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gridgirldrabbles · 9 months

Text

Accidentally in Love

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Y/N

Words: 3k

Warnings: none

Based on: Accidentally in Love – Counting Crows

So she said what’s the problem, baby?

What’s the problem?

I don’t know

Well, maybe I’m in love

Think about it every time I think about it

Can’t stop thinking ‘bout it

You and Charles had been best friends before either of you even knew how to walk. He had been the one to push over boys on the playground who had pulled your pigtails while you were the one who held his hand in the nurse’s office when he had fallen over and scraped his knees while playing football. The two of you were inseparable, and despite the constant changes in both of your lives that had been one of the few constants. When Charles had entered the world of Formula 3, you had followed him to every race that you could until your mother told you it wouldn’t kill you to miss a race and go to school for once. When you went off to university having freshly turned 18, Charles was the one to help you move into your dorm room and wipe away your tears when you were saying goodbye.

The close bond you’d developed over all those years was how you could tell something was wrong when you looked at his face, eyebrows knitted together and lips downturned. You’d finished university now, having graduated top of your class, and Charles had invited you to travel round with him for a few months before you started applying for jobs. You were currently sat in his drivers room, you’d been talking about the upcoming race when his phone had pinged and he’d gotten distracted. Usually you wouldn’t mind, you knew the people who contacted him were more often than not quite important but the look on his face was causing concern.

“What’s the problem?” Your leg stretched out from your chair to tap your foot against where his rested at the bottom of the couch. His head snapped up to yours, his phone quickly being shoved back into his pocket before you could even get a glimpse of what he had been sent.

“Nothing, why?” Charles knew you didn’t believe him, he’d never been able to lie to you in any capacity. Whether it was when he ate the last cookie that you had been thinking about all day or the fact he’d planned a massive surprise party for your birthday, he’d never been able to hide anything from you. You looked at him with a deadpan expression on your face, “what’s going on?”

“It was just Arthur asking if I could go home for a surprise party for Maman in a few weeks but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.” Why did he say that? It was only to be expected that when you became so close with Charles you’d become just as close with the rest of his family. He’d have to remember to text Arthur later and tell him he had a surprise party to plan.

“Oh that’s a shame,” your lips pouted slightly at the thought of how sad Pascale would be at the fact she wouldn’t have all three of her boys at her birthday, she’d become a second mother to you very quickly over the years. “Is there no way you can move your plans around?”

“Yeah, I’ll ask and see if I can rearrange.” He was impressed that he’d managed to keep his cool but he knew his mother was your weak spot, you spoke to her even more than he did. He looked at his watch before ushering you out of the room and down to your spot at the back of the garage, leaving you with a soft peck on the forehead before he got into the car for free practice.

The real reason he’d been so perturbed was a text from the Frenchman only a few garages down. Pierre had messaged him and asked Charles for your number. He usually would be more than willing to give Pierre his friends’ numbers, but this time was different because it was you. It was sort of an open secret that Charles was absolutely head over heels for you, and everyone seemed to be aware of it. Except you, the one person Charles actually wanted to notice.

The truth was Pierre knew exactly how Charles felt about you, he had only asked for your number because he was starting to feel about sorry for his friend and the pining look he was always sending your way. In a last ditch attempt he had sent that text with the hope that Charles would see other people were bound to be interested in you sooner or later and he would have missed his opportunity.

What Charles didn’t know is that you’d felt the exact same way for as long as you could possibly remember. It had started when your mothers joked about how you would eventually get married given the pair of you spent so much time together. As you’d gotten older your friendship grew stronger, as did your feelings. When Charles had come over one day and told you all about his first kiss it had taken everything in you not to burst into tears right in front of him.

Over time you’d learned to control your emotions around him much better, but every now and again you would catch yourself staring and feel your heart beating faster, or you wouldn’t be able to stop the blush that crept up your neck and onto your cheeks when he sent a wink your way. A lot of boys had propositioned you over the years, sure you’d had one night stands over the years and gone on dates but nothing had really ever stuck. You knew deep down it was because you were comparing all of them to your best friend and none of them could even hold a candle to him in any regard, so you settled for being happily single until you got over him.

Except you never seemed to. The lingering touches and longing gazes exchanged across crowded rooms kept that little flicker of hope awake in your heart and it meant you could never moved on. Moving on would have required cutting Charles out of your life in one way or another and that just wasn’t something you were prepared to do.

How ironic that the two of you were so head over heels for each other. You’d spent years rebuking claims that you were secretly dating, admittedly with red cheeks and stuttering tongues, but none the less you had denied it. Neither of you had meant to fall in love but neither of you were willing to move on either, so you remained in an unrequited limbo for as long as it was going to take for one of you to make the first move.

Come on, come on

Turn a little faster

Come on, come on

The world will follow after

Come on, come on

Because everybody’s after love

It turns out you didn’t have to wait very long. The same weekend Pierre had sent his forsaken text, Charles had won the race and claimed a decent lead in the championship, which was only ever going to lead to one thing. Drinking.

In celebration of your best friends win, you were decked out in a stunning Ferrari red, the bold dress matching the colour of your lips. When Charles had come to pick you up from your room, he would be lying if he said his mouth hadn’t gotten a little drier and his pants a little tighter. If it was up to him he would’ve carried you back into your hotel room and that would’ve been his celebration. Instead he just told you that you looked beautiful and planted a soft kiss on your cheek before offering an arm out to you. He knew how badly your heels hurt your feet so any time he saw you wearing them he would offer you his arm to keep you steady.

You had met some of the other drivers at the club and the drinks had been flowing from the moment you’d crossed the threshold. Pierre had shoved shots of tequila into your hands and it had only gotten messier from there. You couldn’t even remember how many drinks you had when you’d dragged Charles by his hand onto the dancefloor, the other drivers watching with sly smiles in the hopes that the Monegasque would finally make his move.

The dancing remained fairly PG as it always was between you, both trying to make the other laugh with ridiculous moves. Your hands were interlocked when Charles released one of them and raised the other above your head, silently telling you to start spinning. His hand led your moments as he yelled “faster, faster!”, your hair flying around you and your laughs being able to be heard even over the thumping music. It didn’t take long for you to trip over your own feet and go stumbling forward.

Given his lightning reactions, it was no surprise that Charles caught you and balanced you upright. You were surprised when you lifted your head and you were virtually nose to nose with him, the faint smell of tequila lingering on his breath as it washed over your face and intoxicated you even more than you already had been. Your eyes naturally flicked down towards his slightly parted lips and that was the only signal Charles had needed. He thanked the alcohol for his increased confidence because he didn’t think he’d ever been so happy as when his lips felt yours mould themselves to fit his.

After a few seconds you both pulled away breathlessly. He’d thought about this moment thousands of times but nothing could’ve prepared him for the real thing. Your heaving chest, eyes staring up into his with a small smile playing on your lips. Before he could even say anything your lips were back on his, arms settled on his shoulders.

Well I didn’t mean to do it

But there’s no escaping your love

Neither of you had expected anything to stem from that night, both of you thought it was just a drunken incidence that would quickly be forgotten as you got back into your usual routine.

That was until you went out drinking again the week after and ended up in a dark corner of the club with your lips pressed together.

You thought it would’ve been awkward kissing your best friend without being in a relationship but it felt so natural that it didn’t change your friendship in the slightest. You still saw each other as much as you could, you still cuddled up on Charles’ couch whenever you were watching films, you still facetimed every day when he was away for races.

In fact, it had even brought you closer. While you still acted normally around each other there was a certain tension in the air whenever the two of you were alone.

Come on, come on

Move a little closer

Come on, come on

I wanna hear you whisper

Come on, come on

Settle down inside my love

After that night it hadn’t taken long for Charles to officially ask you to be his, and you jumped at the chance to say yes, it was something you’d spent days dreaming about. Your days together were spent in quiet bliss, a private bubble where you got to be deeply, head over heels in love.

Neither of you felt comfortable revealing your relationship to anyone right away, it was already strange enough to be navigating the path of friends to lovers without everyone else getting involved. It hadn't felt strange just kissing when their were no strings attached, but falling in love was a completely different ball park. This was understandably a bit difficult for you both, trying to control lingering gazes and wandering hands as best you could when others were around.

So far, no one had cottoned on to the fact that the two of you were spending so much time together. You were virtually glued at the hip before you got together so why would anyone suspect anything now?

The big issue came when the two of you were invited to Pierre’s house for a big summer break party. You knew that you weren’t the best at self-control when you had a bit of alcohol in your system, and Charles was going to know virtually everyone there.

You were just swiping your lipstick over your pouted lips when Charles came into the bathroom and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, chin settled delicately on your shoulder as he smiled softly at you in the mirror.

“Why do you look so worried?”

“I’m not,” you lied, “I just don’t want to be late.”

He spun you around so your lower back was pressed against the counter before tilting your chin up with his fingers in order to make your eyes meet his. Looking into his glassy orbs made you sigh, “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to control myself around you when I’m drunk, what if people notice?”

Charles couldn’t help but laugh at how sweet you were. “Mon amour, if they notice then they notice, but I promise it’ll be easier than you think.” He left a soft peck on the tip of your nose before taking your hand and leading you to the front door.

Pierre’s apartment wasn’t very far from Charles’, in reality nothing in Monaco was, so the pair of you decided to walk. As people stopped your boyfriend on the street and asked for photographs you hung back in the shadows. You knew it didn’t take much to spark a rumour online, and if the two of you were seen together as dressed up as you were people would’ve assumed it was a date.

The walk didn’t take long and before you knew it you were surrounded by far too many people and far too many drinks. No one had bat an eye when you had walked in together, knowing that Charles would’ve been gentlemanly enough to pick you up even when you were still best friends.

The alcohol flowed freely and quickly, and it didn’t take long for you to start feeling the buzz as you caught up with some of the drivers you hadn’t seen in a while. You couldn’t help how your eyes kept flitting over to Charles, often meeting his gaze as he searched for you across the room.

When your eyes turned back to the conversation you were met with Daniel’s knowing gaze, a wide, smug smirk sat across his tanned face. He leaned directly into you, “You know, I think he’d be inclined to say yes if you asked him out on a date.”

It took all of your willpower to not laugh in his face and instead to look embarrassed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not, love. Now go over and talk to him, he looks like a lost puppy without you next to him.” With a quick shove he had sent you stumbling into the middle of the room where you regained your footing and threw him the middle finger. But that didn’t stop you from making your way over to Charles.

He was catching up with Alex when you reached his side, greeting Alex like an old friend and asking how Lily was. You’d become quite close with his girlfriend after you decided to introduce yourself at one of the many races you’d both attended. It turns out you’d had a lot in common and had stayed good friends since that day.

While animatedly chatting to Alex, you could feel Charles’ hand twitch against your own, his pinky finger looping around yours with the lightest touch, almost like a breath. If you hadn’t been hyperaware of all of his movements you may have missed it, but you didn’t, so you gently squeezed your hand to show him how much you appreciated the gesture.

It wasn’t long before Alex was swept aware by other attendees which left you and Charles to yourselves. As soon as he was sure no one was paying the two of you any attention, Charles grabbed your hand and led you to the balcony.

When the door settled behind you with a click, his lips were on yours, hands pulled your hips as close as humanly possible to his own. He pulled away while taking a deep breath, resting his forehead on yours as he closed his eyes, “I hate not being able to touch you when I want.”

You couldn’t help but laugh and raise an eyebrow, “I thought you said this was going to be easy?”

“EASIER I said, not easy…and I was wrong anyway, this is fucking hard.” He whined. He felt like stomping his foot like a toddler but knew you’d never let him live it down if he did.

“We can go home in a couple of hours and you can touch me which ever way you’d like,” you whispered into his ear, heart skipping a beat at the way his hands tensed on the curve of your waist.

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a promise.”

With a chaste kiss on the lips and a cheeky squeeze of your bum, the two of you returned to the party, thankful that no one had noticed your absence.

Pierre immediately found the two of you and wrapped his arms around you both, horrendously intoxicated despite it still being relatively early in the evening. He swayed silently between you before he took a look at Charles’ face.

He stopped moving entirely and grabbed the Monegasques face between his thumb and fingers, squishing his cheeks together. You couldn’t help but laugh as Charles’ face turned to one of horror, “What the hell are you doing, mate?”

Pierre squinted his eyes even more than they already were, “Are you wearing Y/N’s lipstick?”

#cl16 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc oneshot #f1 oneshot #formula 1 oneshot

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

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hi babe <3 for modern au could I please request r sitting on Steve’s lap while he plays Xbox or something and she’s falling asleep and then he carries her to bed

Honestly, Steve didn’t play his games often.

He preferred to spend his free time with you, or see his friends outside of work, out of a phone screen, in front of him instead of through a text message. But on the days that it rained, Indiana turning inky and navy with clouds and puddles, he liked to stay indoors, cotton sweats and warm hoodie on, headset over bed mussed hair and his controller in his hand.

You’d usually leave him be, smiling and rolling your eyes as he yelled at his losses and talked shit to Eddie and Dustin, scolding Mike and asking, ‘do you kiss El with that mouth, Wheeler?’

But when noon rolled into evening and dusk settled over the town and your apartment, you’d run out of episodes of Schitt’s Creek to rewatch and your affection metre was running low. It wasn’t like Steve kicked you out of the spare room that he kept his computer and gaming consoles in, there just wasn’t that much room for you to join him in it. His stupid chair took up much of the floor space, his desk holding a too big monitor and games lined the shelves he’d fixed to the walls.

So when you crept in mid battle royale, Steve let his eyes stray from the screen to linger over you, smiling at his old high school hoodie that hung from your frame, your leggings that you’d tucked into fluffy socks. He was all pinked cheek and messy haired, the annoyance of losing to Dustin for the fifth time getting him all worked up and he looked so pretty. And besides, there really wasn’t anywhere else to sit apart from on his lap.

You felt his grin pressed to your cheek as you clambered into him, legs on either side of his hips as you carefully manoeuvred your way under his arms, trying your best to not make him let go of the controller. Steve hummed in appreciation when you buried your face into the crook of his neck, whispering a sweet “hi, gorgeous,” to you as you settled against him.

You hummed right back, pressing a kiss to his neck and snorting when you heard Eddie’s tinny voice through the earpiece of his headset, a garbled cackle and a ‘flirt with me all you want, Harrington, I’m still kicking your ass.’

You didn’t have to look at Steve to know he was rolling his eyes, his arms tightening around you, muscles flexing as he jabbed at buttons in a pattern you didn’t know the significance of. He huffed at his friend, explaining to the group that you were here, like that’s all they needed to know.

The bets commenced soon after, a din of laughter and teasing, each boy insisting on the time that Steve would dip now they knew you were with him. Eddie told him he was whipped, Will booed loudly in the background and Lucas asked if Steve planned on winning a round to at least try to impress you.

Steve ignored all of them, smiling only ‘cause he felt yours against his neck, your soft laughter shaking your shoulders and he planted a row of kisses along your cheek in response, realising how much he’d missed you now that you were in his arms. He felt guilty, like he’d neglected you all day. And when he told you as such, you shook your head and managed to catch the corner of his mouth in a kiss.

“I know, you’re awful,” you told him, trying your best to sound serious. “I’ve been wasting away downstairs, all alone.”

“Poor girl,” he grinned, abandoning his controller in order to tug you closer, one warm hand sneaking up the back of your hoodie, fingers tracing over the bumps of your spine. “Should’ve come and told me off.”

“I’d rather manhandle you and demand attention,” you murmured, cheeks burning when you realised you were speaking too close to the microphone on Steve’s headset, a dulled chorus of gagging noises and ‘get a room,’ yelled back at you.

You huffed but grinned, when Steve told them all off, explosions on the screen garnering their attention once more. You wiggled, getting comfy, nosing along the line of Steve’s jaw, happy when he let out a stuttered sigh.

“Jus’ gonna finish this round, ‘kay?” He asked you quietly, and you knew he’d switch it off mid match if you asked him too.

But you nodded, happy to just be close, smiling at the yells of your friends that could be heard through the headset everytime Steve missed a target ‘cause he was too busy stroking lines over your bare skin to be bothered. And when he finally managed to catch up to Eddie’s character, taking down whatever monster/boss/alien thing it was they were fighting, you were letting sleep tug at you, Steve’s aftershave and the scent of your laundry detergent clinging to his clothes. You barely heard him say his goodbyes, the clamouring of voices that yelled ‘told you so, pay up a Munson,’ as he signed off.

You hummed, sleepy, unfocused as Steve kissed over your hair and cheeks, doing his best to coax you awake before he gave in entirely and stood, arms tucked under your butt to keep you close. You squeaked at the sudden movement, grumbling something that sounded like his name into his neck but you wrapped your legs around him all the same, still just happy to be close as he made his way to your shared bedroom, more than ready to give you all the attention you deserved from him.

…

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb #steve baby blurb

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slytherinshua · 11 months

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PAYBACK genre ➳ fluff. warnings ➳ pettiness. kissing. pairing ➳ taesan wc ➳ 623.

“Come on, baby… Stop ignoring me. Please?” Taesan pouted, lying on the couch with his arms crossed. He knew you wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever, but he couldn’t lie, he was impressed with how long you had been able to ignore him.

This was your petty payback after he had ignored you while playing a game earlier. He had every intention to give you the attention you wanted… just as soon as his round had finished. You had been too impatient for that, though, which led to you getting upset and asking if he would like it if you gave him no attention. Obviously, he wouldn’t.

He hated not having your attention just as much as you did. You were always touchy feely with each other, cuddling whenever you didn’t have anything else to do, or doing every single activity possible in close proximity. Taesan felt like he was slowly dying inside as you continued to ignore him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

His pout grew in attempts to get your attention and maybe pull at your heartstrings just slightly. He knew his cuteness was one of your weaknesses. You glanced up from your phone for 2 seconds before continuing to scroll, not sparing him another glance. He sighed, chewing on his lip a bit as he thought about what he could do to get your attention.

He had already apologised many times. You had accepted his apologies as well, but they clearly weren’t enough to earn him any of the cuddles that he craved for. He tried offering to play a game or watch a movie or even go on a date. All of those were no-gos. Maybe he had to just distract you enough and then you would finally cave.

He cracked his knuckles, preparing to pull out all the hidden boyfriend charm that he had stored away for proper use. Now was as good a time as any to use it. He was sure he would go insane if you ignored him for even a minute longer. You had managed to make him miss you even when you were right in front of him.

“Baby, do you love me?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. You hummed slightly in response. You may be actively ignoring your boyfriend, but you weren’t willing to let him doubt your love for him.

“I hate to do this to you, Y/n… but I’m afraid I have no choice.” Taesan said dramatically, standing up and making his way over to the couch you were sitting on. He crouched down and cupped your cheeks with both his hands, turning your face gently so you were looking at him. He could see you melting from the way your eyes softened a bit looking at him. “Can I have a kiss?” He whispered, eyes pleading with you.

You let out a soft sigh and Taesan fought back his grin, knowing he had finally gotten you to crack. You held onto his wrist and pulled him closer, smiling when his lips came in contact with yours. He kissed you sweetly and you partly regretted ignoring him for all these hours if this was what you could’ve gotten if you hadn’t.

He pulled out and you smiled shyly and opened the blanket that you were lying under. He grinned and slid in next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Missed you.” You mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t ignore me in the future… It hurts my feelings.” Taesan whined softly and you giggled.

“Sorry. I won’t do it again.” You said.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Taesan smiled, cupping your cheek to bring you closer for another kiss.

#﹒fics　 𓈃　ⵌ #taesan #han dongmin #boynextdoor #boynextdoor taesan #boynextdoor han dongmin #boynextdoor fic #boynextdoor fluff #taesan fic #han dongmin fic #han dongmin fluff #boynextdoor taesan fic #boynextdoor taesan fluff #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor taesan x reader #taesan x reader #fluff #fic #fanfic

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acourtofinkandpapyrus · 6 months

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A Flower With Petals of Flame*: Part eleven (Eris x Reader)

Warnings: Jealousy, angst, SMUT, lots of dirty talk, all the fun stuff.

Part ten Part twelve

Tag list: open

After finding another one of the dead souls come back to life, you and your old friend go to sneak out. Eris gets the wrong signals and well, He doesn’t like seeing another guy touching you.

Sam Cortland, one of my closest friends and the best assassin of all time.

In my opinion at least.

“How the hell are you here?” I dropped the magic I had been using to disguise me, yanking the mask off my face.

He shrugs. “I could ask you the same thing.” He said, pulling his hood down to reveal his face, unmarred and annoyed.

We all had kept scars of how we died in the afterlife, I had realized soon after I met Tamlin the scar around my neck was gone.

So were Sam’s.

“I actually died in this world. You, on the other hand, did not!” I whisper shout the last bit, remembering Azriel could be here any moment.

“We don’t have time for this. Come with me. You have that weird star thing, right?” I ask, shoving the mask back onto my face.

He nodded. “I found out-”

I cut him off. “No time. Big scary friend who doesn’t know I’m here coming who wants that thing you have right now.”

Pushing open the door, I look back to see Sam cursing under his breath as he makes his way over to me.

“Oh, and iron doesn’t work like it does in your world, so I suggest keeping that better hidden.” I comment as I step out with him in tow.

I stop quickly to grab a pair of boots from the guards.

I mean, we’re already stealing a priceless magical object, they won't mind a missing pair of boots, will they?

“Do you know how annoying you are? You’re worse than Celaena” He grumbled as he struggled to keep up.

I slow down and snort. “Didn’t you fall in love with her?”

“Fuck you.”

I snort again, using my magic to make myself look again like Erica. “Do you mind if I make you look like a faerie?” I ask, and he gives me a confused look.

“The humans and fae of this world don’t really mix. Like, at all. So if they see short, human you running around…”

He sighs. “Fine.”

Only moments later, he still looks like himself, but taller, sharper, pointed ears, the whole shabang.

There were no physical changes, and that made it all the more impressive that he was managing to walk more quietly than me, his footsteps almost silent.

That’s why we were able to hear the soft footsteps coming from another hall.

We both paused, and I did the first thing I could think of.

Pushing sam to the wall, I whispered, “Kiss me.”

We had been in situations like this before, and no matter how I teased him, we were both just friends.

But to anyone watching us at that moment as Sam flipped us around, kissing me deeply, no, they wouldn’t know any better.

The footsteps come to an awkward halt, and I open my eyes, giving Azriel a grin.

I had hoped he would continue onward, but he didn’t. He just stood there and watched as Sam pulled away, half turning and shooting a glare at Az.

“Move on asshole.” Sam snarled, pulling me closer to him.

And that’s When Eris rounds the corner, stopping right behind Azriel as he gaped at us. He quickly schooled his face into a chilly expression.

“You should keep a closer eye on your family, Eris.” Azriel says darkly, amusement lining his soft voice. After that he continues onward.

The irony in that statement is hilarious.

“And who is this Erica?” He says, his tone sharp.

Was he jealous?

His eyes met Sam’s, and Eris stiffened even more.

Oh shit. He was jealous.

I push Sam away, careful not to send him flying with my fae strength. “This is Sam, one of the other dead souls.”

Something Rhysand had said to me just came back to me. “Two of the three would try and kill us.”

The words ring through me, but I shake them off.

They must have been wrong.

Sam and I would never hurt them.

Eris had gotten closer to us and I hadn’t noticed. “So, who are you… Sam?”

I dropped both our illusions, and Eris seemed shocked as he saw Sam was a human.

A human that was not going to be pushed around.

“Oh. So you’re Eris.” He said with a slanted grin, and I was suddenly worried. “For how much Y/N talked about you, I thought you’d be… More impressive.” Sam said, brushing his shoulder against Eris as he passed him.

“I’m staying in the forest nearby Y/N. You know how to find me.” He said, winking at me where Eris couldn’t see before rounding the corner.

Eris just stood there, torn between shock and fury.

I snorted, and his gaze shifted to me, just as intense, but it was different, not angry.

“Something funny pet?” He asked, grabbing my hips and pulling me to him.

I clenched my thighs in an attempt to relieve the sudden ache I had between my legs.

We stand there for a moment, and I wonder if I should pull away.

He didn’t need another mess to deal with, he didn’t need to be dragged into the shitstorm that was my life, or my death.

Before I can do anything though, his mouth meets mine, his tongue exploring mine as our teeth clash.

He pushes me against the wall as he uses one hand to drag my dress up to expose my thigh, the other moving to my head to tilt my head back so he could kiss my neck, his teeth scraping ever so slightly against my sensitive skin.

I whimpered as his hand traced patterns on my thigh. “Eris-” I said, sounding more needy than I meant. “Anyone could see us.”

He growled into my skin, and I yelped as we were suddenly in a room, him carrying me as I wrap my legs around his waist. Feeling his hardness through his pants and squirming, he breathed into my ear, making me shiver, “Desperate, aren’t you pet?”

I rolled my eyes, preparing to say something snarky, but he moved one of his hands to tilt my chin down to look at him, the other arm still holding me up.

“Tell me. Tell me you want me.” He whispers, looking up at me with something more than just lust.

“I…” My throat closes up as I look at my closest friend.

I can’t speak, so instead I thread my fingers through his hair and lean down, biting his bottom lip softly and squeezing my legs tighter around him, almost moaning at his aroused scent and the way his member pressed in between my legs.

He lays me on the bed softly, grinning at my sounds of disappointment as he pulls away.

Only to kneel before the edge of the bed, grabbing my legs and yanking me to him.

I moan as his tongue darts out, flicking my clit in a sinfully skilled way.

Letting out little moans, my hips rolled as I tried to make him do more. “Eris!” I shouted, my hips bucking as he slipped two fingers into my sopping cunt.

I moaned as I let myself go, bringing my hands up to toy with breasts, pinches my nipples as he nipped at my clit, forcing me to let out harsh pants of pleasure.

“Eris, I’m gonna cum.” I pant, moaning as he released my clit with a resounding pop.

He looked up at me with lust filled eyes, licking my arousal from his lips. “Do you want to cum on my cock pet?”

I moaned, nodding, and his fingers dug into my thighs, causing me to whimper. “Words pet.”

“Yes Eris, I wanna cum on your long, thick, cock.” I said in the most seductive way possible, and a shiver of pleasure went up my spine as he groaned.

He crawled onto the bed, his eyes predatory as he caged me in with his arms, leaning down to kiss me deeply.

I moaned into his mouth as he pushed in gently, slowly.

Too slow.

I pulled away from his lips, growling, about to speak when he suddenly pushed the rest of the way in, making me moan loudly as his mouth closed around one of my breasts, one of his hands taking care of the other.

As I got closer, I moaned, “Eris- gonna cum-”

His other hand slid between us, finding my clit and pressing down in time with his thrusts.

Seconds later I fell over the edge with a scream of pleasure, my arms wrapping tightly around Eris as he moved us so we were both upright.

My head had fallen back in bliss, almost cumming again as his hot cum spurted into me, leaving both of us panting.

“It’s been a long time since we did that.” Eris commented, nuzzling into my neck a bit.

Normally, I would feel more relaxed after this, but that old ache started in my heart again.

I had thought maybe after a couple hundred years away, the pull wouldn’t be so strong but…

He had made it clear long ago that he didn’t want me. And even if he did now, it was too dangerous for him. For me.

This was just a friends with benefits situation.

I try not to let it bother me, letting him drag me down to cuddle in the bed for a little bit.

And I let him, because what harm is it in imagining, just for a tiny while, that we could be more?

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youwouldntlietopapa · 8 months

Note

prompt maybe?: copia after a heartbreak (he managed to work up the courage to ask his crush out after a long time pinging as one does, but they refused rather rudely) (optional fluff of him getting comforted by a third party maybe to soothe all our hearts later)

All right, I may have taken some liberties with this one because I had an idea. Anyway, I hope this is all right.

Includes: Heartbreak, heart to heart conversation, hurt/comfort, Papa Emeritus II/Secondo, Cardinal Copia

____________________________________________________________

Secondo moved through the dimly lit archives like a spectre. Something about breaking the quiet of the space always made him feel deeply uncomfortable. He much preferred the peaceful stillness and, more importantly, that he was commonly the only one there on the occasions he needed something.

Sniff, sniff.

His eye twitched at the sound and his mouth tightened. Apparently he wasn’t so lucky and someone else was hidden among the shelves. Sniffling. He set his jaw and tried to ignore it. But there it was again.

Sniff, sniff.

Punctuated by a tiny whimper. Secondo sighed heavily and closed his eyes. Why me, my dark lord? Why me? Someone was crying in the archives and his first thought was that the records he needed couldn’t possibly be important enough to be worth risking running into a crying sibling, much less have to be… comforting. That was Primo’s talent. Or Terzo, in a pinch. Not his.

And then he heard a familiar voice. Soft and shaky, from what he could gather, it sounded like part prayer and part self-chastisement. Fanculo la mia vita. Somehow this was much worse than bumping into a crying Sibling. He’d managed to bump into one of his crying siblings.

“Copia.” His deep voice echoed off the stone walls and ceiling, unmistakable. There was a rushed, slightly panicked noise from several rows down while, presumably, his youngest brother trying to clean himself up. Secondo walked toward the noise, forgetting the silence, and letting his shoes tap on the floor to let him have some idea where he was and that he was coming.

“Papa! Forgive me!” He hurried to apologise, jumping up from his hiding spot and desperately trying to look like less of a mess. “I didn’t hear you come in. D-do you need help finding things?”

He looked at him with an expression that all but screamed bullshit. “Your paints are running, fratello.”

Copia’s chin quivered and he sniffled again. His shoulders slumped and he buried his face in his hands, crying softly. The urge to run while he wasn’t looking was almost overwhelming, but Secondo stood firm. He really did need to make some very impressive sacrifices at the alter, it this was a sign of anything. Apparently he’d managed to fuck up royally without realising and this was a punishment.

His silence dragged on longer than was, strictly speaking, socially acceptable. Not that Copia seemed to notice. Lost in whatever the problem was. Finally, he gave in. “What has upset you, Copia?”

Even he winced at how it came out sounding. Where in all the pits of hell was Primo? Maybe he could just… push the Cardinal to his brother’s office? Or carry him. He didn’t look all that heavy. And he definitely didn’t look like much of a fighter. His thoughts, however, were interrupted before he could settle on which would be the simplest option.

“I’m s-sorry, Papa. It’s nothing. Really. Just… just being f-f-foolish…” The last word turned into another round of sobs. Secondo made a face that communicated less concern and sympathy and more I have just discovered a cockroach in the bathtub.

A bit robotically, he attempted a comforting pat on the shoulder. He succeeded in half of that. It was, certainly, a pat on the shoulder. Figlio di puttana. He cursed silently. Not for the first time, Secondo wondered if Copia wouldn’t be better off if he simply walked away.

“Come, Cardinale. We find somewhere to sit.” Grabbing him by the elbow, he lead Copia to one of the stone benches staggered along the perimeter walls. Sitting next to him felt awkward enough that he settled on staring straight ahead down the long row of texts, books, and scrolls.

Copia, for his part, crumpled in on himself as soon as he was seated. Too upset to be worried about was Secondo might think. After another round of tears and sniffles, his brother’s leather gloved hand appeared, holding out a handkerchief. “Grazie mille.” He said a little weakly. “You… you don’t need to stay, Papa. I’ll be all right.”

“Secondo.” He said flatly.

Copia looked up at him, confused. But he kept his eyes locked forward.

“… Secondo, Copia. Papa is for work, public, official business.” His tone wasn’t what anyone would confuse for soft but, for him it was remarkably calm. “You are my fratellino, no? Save your Papa for il vecchio bastardo.”

They had never been close, the two of them. His brother was so much older and his first appearance had come as something of a shock. One that took time for them to get over and that left a rather poor impression on his younger self. Copia was still staring, looking like he might cry again at any second. It was maybe the nicest thing Secondo had ever said to him.

“Th-thank you, fratello.”

“Tell me what happened.” It wasn’t a question. “And tell me who I summon to my office.”

“Oh, no, no, no! You don’t need to. Please. If you can… let it be.” He hurried to cut off that line of thinking. His heart was heavy enough without making it even more of an embarrassing mess than it already was. “No one to talk to, Pa-Secondo. I only… I am a fool.”

Secondo sighed again. “Copia… You are no fool.” It didn’t sound like a compliment out of pity, not from him. Just a statement of facts. “You think I give you too much paperwork.” He held up a hand to cut off any argument before it can begin. “You think I trust everyone, fratello? You, at least, I know you do things right. You finish before the deadline. You don’t leave me with a pile of shit to fix. If you were a fool, I would find another.”

Something about his blunt honesty was actually comforting. Although, it would take a lot more than that to shake the misery his day had become. “You don’t understand. The books? No problem. The paperwork? I can do that. But… this isn’t books and paperwork. This is…”

He couldn’t say it. He felt enough like a fool already.

That’s more than enough for Secondo to work out what must have happened. It would have been so easy to sneak out before Copia had even realised he was there. He worked his jaw in an uncomfortable silence before finally resting his hand on his brother shoulder.

“What I say to you, hm? Not a fool.”

“… she laughed.” His voice cracked and he stared, defeated, at his hands.

“You want me to kill her?”

“What!? No!” Copia snapped his head up, staring at Secondo with wide, terrified eyes. Met with his brother’s calm stare and the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Y-you’re kidding.”

“Si.”

Despite everything, Copia actually managed a smile and a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I… I don’t think I’ve ever heard you joke before.”

Secondo huffed and frowned a little.

“I am very funny. You don’t listen.” He said without a hint of irony. Nudging him softly with his elbow. It wasn’t really so different from the old days, with Terzo, he considered. Always talking about his new great love, only to be sobbing over the end of things in an alarmingly short amount of time. Claiming he would never love again. At least until the end of the day when someone else caught his attention. “So… you like her, you tell her, and she… say no? Si?”

Copia nodded, his smile fading, replaced by defeat and sadness. “Si. Not just no. She tells me never. Laughs at me.” He dabbed at his eyes with the hankie, trying not to ruin his paint more than they already were. “She is right, Secondo. Why would she want me? No… no one does. I’m… I’m not like you. Like Terzo. Or Primo. I’m just… the other one. Just a shit copy of better things.”

The words felt like a knife to the heart and he was sure he knew where he’d picked up some of that bullshit. That had the old man’s stink all over it. Secondo lifted his mitre off and set it delicately next to him on the bench. His head tipped back until it bumped the cold wall and he stared up at the ceiling, taking a few deep breaths. “You are not like Primo. Or Terzo. Si. But… You are, maybe, like me more.”

“Like you?” He looked at his older half-brother like maybe it was another joke. But Secondo didn’t crack if it was. “No, no… You are… well… you. I’m just… me.”

He chuckled softly and dry. “Ah? Cosa sono io?”

At least he’d chuckled, Copia avoided an entire panic attack, but he still made a lot of wild hand gestures that certainly looked like they were trying to convey a deeper meaning. “I just mean… you are stronger, more confident. You don’t get so… so…” He huffed and raked his hand through his hair. “So worried about what people think. People… women… they always want you.”

Secondo closed his eyes and took another breath before looking at him again. “Ascoltare, fratello. I tell you something private. And if you say it to anyone else? I deny it. And then I come find you. Capito?”

“Capito.”

“All this? What you say to me? Is bullshit.” He turned his head back to stare at the ceiling. He couldn’t say it with Copia staring at him like that. “I know what they think of me. I hear what they say. Most I don’t like, but… È quello che è. And people?” Secondo snorted derisively. “They don’t like. Respect? Maybe. Fear? Yes. Like? No. Women like the story, to brag. They like money and parties. Siblings want Papa. Not Secondo.”

“Oh…” Copia realised he hadn’t ever considered any of that. His brother had always been so… in control and intimidating. It didn’t seem possible that he was secretly worrying over everything or just playing a role for people.

“You are no fool, Copia. You keep your heart open and you offer to people who you are. It is not easy to do here… in questa famiglia. If she is too stupid to see…” He snaps his fingers, searching for the word. “Tuo valore, the fool is her, si?”

It was, without a doubt, the longest the two of them had ever sat together and talked. Not to mention the kindest his older brother had ever been. Copia blinked at him stupidly, wondering where the hell the real Secondo had gone and who this person was. Or maybe, how had he gone so long without actually seeing the man for who he really was.

“Grazie, fratello.” He said, sounding a little awestruck.

Secondo replaced his mitre on his head and gave Copia’s shoulder a pat, standing up from the bench. He paused, obviously trying to make a decision. It took a moment, but eventually he nodded once sharply. “That Sorella… the one…” He frowned deeply. Describing people well wasn’t his strong suit. “With red hair and the… the… lentiggini? She stares when you don’t look. I see her in the hall. With that look like the puppy. Always watching. Smiling. Nina, her name is, I think. You ask her for a walk, at sunset. She says yes, eh?”

All right, maybe someone had replaced Secondo. But, then again, if he was right… Copia blushed deeply. He knew the Sister just from around the Abbey and she was very sweet… and pretty.

“… Why are you being so nice to me?” He blurted without really thinking.

Secondo only shrugged and gave his shoulder one last pat. “I tell you, you are my fratellino, no?”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked off, back through the maze of shelves. Leaving Copia staring at the place he had been. Maybe he wasn’t the best at being comforting, at least in the traditional way. But Copia was left marvelling at how much better he actually felt.

“Grazie mille, fratello…”

____________________________________________________________

Fanculo la mia vita – Fuck my lifeline

fratello – brother

fratellino – little brother

il vecchio bastardo. - the old bastard

Figlio di puttana – Son of a bitch

Grazie mille. - Thank you very much

Ah? Cosa sono io? - Oh? What am I?

Ascoltare – Listen

È quello che è – It is what it is

Tuo valore – Your worth

lentiggini - freckles

#ghost fanfic #ask prompt #Cardinal Copia #Papa II #Copia #Secondo

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saltyowlet · 2 months

Text

BG3FICFEB DAY 3: First Encounter with their Love Interest

Summary: The carrot is a metaphor, I swear

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Durge (named)

Word count: 2251

Ao3 Link: [x]

“You know, Astarion’s an odd fellow.” Olive couldn’t help but let out a loud snort.

“Oh really, what gave you that idea?”

The evening sun bathed a bare haze of sunlight upon the camp. Gale took a taste of the simmering stew with a wooden ladle, a moment to ponder, and added another dash of herbs. Few of their companions, Astarion, Wyll, and Laezel, decided to go into the forest to grab any prey that lurked beneath the trees. Gale argued that they didn’t need any meat in tonight’s impressively hearty meal but Laezel and Wyll did not take a no for an answer and went off, Astarion tagging along in hopes of finding his own prey.

Olive volunteered her services but got denied thanks to the wound Olive tried so hard to hide, a gift from yesterday’s encounter with goblin explosives from the recon. Astarion barely had a chance to warn the group of the trap when Olive ran in and triggered the explosives. After a few rounds of fighting the alerted goblins, they all managed to get away significantly unscathed, well all except Olive. The trap did most of the damage, the force throwing her far off to the other side of the chasm, and the sharp rocks left a gnarly gash in her right side. Injures like these were a dime a dozen for the most part, so Olive simply added some ointment and wrapped herself with bandages.

If it wasn’t for Astarion’s habit of constantly barging in on her tent, Olive would have been hunting with the others, but the pale elf just had to catch her right as she finished wrapping new bandages on her ribs. The indignant screech Olive let out made things worse as the whole camp ran to her tent. It took Karlach and Lae’zel to drag a kicking and screaming Olive down before Shadowheart could have a chance to cast a healing spell on Olive. The whole fiasco was enough to bench their leader from the hunting team. Now, Olive was stuck cutting vegetables. Great

Gale let out a soft chuckle. “Not my most astute observations, but I digress. Our rogue’s love for chaos seems to have brought you quite a bit of trouble. I’m curious as to how you came about him. Everyone else knows how we all met and intercepted each other at the Grove but your and Astarion’s own tale remains a mystery,” Gale said while wagging the wooden ladle towards Olive playfully.

“By all means, if you do not want to share it, I understand, but I can’t help but question the motive. I have no ill will, but mayhaps Astarion’s own morality tends to clash with yours and the overall collective camp’s, hm?”

Olive squinted at the carrots she had been chopping. She didn’t like how uneven her cuts were compared to Gale’s precise pieces. Handling a dagger to slice up goblins, no problem, but cutting vegetables? Olive let out a sigh, abandoning the half carrot to the side.

“Well, I initially left him at the beach where I found him, but I decided to drag him with me. Still not sure if I would make the same decision if I had the chance to do it all over again,” she joked as she reached out for the onions, praying to herself that her eyes would not burn this time. Olive made quick work, tossing the pieces to Gale who threw the prepped vegetables into the simmering cauldron. He eyed the unfinished carrot but said nothing.

“Well, I’m astonished. I thought you did not hesitate to help him the way you helped the others. What happened?” Gale asked genuinely curious. Olive paused for a moment, stabbing the knife onto the cutting board as she casually leaned on it with her hand. She gave Gale a matter of fact look.

“He pulled a knife onto my neck.” Gale had just taken another taste of the stew when Olive blatantly confessed, earning a sputter.

“He what ?”

“Gale, you're dripping soup on your shirt.”

Olive tossed a clean rag at the wizard’s face with a grin. Gale quickly wiped the splatter on his shirt and turned back to Olive with a look of disbelief. Olive gave him a shrug.

“Your lack of self preservation is most alarming, I have to say. If he put a knife on you, just how on earth did you come to the conclusion of keeping him company?” Olive let out a laugh.

“Because I headbutted him.” Gale quirked an eyebrow. Olive pulled the knife from the board and started tossing it in the air and catching the blade between her tiefling claws.

“Astarion had me pinned on the ground. I was still tired from, you know, falling to my death. I didn't have much energy so all I could think was slamming my head on his. Worked,” Olive said with a cheeky smirk.

“Our rogue’s cocky streak was well present then, and as you know whenever that cockiness gets to an all time high,-” Olive tossed the knife a bit higher, letting it twirl in the air a few moments before her hand shot out to grab the handle into a fist. As easy as breathing. “-Astarion deserves to be pushed down a few pegs.”

Gale’s eyes had been following the knife before a realization dawned on him. “Wait, you said you left him initially? Why the change of heart?”

Olive looked up at the horizon, the sky burning its last orange light before the coming night. The air had gotten colder, making the campfire a wonderful reprieve.

“Because I headbutted him.” Gale blinked, turning the gears of his wizard brain to best understand the cryptic words of their leader. Nope, nothing came to mind.

“You headbutted him. That’s it? I understand you have a propensity to be a bit forgiving about our occasional misdeeds, especially from the rogue, but I can’t help but wonder if it's better to keep things reigned in.” Olive’s eye twitched at the accusation.

“Excuse you, that’s not my job, as much as you all like to make it.”

Gale gave Olive a doubtful look that Olive rolled her eyes back at. Olive looked down at the carrot she had left and pursed her lips. Ignoring the doubt, she grabbed the root and started chopping, steadying her hand with each push of the knife.

“When I managed to get out of his grasp, I noticed how weak he was. Maybe because of the tadpole or maybe falling from the sky. Regardless, he was desperate. Desperate enough to pull a knife on someone while coughing up blood. I wanted to leave him there, he wasn’t my problem. Just as I walked away, I couldn’t help but feel guilt.” Olive stopped chopping, eyes hardened as she contemplated her next words.

“Don’t get me wrong, I had no sympathy for Astarion,” Olive grumbled as she lifted her knife eye level, staring at the tiefling who stared back in the shiny blade.

“So many dead people on that beach. I didn’t find any survivors until Astarion. In his own twisted way, he was reaching out for help, for anything actually. I may not remember anything from my past but I know when I see someone who has desperately clawed for their survival for way too long. Long enough that a helping hand can seem like a hurting one. I think-” Olive paused for a moment, looking at her own black eyes in the blade, watching how the dark shadows swirled in her orbs.

“I think I saw myself in him, saw someone scared underneath the bravo and bite. Had I left him, would he still be alive or would the worst happen?” Olive gave Gale a quick glance before looking back at the disappearing sun. Gale did not know what to say.

“I did not know how much our fates would intertwine or how much we needed each other back then, but-,” Olive swung the knife on the last bit of the carrot, slicing it cleanly into two, and shoved the now even pieces into the cauldron. “-I got tired of corpses for company.”

“I hear that,” Gale said solemnly.

Olive took a moment to contemplate and let out a long sigh. Olive never realized how much that encounter changed her. Whether they turned into mindflayers now or died trying to be cured, one thing for certain was that Astarion had made a mark in her life. Olive shook her head with a soft chuckle.

“By the way, Gale, why did you suddenly bring him up?,”Olive asked curiously. The wizard gave her a surprised look.

“Oh you didn't know? Astarion has been-” Olive put a finger to her mouth, and made an imperceptive motion towards their back. Gale held his breath listening. There was sudden rustling getting louder and the familiar iron smell of blood.

In an instant, Olive grabbed the cooking knife and a bigger dagger that she had sheathed and threw them both behind her. They both heard the sound of blade hitting flesh and a loud yelp.

“BY THE TRIAD HOLD YOUR FIRE!! IT’S US! ”

Both of them turned to see their hunting group cautiously step out of the forest with a large collection of caught animals. Lae’zel carried multiple dead rabbits, all hanging by rope while flashing a clearly annoyed face at Olive. Wyll had a small boar in his arms, using it as a shield for the knife that was currently lodged deep in its carcass. Wyll seemed hesitant to step any further as he still held the boar up.

“Hells, this was not the welcome party I had expected. Who didn't you think we were?!” Olive put up a hand to apologize. “I heard a sound and smelled blood. Better to ask questions later than after getting mauled. Sorry.”

“Hmph, your aim has gotten better,“ Astarion mused with the click of his tongue.

He managed to catch her dagger between his fingers at the blade and was now tossing it around, not even having to look at it as he grabbed it by the sharp end with each throw. Olive frowned as she watched Astarion strut towards her, her dagger now his plaything. The tiefling marched closer to him and reached out to grab her dagger back.

“Speak of the devils,” Olive muttered under her breath. Astarion must have heard it as he flashed Olive a signature smile, pearly fangs and all.

“Oh darling, were you thinking of me? How honored I am to be laced within your delicious thoughts.”

Astarion took a step back to dodge Olive’s hand, his own still twirling the dagger between his fingers. His shit eating grin plastered his face, extremely amused by Olive's attempts at retrieving her weapon. Olive’s eyebrows twitched, wanting to give no satisfaction to the rogue.

“Please, we were talking about how soft your head became from just a smack.”

Olive jabbed Astarion by the ribs with her elbow, making him falter enough for her to catch her dagger midair. Astarion scowled, rubbing his ribs. He lowered his face closer to Olive's, baring his teeth, this time in contempt. Olive matched him as well, her eyes steely as her hand readied her dagger. The scent of aged brandy coming from his neck tickled Olive's nose. Olive’s scowl deepened, hiding any trace of how really felt about his scent. They both heard Lae’zel let out a huff and a curse.

“Do your hate mating in your own tents, away from our eyes. I rather dine on our hunted feast in peace.” Gale had to stifle a laugh while Olive’s jaw dropped. Wyll began scooting a bit further, hoping to avoid the coming incursion.

“In what kind of plane is this a mating ritual?!” She felt fingers sliding under her chin and pulling her head to look at Astarion, a smarmy grin reflecting how absolutely delighted he was. Olive ignored the little flip of her stomach made.

“Oh, I could oblige, darling. All you need to do is come to my tent~?” Olive took a moment to blink twice before she slammed her forehead on to his. Astarion let out a yelp while Olive huffed in satisfaction.

“Sorry, darling. I thought I saw a mosquito on your head.” Olive grabbed the boar from Wyll who gave Olive a look of appreciation- and maybe a tinge of fear. The tiefling brought the boar near the campfire and started skinning it as everyone else gathered by the fire to help prep the other caught prey.

Gale let out a cough. “So, about earlier. The reason I asked is because Astarion claimed that when your both had met, it was he who saved you. That you, and I quote ’fell in love with him the moment he swept your feet’ Obviously, none of us believed it so I wanted to hear your side of the story, which makes more sense, I might add.”

Olive’s head slowly turned to Gale, jaw clenched tight.

“He WHAT ?!” Olive jumped up from kneeling over the boar and snarled at Astarion.

“YOU LYING BLOOD SUCKING ARSE ?! DID I NOT SMACK YOUR HEAD ENOUGH?!” One look at Olive’s face was enough for Astarion to quickly get up from sitting and run off. Olive tailed behind him, her now bloody dagger ready to stab the elf.

Lae'zel watched them run off with a disapproving look.

“I truly will never understand this plane’s rituals.” Gale and Wyll nodded in agreement.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3ficfeb #astarion x tav #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #astarion x durge #dark urge #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanart #bg3 dark urge #baldur's gate durge #one of my fav fics to write cause i love analyzing their relationship

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jaimeslanisters · 1 year

Text

the pawn in every lover's game (part nine)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you’re ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 13.4k notes: i lost complete control of myself while writing so this is a MASSIVE chapter daskjfljdsfl enjoy (: it's melee time

Jocasta Lannister is an undeniably sweet girl, you know this. On the ride from Lannisport, when all of your other cousins were eagerly making their flower wreaths for knights that may or may not ask for their favors, she had sat with you in the wheelhouse, complimenting your choice of wildflowers and the way you had braided the stems together. There is not one calculating bone in her body - she’s all softness and gentle smiles. The Seven had smiled down at her when they had granted her a boon in being born a Lannister but there was nothing lionlike about her. Nothing that would mean she had had any bad intentions when she had given Victor Florent one of the dozens of Lannister-themed handkerchiefs you have made as embroidery practice throughout your life.

Jocasta Lannister is a sweet girl but she’s a dumb girl and that, if you’re feeling uncharitable and you are, is almost worse than being outright malicious. If malice had driven her hand, you could be impressed that she had managed to maneuver you into exactly the position she wanted, that her and Victor’s scheme had gone flawlessly and that you were simply outplayed. That was respectable. Except, instead of a secret plan behind her back, she had given him the handkerchief out of a misguided attempt to help.

That was just annoying.

“I’m not angry, Jocasta,” you reiterate, feeling your head pulse in frustration. Your cousin looks close to tears, her cheeks a bright red as she holds herself back gamely. You didn’t want to have this conversation - you honestly hadn’t even planned on it. Your plan had been to just give her a cold shoulder seeing as, sooner rather than later, she would be shipped right back to Lannisport. There were more important things to worry about. The tea with the Florents was meant to happen in a few minutes and you were supposed to walk over with your father and uncle together. Except now Jason is off who knows where and Tyland had gone out to look for him to drag him along and so, of course, Jocasta had chosen this exact moment to “confess all her sins” to you. You didn’t want to deal with this - not now. Not with the tea looming over your head. Not with Erren thrice-damned Florent and his son waiting for you. Not with Aemond participating in a melee today, something that you know he would have never done if it wasn’t for Victor Florent forcing his hand.

You had bigger things to deal with than Jocasta’s guilt but, instead of snapping at her, you take a deep breath, trying to force your annoyance down. “It’s alright. Honestly. It’s over and it’s done with. It’s fine.”

Jocasta sniffles, her big round green eyes peering up at you with guilt. She really is a sweet girl. “But it’s not! I didn’t know that he wasn’t actually courting you! Just… the way he talked about you and your sweetness-” you snort here but your cousin continues on as if she hasn’t even heard you. “And your kindness and your beauty… I just thought there was no way a man could say all of that if he wasn’t seeing you!”

You sigh, rubbing at your temples and debating the pros and cons of just leaving. “You’re young, Jocasta. Men will say whatever they must to get what they want. It was… an honest mistake. One I hope you will not repeat again soon,” you say, reaching out to pat her on the shoulder. She may have only been three years - if that - younger, but you feel the small age gap between the two of you as if it’s three decades instead.

Lannisport is a safer place than King’s Landing, you reason as you watch Jocasta wipe at her eyes. There’s no need for her to be cautious of the intentions of others there, not when every other person is another Lannister.

Your cousin offers you a wobbly smile even as, behind her, Jason and Tyland enter the apartments, deep in discussion as they speak in lowered tones. “Thank you,” she murmurs pitifully, her voice still shaky. “Ser Victor is wrong about Prince Aemond. He must truly care for you if he’s entering the melee. It’s not at all what he thinks.”

You blink, eyes going sharp as you stare down your guileless relative. Jocasta, after a moment, notices your gaze and she shifts awkwardly in place, looking as if she’s torn between breaking down into tears again or bolting for her room. “What do you mean by that?” You ask, voice soft, feeling ice creep down your spine. “What did Victor Florent say about Aemond?”

She looks hesitant and frightened, and, when you finally reach your limit and reach over to grab her wrist, she bursts into nervous tears. Behind her, Jason and Tyland look baffled but you don’t have time for them, pulling Jocasta close so you can look her directly in the eye.

“Jocasta,” you repeat, feeling your patience grow thinner and thinner until you’re certain it will snap. “What did Victor say?”

“I-I didn’t… I’m sorry!” She wails and you fight the urge to roll your eyes, wishing she would grab control of herself for just a moment. “He said… He said that Prince Aemond took advantage of your friendship with Princess Helaena so he could use you to better his standing in court! And that he frightens the ladies with his eye and you’re also frightened but you’re much too polite to say that so you just tolerate him! Ser Victor told me that Prince Aemond has scared off the other men in court from you and he knew that if you could, you would give Ser Victor your favor but that you’re frightened of the Prince’s reaction an-”

“That’s quite enough,” You cut in, barely containing your rage. They’re not her words but that doesn’t mean the urge to strike her goes away and instead, you pull your hand away from her, gripping it tightly with your other one to hold yourself in check. Your cousin blinks at you, her eyes reddened, and you stiffly nod your head at her, dismissing her without words. She immediately bolts and you stare down at the patch of ground she had once occupied, taking deep breaths and trying to find some calm within yourself so you don’t do something rash like enter the melee yourself just to get the chance to try and stab Victor Florent.

Victor Florent was a fool. Aemond was the One-Eyed Prince yet he could see you more clearly than Victor ever could.

Wishing you could break something just to watch it shatter, you calm your beating heart, swallowing your rage and pushing it down.

Not now. Not now.

But soon.

After a few moments, when calmness finds you, you look up at your watching father and cousin, and you smile at them, the mask coming easy to you. “Shall we go?” You ask and they look back, their perfectly identical faces quizzical.

Jason opens his mouth to say something but Tyland clears his throat, elbowing his brother in the ribs. “Of course, little one,” he says, stepping up to you and offering you his arm. “The Florents are waiting.”

——————————–

Regretfully, the gardens are lovely today and, as you and your family greet the Florents, you wish that the day wasn’t so pleasant as well. Spring is well underway and, around the terrace your father has selected as a meeting place, beautiful red roses bloom, their smell wafting through the air pleasantly. Looking at them, however, reminds you of the crown Victor had given you - a crown that some servant had probably thrown away by now - and you stubbornly look away from them, sliding into your seat as soon as you can.

“I’m thankful you could make the time to host this tea, my lord,” Victor says the moment the men all sit as well, leaning across the table eagerly. His gray eyes are bright in the sun and it makes him look that much younger, more boy than anything resembling a man. “I’ll admit - I have been hoping for quite some time that we could meet like this under these circumstances.”

Erren laughs, patting his son on the back. He’s steady, confident, and you watch him carefully, looking for a reason why. “It’s nearly all he writes to me about! Nothing about his training or his service in the City Watch. Instead, he just writes about your daughter’s beauty and kindness.”

“I’m surprised my lord could fill so many letters with that sort of talk,” you reply, smiling sweetly at the two Florents as their gazes swing away from your father to look at you. “We haven’t had many conversations in the past for you to be so well acquainted with my nature.” At your side, Tyland jabs you in the side with his fingers and, under the table, you swat back at him, maintaining your pleasant expression.

Erren’s eyes darken but Victor only smiles shyly. “I cherish our precious few conversations and, I’ll admit, I have admired you from afar for some time now.”

You admire from afar because that’s the distance I keep you at you think sourly, remembering all the times you’ve had to duck into other rooms or start impromptu conversations with whoever was closest just to avoid his overly lengthy monologues about how he could support and maintain you with only his savings and his love.

“I’ve tried a few times before, actually, to secure a betrothal meeting but your uncle always denied me,” Victor continues, laughing slightly as if it was a grand joke, and you almost feel a flash of pity for his clueless bumbling. He’s a clueless fox in a den of lions and dragons and he doesn’t feel the danger all around. All he sees is you and you wonder, not for the first time, how he could have survived this long.

Tyland gives him a close-lipped smile. “My niece has two older sisters. It’d be inappropriate if she were to get engaged before them so you can understand my hesitancy in entering any such negotiations.”

“Ah, yes, but I’ve met Lord Garth Tarly,” Erren cuts in, smiling that awful empty smile of his. The golden fox brooch on his lapel catches the light, shining and blinding. “Charming young lad. Shame that he had to become the Lord of Horn Hill so young but he seems to have handled his ascension with grace and maturity. From what I’ve heard, he seems to be quite besotted with the Lady Tyshara. He’s refusing all marriage pacts that come his way for her.”

Jason nods even as he reaches for the carafe of wine on the table to pour himself a drink. “My Tyshara visited the Reach on a tour a year or two ago. She met Lord Tarly and they’ve kept up a correspondence since. I had no idea he was so charmed by her.”

He did have an idea. You all had an idea. If Garth Tarly could have it his way, he and Tyshara would have long been married by now, Cerelle’s marital status be damned. Once, she let you read the letters he always sends and you had been left with the distinct impression that, even if the Maiden herself descended from the Seven Heavens and begged to marry Lord Tarly, he would refuse in hopes that he would one day soon be united with his beloved Golden Beauty.

Of course, none of you were about to let Erren Florent know that, especially since the inappropriateness of being betrothed prior to Cerelle and Tyshara was one of the thin shields you could wield against him. Instead, you tilt your head in surprise, eyes going wide in mock shock.

Erren seemingly does not mind though that no one in your family is confirming or denying the rumor. “Regardless, it seems that young Lord Tarly is charmed by some lady, Lady Tyshara or otherwise. There can be no other explanation for his remaining unmarried. Of course, he is still very young and he has a younger brother to serve as his heir but it’s terribly shocking for him to refuse all betrothal meetings.”

“What other men choose to do with their marriage beds is their business,” Jason firmly says, laughing to soften his edge. “I’m sure Lord Tarly knows what he’s doing.”

“Of course,” Erren immediately concedes even though his eyes flash in victory. “I have no doubt he has a plan in mind. He may have even already chosen a bride.”

You glance at your father, hiding a wince when relief briefly flickers on his face as he nods. He’s showing his cards too soon and too early and Erren Florent, while a bumbling idiot who insults more than he charms, is not so complete a fool that he would miss the way Jason relaxes when you move off Tyshara’s all-but-official betrothal. He knows and that knowledge gives him the confidence to pursue the same with you.

“If your family could accept my suit, then we can hold off any betrothal announcements,” Victor says and you can’t quite help but tense as he lays his intentions bare. You had come to this tea knowing that it would be a discussion, a debate, over your hand but you’re still knocked off kilter by it being laid out so plainly. It makes it all too real and you can almost feel the thorns of the crown he had given you pressing into your head. “We can simply… have an understanding.”

Erren nods in agreement, rapping his knuckles against the wooden table. “My son has much to offer your daughter. He will become Master of Arms at Brightwater Keep when the current one retires and then inherit the traditional apartments for that position for the two of them to live in. The two of them will be able to travel and he will bestow countless crowns upon her. He’s already named her Queen of Love and Beauty here for the joust and I have no doubt he’ll be able to recreate his success with the melee and win her another crown. This is only the beginning of the honors for Lady Lannister.”

Honor, not honors.

For a moment, you can feel your mother’s presence as if she’s physically next to you and you suddenly miss her with such a force that it knocks the breath out of you. Your mother should be here, staring down the Florents with more ferocity than your father ever could. You could only imagine her face at hearing someone promise the daughter of a Westerling honors.

Honor, not honors. You can hear her voice say, as hard and unyielding as the very mountain that Casterly Rock was carved into. My daughter does not need to be crowned by your boy to be worthy of being a Queen of Love and Beauty.

Victor leans across the table, staring at you beseechingly, and you gaze back, eyes colder than they had been before. He doesn’t notice, too blinded by his own yearning, and you marvel at how someone so dense could prove such a skilled fighter. “Aside from that, I offer you my love. I’d cherish you, my lady, from now until the end of our days. If you were to marry me, I would dedicate my life to you and to any children you would bear me. Brightwater Keep is also not far from Horn Hill, my lady. Only a three day ride. You could visit your sister whenever you wished. Raise our children at her side.”

You bite your tongue, wishing you could spit back his offers in his face.

I have a sister here in King’s Landing and you’d have me abandon her to the snakes and rats of this awful city.

In lieu of responding, you blankly nod, your face calm and expressionless, before you look over at your father, deferring the topic.

Jason, to his credit, does not seem thrown by the proposal. He’s frowning slightly, as if deep in thought, before he slowly shakes his head. “Regretfully, my lords, I will have to decline your offer,” he says, sounding genuinely upset to be saying it. “I couldn’t part with my daughter, not yet, and I’m sure my brother will agree with me. Perhaps after Cerelle and Tyshara find their husbands, I could reconsider but for right now, she will remain as she is.”

Victor’s eyes go wide as if he hadn’t been expecting the rejection, but Erren nods slowly, expression calm. “Understandable,” Lord Florent replies smoothly. “All we ask is that you keep my son in mind when considering her future options. She is a treasure amongst women - do not let her be squandered on men who would not appreciate her. Victor can offer her something that other noblemen cannot.”

It’s a testament to your willpower that you don’t snort in response. Instead, you smile. “I thank you for your kind words, my lord, and am regretful that this meeting was not more productive for us all. I trust my father will ensure that whoever I will marry in the future will treat me with the respect I deserve as both a lady and a Lannister.”

Erren watches you sternly, his pale eyes cold as he considers you. On a certain level, you almost respect the tenacity with which he’s approaching his son’s marriage. Victor is his fourth son and his house’s legacy has long since been secured. You’re not sure whether it’s solely for Victor’s benefit or whether or not he cares more about his house’s power but either way, there’s no doubt in your mind that Erren Florent will do what he needs to secure your hand.

You have little hope that you’ve managed to charm Lord Florent - unlike his son, he’s well aware of your disdain for the proposed match - but you doubt you needed charm to make him realize what a boon a marriage with you would be for his house. You’re a Lannister, one of five daughters to be sure, but a Lannister is still a Lannister. Your dowry would be a windfall for even a major house, let alone the Florents who land somewhere solidly in the middle of the social ranking.

You meet his gaze, your own eyes steady and calm, and the annoyance that flickers on Erren’s face when you do not quail under his stare almost brings a smile to your lips.

The tea after is a dreadful affair. You mostly sit quietly the entire time as Jason and Tyland discuss with Erren how the current royal wedding compares with the ones prior. No one is expecting you to participate and a part of you wonders if your father and uncle chose this topic to spare you from having to play nice for longer than necessary. You twiddle with the ends of your sleeves, wishing you could just leave. There is no reason for your presence - the betrothal had been denied and would be denied for the foreseeable future - but etiquette demands you stay and you long to just go, away from this tea and away from the Florents.

You wish you were at the tourney grounds already. At least there, you could breathe again though you doubt you could relax. As much confidence as you have in Aemond’s skills, you’re not oblivious to the danger he’s facing. The melee is always more brutal than the joust, more prone to maimings and deaths. Even at the tourney for Loren’s birth, five knights had been grievously injured and three more had died. Even now, you can still perfectly remember sitting by Cerelle’s side, clinging to her hand as you had watched a knight drive his armored fist into another man’s face, punching over and over until all that remained was a bloody pulp, completely unrecognizable as a person. If you think hard enough, you can remember the way your ears had rang for hours after as the screams of excitement from the crowd echoed in your memories.

Jousting was dangerous but it was impersonal. Knights wore helmets, their faces hidden behind a steel visor. They lifted it at times to speak but when the actual jousting happened, all they could see of their opponents was a faceless helmet. Melees were far from that. Most men wore helmets, yes, but they could hardly wear the visors in one on one combat. In some cases, they took it off completely in order to have the biggest range of vision. In those battles, their opponent had a face. Their bloodlust had a target.

The matches were meant to last until the fifth strike or until one of the opponents yielded but it hardly ever went that way. With the screams of the crowd in their ears, driving them to go further and further, most fighters went until their opponent was incapacitated and most fighters refused to stop until injury forced their hand. It was the bloodiest event by far and of course, it had to be the one that Aemond was entering.

As a prince, he should be safe. It’s hard to imagine any knight risking retaliation from the Hightowers if he harmed the son of the king in a match. But then again, the whole realm knew that Viserys did not care about any of his children from Alicent. He had yet to make an appearance at any of the wedding events and you somehow doubted he would. If someone were to harm Aemond, Viserys would not rise to his defense. He hadn’t in the past and he wouldn’t in the future and that made Aemond vulnerable.

Biting your lip, you tune back into the conversation, willing for it to go faster so you can leave for the tourney grounds to at least try and see Aemond before the event begins. The gods, predictably, scold you for this and, when Victor raises to his feet and looks at you expectantly, you wonder which of the Seven is punishing you for your impatience.

Likely the Mother, you think, wishing you could scowl openly.

“I have to take my leave and head to the grounds to prepare myself for the melee,” Victor declares, eyes never leaving yours. “If possible, I’d like my lady to accompany me.”

Jason nearly chokes on his wine but Tyland is quick to the draw. “My apologies, Ser Victor, but I’m afraid we’ll have to be the ones to take her to the grounds. Lady Lannister, that is, my good sister, has sent her daughter a letter that she wanted a prompt reply on.”

You don’t visibly react but internally, you’re baffled. Yesterday, a letter had arrived from your mother and it had been a normal one - she had filled you in on Loren’s growth and had inquired about how the wedding proceedings were going.

They’re just giving me an out you reason but your stomach still twists at the idea that something has happened that your mother thinks you need to know right away.

Victor nods. “Understandable. Could I then accompany her to the Lannister apartments?”

Jason rises to his feet, already nodding. “If she accepts, I cannot see why not?”

All eyes swing to you then and you feel a flash of annoyance at being put on the spot even as you offer Victor an apologetic smile, standing up to your full height. “I would hardly wish to pull you away from the tourney grounds, Ser. I know how important your preparations must be. I’d hardly want to be in the way. Perhaps it’d be best to speak after?”

He immediately shakes his head. “No, no, you wouldn’t be in the way at all, my lady. It’d be an honor.”

Erren laughs loudly, patting his son firmly on the shoulder. “It’d be good luck, I imagine. All the good knights in the songs get to be with their lady before winning a great victory.”

This isn’t a song and I am not his lady.

Taking a deep breath, you nod your consent, ignoring the look your father and uncle share. “In that case, I can hardly refuse. I imagine Ser Victor will need all the luck he can get for the melee.”

Victor smiles as he nearly trips over himself to reach your side but Erren Florent watches you, eyes cold and piercing. You give him nothing, however, simply tilting your head in acknowledgment with a smile.

Farewells said, your group begins the walk through the gardens back to the Lannister apartment and, when Victor offers you his arm, you take it without hesitation.

“I’d like to offer my apologies, my lord,” you say after a moment, keeping your eyes on the path ahead. In the more populated areas of the gardens, people watch you and Victor walk with interest, their whispering tones fading into the background.

Victor starts as if he hadn’t realized you would speak, before promptly shaking his head. “What for, my lady? You’ve done nothing of offense.”

“I’m afraid you never did get that dance,” you reply, tearing your eyes away from the path to look up at him. He’s smiling and you feel that familiar, creeping rage wash over you.

“There will be other dances,” he says.

You smile, tilting your head. “Perhaps. You did dance with someone though, that night that you asked me. Lady Jocasta, my cousin.”

Victor nods, a flicker of nervousness flashing on his face. “I did, yes. She’s a very kind lady.”

Your smile grows. “She is, isn’t she? A sweet girl. Nothing at all like a Lannister ought to be. Of course, she’s a Lannister of Lannisport. It’s alright if she’s easily led. She’s afforded that grace. If she was a Lannister of the Rock, things would be very different for her.”

“Easily led?” Victor asks and you turn away from him, facing the gardens once again. Adjusting your grip, you encircle his arm with one of your hands, nails pointed downwards into his flesh.

“Yes, my lord,” you reply. “She’s easily led. Easily frightened. She’s as much a lion as I am but she’s never had a need to use her claws.”

“And you have?” Victor asks, voice rumbling.

You squeeze tight in response, hardly enough to do damage, but Victor stumbles slightly nonetheless. “When I’m provoked,” your voice is light and breezy. If someone heard you, they’d think you were flirting. “Luckily, I’m not easily provoked. Nor am I easily frightened.” You turn your gaze back to Victor and his eyes flash in recognition.

“My lady…” he starts, a hint of desperation entering his voice, but you shake your head, smiling, as you lean in and pat his arm, releasing your tight hold. “I… I only told your cousin what I’ve seen.”

“Oh? What you’ve seen?” You ask, raising a brow. “Shall I tell you what I’ve seen? I was there when they were treating Prince Aemond after the attack. I saw the mark that was left on him, and I watched as the maester attempted to sew it back together. I still remember when I spoke and he tried to follow my voice. I remember seeing a socket without an eye try to find me. Even now, if I close my eyes, I can recall every single detail. You’ve participated in several tourneys, Ser. Doubtless, you’ve seen awful wounds, injuries I couldn’t even imagine, but it’s awfully different seeing it on a child when you’re a child yourself.”

Victor doesn’t answer for a moment, staring down at you. Finally, he speaks. “You must have been scared.”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you? I wasn��t scared, however. I was angry. I’ve never felt that much anger in my life, that much helpless rage with nowhere to direct it. Well… recent events not included,” you say, laughing slightly. The sun feels warm around you. It is a beautiful day.

“You’re a lady. A proper lady,” Victor begins, a note of begging entering his voice. You watch, smiling. “I’ve seen you with Princess Helaena, with the servants and the other ladies in the court. You’re a kind and beautiful and gentle lady. I mean it with no disrespect to Prince Aemond but he frightens the ladies in the court, even with the eyepatch. He’s handsome enough, I will give him that, but he’s fierce and stern and it scares every lady he meets. Y-You’re different from them but… you’re a lady nonetheless. You’re much too polite to warn him away - not when you serve his sister.”

You hum in acknowledgment, gesturing for him to go on, and Victor nods, a glimmer of relief entering his eyes.

“I… I know I’m far from the only man to ever notice you. Every man in the court would have to be blind to not recognize you and your beauty. Any man who notices you, however, is always scared off by Prince Aemond. He abuses his power at court to have any titles they’ve earned for themselves taken away. He approached me at the welcoming feast and said if I bothered any more Lannisters with my dreams, I’d be quickly reminded of my position.”

You can’t help it. You laugh and Victor genuinely flinches, dropping your arm. He stares at you as if he’s never seen you before and you smile wide, baring your teeth in a grin. “And have you been? Reminded?”

He doesn’t reply, simply staring at you, searching for something you’re sure he’ll not find in your eyes, and you shake your head ruefully. “You will be soon, I pray. Either a dragon teaches you or a lion will and I’m not too sure which one you would prefer.” You step close, tilting your head as you look up at him. Victor stares back, pale eyes wide and stunned. “You lied to the court with that handkerchief, Ser.” You murmur softly. “You lied about me. You placed a crown on the head of someone who does not belong to you. There is a price to pay for all of that. I hope you can afford it.”

With that, you bow your head as you drop into a curtsey before stepping away, continuing down the path towards the Lannister apartments. Victor stays, frozen like a statue in the gardens, but your father and uncle pick up their pace to walk by your side.

“You scared him something fierce,” Jason says after a moment, and, when you look up at your father, he’s watching you with a strange look in his eye.

After a moment, you recognize it. Pride.

The last time he looked at you like that was when you had agreed to go to the capitol to find a princely husband and you almost trip in your shock, heart beating fast.

“She’s a Lannister, Jason,” Tyland laughs. “Moreover she’s a lioness raised amongst dragons in a pit filled with liars and frauds. I’d dare say only someone like Prince Aemond could be fierce enough to claim her.”

Jason hums, offering you his arm, and you take it, feeling the glow of accomplishment wash over you. “Speaking of claiming… I did receive a raven this morning though not from your mother. It seems that we’ve lost a lion but gained a wolf. Cerelle has married Cregan Stark.”

You miss a step, stumbling slightly, but your father’s hold keeps you upright and you stare at him in shock.

Cerelle. Cerelle. Cerelle.

If it wasn’t for Aemond and the tourney, Helaena and the wedding, you don’t think there would be a single force on the planet that could stop you from racing towards Winterfell, towards your sister. You had always imagined being there for her wedding and, though you knew what would happen when you had pushed to send her North, you still feel a sense of loss wash over you.

Cerelle isn’t a Lannister anymore you realize with a shock and a knot forms in your throat, the glow of success leaving you and leaving only a cold sense of reality behind. She’s a Stark now.

Pushing it down, you finally nod your head. “So it worked.”

Tyland sighs. “Partially. Her letter only mentioned that they’ve been married and she’s working on amassing a small Lannister force and securing Northern allies. She was free to leave Winterfell as Lord Regent Bennard did not know of the marriage and, as Lady Stark now, she can gather Lord Cregan’s bannerman for him. Within the next few weeks, they will topple Lord Regent Bennard, peacefully or with force, and reclaim Winterfell for its trueborn line.”

“Do you think the marriage will leak?” You ask, mind whirring with possibilities. If it did and Bennard thought to retaliate, Cerelle’s blood ties to the Westerlands would keep her safe. If any harm came to her, your father would call his banners and go to war. Her marriage with Cregan would guarantee that the North did the same.

Tyland hums. “I imagine it already has. Bennard cannot move against Cregan himself. He would become a kinslayer and would forfeit all rights to Winterfell with it. He could have used Cerelle to force Cregan’s hand but she’s already slipped his grasp. I imagine most of the North knows by now that Cregan Stark has taken a Lannister bride. Soon, the rest of the realm will know.”

“Which means you must be careful now, sweetling,” Jason warns and you look back to your father. His green eyes are watching you carefully. “The tea with the Florents would have been a waste if it did not prove to us that tell of Tyshara and Lord Tarly has leaked. Soon, the court will know that Cerelle has married hastily - without us there. That will bring her virtue into question. There’s naught that can be done about it now, not with a marriage already in place, but the gossip will begin.”

“If Cerelle has been married so quickly and Tyshara and her Lord Tarly are already rumored to have a wedding all but planned, people will begin to wonder about you and your prince. If he has taken the same liberties with you that they will think your sisters have taken with their men,” Tyland continues, voice low to not be overheard. “The court has already seen the high regard in which he holds you in.”

Your mouth drops open as you look at the two of them, feeling your cheeks blaze even as you recognize the truth of what they are saying.

“We cannot afford for you to fall under suspicion,” Jason says, voice firm. “One hastily married daughter is a mistake. Two is a tragedy. But three? That is an insult. That is a failure within House Lannister. A marriage would afford you protection but Jeyne and Joy would suffer the brunt of the gossip. Their marriage chances would be shot. I’d be begging a minor lord to give them a household knight at that point. Do you understand? You already have the attention of all of King’s Landing but after this, you will have their scrutiny as well.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine. I came here for Jeyne and Joy, to get the power to give them the marriages they deserve. If not me, who?

After a moment, you nod, thinking of your little sisters as you agree.

——————————–

The instant you step into the tent, you feel yourself relax if only a little bit. Here in the tent, you’re safe, away from the Florents and the court. It’s only people you trust and who trust you in return. No one is watching you to see if you falter, to see if you fail, and for that alone, you allow yourself a moment’s respite.

At first, no one notices your entrance, too caught up with one another. Aemond is in the corner of the tent, clearly fighting the urge to roll his eyes, as Alicent and Criston crowd him, both of them spouting off advice that you’re not entirely sure is helpful. Daeron is next to them, ignoring them all completely as he bows his head over his brother’s breastplate, polishing it with such a fervor that you’re sure that as soon as he’s done, the black steel will gleam as a mirror. Aegon, predictably, is drinking, looking vaguely amused as he watches his family run around like chickens with their heads cut off.

Helaena spots you first, playing with her bug toy as normal, and, when she calls out your name, everyone stops and swivels to stare at you standing at the entrance.

More out of instinct than anything else, you drop into a curtsey, bending low in an apology. When you rise, however, everyone is still staring at you and, suddenly feeling shy and awkward, you shift awkwardly.

Perhaps I should have just headed to the royal box instead.

You don’t get the chance to linger on that thought, however, since Helaena promptly approaches you, stopping right before you, a hair’s length away.

“A dragon’s treasure,” she announces, loud and clear in the quiet of the tent, and, though her eyes are blank and empty, it doesn’t feel like a prophecy. Your cheeks burn and you duck your head, feeling oddly embarrassed and called out.

After a moment, you look back up, finding your control. “I-uh… Is everything going well, Helaena? Or should I find a way to sabotage the melee?”

Helaena smiles hesitantly, coming back into herself, and blinking fast as if to speed up the process. “I think everything is going fine,” she says after a moment. “Though I think Mother would be comforted if you could somehow secure, without a doubt, that Aemond will emerge from this unhurt.”

“If I could, I would have done so already,” you reply wryly, laughing slightly. She nods, somewhat solemnly. She knows you well enough to know that if you could somehow fix this without harming Aemond’s pride, you would have done it by now and granted yourself and the rest of his family some peace of mind. As it is, you halfway wish you could have poisoned Victor and all the other opponents Aemond will have to face if just to end the matches before they could ever begin.

He’s a mighty warrior, you remind yourself, digging your nails into your palms. Ser Criston Cole trained him and there’s no living knight stronger than him. Aemond will be fine. He has to be.

As much as you repeat that fact to yourself, you still can’t find it in yourself to fully relax. Your brain is constantly catastrophizing, filling your mind with terrible images of Aemond lying on the ground, bloody and broken. For a moment, you almost wish you could beg him to back out, to leave things as they are. A crown from the wrong man is a momentary embarrassment. A dead man is something you can’t fix.

“Things will be fine,” Aegon insists as if he can read your mind. On his chaise, with his chalice in hand, he looks like the carefree noble the smallfolk love to scorn and you feel a flash of resentment. Even in your annoyance, however, you can tell that it’s a wholly unfair assessment since even you can see the tightness around his eyes, the way his grip is strong on his wine. “Everyone is worrying more than Aemond is. He’ll come out of this a better man or whatever it is the singers say.”

Alicent makes a small noise, torn between scolding her eldest or fussing over her middle son. “We’re free to worry, Aegon. This is the first time any of us have participated in a tourney.”

Daeron clears his throat, peering up from the armor with big purple eyes. “Uncle Gwayne is always participating in tourneys,” he unhelpfully reminds, shrinking back slightly as his mother shoots him a look. “B-but he’s always fine and even he would admit Aemond is the better swordsman.”

“That’s different,” Alicent replies, somewhat mutinous. Even from your spot, you can see her grip tighten on Aemond’s arm, her voice growing thick with worry. “I did not think I would have to worry about tourneys for quite some time. Before now, you were my only son interested in competitions.”

Aemond huffs, finally reaching his limits with his family’s antics. “If everyone could find some peace, I would much appreciate it. Your worry will hardly help me.”

“It might remind you to be cautious,” you say, your words forcing themselves out of your mouth. Aemond’s eye swings to you, narrowed, but you refuse to back down, determined to say your piece. “I’ve heard tell of what happens in the arena. Bloodlust takes over. The crowd’s urging becomes demands. Perhaps… Perhaps if we worry enough, you’ll remember that yielding can be just honorable as winning. Ser Harrold Westerling has yielded in melees before and he’s Lord Commander.”

Bringing up your uncle may not be the best move, not with another member of Kingsguard here to serve more readily as an example, but you barrel forward. There is honor in knowing when you’re down for the count.

Of course, judging by the look in Aemond’s eye, he knows you’re not as honest as you’re putting yourself forth to be. You don’t know when to quit and Aemond certainly does not know either. If someone were to corner him into surrendering, he knew as well as you did that you would rise up in revenge.

Not now and not soon.

“She’s not wrong, my prince,” Criston says, voice steady. Aemond swings to stare down the Kingsguard but the knight does not show even a hint of wavering. If anything, he looks exasperated. “For your mother’s sake, I implore you to be aware of the consequences of not yielding.”

“And perhaps,” Aemond grumbles, his eye flashing in warning. “I’m also aware of the consequences of not winning. If I am forced to yield, I am forced to yield. But I will not enter the grounds already believing I must.”

Alicent nods. “Of course,” she agrees, more out of placating her son than truly believing in what she’s saying. “Of course, Aemond, I just… I worry. You know I do.”

Something in Aemond’s face flickers and he softens slightly, hand coming up to grip his mother’s arm in a show of comfort. “I know, mother. I would not do anything that would bring you undue harm.”

The Queen looks up at her son and, though you can’t see her face from here, you can only imagine the look on her face. You wonder if it is anything like it had been on Driftmark, when she had first realized she was helpless to protect her children.

He was a boy then, you want to tell her. And even then it took four others to beat him down. He’ll be safe. He’ll be fine.

Instead, you keep quiet and, after a moment, she nods her head, slow and shaky. “May the Warrior grant you strength and guide your arm.” She lingers for a moment, holding onto her son for a second longer, before she finally lets go, sweeping out of the tent with Criston right behind.

There’s a moment of silence, where all of you wonder what to say next, when Aegon lets out a loud sigh, throwing his head against the back of the chaise. “I never thought Aemond would cause mother’s next nervous breakdown. I really would have put money down on me or even Daeron.”

Daeron looks back up from his work, quick to rise to his brother’s defense. “She’s just worried but she has faith in him. She’s always bragging in her letters about how well he can fight.”

Aegon frowns, sipping from his chalice as he rises to his feet. He’s never been good at hiding his emotions and you would have to be blind not to see the jealousy flash across his face. It disappears fast enough as he forces a grin. “Sure, sure. Never meant to imply otherwise.”

He walks over to Aemond, slapping his brother hard on the shoulder. Aemond doesn’t even shift, simply looking down at his older brother with annoyance and disdain. “Make sure to win, little brother. I’ve got a good bit of coin riding on these results.”

“I thank you for your confidence,” Aemond responds, his voice coldly courteous.

Aegon’s grin turns real, more teasing. “Of course. You’ll win this tourney, crown our shining lady of Lannister Queen of Love and Beauty once more, and then, at the end of this, I’ll have a nice pot of gold to use to bet on the next time some other Victor Florent makes the ill-thought-out decision of chasing after Lady Lannister.”

You roll your eyes. “Save your coins and buy yourself more wine instead. I doubt there’ll be many, if any, others after this. It’s hardly worth all this scandal.”

Helaena giggles, soft and sweet. “Perhaps there will be others. You could be the face that launches a thousand tourneys.”

You scoff, even as Aegon expresses his confusion at the name. He turns to Aemond but his brother merely nods his head over you, clearly passing the buck, and Aegon looks at you, plainly expecting an answer. Even Daeron looks up from his work and you sigh.

“There’s a story in the Westerlands of an Ironborn king who stole away a Lannister queen because she was so beautiful.” You explain, fighting to keep your face stern even as Helaena laughs cheerfully, plainly delighted by your reluctance to clarify her joke. “It led to a gruesome war that lasted ten long years. At the end of it, she was returned to her husband though her return was paid for by countless lives. Her name is lost now, if she ever did exist, but she’s known as the face that launched a thousand ships.”

“I’d ask you not to start a thousand tourneys,” Aemond says, his lip curling in amusement when you shoot him a look. “Mother is already having a hard enough time with just one.”

“That would pad my coffers nicely,” Aegon muses, squeezing his brother’s shoulder before he lets go. “Get that stamina up, would you? Seems you might have quite a few fights ahead of you and I aim to make a killing.”

“At some point,” Daeron cuts in, rising to his feet, finally finished with his work. “It would be easier to have Vhagar fight your battles. I’m sure she’d enjoy the exercise.”

Helaena hums. “I don’t think the singers would like that - not nearly as romantic.”

“Sounds like a miserable song,” you grumble, finally breaking into a grin when Helaena bumps you with her shoulder, beaming at you. Aegon meanders back to the chaise, grabbing slices of bread from a table as he does so, and you watch with interest as Daeron then descends on Aemond, scurrying around him as he fits his older brother with a suit of armor.

It’s relatively plain armor - not at all like some other ostentatious suits of armor you have seen at tourneys past. Thanks to Daeron’s efforts, it’s a nearly impossibly shiny black, so polished that it reflects the light perfectly. On the chest, the three-headed dragon of the Targaryen sigil is embossed into the steel, an unnecessary reminder that the wearer of the armor was of royal blood.

It’s simple armor.

Yet you can’t drag your eyes away from him.

You’ve never seen Aemond in armor before - last night had been the first time you had ever even seen him fight as a grown man - and the sight of it does something to you. Low in your belly, you feel a hot ache, and the heat, for the first time in your life, causes you to shift awkwardly, searching for a moment’s relief. It doesn’t come, however - it won’t come, not if you’re just standing here staring.

For half a breath, you indulge yourself in a fantasy of ordering everyone out, of convincing Aemond to leave the melee and giving yourself to him completely in return. You don’t even know what that means, what it entails, but you want him to show you.

The fantasy leaves you quickly enough and you burn with shame at your own indecency even if the heat only gets worse.

Pointedly, you look away from Aemond, turning towards Helaena and pulling her into a conversation about beetles, trying to pull away as far as you can from the sight of Aemond in his armor. The princess eagerly complies and soon your mind is whirring with her long-winded speech about the Braavosi beetles her grandfather had imported in as a wedding gift to her and how she’s trying to adjust them to the much more humid environment of King’s Landing.

It works. For a time.

Then Daeron announces he’s finished and has to run to help Lord Ormund like he’s supposed to be doing and Aegon trails behind him and you’re left alone with Helaena and Aemond.

And then Helaena, beautiful, blessed, mischievous Helaena grins at you and ducks towards the entrance of the tent, staying inside to save you from the public consequences of knowingly being alone in a tent with a man who is entering a melee in response to another man’s suit for you but giving you enough space that you’re functionally alone with Aemond. You look over at him in time to watch him buckle his sheath around his slim waist, his silky hair falling like a curtain around his bowed head.

The heat flares back to life and you could swear if it wasn’t so embarrassing.

You sigh, playing with your sleeves to give you something to do to try and expel your energy. “How worried was your family last night?”

“I tried my best not to find out,” he replies, his uncovered eye gleaming with mirth as he watches you squirm in place. “I made sure to stay out late training to avoid any confrontation.”

“You got rest though, right?” You ask, stepping closer, your earlier embarrassment leaving you in favor of scolding him. “Training is helpful and all but if you didn’t get any rest, you’ll suffer for it on the field.”

He smirks at you, his amusement clear, and you bristle slightly, approaching him to stand in front of him with a scowl. “If it brings you any comfort, it wasn’t that late since everyone was still up so they could… offer me advice.”

“Dare I ask what the advice was?”

“Daeron was the only one with actual helpful things to contribute,” he says, leaning against a table. “My mother and Helaena, less so, and Aegon? His advice had nothing to do with the tourney.”

You cock your head in question. “And what was his advice for?”

“I’m afraid I can’t repeat his words to an unmarried maiden who isn’t, at the current moment, betrothed to me without breaking several rules of etiquette. Your father would want my head and my mother would be inclined to give it to him,” he replies, voice low and rumbling, and your cheeks flare in embarrassment.

“She wouldn’t,” you manage out after a moment. “At least, not right now. Right now, she’s rather concerned with keeping your head on your shoulders.”

Aemond watches you before letting out a small laugh, shaking his head. He reaches out for you, his armored hand catching on the sleeves of your dress as they wrap around your own hand. The cold metal is a relief against your warm skin and you step closer, squeezing his hand in return. “How was the tea?” He asks eventually, teasing gone from his voice.

You sigh, glancing down at your feet. “Tedious. They made a serious offer for my hand but my father rejected it on the grounds that my older sisters aren’t married yet. I doubt the Florents will ask again unless Victor decides against his better judgment - though I’m not sure he has any - to crown me again today. We… We have just found out, however, that Cerelle has married Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell. She’s Lady Stark now.”

“Trade negotiations went that well, did they?” He asks and you look up to meet his knowing gaze. He knows full well that it wasn’t trade that sent Cerelle Lannister (Stark you harshly remind yourself) up into the frigid North and he knows that you regret not being able to be there for her wedding, even if he does not know that it was your plan and your scheme that sent her there to begin with.

“Exceedingly,” you respond eventually, forcing yourself to sound more enthusiastic. You know by the downturn of his lips that you fail but you move forward past the hurt, forcing a smile. “I don’t have any advice to offer you for your matches except, perhaps, an observation. I can’t see that Victor Florent will be at his best today. He might be easy to rile if you’re lucky enough to face him today. If you wish to rattle him, mention finding his place or maybe even how Lord Tarly was able to claim a Lannister daughter while he can’t.”

He tilts his head, a slow sly smile coming to his face as he takes in your words. “And I imagine you had something to do with him being that sensitive?”

You shrug, your own smile becoming genuine. “Your battle with him will be on the grounds. Mine was this morning. I tried to help as best as I could.”

“I could almost pity the man if he weren’t such a craven liar,” Aemond responds, humor evident in his tone. “Your own bite is probably worse than most injuries he could face on the field today.”

“Most?” You ask.

“Most,” he echoes. “As fierce as you can be with your tongue, there are still quite a few things that could happen to him on the field that may prove to be worse.”

You throw your head back, laughing gleefully. Your amusement, however, is short-lived since even inside the canvas walls of the tent, you can hear a horn blow, announcing that the melee is set to start soon. It brings you crashing back into reality, back into the truth that Aemond will be risking his life today in order to answer an insult done to you. It’s sobering and you take a deep breath as you pull back slightly.

Before you can say anything, however, Aemond brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss onto the knuckles, and you realize with a start that this must have been what all the songs were talking about when they mentioned a lady sending her knight off into battle.

You wonder if the ladies in all those stories found it as bittersweet as you did.

“May the Warrior guide and protect you,” you murmur and he only nods in response.

——————————–

You enter the royal box arm in arm with Helaena, an astonishingly sober Aegon leading the way. The court all turns to stare openly at you and, in the crowd, you can see Tyland nodding at you, seated next to Lords Beesbury and Wylde. You don’t nod back, however, keeping your head held high as you and the Targaryen siblings walk towards the seats you had sat in only the day before.

Like yesterday, a head of white hair awaits you. This time, however, it belongs to Baela Targaryen who watches your approach with interest. You glance over at Helaena but she merely shrugs in response.

When you reach your seats, Aegon drops in his without so much as a hello, eyes trained onto the grounds ahead, leaving you and Helaena to greet her. At first, you wonder if Princess Rhaenys has ordered her to sit up front in order to forge a relationship with her kin but, when you sit and she leans towards you, you realize that this seating could only have been her idea.

“You’re all they’ve been talking about, you know,” Baela says in lieu of a true greeting, jerking her head backward to indicate the rest of the court. Your eyes flicker over to glance back and even now, you can see some Velaryon ladies whispering to each other as they watch you speaking to their cousin. “The dragon’s treasure from the Rock and the fox foolish enough to try and steal it.”

“Are they? I haven’t noticed,” you reply dryly and she laughs. “Did you sit here to see if the rumors were true?”

She shakes her head, still looking amused even as the knights begin to march out onto the field for the presentation. You look away from her, eyes immediately finding Aemond in the procession. He’s not in the first listing, thank the gods, but a weight begins to sit heavy on your shoulders.

Please, you pray, wishing you had made a stop at the sept to light a candle for the Warrior before you had come to the tourney grounds. Please keep him safe.

“I decided to sit here because I was curious. It’s been quite some time since a Targaryen has participated in a tourney - not since my father has it happened,” Baela finally answers and you tear your eyes away from Aemond to look over at her. Otto Hightower stands to do his customary speech but you keep your gaze on her. “I decided I wanted a better view. However this goes, I imagine there will be quite a few songs written about it. I figured I should get to see the action so I can describe it well to Rhaena when I write to her about it.”

“Did you now?” You drawl, curiosity driving you to poke at her and try to find her real reason for sitting by you. “Did the Princess Rhaenys ask you to get a better view as well?”

She tilts her head. “My grandmother wishes for me to know my kin. The Targaryen side at least. She was… pleased by my choice.”

You nod and not one second later, the horn blows for the first match to begin. You watch it with disinterest. It’s a Mullendore knight against a Connington and, even to your untrained eye, it’s clear neither of them has the skill necessary to last long in the tournament. Still, the Connington is, at least, faster on his feet, and soon enough, he has the Mullendore knight knocked on his back with a sword to his throat. The crowd jeers, bored by the bloodless match.

The next match, however, quickly proves satisfactory to them. Both knights are from houses so below your radar that even you, after years and years of studying all the noble houses in Westeros, struggle to identify them. For one of them, it turns out that you shouldn’t have even bothered. The taller and bulkier knight (Five black starfish - it’s House Ruthermont of the Vale) swings his mace and catches the other man by the jaw, sending him crashing to the ground in a spray of blood and teeth. The other man, lost in his own pain, scrambles upwards, clambering for his sword, having lost it in his fall, but the Ruthermont knight doesn’t give him the chance. With one final swing, he brings the mace down heavy on his opponent’s back and, with a sickening crack that you can hear even over the screaming and cheering, breaks the man nearly in two. The nameless knight doesn’t even get to scream before he dies; not with the way the mace is buried in his back, straight through his lungs and pinning him to the ground. Blood pours out of the wound, drowning the dirt around him, and the crowd roars its approval.

Next to you, Helaena lets out a whimper, recoiling backward in her seat, and, when you turn to face her, her eyes are screwed close. Gently, you grab her hand and she squeezes it so hard that you swear you won’t have one after.

“It’s alright, Helaena, it’s alright. It’s over now” you comfort and her eyes snap open to bore into yours.

She leans in close, her nose nearly brushing yours. This close, you can see how her pupils are blown out, the amethyst color so dark it’s almost cobalt even in the sunlight. “Shadows in the wall,” she insists, sounding near hysterical. “Shadows in the flame. There will be no choice. No choice at all.”

You stare back, stunned, but she blinks hard and it’s Helaena again. Scared and worried Helaena and she leans back in her seat, shaking her head as if to clear her mind. Next to her, even Aegon looks alarmed as he looks at his sister, and, with deft fingers, he pulls out her familiar bug toy from her pockets, offering it to her.

“To save Lady Lannister’s hand,” he says and Helaena barely manages a grateful smile as she drops your hand to grasp the toy, shaking slightly as she does so. You meet Aegon’s eyes and, after a moment of mutual understanding, he looks away, snapping his fingers for a servant to bring him wine.

You relax back in your chair, watching her for a moment as she loses herself in the toy, murmuring under her breath as she twists it in her hands over and over and over, the repetition soothing her.

The horn blows again and you look over at the grounds in time to see servants dragging the body away from the field just as Aemond steps out.

You freeze, heart in your throat, as you watch him ready himself, bouncing slightly in place as if to warm himself up. He’s chosen to fight without a helmet and, though you understand why he wouldn’t want to limit his field of vision any more than it already is, you find yourself praying he had worn one if only to calm your nerves.

You immediately recognize his opponent as Ser Raymond of House Marbrand and your mind races to remember everything you know about him. The nephew of the current Lord Marbrand. He used to visit Casterly Rock when his uncle had wanted him to get closer to Cerelle in hopes of securing a marriage. He has a bastard son living in the Crag. Your own father had knighted him for his service in suppressing Ironborn raids along the coast.

You try to remember if he’s skilled but your mind comes up horrifying blank.

The horn blows again and you squeeze your hands tight, nails digging into your flesh. Raymond does not waste any time, rushing Aemond immediately, but the Targaryen is quicker, spinning out of the way, his hair streaming through the air. He jabs out with his sword and lands a hit. The herald barely has time to announce it before he swings again, landing two more in quick succession.

Raymond lets out a grunt, more out of anger than any real pain, and feints toward Aemond’s blind spot before swinging his sword toward the prince’s knees. Aemond dodges but, in the moment right after, Raymond slices upwards, catching Aemond on the sleeve.

You bite your lip hard to prevent yourself from gasping or cursing, but behind you, you can hear the Queen murmur a prayer.

The gods must hear her since, angered by the hit, Aemond moves even faster and lands the additional three hits he needs to win. The herald announces the prince’s victory and you clap hard, your palms stinging, as you rise to your feet. Aegon whoops, screaming something about his money being safe, and even the Queen is cheering in her relief.

Aemond looks up at the box and nods his head and you can tell, even from here, that he’s pleased with the results. The crowd cheers him, satisfied by a match where the men actually landed blows unlike the first one, and you grin wide.

When you sit back down, the horn announcing the next competitors coming out onto the field, you look over at Baela. Her eyes are glued to the field watching Aemond’s retreat, analyzing.

“Has he met your standards?” You ask and she looks over at you, frowning slightly.

“He’s… Improved since we last met,” she says, reluctant to praise him.

You smile. “Prince Aemond has always been skilled. Even in his childhood, it took more than one assailant to ever do him much harm.”

Baela’s eyes narrow at the remark and she opens her mouth to shoot back a retort when the horn announces the beginning of the match, calling both of your attention. It’s Victor Florent vs a Blackwood knight and you roll your eyes when you spot the handkerchief still tied around his bicep.

During the actual fight, however, Victor seems almost vengeful in his maneuvers, moving fast and hitting hard. He slices the Blackwood knight behind the knees, sending the man toppling to the ground where he hastily yields. Victor looks up at the box and his expression is dark as he meets your gaze.

He wears no helmet - as if he wants you to see his face.

He’s angry, his expression twisted with wrath, and there’s no longer that glazed look in his eyes when he sees you. It’s sharp and fierce and angry and it’s all at you. It’s more than you not wearing a crown or your father turning down his suit. He’s angry because you rejected him, harshly and without even a hint of regret. He wears the handkerchief still, not to proclaim that he loves you but to proclaim that you will be his since it is his right to claim you.

You don’t frown down at him or scowl or even furrow your brow. You simply meet his gaze steadily, no emotion slipping onto your face because he’s not even worth that much.

Victor’s face twists again and he stalks off the grounds, clearing the way for the herald to announce the next match.

He’ll die today, you promise yourself. By my hand or Aemond’s, he will not live to see the morrow.

The matches go in a flash and you watch with mounting anticipation as Aemond readily defeats his opponents. He even beats Tygett and your cousin claps him on the shoulder afterward, laughing loudly, as friendly and pleasant as he always is.

Next to you, Baela seems wholly invested in the fights, nearly leaning out of her seat, and, when it becomes clear that the current match will end in a death that you’re not eager to watch, you turn towards her.

She doesn’t hear you when you first say her name and it’s only on the third time that she rips her eyes away from the battle, just as Edwyn Sand drives his lance through his opponent’s torso. “What?” She asks, irritable and snappish at being distracted, and, despite yourself, you smile.

“Do you wish you were on the field as well, my lady?” You ask, leaning slightly closer so she can hear you over the roar of the crowd.

Baela eyes you, her amethyst eyes scanning your face for any sign that you might be using this to poke at her. “I do,” she finally says, having evidently weighed the dangers of telling you this and finding them lacking. “I imagine I could do a mite better than most of these men.”

“I have no doubt you could,” you readily agree, finding that you mean it. For better and for worse, she is Daemon Targaryen’s daughter through and through. She’s more cautious than the Rogue Prince ever was, more aware of her surroundings, but you can easily see her with a sword in her hand. “Have you trained with weaponry?”

“I did,” she says after a moment, her eyes slightly hazy as she frowns. “Back in Pentos. I… My father taught me. He said a dragonrider should know how to wield a sword.”

You nod, ignoring the crowd’s jeers behind you as a match ends bloodlessly. “Did you learn much under his tutelage? I imagine the Rogue Prince has much to teach his daughters.”

“Daughter,” Baela corrects, almost as if on instinct. “Daughter. I, uh… He only taught me. I’m the only dragonrider daughter he has. Rhaena has always been too sweet to wield a sword anyways. She’s always preferred dancing to anything else.”

Despite her immediate excuse for her father’s actions, you can see how her frown twists with anger and how she clenches her fists on her lap. She’s furious, you realize. Daemon Targaryen ignores her sister and she hates him for that insult more than she does for anything else.

Baela Targaryen is loyal, fiercely so, and her sister is the way to gain that loyalty for yourself.

“I see,” you say after a moment. “I think I would rather enjoy meeting your sister then. She seems like a kind lady and I’m afraid I’m not as skilled at dancing as I’d like to be. I’m sure she has much she can teach me.”

She looks you over, openly appraising you, and you simply bow your head before turning back to face the melee.

The battles drag on and on, knocking men out of the competition faster than you can even register, until you’re only three matches away from the finale and you realize, with a dull sense of surprise, that the finale will almost certainly be Aemond and Victor. You can’t see it going any other way and you start to pray to the Warrior and the Stranger, pleading with them to protect Aemond and take Victor in his place.

You don’t know if they hear you but you beg that they have.

The final matches go exactly as you had expected and when the herald announces the final matchup, the crowd grows nearly rapturous in their excitement. At your back, you can hear the court gossiping, swearing up and down that the singers of King’s Landing had to have had a hand in the matches for it to go this way in a manner that would most serve their purposes.

“Seems you won’t be able to stop those songs now,” Aegon drawls but you’re too caught up in staring down at the grounds in nervous anticipation to even register his words.

Aemond and Victor make their way onto the field and, if you had thought Victor was angry staring you down earlier, he’s absolutely incandescent now, glowering at Aemond as if he could light him on fire with only his eyes. For his part, Aemond only stares coldly back, his eye focused solely on Victor, ignoring the screams around him. His silver hair is dyed red in parts from the blood of earlier matches, some of it having streaked onto his face, and that, combined with his eyepatch and scar, makes Aemond’s indifference look almost as frightening as Victor’s rage.

The horn blows and, for a moment, both men stand still as they stare each other down.

Then they move.

The clash of their sword is swallowed by the crowd’s instant screams and you pitch forward, hands flying to grab the edge of your chair. You’re deaf to everything around you, solely focused on the fight in front of you.

The men are equally matched but Victor is stronger, bulkier. Each swing of his sword sends Aemond rocking back on his heels, teeth gritted as he fights to stay grounded. Victor is relentless, however, moving forward and forward, each move intent on driving Aemond back until he can have him pinned in a corner.

But as strong as Victor is, Aemond is as fast and, twisting his sword so he can knock Victor to the side, he frees himself from the path the knight had been intent on driving him on. He thrusts and catches Victor on the torso but no one can even hear the herald over the frenzy of the crowd.

What you can hear, however, is Victor’s roar of absolute rage. More beast than man, he advances on Aemond relentlessly, his swings growing impossibly stronger and stronger. Before you can even register what’s happening, a swipe from Victor drives Aemond to his knees and the Florent swings his sword heavily, aiming directly for Aemond’s neck.

You gasp, rising to your feet in an instant, distantly aware of the Queen’s scream behind you and Aegon and Helaena standing up as well, but Aemond is faster than all of you, reacting before any of you can finish what you’re doing. He ducks, saving his neck but earning a cut across the ear for it.

His blood drips onto the ground, joining all the rest that has been shed through the melee, and you find yourself wishing that Vhagar would rise from wherever she is and descend upon the grounds to cook Victor alive for daring to harm him. But she won’t come - not when her rider is doing well enough for his own.

Aemond rolls across the ground, dodging another desperate thrust, and stands up in one fluid motion. He keeps low to the ground, crouched with his sword up by his chest. His own blood covers the side of his face, staining his pale skin and dripping down onto his own armor. He only stays like that for a breath, before Victor dives forward with a roar.

But Victor Florent is sloppy in his rage, too caught up in his anger to think ahead.

Aemond, however, does not suffer the same problem.

Just as Victor reaches him, Aemond crouches even lower, leaving Victor’s sword sailing right above him. With a twist of his feet, he plants himself behind his opponent and, without a moment’s hesitation, drives his sword toward Victor’s neck.

There’s a moment when you think that Victor will avoid it. He twists his body around, arm flying out as if to stop the blade right in its track, but Aemond’s strength, while weaker than Victor’s, is nothing to scoff at. He impales the sword straight through Victor’s exposed wrist, between the gap between his gauntlet and the rest of his armor, driving it straight through all the way to Victor’s throat.

The two men stare each other down, Aemond breathing heavily as Victor struggles to even breathe. But then the knight stumbles down to his knees and, from your vantage point, you can see him struggle to say something, to gurgle out one final remark, but he can’t, not with Aemond’s sword keeping the words trapped behind it. In the next second, Victor falls flat to the ground, slipping off the sword and landing heavily on his side, twitching as he does so but soon enough, he stops, his eyes going cold and empty.

There’s quiet on the grounds as Victor Florent breathes his last.

But soon it erupts.

The roar of the crowd shakes the very ground beneath you and you yourself cheer, screaming out your relief, your delight, your joy. Next to you, even Baela is clapping and Helaena is smiling even as she covers her ears with her hands. Aegon is absolutely frothing at the mouth, spilling his wine all over himself as he raises his fist in the air in victory

Aemond looks dazed by it, moving away from Victor’s body while staring up at the stands as if he can’t quite believe that the cheers around are all for him, and you laugh, delighted.

Yes! You want to scream down at him. It’s you, it’s all for you!

You dimly register Otto Hightower approaching the railing, raising his hands as if to try to silence the crowd and you manage to reel yourself in, still clapping to the point that you’re sure your hands will hurt tomorrow. Out on the field, Daeron runs out to his brother, carrying a pillow with a crown of golden roses on it and you laugh out loud, imagining all the other squires Daeron must have fought for the honor of being the one to hand out the prize.

“My deepest congratulations to Prince Aemond Targaryen for defeating all of his opponents and winning the melee event,” Otto proclaims, barely audible over the stare exuberant crowd. “Alongside the pot of gold, you have won a crown to give out. Who shall you crown your Queen of Love and Beauty?

Even in a crowd of thousands, even with the sun in his eyes, Aemond looks up into the royal box and you know he sees you, you as you truly are, and your heart could nearly burst with it all.

“I crowd my Lady Lannister, the Lioness of the Red Keep,” he announces, voice clear even over the impossibly loud cheers.

The crowd screams out its approval and you almost don’t hear them, too preoccupied with staring down at Aemond, your heart beating loud in your chest.

He’s claimed you, in front of the royal court and all of King’s Landing. He’s claimed you.

You didn’t know it was possible to feel this much love toward one person.

With a none-too-gentle push from Baela, you finally move, dimly aware of Helaena reaching out to brush her hand against yours and Aegon laughing with more glee than you’ve seen him have in years. When you look over at the crowd, even the Queen is standing on her feet, clapping for you with a small smile on her face, her eyes guarded even as she congratulates you.

Her son has proved that he is a dragon once, that his way is one of fire and blood, and Alicent’s worries about dragon blood have all come true.

All thoughts of Alicent, however, leave your mind as you look past her to your Uncle Tyland and he’s grinning so wide and clapping so hard that, for a moment, you want to break away from walking down to the grounds just to hug your uncle. He’s happy for you, so genuinely happy, and your heart swells.

But you need to reach Aemond and, moving quickly, you reach the tourney grounds, walking out onto the field to the screams of the crowd.

His hands are bloody, you realize, as you walk towards him. His face is smeared with blood, some of it his but most of it not, but his hands are absolutely covered in it and it stains the golden flowers in his hands.

Red and gold, you realize with a shock. The Lannister colors as they’re meant to be seen.

You break out into a grin, so wide it almost hurts, and as you stop right in front of him, you drop into the lowest curtsey of your life. You sweep the ground, head bowed low, and, just like in the songs, Aemond places the crown on your head and the cheers of the crowd reach a crescendo. As you rise to your feet, Aemond grabs your chin, forcing your head up so you can meet his eye.

His gaze is hot and, as he stares down at you, you realize that’d be wrong to describe him as satisfied. He’s far from it. His blood is up and, high on the battles he has won, he wants to continue his rush. He wants you and not in any way that remotely resembles chastity. He wants you and, if he could get away with it, he’d claim you here in front of the whole of King’s Landing. He wants the world to know that you’re his and his only. Any man that would attempt to pull you away from him would meet the same fate as Victor Florent and choke on his own blood as the realm cheered around them.

He’s close to it - even you with all your inexperience can tell. His grip is firm on your chin and, from the look in his eye, you can tell he’s not far from kissing you hard in front of the world. For a moment, you entertain letting him do it. For a moment, you entertain pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes and doing it yourself.

But your father’s voice is loud in your head.

You already have the attention of all of King’s Landing but after this, you will have their scrutiny as well.

So instead, you bow your head, closing your eyes as you reach up to grip Aemond’s wrist. There’s time yet for all you want to do.

Still - the kiss he presses onto your forehead feels like a triumph nonetheless.

#reader and aemond are a match made in hell tell me otherwise <3 #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you

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ohnomytummy · 10 months

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describe the perfect belly ache for a chubby puppy bf.. and spare no details 💜🐶

Mmmm well 😉

Considering his taste for all things greasy and packed with dairy, a belly ache evening would start with a pizza and their favorite soda…diet Coke maybe? I’d dare them to eat it as fast as they can, timing him from start to finish, putting that belly to the first of many tests. By the end his belly is warmed up, taught and round but not too tight.

Of course, the cheese hits his belly so fast there’s already tummy ache complaints and pained whines seconds, it seems, after his final bite and time are announced. I’m soft on my puppy, especially at first, letting his bloated gut land in my lap to kiss and rub through the beginning dairy cramps.

But this tummy time has a time limit…the goal is make his belly ache, right?

I’d pamper his tummy for no more than 10 minutes, after which the next meal would be coming out of the oven: Deep fried mozzarella sticks, so gooey, dripping with grease, and bowls of sauces lined up for dipping.

I present them to you while you’re still grumbling about your tummy gurgles from the pizza and suddenly your eyes pop and your mouth opens to a deep groan. I’ve stacked a dozen large fried logs in a pyramid, and my baby must eat every last one in under 12 minutes. If he can, at least…

You eat. And eat. And eat. My eyes devour you as you devour the fried cheese, shaking your belly and burping, desperate for the room to pass your test.

The timer ticks and my baby boy sucks down his second course. Despite being still full from the pizza, he manages to pass the second test, but just barely. 11:24. Nearly choked on the last one just to make it.

“My *buraaahhp* tummy *huff huff.* That’s *burp* enough *huff* *burp* *hic* cheese.”

Another 10 minutes is spent adoring that tummy. Complimenting it’s bloated, expanding capabilities. “My puppy has such an impressive appetite.” I’ve left kisses and marks all down your body, and my hand prints might as well be molded into your rolls. You’re pushing your limits for me. I can’t get enough of how desperately full your becoming in my name.

But then the time is up and course three is on it’s way. “No ugh…my belly hurts so bad, you know I’m lactose intolerant, sir.” You look down and blush, whispering in heat and embarrassment. “…and I’m getting so gassy.”

I look you gently in the eye, take your lower belly in my hands and shake your cheese filled guts. You squeak, moan, and let out the gas I knew you’d been holding in, trying not let me know how bad your tummy really hurts. “Bellies get gassy, sweetheart. Don’t worry about that.”

I win, of course, and you allow me to bring you the next plate…or bag. Enough McDonald’s for two, but it’s really just…you.

Two large orders of perfectly cooked fries, two quarter pounders (with cheese, duh) and the finale: two large chocolate milkshakes. If you can eat everything, you get to stop. A fair deal, in my opinion, but your eyes grow wide and you start to plead the plight of your exhausted tummy. “I can’t finish that!”

At that moment a cramp rumbles from your stomach to your lower gut. I watch you curl your knees into your tummy and wrap your arms quickly around your bare belly, which now looks red and bulbous, angry, almost. “Oooooohhhh fuck…god *a gurgle I can hear from across the room sounds and a wet fart slips out* my belly. I’ve eaten way too mu-*buuurrrp*-ch already, how do you expect me to *groans* finish *gulp* that?”

I move towards you and wrap your curled, aching body into my arms, kissing your strained temples and wiping the sweat from your forehead. “I expect you,” I rub a deep, firm circle over your swollen stomach, making your moan “to do as your told.” I reach for the bag, open the first quarter pounder, and begin feeding you slowly. No time limit on your last round (I’m secretly desperate to see you even try to finish. I don’t think you really can, but the challenge was too tempting not to give you). You get the rest of the night to finish stuffing your face.

When you get through the first fries and burger, your tummy is so tight it’s pulsing. With a hand over the very top of your gut, I can feel how much your body is struggling to let every bite into it’s overwhelmed system. Your whole abdomen looks…strained. When we start the second burger, all bites are followed by moans and whispered complaints. “Not another bite *swallow.* I’m gonna burst *swallow.* You’re giving me a tummy ache! *takes an even bigger bite.*” But I know how much you’re burning, how fast your eating so we can move on to the reward portion of the evening.

I know how much my puppy wants a days long upset belly. A tummy ache for the ages.

As you finish both fries and burgers, I have to stop myself from drooling. You’re a vision, burping and moaning and begging me to get the milkshakes from the freezer so we can get it all over with already. You’re really planning on finishing both…I can’t believe it. I’m as consumed by your belly as you are by pleasing me, doing all that I ask.

The milkshakes begin to soften while I hold the cups to your lips. I’ve taken off the caps and gotten your funnel. We both want the milkshakes in your gut. Fast.

I pour and you chug, the milkshakes just frozen enough to be delicious but warm enough to gulp down with little to no struggle

I watch your tummy expand so quickly I’m shocked. If I thought your belly was full before…it’s like the shakes are filling in every last gap you have and pushing everything out. Your back is starting to arch, and I can hear how much your struggling to deal with the pain of your fast growing tummy. When the last of the shakes are down the funnel and dripping from your lips, you’ve got tears pricked in your eyes. I remove the funnel, you’re panting and groaning uncontrollably. Your hands don’t stop roaming your tummy, cluelessly pressing into every tight bubble daring to burst your bubble belly.

An awe-filled “oh my god” escapes as I watch you. I can’t think, can’t move. You actually did it. You finished everything in under 2 hours, most of it spent on round three. I can feel my desire dripping down my thighs, leaving visible wet spots on my shorts. You’re a non-stop luscious view of bloated burps and cramps. I can basically see your belly shake as the food tries to move through you unsuccessfully. It must feel like you swallowed a cheese filled brick, I think. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

“Full.”

#hehe hi bb #this enough detail ;)#anon #tummy fantasy

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134340am · 2 years

Text

breakfast hours

61. surprising your lover from behind, smacking a kiss on their cheek

bakugou katsuki x gn!reader, 1.1k words, sfw + cw food

in magazine interviews, you often said you wouldn’t trade your job as a pro-hero for the world.

and there’s some truth to that statement, despite it being something planted in your mouth by your public relations specialist—because ensuring the safety and protecting the smiles of all the citizens in Japan is a worthy, meaningful job.

but saying you wouldn’t trade heroism for a few lazy weekend mornings here and there was a complete lie.

you miss everything about them—sleeping in till whenever, getting roused by the gentle sunlight that warms your room through your thin curtains, waking up at your own pace. lazing in bed while scrolling through your social media, taking a long shower, changing into something that wasn’t your hero costume for once.

and the best part of every morning: breakfast, no longer a necessity but a privilege. sometimes superheroes skip breakfast too—and having to get up at the crack of dawn every single day has ruined your appetite in the mornings. even the thought of chomping down on some plain crackers and water already has your stomach churning in discomfort.

but while slow weekends as a pro-hero were hard to come by, weekends with your pro-hero boyfriend are even rarer. you can count on one hand the number of times you had the privilege of waking up next to him after the sun had gone up. and most times, unlike the cute couple pictures you see on pinterest or instagram, there aren’t any elaborate breakfast spreads or sweet cuddles to look forward to—only soft complaints of it being too bright, can’t sleep or the traffic downstairs being too fuckin’ loud or it being too early for us to be awake, damn it.

today was an exception.

today, you and katsuki managed to sync up on a rare weekend off, and he was making the most of it—the hour hand on your kitchen clock has barely reached the number eight, and katsuki already has a pot of miso soup going on the stove, rice steaming away in the rice cooker, and various vegetable side dishes all lined up on the dining table.

safe to say, you were beyond impressed when you get up and see the spread.

katsuki’s focused on rolling up tamagoyaki in his favourite frying pan, another eye trained on the salted mackerel grilling away in the corner, so he doesn’t hear the sound of your slipper-clad feet padding up to him. in an instant, you have your arms circled around his waist, smacking a loud muah! to his cheek which had him jumping away from you instantaneously.

“what the— don’t do that! i’m cooking and there’s hot oil here! plus i nearly broke the stupid omelette—” he’s rambling away now, sparing you a second-long glare before he’s ushering you towards the dining table. “sit down and wait, shrimpy. don’t touch anything.”

you only giggle at his concern and his scowling grumpy face that held no real malice. it was hard to be serious around him when he was wearing one of your aprons—a well-worn, kitten-patterned one that was far different from his usual all-black fashion, and you only laughed harder when you spotted his butt crack peeking out of his low-hung sweatpants when he turned around and stomped back into the kitchen.

a quick glance at the clock—almost eight now—told you that you would typically be finishing up patrol by now. but today, you indulge in the privilege of watching your grumpy boyfriend perfect his tamagoyaki roll for you—because he has standards to uphold in this house.

at eight a.m. sharp, katsuki rounds the dining table with your breakfast: a slab of grilled mackerel, miso soup with a generous helping of tofu cubes bobbing in it, golden-yellow tamagoyaki, and steaming hot rice ladled into your favourite bowl.

you take in the spread before you, a traditional breakfast that was worlds different from the stale granola bars you’d chuck in your bag on the way out the door. despite it being made of simple ingredients, you could feel the love and effort katsuki put into cooking for you, evident in the careful way he rolled up your omelette and the extra cubes of tofu in your soup.

“thank you for the meal, katsuki.” you beamed over at him, genuinely giddy with happiness. it wasn’t everyday that you got to share a homely meal with your lover first thing in the morning, and the bare domesticity of it comforts you in a way you couldn’t explain,

“thank you for not getting in the way,” he bites back sarcastically, but the look he shoots you is fond and filled with longing. like he’s hungry too, not just for food, but for this very moment. who knows when will be the next time you can have breakfast together again?

the pair of you clasp your hands together in front of your chests. “itadakimasu.”

you pick up your chopsticks, mouth already watering. you sink your teeth into the pillowy fluffiness of your favourite tamagoyaki, a delighted hum falling from your lips at the savoury, juicy taste. you can detect a hint of dashi broth in the roll—just the way you liked it, and your heart warms at the thought of katsuki remembering that little tidbit.

i’m so happy i could die now, you think to yourself, stuffing rice into your mouth.

CLUNK!!

fuck, didn’t actually mean that.

your eyes meet katsuki’s immediately, alarmed by the unnaturally dull, heavy sound that reverberated through the room.

“‘fuck was that?” katsuki asks through a mouthful of fish, just as confused as you.

silence. your ears stay pricked, listening for any other sound that was out of place on this serene saturday morning.

silence. your concerned expression mirroring that of katsuki’s.

silence. the faint, faraway rush of traffic and birds.

then another startling CLUNK!!, exponentially louder now, and you and katsuki were out of your seats within seconds.

a quick scan of the horizon from your window very quickly revealed the cause of the suspicious sound: what looked like a metal-wielding quirk-user gleefully dropping orbs of metal from the high-rise building across yours.

“that fucker— littering is prohibited,” katsuki growls beside you, already rushing off to get his gauntlets.

“since when did you care about the rules, baby?” you ask, hot on his heels.

“i care about my damn breakfast. i’ve been waiting for this the whole week.”

“ha, same.”

you shoot a mournful look back at your plates, barely touched and still steaming hot. “think we can get back here before the food gets cold?”

“i don’t think so, shrimpy.” katsuki smirks, ever-confident. “i know so. let’s go.”

a/n: take this as an apology for the angsty piece i uploaded recently hehe. thank you for reading!

(series masterlist) (masterlist)

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou fluff #bnha fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugou x you #bakugo x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x y/n #bakugou katsuki #bnha #yuna writes #a hundred different kisses writing game

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danielfuckingricciardo · 2 years

Text

Private Party - Charles Leclerc x Reader

Pairing - Charles Leclerc x Reader

Word Count - 4.1k

Content Warning - Swearing, Alcohol mention, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Synopsis - When the reader is snubbed by her awful friend in favour of her boyfriend, she finds herself alone until a certain racing driver buys her a drink and keeps her company for the evening.

Author’s note - I was worried I wasn’t going to be able to finish this one tonight, but look at me go! Also yeah I am on a bit of a Charles kick lately don’t @ me. Regularly scheduled programming, aka Daniel fucking on main, will resume shortly once I get my ass in gear and finish my many WIPs. Anyways, hope you enjoy this one, it’s nice and soft and sweet, unlike my other Charles fic! I tried something different with the structure of this one, trying to go for shorter paragraphs that make it a little easier to read, let me know if you think this is better, so far I’m vibing with it!!

Tonight was the night you’d been excited for all week. It was a Friday night, and thanks to your boss you’d managed to secure a place on the guest list of the exclusive Raffles nightclub in Chelsea. What you hadn’t anticipated, however, was that your best friend would invite her boyfriend along, leaving you to third-wheel again for the entire evening. You didn’t normally mind, he was a nice enough guy, and they made you feel included whenever you went anywhere together, but today you couldn’t help but feel slightly bitter. You were out to celebrate sealing a big contract, one that had impressed the CEO so much he had given you a promotion and your position on tonight’s guest list. Somehow it just didn’t feel so good that you wouldn’t be the focus on your big night, and would instead be stuck sipping a margarita while your friend and her man tasted each other’s tonsils beside you.

You step out of the taxi, and your friend Jemima and her boyfriend Elton follow behind you. The city is alight with the sounds and excitement of the oncoming weekend, one you would hopefully be welcoming while heavily plastered and sweaty on the dance floor. The bouncers stand outside in their suits, a warning sign for those not on the exclusive list to keep well away. You walk up to them, your entourage following behind looking slightly anxious as to whether they too will be allowed in alongside you. “(Y/N) (L/N)?” You ask the stoic looking man on the door, and he scrolls through the list of names on the iPad held tightly in his hands. “Come on in, Ms. (L/N), are these two with you?” He asks. “Yeah, they are.” You say, wrapping your arms around your almost bare torso to protect your body from the cool sting of the evening wind. “It says ‘ere you’re only allowed a plus one.” The man says, and you sigh. “Oh, but we’re all together if you know what I mean.” Jemima butts in, throwing a wink at the bouncer as she wraps her arms around both yours and Elton’s shoulders. The bouncer raises his eyebrow at the three of you, and Jemima squeezes your shoulder hard to try and get you to play along. Reluctantly, you do, leaning into her touch. “I shouldn’t really let you all in, but since your boss is one of our finest patrons, I’ll make an exception.” The bouncer responds, opening the door to allow the three of you in.

Once inside the club, you immediately shrug Jemima’s hand from your shoulder, turning to her with a bewildered look on your face. “What was that?” You ask, your brow furrowed in frustration. “He wasn’t going to let us in, and you weren’t doing anything to talk him round, so I thought I would.” She shouts over the noise of the club.

You shake your head at her and sigh as you wander towards the bar, Jemima and Elton hand-in-hand behind you. “If my boss now thinks I’m in a polyamorous relationship thanks to you, you’re off my Christmas card list this year.” You say in Jemima’s ear and she chuckles. “Nothing wrong with a good throuple.” She replies, laughing. “It’s not that, I just don’t like lying, not when it comes to work stuff. How am I supposed to tell him that my idiot friend lied to a bouncer so she could sneak her boyfriend into an exclusive club under my name?” “Oh, lighten up, I’ll get the first round in.” She says, nodding her head to the bartender. “You’d fucking better” You say, turning around to rest on the bar, looking out towards the dance floor.

The three of you had found yourselves in a booth in the corner of the room, and just as you’d anticipated, you were stuck sipping on your third drink of the night whilst Jemima and Elton eat each other’s faces in a way comparable to The Walking Dead. You take a glance over to them and sigh, before downing the rest of your drink. “I’m just going to the bar, do you want anything?” You shout over the music, but they either ignore you, or can’t seem to hear over the ambience of the club. Either way, you decide to give up on them, and wander to the bar alone.

The bar is crowded with patrons, all already considerably drunk despite the clock only reading 11:55. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a small side room, in which a bartender stands at his post, seemingly unoccupied. You glance once again at the crowded bar and roll your eyes, you were still far too sober to be contending with the mass of heaving bodies fighting for the bartender’s attention.

Slipping away from your position at the bar, you wander into the side room, immediately catching the attention of the staff member who was idly fiddling with the bottles on the counter. “Sorry Miss, this room is reserved for a private party.” The bartender says, and your eyes widen in embarrassment. “Ah, shit, sorry.” You say, turning away to leave, but before you can, a hand grabs your wrist to stop you in your tracks. You turn around to face the man who had stopped you. He looked expensive, the way a lot of the clients you worked for often did. Not covered in logos and brands like many so called ‘rich’ people, but dressed smartly and cleanly in a pressed white shirt and dress pants, paired with a watch easily worth more than you make in a year. “I’ll have a scotch sour, and whatever the lady wants.” The man says to the bartender. “I’ll have the same, please” You smile to the bartender, and he nods, turning away from the two of you to begin preparing your drinks.

“Sorry for crashing you private party.” You say, offering your companion a shy smile. “I’m glad you did.” He responds, taking a seat on one of the velvet cushioned bar stools. He gestures for you to sit beside him, and you do, sliding carefully onto the seat and readjusting your dress to avoid exposing yourself to your new companion. “Are you alright?” He questions, noticing your discomfort in your seated position. “Yeah, fine, this dress seemed a lot longer than it is on the website, maybe the model was just short? So I’m now trying very hard to avoid flashing you, that’s something I normally save for the second date,” you begin to flush red, “Not that this is a date or anything I just, oh god I’m rambling now please tell me to shut up.” You say, looking down into your lap, your face now fully red and burning hot. “It suits you very well, red is most definitely your colour.” He laughs, and you feel yourself relax slightly. “It matches by bright red cheeks, and the bloodshot in my eyes.” You say, chuckling slightly.

“Your drinks, sir” The bartender says, sliding the two short glasses towards you on the counter. Your companion taps his card and the bartender disappears, leaving the two of you alone in the room.

“I’m (Y/N) by the way, I think it’s only right I learn your name too before I take a sip of the drink you so kindly purchased for me.” You say, your hand resting against the cold glass, a relief against your warm skin. “I’m Charles, you can drink now.” He laughs, and you obey, taking a sip of your beverage as he does the same. “So, what brings you here?” He asks, a small smile appearing on his lips. “You want the long version, or the short version?” You say, running your finger around the rim of your glass. “The long version, by all means.” He responds, and you nod your head, exhaling in preparation for your long winded retelling of the night’s events.

“She said you were having a threesome?” Charles exclaims, barely able to contain his laughter. “Pretty much! She wanted me to play along too, as if I would ever even consider doing anything with that fuckboy boyfriend of hers. Even the thought makes me want to barf.” You laugh, taking your first sip of the second drink that Charles insisted he buy for you. “She’s not a very good friend, to abandon you like that.” He says, offering you a sympathetic smile. “I know, but she’s all I’ve really got. Everyone else I met at uni has a fancy job somewhere or a proper family or whatever. She’s the only one who still lives in the city and is around to keep me company, even if I do have to third wheel on cinema trips or girls night.” You say, shaking your head. “She invites her boyfriend to girls night?” He questions, a shocked look on his face. “Yeah, she’s a fucking bitch really. I’ve been gone half an hour and she’s probably still too busy sucking her boyfriend’s face to have even noticed I’m not there.” You sigh, resting your head on your hand, and you elbow against the bar. “Why don’t we go over and show her what she’s missing out on?” Charles asks, quirking his eyebrow at you. “Won’t your private party friends be missing you?” You ask, before downing the rest of your drink. “They’re probably all already on the dance floor, or passed out somewhere.” He laughs, and you chuckle back.

Charles jumps up from his seat and offers you his hand, which you gladly take. You trip over your own feet as you try to stand, but luckily your new companion’s quick reflexes allow him to catch you before you fall. “Are you okay?” He asks, looking down at you, his face filled with concern. “New shoes plus drinking multiple cocktails and not realising just how tipsy I am, is a killer combination.” You laugh as you steady yourself.

Charles holds your hand firmly as he pulls you back into the main room of the nightclub, which is somehow even busier than it had been when you left. He pulls you towards the centre of the dance floor where couples are grinding against one another to the beat of the music. “Do you see your friend?” Charles shouts in your ear, his lips grazing against the soft skin. “Over there!” You respond, pointing to Jemima and Elton who are practically fucking each other to the music.

You squeeze through the sea of bodies, holding Charles’ hand tightly to not lose him to the crowds. Jemima spots you, and pushes Elton away from her. “(Y/N)! I was wondering where you’d got to?” She shouts, pulling you in for a tight hug. The action causes you to pull Charles forward too, and he crashes against your back. “You and Elton were busy eating each other so I went to find some company.” You say, trying to suppress the bitterness in your voice. “Clubs are for snogging, not talking, (Y/N), you should find someone to snog instead of talking to me.” She says, before returning her mouth to Elton’s. Charles notices your grip on his hand tighten in frustration, and gives your hand two gentle queue es of reassurance. “Go fuck yourself, Jem.” You say, giving her the finger before releasing Charles’ hand and stomping away from the dance floor.

You could feel your anger rising within you. Your best friend was really going to fob you off on the night you were supposed to be celebrating your promotion? She was no best friend of yours anymore. You head for the exit, and immediately feel the cool air on your skin as you settle against a railing in the smoking area. Your hands were shaking with frustration, the alcohol coursing through your system amplified your anger a hundred times. You take a shaky breath in and out to try and calm yourself down.

“You okay?” You hear in a familiar voice. You look across to see Charles resting beside you, offering a small smile of reassurance. “I’m fucking done with her. I can’t believe it took until tonight for me to see what a shitty best friend she was.” You say, hanging your head in shame.

Charles reaches out towards you, his fingers gently caressing the underside of you chin to bring your head up to face him. “You’re better off without her, mi amor.” He whispers, his face barely millimetres away from your own. “I suppose you’re right. You can’t lose what you never really had, and she was never really a friend.” You say, biting your lip. “My hotel is next door, we could go get a drink there and you can complain about what a bad friend she is to me all night, if you’d like?” He asks, releasing his soft grip on your chin to once again offer you his hand to take. You lace your fingers in his, and he smiles, raising his eyebrows to ask for verbal confirmation. “That’d be nice, thank you.” You respond, and you leave the club, heading for Charles’ hotel.

The hotel lobby was fancier than any you’d ever seen before, and you noticed as your heels clicked against the marble floors as you wandered towards the elevator. “One moment, mi amor.” He whispers in your ear before separating from you, your hand missing its contact with his as he rushes over to the concierge desk. They exchange a few inaudible words before he returns to you, the elevator doors opening for the two of you to step inside. “The bar has closed for the night, but I ordered some drinks up to my room, is that okay?” He asks, and you nod. “Of course” You reply, joining your own hands together before you to mimic the contact you had previously with Charles.

You’d never thought that this would be how the night would end, with you going up to a stranger’s hotel room. You’d expected to fall into a cab, eat some crappy takeout food, and fall asleep on the sofa and be awoken the next morning with your cat Trixie laying on your face. You could tell that Charles’ intentions were pure, he didn’t seem like the sort of guy who would immediately try it on with you once you reached his room. Those sort of guys wouldn’t listen to some random woman ranting on and on about her shitty friend all night with the hopes of getting a quick shag later. However, you couldn’t help but wonder if the thought of sleeping with you had crossed his mind, as it certainly had crossed yours. You hadn’t intended on thinking about it, but the gentle touches and reassuring squeezes he had given you throughout the night had sent your mind racing. He was easily one of the most attractive guys you had ever seen, he could have easily spent the night with any of the beautiful girls in the club had he wanted to. And yet, here he was with you, waiting to listen and reassure you after breaking up with your only friend in the world.

Your phone beeps in your bag, and you check it - Jemima. You sigh and roll your eyes, unlocking your phone to the paragraph long message she had sent you. You scan it briefly, not really caring what she has to say, picking out the odd phrase like ‘drama queen’ and ‘can’t you just be happy for me’ and ‘it’s not all about you’ and finishing with ‘you should just fucking get laid you uptight bitch so you can stop being so jealous of me and Elton’. “Good fucking riddance.” You say, typing out a quick, ‘fuck you Jemima, hope you have a nice life x’ and immediately blocking her contact in your phone. “Your friend?” Charles asks, and you nod.

The elevator beeps, and the two of you exit, following behind Charles as he reaches his room and unlocks it. “She thinks I’m jealous of her boyfriend, like bitch please, I know for a fact he has a side piece.” You say, taking a seat on the edge of the king-size bed. “Does she know?” Charles asks, removing his suit jacket and throwing it haphazardly onto a chair. “I told her, but she doesn’t want to know. Anyway, she called me an uptight bitch and said I should get laid or whatever, so fuck her. She’s out of my life now, and I couldn’t care less about her or her cheating fucking boyfriend.” You say, the drink in your system making you feel almost too comfortable in Charles’ hotel room, allowing you to flop back into the soft white sheets of the bed.

Charles takes a seat beside you, mirroring your position exactly and reaching out his hand for you to take once again. “She told you to get laid?” Charles laughs in bewilderment, and you nod your head against the sheets. “Yeah, she did, cheeky bitch. My love life has been pretty dry recently, not that she’d know considering the only thing she ever wanted to talk about is her bastard boyfriend.” You respond, turning inwards to face Charles. He does the same, resting his head atop his spare hand, his eyes not leaving yours for a moment. “Without her, you might have more time to rehydrate your love life, perhaps?” He questions, raising his eyebrow at you and you laugh. “Yeah, right, unless it happens before Monday morning when I get my promotion I have literally no chance whatsoever.” You say, offering him a sad smile.

“There’s still tonight, mi amor.” Charles says, squeezing your hand lightly. “Considering I left the club, I don’t think I really have many options other than- oh…” You say, the implication of what he had said hitting you mid sentence. “I don’t want you to think I brought you back to my hotel room for this, I promise I didn’t I just- you’re beautiful, and funny, and interesting, and I’d regret it every day if I didn’t take my chance to tell you.” He smiles at you, and you can’t help but smile back, giving his hand an identical squeeze while trying to thing of the right thing to say. “At risk of sounding really fucking desperate, I was rather hoping this is where the whole drinks in your room thing was gonna go.” You admit, laughing slightly at your alcohol-fuelled admission.

Charles releases your hand and brings his own up to caress the side of your face, his thumb gently caressing your bottom lip. He leans in towards you, your lips almost brushing together, before you are interrupted by a knock at the door. You and Charles can’t help but laugh to each other at the concierge’s excellent timing. “Room service, I’ll leave these outside.” The man shouts, before disappearing footsteps can be heard down the corridor.

“Thank god, I thought I was actually going to have to leave you alone on this bed.” Charles says against your lips and you smile. “I wouldn’t have let you leave.” You respond, before closing the gap between your lips and connecting them in a sweet kiss, Charles gently strokes the side of your face with his fingers, playing with loose strands of hair as he does so.

As you pull away, you immediately adjust your position, kicking your shoes to the ground and straddling Charles against the bed. Your dress bunches around your thighs as he runs his hands up and down your bare legs, the tips of his fingers edging closer and closer to your core. “I thought you only flashed guys on the second date?” He asks, a smirk appearing on his lips as he echoes your earlier comment. “This isn’t a date, remember.” You respond, pulling your dress up and over your head to reveal your black strapless bra that was hidden beneath it. Charles’ hands travel up your body, reaching the fastener and unhooking it, allowing the bra to fall to the floor, replacing it with his own soft, warm hands against your breasts.

“Are you sure you want to do this, mi amor?” He asks you, and you grind down against him in response, eliciting a small moan from the man below you. “Would I be here naked in your hotel room if I didn’t?” You respond, letting out a small laugh as your hands reach for the waistband of his suit pants, against which his cock is already straining, begging to be set free. “That is true.” Charles says as he continues to massage your breasts, the sensation driving you crazy and making your hands shake as you fight with Charles’ zipper.

You manage to pull down his suit pants and underwear, allowing his already erect cock to spring free. You wrap your hand around the base and caress from bottom to tip, causing a string of curse words to fall from Charles’ mouth. Sitting up onto your knees, you allow Charles to pull down your underwear, adjusting your position to allow them to be discarded onto the floor with your bra and dress.

Charles’ hands settle on your hips, rubbing soothing circles into your flesh as you position yourself above him. You slowly lower yourself down, allowing time for you to adjust to his size within you. His eyes never leave yours as you begin to ride him, starting slowly before falling into a steady pace. “Fuck, Charles, you fill me up so good.” You groan, the sensation of him within you driving you crazy. The air is filled with the sound of sex; grunts, moans and expletives from the both of you as you fuck each other. Charles’ hands move further up your back as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his torso up from the bed so his chest presses against yours. You adjust your position, wrapping your legs around his body, pulling him even closer than you ever thought was possible, allowing him to thrust up, deeper into you.

He hits your sweet spot, and you throw your head back in pleasure, your mouth falling open as a filthy moan falls from your lips. You continue your movements, Charles’ hands helping you as you rise and fall against him, your body growing weaker and weaker as you edge closer to your orgasm.

“Fuck, mi amor, I’m close” Charles says between shallow breaths. He buries his head into your neck, pressing sweet kisses to your collar bone, his soft hair tickling your chin. “So am I, my love” you respond, no longer able to control the sounds coming out of you as the feeling of pleasure within you intensifies.

Charles’ hips buck up into you, and you feel your orgasm hit you like a wave, and you ride out the blissful feeling, nestling your head into his neck as you do so. The sensation of your undoing leads to Charles’ own orgasm, and he cums inside you, releasing a pornographic moan against your skin as he does so. “Fuck (Y/N)” He whispers against your flesh, and you cant help but chuckle into his own neck in response.

Charles falls back against the mattress, pulling you with him into the sheets. You cuddle into him, wrapping your arms around his toned chest, resting your head against his shoulder as you lift yourself off of him. You wrap one of your legs around his, making sure that every part of you is touching him somehow.

“We still have drinks outside, you know?” You mumble sleepily against his chest. “If I wasn’t leaving you earlier, I am definitely not leaving now.” Charles responds, chuckling slightly as he raises his hand to lovingly play with your hair, twirling certain strands around his fingers. “Can I stay here with you tonight, I don’t much feel like getting a taxi home right now?” You ask. “Of course, mi amor, though I do have to be at work early tomorrow.” He says, pulling the sheets over your naked bodies to protect them from the cold.

“I never asked, what exactly is it you do?” You ask him, your eyes beginning to close as you fight to stay awake. “I’ll tell you in the morning, mi amor.” Charles responds with a smile. You feel your heavy eyelids give up and you decide not to try and open them again, and fall asleep cozily tucked in Charles’ embrace.

#Charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you

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