw in his brother that he used to frown upon.

Aemond locked your lips and assisted you off the table, you had thought he would lead you towards your bed, but you frowned through your kiss as he turned you around in his arms, your back resting against his chest, his pulsating length resting against your still hiked up gown. You feel Aemond’s lips move from your lip to your neck, his cold hands forcing your gown downwards and letting it pool at your feet, leaving you exposed. You whispered as his hands made their way to cup and squeeze your breast. The sensitive buds grew taut at the coldness of touch. You hear Aemond take in a deep breath of your scent, and you let out a bubbling moan as his length is placed in the crevice of your bottom, Aemond letting it glide in between your bum.

You gasped in shock as you felt Aemond push you down onto the table, bending you over the sturdy wood and abruptly entering you without warning. You let out a wry moan as you did not know if you should focus on the pain or pleasure he gave. Aemond bit harshly at his lip as he was incredibly pleasured by the new angle he was taking you in, as well as the sight of you bent over the wooden table. He bundled your dark hair into his hands, feeling the soft silky waves and pulling on it and earning a moan from your lips and caused a further tightening in your cunt. “It would seem that my wife likes to be fucked like a common whore,” He gritted in between thrusts. Aemond knew he pleasured you well, but with this new position, your moans had only grown louder than the past times you had laid. Your cunt grew tighter and more wet, and you were quicker to come undone once more.

“Yes… yes, Aemond! Don’t stop, please, don’t stop!” You cried as he pounded at you from behind. Aemond griped the plump flesh of your behind, watching as the skin grew red from his hold; he moved his hands to your waist as he felt the urge of release coming to him as well. Your moans rang louder in his ears, his name slipping from your lips, urging him to come quickly than past nights. He groaned out your name as he spilled his seed deep inside you, hoping that his seed would finally take as he was already zealous with the thought of you swole with his child. Your dazed mind could barely comprehend Aemond assisting you up from your bent position because all your body could focus on was the peak you had reached and his lips against yours once more. You let your husband carry you to bed, him tucking you in his arms like always, and you drifted to sleep wholly satisfied.

Aemond placed his gaze upon you, who was practically bouncing in excitement at your spot next to him. You two stood by the pits as a welcoming party for your kin. Aemond placed great restrain upon himself to not let his animosity show when he spotted your brothers landing your little dragons. “Sister!” He heard the boy who took his eye scream, and Aemond felt you let go of his hand to run to your brother. He did not want to entertain the small pang in his heart as you readily let go of his hold to run and warmly embrace the boy who had maimed him beyond repair, but he knew that with your marriage, whatever fondness and understanding you and Aemond had and will develop will be divided with your love for your true family.

“Oh, I’ve missed you!” You gushed and kissed Lucerys’ cheek; you smiled widely that even though your brother was on the cusp of adolescence, he melted of talc and your mother’s oils. “Your favoritism is showing, sister,” You hear Jacaerys tease, and you sigh in amusement, letting go of Lucerys and moving to embrace your older brother.

Aemond watched you as you greeted your family with such open warmth and love that he and his kin were never accustomed to. Aemond shifted his gaze to your younger brother, who had a wary look in his oak eyes. Aemond bit his cheeks as he stared down the boy who cowardly shifted his gaze and went closer to you, like a little scared pup hiding behind Aemond’s wife.

“Where are Baela and Rheana?” You asked as you let go of your embrace of Jacaerys, looking around the pits. “They went on the ship along with Joffery and the babes. They shall reach by nightfall,” he answered, and you nodded. Your brother’s gaze shifted between you and your husband, who stood by the side, “How… how are you, sister? Is…” He trailed as Aemond challenged his gaze. You gave him a small smile, “I’m fine, Jacaerys, perfectly fine, better now that you are all here.” You said, and Jacaerys hesitantly nodded, not completely believing your sentiments. “Tala,” You hear yourself being called by your stepfather, who stands beside your mother, and you hurriedly go in their direction. “My sweet girl!” Your mother smiled and kissed your cheek as you went to embrace her. “You look more cheery since we left you. Are they treating you well? Or do I have to behead that cunt of a husband that you have?” Daemon asked, and your smile faltered at his words. “Father,” You warned, and you heard him sigh. “They are treating me perfectly well,” You said, and just like Jacaerys, Daemond gave an unconvinced nod.

You turn to Aemond, who still stands idly by the side; you make hastened steps towards your husband as members of your family remove their riding gear. “Do you wish to return to the keep?” You asked, learning he had grown bored and impatient. He turned his body to face you, his brow raised in question. “I could ride with them in the wheelhouse; you can return to your training if you wish,” You smiled. Aemond studied your eyes; he knew that the words you uttered were for his benefit, but he could not help but think it was you driving him away as you would rather spend time with your family than him.

“It is not that I wish for you to leave, but if you would rather return to your training or reading, I would completely understand,” You added, and Aemond froze at your words; it was as if you could read his mind. He did not know how you did it, but you had this ability to know things about him without him even saying them out loud. He was quick to learn that you could see past his hardened exterior and see the intent and thoughts he kept to himself. You were the only person who knew him with such a deep level of understanding. “It is fine. I shall wait for you, and we could ride back together to the keep,” He said, and his cold heart ran warm as you flashed him with your beaming smile.

“What did they do to her?” Jacaerys asked as he stood near his brother and parents. “That last time we were here, she was completely ready to sail off to Essos just to escape him,” he added, and Daemon shook his head, removing himself from the conversation as he, too, was perplexed at how you completely turned your views towards this marriage. “I believe that is what love does,” Rhaenyra sighed, and Daemon scoffed in ridicule from a distance, and Jacaerys quickly shook his head. “Love? You practically had to drag her down the aisle! That is not love… that is some work by a potion slipped into her wine!” Jacaerys disagreed, and your mother breathed out a laugh. “Believe what you want, but your sister is stronger than to let a potion alter her emotions; that affection is brought by love,” She sighed as she, too, was surprised by the outcome of this marriage but was entirely pleased to learn that you found love in a person that all believed had none.

When all of you returned to the castle, your husband went straight to the tiltyard whilst your parents set off to visit your grandsire. You, however, accompanied your brothers as they wanted to tour around the keep that was once their home. Throughout your whole tour, you could not help but grow curious at the curious and prying glances thrown at the three of you that had faded during the moons of your return to the Red Keep. “They keep staring at us,” You hear Lucerys whisper to Jacareys, who still kept his head held high despite being in the den of vipers.

“Ignore them,” You whispered to your younger brother. You smile as Jacaeyrs pulls Lucerys towards the tiltyard, hurriedly going down the steps to explore the place they used to frequent as children. You stood by the railings, your eyes catching the flutter of silver hair, your husband training with his sword along with Ser Criston, whom he battled with. You stood steady by your spot by the balcony that overlooks the tiltyard, leaning in on the railing as you watched Aemond impressively train with his sword. It was truly a wonder to watch Aemond with his sword; he was able to command the room with each swing and movement he did. Captivating everyone as he simulated the battlefield, even your brothers stopped their reminiscing to watch him train. Far was he from the little boy he tripped over his wooden sword and struggled to even keep it upright.

“Well done, my prince, you will be winning tourneys at no time,” You hear Ser Kristen compliment the prince he had molded into a warrior as the tip of Aemond’s sword placed at the knight’s neck. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” You hear your husband reply as you descended down the stairs, making your way to your brothers. “Nephews, have you come to train?” He asked as you paused behind Lucerys and Jacaerys. Aemond’s challenging gaze turned to you, who announced her presence. You stared into his lilac eye and saw it somewhat softened. Aemond clenched his jaw and lowered his sword as the crowd that surrounded him began to dissolve. A clear path leading to you was made, and Aemond crossed it, forgetting about his want to challenge his nephews.

“You were most impressive with your sword,” You complimented lowly as you felt Aemond guide you to the side, and he placed his hand on your lower back. “I am glad that you found that impressive, little wife,” He hummed and wiped his sword, ignoring the stares of your brothers who stood by the side. “Perhaps I should wonder more often to the tiltyard; I would not want to miss an opportunity to watch my husband best the most acclaimed knights of the realm.” You feel your heart flutter as Aemond’s lips twitch into a small smirk. “Perhaps you should,” He said, unable to control the amusement that laced his voice and shinned brightly in his eye.

“Do you believe what Mother says? That they are in love?” Jacaerys whispered to Lucerys, who looked at you smiling upon your husband, “I… I do not know, perhaps,” he whispered as he noted that the smile on your lips was no pretense nor was it forced. And the gleam in your eyes could only be translated into love. Lucerys shifted his gaze back to his brother as you walked off and Aemond returned to training. “But how? How could our sister love someone like him?” Jacaerys asked incredulously, his voice growing a bit louder.

Aemond clenched his jaw as he heard your brother’s words. It was a danger to all that rage was quickly bubbling inside him, and he had a weapon in his hold. The one-eyed prince took in deep breaths to calm himself, reminding himself that you were just by the side waiting and watching him.

But a gnawing feeling in his gut had settled, and he too started to wonder as to how you could ever love someone like him. It is no secret that you and he were raised with opposing views of the world and even clashing families as well. His mother never approved of how your mother had raised you; everything about yours and your brother’s conception and upbringing had brought shame upon the Targaryen name and reputation. And the years before were nothing short of hatred. Yes, the both of you were fond of each other in childhood, but is that enough to undo the following years of animosity and contempt? Will these past moons that were filled with shared understanding and longing be enough to undo the resentment of the past?

It was enough for him. You were enough of a reason for him to let go of the grudges and grievances harbored. By some divine, paradoxical power, your blessed touch was the only touch that could tend and stitch Aemond’s broken past created by your own kin. Even with all the traditions and honor that were desecrated by your mere birth, Aemond could not help but love you, even if he had not said it out loud. No matter your differences, no matter the truth of your illegitimacy, he loved you truly.

However, that overflowing affection he had towards you was for you and you alone. The civility he knew that he should display was slipping out from his hold as old hatred for your brothers was starting to wake, and Aemond was not entirely certain if he could control the burning rage in his veins once more.

You sat next to your husband for a rare family dinner; it was the first time the whole of your clan had been together since your and Aemond’s wedding. You smiled fondly as Baela and Rhaena had already arrived along with your youngest brothers, who were now fast asleep in the nursery. You kept your secret hold on Aemond’s hand as the dinner proceeded, your heart full of joy as you wanted to erase the emotions you were feeling the last time the whole of the family was together with something more pleasant. Gone now was the hatred and agony you felt in your heart as your grandsire ordered your marriage with Aemond. The only thing you now felt for your husband was love. It could be considered ridiculous that with just half a year of marriage, all the deep-rooted anger and ire from the past had completely decimated and turned into blooming love, but that was the truth of it.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table.” The king said “The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” His final plea for peace was supposed to be yours and Aemond’s marriage, but that seemed to do little for the others to bury the grievances made years before. Your hold on Aemond’s hand tightened as you Grandsire removed his mask and exposed his decaying face. “My own face is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king… But your father.” He said and turned to his children, “Your brother,” the king turned to Daemon. “Your husband,” he said to the queen. “And your grandsire.” He finished turning to you and your siblings. “Who may not, it seems…walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts.” He ended.

You were so entrapped by the speech given by your grandsire that you had not even realized that in the midst of that heartfelt moment, your husband was having a contest of stares amongst your brothers. Not a word by the king affected nor lessened the hatred in their hearts for each other.

You watched and listened intently as toast from both sides of your families started to circulate to the table, obliging the king’s request for civility and the possibility of unification for your house. By the end of the toasts, the intimate feast once more commenced, and your smile only grew with each passing moment of peace. However, it was quickly taken from you as a roasted pig was placed in front of you and Aemond, our gaze flying to your younger brother, who snickered as he recalled the cruel jest they made at Aemond’s expense years before. “Lucerys,” you hissed sharply in warning. Your heart skipped a beat as your husband let go of your hold and slammed his clenched fist on the table, rendering the room silent. “Final tribute,” He announced, the attention of the entire room upon him.

“To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luc… and Joffery,” He began, and you felt your hands grow cold at his words, already knowing where this would lead. “Each of them handsome, wise…” He trailed, catching your eyes that pleaded for him to stop and not speak of offense. He, however, ignored your pleas. “Strong,” He ended, and you feel your heart painfully pit in your chest. Your gaze flew to your lap, and you softly shook your head in disappointment, for you had foolishly believed that your husband would at least grow somewhat sensitive at the matter of you and your brother’s true paternity. “Come. Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys!” He announced, and you felt a painful twist in your stomach.

The peaceful meal between your kin that you had longed for had turned ugly and violent; you shook your head as your husband and his brother, along with your brothers, waltzed back into old patterns and began to brawl and fight each other. You shook your head and stood from your seat, quietly exiting the room and leaving the fight that the other tried to break up. Aemond watched your departing figure, disappointment oozing off your frame as you exited the hall. He turned to your brothers' red and angered faces, and it only dawned upon him the severity of his offense. He was ready to go after you, but his mother pulling on his arm hindered him, the queen scolding her grown son as if he were a boy.

Moments after, Aemond rushed to your chambers in dire need to speak with you, but you were not there. Aemond walked the darkened corridors of the keep, searching every spot you would frequent but to no avail. Aemond halted in his steps as he heard footsteps and voices approaching. “I’ve told you that they were not suited for each other,” Aemond heard your stepfather say, voice enraged. “You saw how openly he disparaged and humiliated her and her siblings— what more if they were behind closed doors?” Daemon seethed, him having half the mind to march to the king and demand an annulment of your marriage with Aemond.

Aemond clenched his fists in anger as he heard how low the opinion of your stepfather had of him, but that anger was being overpowered by guilt as he recalled your pleading face earlier as you quietly begged him not to speak offense. But Aemond could no longer control himself as being in the presence of your brothers brought back the uninhibited rage he genuinely thought he could control for your sake. Aemond took in a deep breath and stomped off, determined to find you. He scoured the entirety of the keep in search of you, with each passing moment that you were not found added to his guilt and the pang in his chest. It was nearing the hour of the wolf, and Aemond still had not found you. Aemond rarely felt fear; he refused to be in fear of anything, but just by just the mere hours of your absence had him drowning in dread and despair.

Aemond thought of retiring back to your chambers and perhaps try to find you when the sun had risen, but his body could not physically rest without your presence. Aemond found him straying towards the gardens, his feet carrying him towards the weirwood tree that you two had often frequented in childhood. He halted in his steps as he heard quiet sobs and sniffling, his knees growing weak at the sight of your body curled upon the trunk of the tree, your face in your hands as you tried to stifle your sobs. Aemond made cautious steps towards you, swallowing thickly as he had never succumbed to such guilt and pain before; it was unbearable to see you cry— more so for he knew that the reason for your tears was him.

Aemond felt his breathing caught in his throat as you lifted your gaze, and your bloodshot eyes met his. “Why?” You managed to ask, your voice hoarse and filled with emotion. It was too much; Aemond wanted to fall to his knees and ask for your forgiveness; he could not take the way you stared up at him with such great sadness. “Why… why would you do such a thing? Why could you not l…” You could not even make yourself finish your words as a bubbling sob of angered sadness took over you. You tightly shut your eyes as Aemond fell on his knees before you, trying to take hold of your hand, but you over away from his touch.

“I know of the resentment you have for my siblings— for me because we are bastards and because Lucerys had taken your eye. It was foolish for me to think that with our marriage, perhaps that enmity in you would lessen or at least be concealed enough that you would not seek out revenge so… so openly and as well as disparage me and my honor,” You say, your voice shaking as you try to take hold of your cries. “I did not mean to offend you; that was not aimed toward you,” Aemond said, and you shook your head. “They are my brothers, Aemond. Questioning their paternity means to question mine as well. Wounding them would be wounding me as well,” You countered and shook your head as Aemond moved to take hold of your hands.

“I… I know it is difficult for you to be subjected to a room with my kin— especially my brothers, but could you not have let this one-night slide past peacefully? I am not seeking out your forgiveness; I was just hoping for something that resembled peace, just for one night,” You said lowly, voice trembling with your sobs and the cool night air that gusted around the gardens. Aemond sighed and rested his head against your clasped hands, still on his knees as you sat before him dejectedly. “I’m… I’m sorry, my love,” He whispered, and you froze, trying to decipher if you had heard him correctly. Never once had you heard him apologize nor use such an endearment.

“I apologize. I was consumed by my anger, and I could not control my rage. I should have kept my composure,” He said and looked up at your face, tear-stained cheeks flushed with sadness, bloodshot eyes in question, and pink lips agape in mystification. “I’m sorry,” Aemond said once more and placed a kiss on your knuckles. The word felt foreign on his tongue, but at the same time, it rolled effortlessly as he knew it would be his saving grace not to lose you. You sat quietly, uncertain what to reply, though you had been enveloped in rage and sorrow, by Aemond’s actions, it somehow miraculously faded by his words and touch.

“You called me ‘love’,” was all you could manage to say, the word still ringing in your ears even though you knew you should focus on the other matter. Aemond scrunched his brows as he gazed at your face, “I… I suppose I did,” He said, not even realizing the word slipped out his lips. He had been wanting to call you that endearment for weeks now, but he thought you would not take it well or that the softness and affection of it would lessen his stoic exterior. “Do you love me?” You could not help but ask, preparing yourself for the blow if it proves that your judgment was false. Aemond’s cold hands turned a degree colder as you asked the question. With each moment of silence, you feel your heart pit further, your mind scolding you for asking such a query. After another moment of prolonged silence, you sighed and were ready to stand, ready to mourn a different type of sadness.

“Of course I do,” Aemond finally spoke, “I love you,” He added, determined for you to believe his words. You were stunned at his confession that words eluded you, and all you could do was pull him close and kiss his lips. “I do not care about your paternity. I don’t think I ever truly did… I only acted as such to appease my mother and her father. And I know I have played the part well, acting as if I harbor loathing for you ever since childhood, but I could never resent you, not truly.” Aemond sighed as your lips parted, and you smiled widely against his lips. Tears of melancholy turned into tears of glee.

“You love me,” You mused as you cupped his cheeks, your thumb gently brushing the raised skin of his scar. “I love you.” Aemond confirmed, and he hummed as you kissed his lips once more. The events at supper were long forgotten as you and he finally shared the affection you both harbored long ago but were just too afraid to say out loud.

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