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rememberwren · 3 months

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Complicated Pleasures

OR: Home Videos. You (fem!reader) and Ghost have been married for years when your prodigal friend Johnny finds out that you make and post porn together. Feelings happen. 13k

About this: m/m, f/m, oral f and m receiving, anal sex, PIV, kink, pornography, sir kink, slight objectification, objectionable writing, soft!simon, very soft fic altogether, cum sharing.

((A video begins.

A bed in a tidy room. Identifying features have been hidden: pictures placed face down on the nightstands, blinds drawn tight until the room is cast in a cool glow. A woman sits amongst the nondescript bedspread and sheets, her legs tucked up against her chest and arms wrapped around her thighs, naked except for the mask that does little to truly obscure her face.

Once she knows the video has begun, it is like she blooms, arms and legs falling away to reveal the soft petals of her nakedness: the plains of her body, the angles and curves. She’s near perfect, Soap thinks, already fisting his hard cock.

She looks almost exactly like you.

Then a man walks around from the other side of the camera, and Soap’s heart leaves his body.))

“Johnny!” you say brightly, throwing open the front door. In streams the cold air and bright sunshine reflecting off the snow, and in steps Johnny with snowflakes in his hair and on the shoulders of his coat, gifts wrapped in bright shades of gold and silver tucked beneath one of his arms.

He stomps his feet, boots shedding packed snow on the doormat, and leans in to deposit the gifts a safe distance away so that he can open his arms and gather you up in them. Your fingers tangle in his jacket, holding him close. He is warm even after coming in from the snow, his scent like Christmas itself: woodsy pine and crackling fires. You feel Simon’s presence appear in the living room doorway and begin to pull away, trying not to hog his friend, even if you desperately want to.

“Lookit you, bonnie as ever,” Johnny says against your ear. He lets you go, bending down to unlace his boots and call a greeting to Simon: “I see you brooding over there, LT. Happy Christmas to yeh.”

“No titles at Christmas, Johnny.”

“Yessir.”

“You didn’t need to bring gifts,” you scold him.

“Of course I did—it’s fucking Christmas,” says Johnny with a grin as he straightens. He passes you the gifts, a small package and a larger one, each wrapped by a practiced hand that you sense must not have been Johnny’s own. You wonder if there isn’t a girl in his life now—except you and Simon had extended the invitation to one, if so. Why he wouldn’t have brought her, you couldn’t understand.

Maybe his mum wrapped the gifts.

Simon and Johnny clasp hands which turns into a hug. Watching them together makes the dust settle in some riotous part of your heart. The two of them—their friendship—just makes perfect sense in its improbability.

Simon mutters something under his breath and Johnny nods, burying his face deeper into Simon’s broad shoulder. You have the perfect vantage point of Johnny’s face: his eyes squeezed shut, long lashes resting on his cheeks.

A timer in the kitchen goes off—the roast you’ve been cooking since the early morning hours. Excusing yourself, you disappear into the kitchen, pausing just beyond the doorway to press your chilly hands to your flushed cheeks.

Wine. You needed wine.

“So,” you begin once the three of you have sat down for dinner. “Fill us in, Johnny. What have you been up to?”

The unsaid words linger between you all, What have you been up to during the three years you left? Johnny gives a wane smile, and you think that maybe the time spent apart didn’t serve him nearly as well as he’d hoped it would—however he’d hoped it would. Simon sits at the head of the table, his ankle tangled against your own beneath the oak. It’s a comforting reminder of his presence, considering he lets you and Johnny do most of the talking for now.

“Whole lot o’ nothing,” Johnny says, sipping at the wine in his glass between sentences. “Traveled abroad fer a while. Spent some time in America, some time in South Korea.”

“Sounds like a nice place to meet people,” you say, aiming for subtlety the way a sledgehammer might. “I notice you didn’t take us up on our invitation and bring a lass with you.”

“No lass to bring, hen,” he says smoothly.

Simon’s ankle stirs against your own, some silent attempt at communication. When you glance over toward him, his eyes are on his plate, face stoic, revealing nothing.

“Any lads?” you guess.

Simon’s fork squeaks against his plate. Johnny stops eating. For a moment they both stare at you in shocked silence. Then a grin spreads over Johnny’s handsome face, blooming straight into laughter. He shakes his head, like you have said something very silly.

“No, no lads,” he says.

Simon’s ankle shifts again.

You reach for your glass of wine, face hot—

—and you don’t stop drinking.

Afternoon turns into evening, and by the time night falls, the three of you have drunk your way through three bottles of wine and successfully caught each other up on your lives to date. Simon and Johnny have slipped out onto the porch twice to smoke, bringing back in the scent of tobacco and snow, one you don’t mind at all. The fire in the fireplace burns low, crackling and spitting as the log splits. The room is strewn with torn gift wrapping. Simon has already unboxed the knife Johnny had made for him, testing its weight in his palm, testing the sharpness of the blade against the pad of his thumb. (Add that to the list of things which shouldn’t arouse you about Simon but do.)

It reminds you of the idyllic Christmases that you had reached for all your life and only ever skimmed with your fingers. You should have known that the missing piece was Johnny all along.

Wine drunk, you have kicked your feet up on Johnny’s lap at one end of the couch and curled your upper half on Simon’s lap at the other end. It is easy to fall asleep to the warm lull of their voices, swapping stories from their time in the military together.

But all at once, the subject matter changes, and it drags you from the threshold of sleep into some misty gray area in between a dream and wakefulness. Eyes still closed, you listen.

“I found you both, you know.” Johnny’s voice is barely more than a whisper, difficult to hear over the crackling fire.

“Don’t know what you mean, Johnny. We’re right here.”

“I found your videos.”

Your hands tighten into fists where you are clutching Simon’s shirt, eyes cracking open as you put the pieces together in your mind. But he’s smoother than you are, always able to keep a cool head. He sounds a little bored, a little confused as he asks: “What videos?”

“Never known you to play dumb LT. You know the ones I mean. The porn.”

A lengthy silence as Simon weighs his options and likely decides that there’s no use in lying. “You did, did you?”

“Aye.”

A pause.

“So that’s why you finally came back. Three fucking years she begs you to at least come for Christmas—who knew all it would take was a little pornography to put a fire under your arse.”

“That’s not—didn’t even find it until a few days ago, after I’d already said yes—“ Johnny says, voice rising in his defense.

“Careful. We don’t want to wake her up, do we?” Simon’s hand pets against your hair, softer than a kiss from the wind. Though he must know you’re awake, you’re grateful that he lets you pretend, lets you hide away while he handles this. “If she knew that you’d seen those videos, she’d be embarrassed. That would make me upset. You understand?”

“Aye,” he says, lowering his voice a little. He rests his hand against your ankle in his lap and then decides it’s not appropriate, shifts his hand back to his own thigh. You miss his touch. You’ve always missed Johnny’s touch more than you should miss the touch of your husband’s best friend. “But if you didn’t want people to see them, I don’t understand what you were thinkin’ posting them online.”

“Three guesses. No, go on. Never known you to be shy. Guess.”

Johnny wets his lips. “You didn’t think you’d be recognized.”

“There’s one.”

“You…you like it.”

“There’s two. Give us a third.”

“She likes it.”

You groan a little in embarrassment, turning your face away from where Johnny can see its profile, burying it in Simon’s lap. He’s hard, a fact you only realize when his jean-clad cock rubs against your cheek. You go still, eyes widening as this knowledge goes straight to the warmth that’s been stoked between your legs more often than the fireplace has tonight.

Simon’s hand finds the nape of your neck and rests there, keeping you still and quiet. It reminds you of your last video, when he had taken you from behind and put his hand on the nape of your neck to urge your face into the bed, his hips snapping against your ass. Where had the camera been, then? You couldn’t remember. That was Simon’s one rule, besides the masks and never saying each other’s names: don’t look into the camera.

“So what do you plan to do with this knowledge, Johnny?” Simon asks. You hold your breath, still feigning sleep. “Who do you plan to tell? You know I don’t have anyone left who would give a fuck, but I’m sure you could find someone for her—someone who could shame her and make her feel bad for trying to feel good. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck no. I’d not tell a soul,” says Johnny fiercely. His hand comes to rest on your ankle again. This time he leaves it, thumb brushing the bone. “I swear it.”

“Then why bring it up at all?”

“I…I don’t know,” Johnny admits, head ducking. “I just had to. Spending time with yeh both, knowing what I knew—it felt dishonest.”

Simon hums. “You know what I’d like to know?”

“What’s that?”

“What our single friend was doing looking at couples porn.”

The night ends quickly after that. Simon carries you to bed—the bed where you film so much of the porn that Johnny has apparently seen—and helps you begin undressing while Johnny gets his boots on in the other room.

“I’m so embarrassed,” you breathe, quiet so that Johnny could not overhear if he happened to be standing right outside the door. Your head is spinning, and only partly from all the wine. Your face burns. Your heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Johnny has seen the videos, the ones you and Simon cheekily dub ‘home movies’! God, how you will ever face him again is beyond you.

“Give me the word and I’ll throw him out,” says Simon. “We’ll never see him again.”

That makes a sick feeling rise up in the back of your throat. You look up at Simon and take in the somber, angry-adjacent expression on his face, and you know that he is serious. Simon never says a word that he doesn’t mean. But you can hear what he didn’t say, the words unspoken: it would kill him to do it. All their years spent watching each other’s backs, it would be hard to stab Johnny’s and leave him in the cold. Especially after the bliss of just getting him back.

You don’t want that. Not for Simon, not for Johnny. Not even for you.

“I like Johnny,” you affirm. “I just don’t know how I’ll face him.”

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. He’s the pervert looking in through our window.”

“We’re the perverts fucking with the blinds wide open,” you remind him.

“I’ll see him out. Finish getting undressed,” he says, disappearing through the doorway. You hear the warm timber of his voice matched by Johnny’s and the sound of the front door opening. Two sets of boots crunch through snow, and now the voices are so far away that you can’t even make out their tone, much less their words.

Stripping the last of your clothes off, you roll onto your belly and bury your face in your pillow. Tonight had been going so well. It was hard to believe how far off course things had become. What was Johnny doing looking for couples porn anyhow?

You roll back over, staring into the darkness of the ceiling. The answer was simple: because it would get him off. It didn’t matter if it was tentacles to titjobs. He’d more than likely been looking up porn while he jerked off.

Had he realized right away that it was you and Simon and turned the video off in disgust? Or had it taken a moment for it to sink in? Had he cared at all?

Or had he jerked off instead? You realize you are rubbing your thighs together belatedly and force yourself into stillness.

The front door opens, Simon stomping inside and taking off his boots. When he joins you in bed, his cheeks are still cold, mouth minty from hastily brushing his teeth of tobacco and wine. You lean in and kiss him, looking for comfort. He kisses back, sweeping his tongue through your mouth, sucking on your lower lip.

“I’m not in the mood tonight,” you whisper when you both part, not necessarily out of truthfulness, but because you feel like you shouldn’t be in the mood.

“Wasn’t expecting anything.”

You lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heart. Your embarrassment is a little lessened now, abated by the calm that Simon exudes from his pores. It’s hard to believe that anything in the world could go wrong that Simon couldn’t handle with a twist of his hand or a few choice words. After a while, you glance up to find him still awake, staring into the darkness of the room. He meets your eyes and gives you one of his rare, wane smiles.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

After a moment of silence, he says: “Our next video.”

((AMATEUR COUPLE: WAKING UP MY WIFE WITH MORNING SEX. Soap knows that he shouldn’t click on the link. The first time was an honest mistake, but anything afterwards is intentional—and unforgivable. If Ghost were to find out…Soap doesn’t even want to think about it.

Except why would it be wrong for Soap to do it but right for a bunch of strangers?

He doesn’t need to look down to know his cock is hard. Against his better judgement—or any judgement at all, really—he clicks the link. The video starts with Ghost in the frame, completely naked. He’s seen LT naked often enough (it’s unavoidable in such close quarters as they have shared) but he’s never looked, not like this.

Time has barely changed him. He is still fitter than any man has the right to be, thick with muscles that are for functionality and not just for show—though the show is still impressive.

While he’d always known that Ghost would be a sight to behold, seeing it in this context cements a fact in his brain, one that had sent him running years prior: he’s attracted to his closest friend. All the bad flirting disguised as taking the piss back when they were in the 141—it wasn’t just taking the piss. Not for Soap, at least.

In the video, Ghost exits the frame and crosses to the other side of the bed. He’s not wearing a mask this time but the upper half of his face remains solidly out of frame until it is offscreen again. You are positioned closest to the camera, laying on your side facing the audience. Your face isn’t visible, but your breasts are once Ghost draws the blankets down, down, and then down far enough to reveal your closed thighs.

Fuck, Soap wants to see your cunt. He grips his cock tightly and squeezes, watching raptly as Ghost loops an arm over you and begins to softly tease your nipples. Soap slips a hand up his shirt and thumbs at a nipple of his own, wishing it was the other man’s touch. His cock leaks where it lies thickly against his belly as he watches his former lieutenant tease you, trace figures over your naked body, and at last slip a hand between your thighs, working one of your legs over back of his own. Now Soap can see just a trace of your slit, so soft. It makes his jaws ache, makes him want Ghost to hold your thighs apart so that he can lick and suck you into a frenzy.

He can tell the exact moment you wake. Your body stiffens, mouth falling open as Ghost sinks two of his fingers inside you. One of your hands reaches down to grip at your husband’s forearm as you scramble into wakefulness.

“Good morning,” Ghost says.))

The doorbell sounds, telling Simon that Johnny has arrived, but he lets his Sergeant wait out in the cold while the kettle finishes filling. A not-small part of him is still holding a grudge against Johnny for making you so embarrassed. It had taken time for you to come into your own. Courage. The videos had been your idea, whispered in the heat of the moment beneath the cover of darkness—but with time you’d been bold enough to talk about them over dinner. To read the comments with him and laugh. To watch the videos and end up in bed all over again.

Now he could see the hesitation in your eyes whenever he pulled out his phone.

Johnny’s expression is its typical one, open, friendly, when Simon opens the door. When he sees Simon, those blue eyes grow wide before he can curb the reaction. Johnny swallows, throat bobbing.

“Hey LT. Lookit you. Laswell really has yeh behind a desk now doesn’t she?” Johnny’s hand reached out like he’s going to touch the tie that still dangles from around Simon’s neck, but he thinks better of it.

Just another hunch of Simon’s proven right.

“What part of no field work confused you?” Simon asks, stepping aside to let Johnny in.

“No confusion. Just didn’t expect yeh to look so…” He trails off, eyes flittering over Simon from his combed hair to his dress shirt stretched tight across his chest to the dress slacks that cling to his thighs. “…fancy.”

“I don’t wear the tie for Laswell’s benefit. But you already knew that.”

Johnny flushes, as good an admission as any. Wisely, he says nothing, following Simon into the kitchen and taking an offered seat at the kitchen island. His eyes flicker around the room, similar to how they had on Christmas. Then, Simon had mistaken it for Johnny taking in the way things had changed—the wallpaper is new, as is the backsplash behind the oven and stove, there are new pictures on the refrigerator—but now Simon suspects that Johnny is remembering. Piecing together backdrops he has seen in their videos.

“The missus home?” Johnny asks, drumming his fingers on the granite.

“No. Work.”

Simon pours tea for two, even though Johnny hates tea, and slides it across the countertop to him. To his benefit, Johnny accepts it without complaint, warming his hands around the mug.

“I told her.”

Johnny doesn’t need to ask what or who—they’ve both been thinking about it since the moment he walked in. Simon watches as his face twists with naked regret. It tells Simon that Johnny really didn’t know that you were only feigning sleep on Christmas.

“Is she angry with me?”

“Embarrassed.”

Johnny looks outraged on your behalf. “She has no reason t’ be!”

Simon shrugs as if to say, This is what your curiosity bought her, Johnny. This is the price she’s paying. Johnny’s shoulders sag under the weight of his own guilt, elbows bracing themselves on the countertop so that he can put his face in his hands.

“Maybe,” says Simon, “it would make more of a difference if she heard it from you.”

Johnny looks up, brow furrowed. “Heard what from me? That I’ve seen her—like that?”

Simon’s eyes roll to the ceiling. “No. That she doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

Johnny turns the idea over in his head. He’s clever, but too blinded by his own desire to see the manipulation for what it is. What does it matter if it’s Simon’s idea or his own? Johnny is dying to talk to you.

“You’d give me her number?”

Simon shrugs.

“Alright,” says Johnny at length, drawing the word out. “I can do that. If you think it will help.”

Simon says nothing, sipping at his tea to hide any smugness behind his cup.

((The video begins in a kitchen, one Johnny has been in many times. You are there, back mostly to the camera, pressed against the granite island countertop. Simon is on the other side of you, consuming all your attention. Steaming Jesus, he’s huge compared to you, huge compared to everyone. He’s dressed in his work attire: dress clothes, dark tie in place. The effect is jarring in contrast with the mask.

Simon reaches up and works his tie loose and off over his head. You tilt your head down a little and on it goes, easy as anything. When Simon turns you to face the camera, the tie dangles between your bare breasts. One hand on the nape of your neck, Simon bends you forward towards the granite and Soap can tell the exact moment his cock slips inside you based on the way your mouth falls open, your eyes squeezing shut behind your own mask.

Soap isn’t sure who he’s jealous of more—you or Simon.))

Simon told me that he told you what I found. I just wanted to message you myself and say how sorry I am if I embarrassed you.

You sigh reading over the text message. Flexing your fingers, you give a quick glance toward where Simon lays dozing with his head against the back of the couch, feet up on the coffee table (the knife he got for Christmas rests on his chest; he’d been toying with it absently for the last half hour) and answer: There’s no reason to apologize. It’s not your fault I’m embarrassed.

It is though, isn’t it? You don’t care that other people see. You just care that I did.

You pause and bite at your nails, thinking over his words and how to respond. He’s mostly right. There had been an aspect of embarrassment at first when you and Simon began posting the videos (and that embarrassment had gotten you off to a certain extent, though it didn’t usually). But eventually that heated shame had melted away into eagerness for the camera. You’d read the comments on the videos, countless human beings talking about the various ways they masturbate to your sex with Simon, talking about the things they wish they could do to you, with you, with Simon.

So why was it so much more embarrassing knowing that Johnny had seen? Because he knew you. Because he’d seen the parts of you that you had purposefully covered up for the camera. No one was meant to see both sides—no one was meant to have all of you. Except for Simon.

But if somebody was going to do it, a small part of you is glad it was Johnny.

You’re Simon’s friend, you message back, curious. Didn’t it feel strange to see us like that?

Honestly? He doesn’t wait for you to respond. Not as strange as I might have thought.

((AMATEUR COUPLE: WIFE PRACTICES HER BLOWJOB SKILLS, the video is aptly titled. You are on your knees, hands tied neatly at the base of your spine. Simon sits at the edge of the bed, camera positioned perpendicular to you both, with a downward angle.

You lean forward and let his hard, flushed cock disappear past your lips deeper, deeper, until you reach the limits of what you can take without preparation or practice. His hand comes down to rest softly against the back of your head as you make yourself gag and choke around the thickest part of his cock. There’s no need to hold you down; Simon doesn’t even bother.

Soap’s jaw aches, desperate for a chance to be on his knees for Ghost like that. He could take more than you—he knows he could. Not that it had to be a competition, not when you both could share a cock that size and barely notice the other was there. He strips his own cock thinking about it, eyes falling shut as he lets the background noise of the video—Simon’s gentle praises, your whines and chokes, the wet gurgles of a throat being fucked—carry him over the edge.))

New Year’s Eve.

The house is full of bodies and laughter. You feel near-delirious with your own joy, never made happier than by the happiness of the people around you. Alejandro and Rodolfo had flown in and were staying in the guest house through the New Year, arriving only yesterday with enough luggage for four between the two of them; Kyle and his girlfriend; John and his wife; Kate and her partner; even Farah and her brother had made a pit stop to spend the evening with you on their way back to Urzikstan from the Americas.

The party had been BYOB, and everyone had taken to the sentiment and more. Farrah is mixing drinks in the kitchen, strong concoctions that even John struggles to keep down. Gaz and Alejandro keep insisting on shots (which you politely decline just as often as you agree. Simon drinks nothing, his tumultuous past putting him off of hard alcohol for good).

People are well and truly drunk by the time Johnny arrives. The whoops and hollers that fill the house have you thinking that midnight has come early. A swarm of bodies surround him, and he is forced to make the rounds hugging each person and being taken to task by them for being gone for so goddamn long.

He arrives at you before Simon, and his face softens, smile going a little unsure around the edges as he opens his arms for you, the first time he’s seen you in person since Christmas. You could rebuff him, but you also can’t. It’s Johnny. Nearly tripping to toss yourself into his arms, he lifts you a few inches off the floor, nose buried in your hair.

“Bonnie as always,” he whispers into your ear after putting you back down. His hand tugs teasingly on the short hem of your dress, like he is trying to lengthen it, knuckles brushing your thighs. You swat his hand away, face flushing with warmth. It wasn’t that short.

“Johnny,” Simon calls. The two men embrace, hug lasting longer than any other. In the distance, you see Gaz elbow Price, jerking his head toward the two men.

You put a hand on Simon’s shoulder, anxious suddenly. Simon draws back, clapping Johnny on the shoulder. He orders: “Get yourself a drink.”

“Yessir.”

“None of that.”

“Games? I was told there would be games,” Gaz says, situating himself between you and Simon. He’s dressed smartly in a dress-shirt with the collar undone. Someone has put a party hat on him, cone-shaped, to celebrate the New Year. You had managed to wrestle Simon into one for thirty seconds before the first of the company arrived; the memory makes you smile.

“I have Cards Against Humanity,” you offer.

“Oh, I love that game,” Kyle’s girlfriend says to your delight.

“No—no—we aren’t in middle school here,” Johnny says. “And if we are, then I want to play truth or dare so my chances of getting kissed tonight rises exponentially.”

“Come over here and they will,” Gaz offers.

“Don’t make promises you’re not ready to keep, Garrick,” Johnny warns, grinning.

“Sounds like something a coward would say, all due respect—”

Then Johnny has a fistful of Kyle’s shirt, hauling him in for a bold though chaste kiss on the mouth. You are suddenly hyper aware of Simon beside you, standing tall and very still while everyone laughs and cheers at the men’s antics. You can’t deny it’s a pleasing sight, but a part of you feels irritated with the whole display.

“Jesus Christ,” John sighs, tipping his hat back on his head. “Soap’s right—if you’ve got a normal deck of cards, love, I know plenty of games for adults to play.”

“Not sure I want to play those kinds of games with you, John,” Kate says somberly to the laughs of everyone around her.

“We’ve got cards,” Simon mutters.

Farah calls to you from the kitchen, asking you to try her latest conglomeration of alcohol. Eager to be anywhere but there, you escape to the kitchen. You lift yourself up onto one of the stools at the island, taking the red plastic cup from her hand and sniffing it. Just the smell burns the hairs of your nose.

“Jesus, Farah, this could kill me,” you laugh.

“Pathetic,” she says with a grin to lighten her words. “I think I saw some apple juice in the refrigerator, would you like that instead?”

“Alright.”

“A warm glass of milk, perhaps?”

“You’ve made your point,” you say, eyes narrowing in good humor. Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves (and stomach), you take a generous swig of the cup. Fuck, it burns going down and it burns in your belly, like swallowing a lit flame. You cough a little, trying not to gag, and hold up your thumb to her. “It’s great—so good—“

Simon comes to sit beside you at the island. He takes the cup, smells it, and raises both brows.

“Can I tempt you, Lieutenant?” Farah asks.

“No.”

“Then I won’t try. Where’s John, he’s never afraid of a challenge.”

Unseen to her beneath the island, fingertips brush your stocking-covered thighs. Your knees clamp together on instinct as you fight not to look over at Simon. What is he doing?

He strikes up a conversation with Farah about her time spent in the Americas. When his hand doesn’t move, your thighs relax a little. He was just being intimate; often he liked to have a hand on your back or his foot resting against your own beneath the table. It wasn’t his fault you were on edge. Your head spins a little, thanks to the shots and Farah’s drink. Planting one elbow on the countertop, you try to focus on her stories when Simon’s hand moves again, slipping further between your legs. The hem of your dress has ridden up so high in your seated position that it doesn’t take much for his fingertips to graze against the heated seam between your legs.

You clamp your knees shut again. He pinches your thigh softly, just enough to get the message through to you. Staring at Farah, hearing nothing, you spread your shaking knees again and let him cup you between your legs. Fuck. You tilt your hips, making as if to adjust your position on the chair. It only serves to bring you in closer contact with Simon’s hand. A groan is born and dies in the back of your throat.

He keeps you there, holding your cunt, having a fluent conversation with Farah while your brain melts out your ears. At length, he stands. Leaning down, he says in your ear: “Outside, two minutes. Go out the back.”

Then he disappears amongst the sea of people

Three minutes later you are shivering out in the snow. Your coat only helps so much with your legs bare save for your stockings. You hadn’t even had time to lace up your boots. Shifting from one foot to the other in the spotlight of the floodlights to keep warm, you cast glances left and right wondering from which direction Simon will come, wondering what he wants that couldn’t have taken place in doors.

At last he appears, looking far warmer than you in his olive green jacket and jeans, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. You smile at the sight of him. He doesn’t smile back.

“Put your hands against the wall.”

“Simon?”

He sighs, running a hand over the curve of your waist, testing its fit in his palm. “Now I’ll have to edit that part out. Let’s try again. Put your hands on the wall.”

You see then the phone placed just-so in the breast pocket of his coat. The glossy camera lens stares back at you, no flashing red light, nothing nearly so 1999. But you knew it was filming. What was it seeing now? The house in the background, the cool blue siding and brick. You, face surprised, lips chapped from the cold weather lately, your sexy little golden dress nearly obscured beneath your coat.

“The time to back out is now,” Simon prods you.

But there’s no way you’re backing out, not after the kitchen. Not after the hazy arousal you’ve been walking around in all night just at the thought of seeing Johnny again. Turning around, you reach out with shaking hands and place them against the freezing cold siding. You can see your breath like a smoky plume with each of your frantic exhales as Simon’s hands grip your ass, slipping beneath the hem of your dress and finding your stockings to tug them down around your knees.

“Got to keep quiet for me,” he says. “Can you do that?”

“Yessir,” you whisper, wishing you were close enough to the house to rest your heated cheek against it.

Simon gives a heavy exhale at your words and you grin, unseen.

Your panties join your stockings stuck around your knees. It doesn’t give you much space to spread your legs, but Simon is so lengthy that he doesn’t need the extra room. He doesn’t press against your back, ever-conscious of the camera and its angles, but you hear the sound of his belt being undone and like a Pavlovian response, it has you drooling between the legs. His cock is burning warm when it brushes against your ass, and you find yourself arching your back, seeking to put that heat inside you.

He hums, hands spreading you wide as he can for the benefit of the camera, even if the lighting isn’t the best to see your entrance.

“Pretty fucking girl,” he mutters. The position can’t be comfortable for him, but he’s never seemed to care about that. He reaches down to grip the base of his cock and guides the head inside you. It is a tight fit without any preparation, but he keeps the penetration shallow, rocking you back and forth on just the head, sometimes letting his cock slip free to brush against your aching clit. Your teeth clamp together, desperate to keep your sounds in—usually during home videos, Simon encouraged you to be noisy (“for the audience”). Now you found yourself struggling not to give in to the old habit.

All of the sudden, his hand is in your hair, turning your head, guiding it to change directions until you are looking at your footsteps in the snow leading back the way you came—

Until you are looking squarely at Johnny, standing nearly frozen in the snow at the edge of the house. He’s wearing his coat and boots, hands jammed deep into his coat pockets. The darkness makes it hard to make out the subtlety of his features, but you can tell that his mouth is dropped open in an expression of near comical disbelief.

You barely manage to keep from choking out Simon’s name, your entire body going stiff—your cunt rippling around his cock. He laughs, a low rumbling chuckle that has you squeezing your eyes shut. A whine slips free from your throat and the wind must carry it straight to Johnny, because you hear his quiet, Steamin’ Jesus.

“He’s been waiting for this all night, I bet,” Simon mutters, his hips snapping against yours. Your hands scramble to find purchase against the siding, slip down a little to grip the bricks which offer you more resistance. “Watching you flit back and forth in this dress, knowing what you look like underneath it. He wishes it was him fucking you right now.”

“No,” you gasp, scandalized.

Simon just laughs again. The sound doesn’t embarrass you, just ratchets your own dizzying arousal higher. You can’t take your eyes off of Johnny, who has stumbled two or three steps closer in the snow and now has his hand against the house very similarly to you. His other hand is in a fist at his side. Closer like this, there’s no mistaking the heated expression in his eyes. Nor the bulge in his pants.

“Oh God,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut again and turning away.

“Look at him—look at him. He wants to touch himself,” Simon says, borderline conversational as his dick makes the most heinous squelching noises inside your body. “But I don’t think he’s got the balls.”

One of your hands comes off the bricks and reaches down between your thighs—but Simon grabs it at the last moment and pins it back in its place, sending you nearly to tears.

“Cum on my cock or don’t cum at all,” he says, feeling cruel.

The both of you know that that likely means you won’t cum at all, not like this, and the knowledge threatens to undo you. He’s going to get you three-fourths of the way there and then leave you like this, edge you in front of all of your closest friends and not satisfy you until the very last one has left. Tears well in your eyes, beading up at the corners.

Behind you, his thrusts grow sloppy. You dare another glance towards Johnny and see his turned back, both his hands in his mohawk gripping at his hair like he is fighting with himself. Your eyes fall shut; you’re fighting a battle of your own, you can’t be concerned about his. Simon groans lowly, filling you with his seed. He pulls out in a wet rush of fluids, reaching down to stave off his dripping seed and save your leggings from destruction.

Gently, he fucks his cum back into you with his fingers. He wipes it across your swollen folds and in the soaked crotch of your panties before pulling them back up to rest safely on your hips. Bending down, he wipes his hands clean in the snow and then on his jacket before helping you pull your stockings up into place. The tears in your eyes have overflowed by now, dripping down your cheeks and off your chin. When you glance over, Johnny is gone.

“Okay?” Simon murmurs, fiddling with his phone. He stops the video.

“Yeah,” you sigh shakily. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Moments to midnight and you are searching for Simon. His figure should be easy to spot, but his head isn’t visible above the sea of people, nor is his baritone voice audible amongst the cacophony of others.

Someone else is notably missing as well. An itch in the back of your brain swells, one you have to follow to scratch.

Countdowns begin. You peek out the window nearest to you but see no sign of either man outside in the snow smoking. Watching couples pair off, you pad on bare feet (having kicked off your heels ages ago) toward the master bedroom, slipping into the dim hallway that forks off to the bedroom, the guest bath, and the office. That hallway is where you find them, standing in the dark toe to toe. Simon has Johnny up against the wall, clutching fistfuls of Johnny’s shirt, nearly tearing it. In the dim lighting, you can barely make out their features.

For a moment, you think they are about to come to blows. You are ready to step between them, to take either of them by the ear like an old school matriarch and remind them that they are friends and they love each other and this is no way to act amongst family—but then the others cry out for midnight and they kiss.

Oh God, do they kiss. Johnny’s shirt strains in Simon’s hands as he lifts the other man the last few inches needed to slot their mouths together comfortably. There is no chaste peck, no soft exploration of tongues, it is a frenzied open-mouthed devouring of each other, jaws flexing as if to open up and swallow the other whole.

Claps and cheers ring out in the living room, jolting Simon and Johnny apart. Before you can even string together a sentence, Johnny has brushed by you, one hand pressing at his mouth. He grabs his coat and leaves out the front door without so much as a goodbye to anyone.

The party is over. The sun is rising. Alejandro and Rodolfo have retired out to the guest house leaving you and Simon behind to clean up the mess in more ways than one. Eyes tired but brain buzzing, you come into the living room with a half-filled trash bag in your arms to find Simon sitting on the sofa by the fireplace, his head in his hands.

You drop the trash bag and go to him, climbing into his lap. He sighs and lets his head rest against your breasts, breaths slow and deep, not betraying any of the turmoil that might be going on in his mind.

“He’ll be back,” you promise, stroking your fingers through his cropped hair. “He’ll come back, baby.”

You don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t.

“Have you two done that before?” you ask.

Simon shifts. He turns until his ear presses against your sternum, like he is listening to your heart for the answer. He says: “No. Once—almost, I think. But you know what he’s like. So fucking persistent. And bright. Like he’s got the bloody sun inside him.”

“You never told me.”

“Wasn’t anything to tell.” He looks up at you with dark eyes, decidedly grim despite his words: “We doing this?”

“Seems so,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails just to watch how his eyes get heavy. Simon so often denies himself simple pleasures, but he deserves them. The simple ones and the complicated ones.

“He belongs to me,” Simon says at length, slow, like he is working it out for himself. “Just like you do.”

“No baby,” you remind him, leaning down to press a kiss to his mouth. “He belongs to us.”

((It becomes a degenerate ritual.

Soap gets home from work and showers. As soon as the steam hits the bathroom mirror, he’s hard, but he doesn’t touch himself; refuses to. He showers and cleans himself perfunctorily, cock aching. It is just as familiar with this ritual as he is, just as hungry for it. It knows what is coming.

After he is clean and dry, he’ll go naked into his room and bring out his laptop. He always sits at his desk—hates having the laptop on his lap, wants it somewhere stable and safe so he can have both hands free to touch himself—and then he brings up your porn page with Simon. There are more than fifty videos he can choose from. Some he has only seen once, especially those early videos when you both were still getting a feel for the process and working out your nerves. There are others that are old favorites, ones that he knows every word to, one where he could mimic your every sigh and whine if he wanted to.

And sometimes, like on nights such as this, there’s a new video. His heart jumps to his throat.

AMATEUR COUPLE: ARGUMENT TURNS INTO SEX (NO AUDIO). Fuck, just the title has mind whirling. It was just for show, surely—he couldn’t imagine you both filming one of your actual arguments for the sake of good pornography—but he was intrigued nonetheless. Some of his favorite videos featured Ghost getting a little rougher with you, and you giving back as good as you got.

He clicks the link. The video begins in the bedroom, recognizable to him now as your own. The camera is in the corner facing the bed at an angle giving a wide vantage point, like a voyeur standing at attention. Like Soap himself has snuck in and is watching. Just the thought has him gripping the base of his cock, a soft groan passing his lips.

You’re sitting on the bed, mask in place. Your arms are crossed, mouth downturned into a frown as Simon enters the screen. The first minute or so truly looks like an argument, the occasional jerky hand gesture from you coupled with Simon’s clipped responses. Soap tries to read your lips, but he’s never been very good at it; he can’t make out a single word of what the two of you might be saying. Then the aura changes, the tense energy from the argument turning into something slicker, something sexual as Simon comes around the bed and puts his hand on the center of your naked chest, pressing you back, back until you are laying down.

You fight against him, batting his hand out of the way. He pins you down easily, so much larger and stronger than you. Soap grips his cock at the thought of being in your place, being pinned to the bed with Ghost’s massive figure over him. Ghost wouldn’t need to be gentle with him either, not the way he was with you. Soap wouldn’t mind. Soap would like it, the same way he liked it in the hallway at your house when Simon gripped him by the shirt and nearly jerked him right out of his boots.

Your head comes off the bed, mouth chasing Ghost’s—but he draws away. Soap can almost hear the laugh he clearly gives, the rumbling chuckle that would be tangible in his chest. You grit your teeth together, jaw tight. Now when Simon bends down to kiss you, you turn your head away, a childish game of cat and mouse. He grips your chin and turns it back toward him, heavy on the eye contact. When you two finally kiss, it is rough, two hungry people searching for dirty secrets behind each other's teeth.

Ghost kisses his way down your body, sucking bruises wherever he can. By the time he’s in between your legs, you are writhing, hands gripping his hair and trying to guide his mouth to the place that needs it most. He tugs your thighs over his shoulders, pins you to the bed with one massive forearm, and eats you out like a starving man. The angle for the camera isn’t the best here, but Soap can’t take his eyes off of you anyway: your body tight as a bowstring, breasts pressed together from the position of your arms, tendons of your neck straining as your head tilts backwards.

Soap begins to work his cock over faster, watching your pleasure. When Ghost stops, he leaves you on the edge if your tortured expression is anything to go by, but you let him maneuver you into the position he wants—hands and knees, an old favorite for LT it seems—but this time is special, because this time you are forced to face the camera dead on.

It’s like you’re looking Soap in the eye. The brief flash of guilt this gives him only serves to ratchet his desire higher, his cock dripping precum over his knuckles as he fists it. Ghost slips his cock inside you and sets a brutal pace that you are eager to meet, your hands twisting in the bedspread as you press yourself further back against his cock.

Ghost leans down and mutters something in your ear. More than ever, Soap misses the audio. Whatever he says has your eyes flashing to meet the camera lens, and you do so with near girlish shyness, like you are seeing it for the first time, like you have only just noticed it’s been there all these months. Your eyes can’t catch on it at first, flittering away every chance you get. Ghost’s thrusts slow to deep grinds. He wraps a hand around your throat and says more, lips moving against the nape of your neck. Fuck, what Johnny wouldn’t give to be able to read lips.

This time you look back at the camera and keep your eyes there. Ghost resumes his thrusts, each one making your breasts bounce softly, but your eyes never leave the lens, always quick to return even when they briefly fall shut.

Your pleasure waxes when you slip a hand between your thighs, and you begin murmuring something repeatedly, just a discrete little movement of your lips. But at Ghost’s prodding, you begin to cry it out louder and louder until Soap is damn near sure that you are screaming, your lips forming the same syllables over and over again if only Soap were able to make them out. Your eyes roll back as you cum, arms growing weak until you dip and rest your upper body against the bed giving the camera an excellent view of Simon fucking into you from behind, the arch of your body, the curve of your waist to the width of your hips.

Soap cums when Ghost does, Ghost’s head lolling to the side as his thrusts grow sloppy and forceful, making a mess of you no doubt.

It isn’t until later when he’s in bed that he recognizes the word you were chanting for what it is.

How it took him so long to recognize his own name he’ll never know.))

He comes back.

Simon has just returned from taking Alejandro and Rodolfo to the airport. Ever since New Year’s Eve, there has been a quietness about him which breaks prior records. Neither of you say it, but if Johnny leaves this time, it will take more out of him than it had before. It will take something out of you, too. You spend the days trying to keep busy, checking your phone too often for texts that don’t come.

You’ve just taken the kettle off the stove when the doorbell rings, and both of you know. Your eyes meet across the kitchen. Simon nods his head toward the door, and you rush to answer it, feeling your heart in your throat. Johnny stands there on the step looking sheepish and cold, his boots and the bottom quarter of his jeans wet, like he has walked here from a great distance.

“May I come in?” he asks.

Simon appears behind you. Johnny gives him a wavering smile. Without a word, you hold the door open, stepping aside to let him in.

“Didn’t think you’d be back,” Simon says coolly.

“Didn’t think I’d be back either,” Johnny admits. He wets his lips. “I…I need to come clean. It’s eatin’ me up inside. Can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t fucking think without it being about the two of you. I don’t know what to do with myself except put myself at your feet and ask fer your forgiveness.”

“Johnny, that’s not—”

“No,” says Simon, stilling the words on your tongue. “I think that’s a good place to start. Get on your knees, Johnny.”

Johnny blinks once, face the picture of innocent ignorance—but then he is dropping to his knees hard enough for you to hear them crack against the hardwood underneath. He obeys without thinking, because that is something that has always been easy for him to do: obey Simon. Think later.

Simon’s hand reaches out, slow enough to give Johnny a chance to flinch away, but he doesn’t. Instead Simon threads his fingers through Johnny’s mohawk, the sides which are growing out just a little too long. Johnny’s eyes fall shut at the touch, and the whole thing goes straight to your belly, arousal making your head light.

“You liked watching so much,” Simon says, voice low and quiet. “I think it’s time we put you to good use.”

“We have rules. Don’t look at the camera, don’t say each other’s names, and do as I say. Can you handle that?” Simon asks.

“Rules of engagement. Yessir.”

Simon snorts softly at Johnny’s eagerness. “Glad to see you still know to follow directions. But let’s see how well. Strip. Everything off. You won’t need it.”

Johnny’s hands find the neckline of his shirt and tug it off over his head, revealing a body that is all smooth muscle and tan skin. The dark hair on his chest thickens just below his navel, trailing down into his jeans which he unbuttons without ceremony, feet working to step out of his shoes at the same time. He keeps his balance well, already slipping into a focused, strangely familiar headspace. You make yourself as small as possible on the bed, arms looped around your legs, eyes watching him hungrily. It’s been so long that you’ve wanted to see Johnny like this; now that it’s on the verge of becoming true, you feel shy and unsure.

Johnny keeps his eyes on yours while he pushes his pants down his thighs and steps out of them. He smiles at you, soft and understanding, and only then do you let your eyes flicker down to take in his cock: he is hard, uncut, thick as Simon even if he can’t have him beaten in length. His dexterous fingers wrap around the shaft, stroking himself, the flushed head disappearing and reappearing in his fist.

“What do you think?” Simon asks you, voice a low rumble at your side. His eyes are watching you, concerned with you first and foremost. “Is he pretty enough?”

Johnny makes an offended sound.

“I’d say so,” you answer, aiming for unaffected and landing somewhere amongst breathless. Already you can feel the tension between your legs, a deep seated ache as your pussy drools onto the sheets below you.

“You want to suck his cock,” says Simon. It’s not a question, but your head bobs anyway. “Go on, then. Crawl to him.”

Shifting onto your hands and knees, you crawl to him, focusing on the mechanics of it instead of trying to feign sexiness. At the edge of the bed, you slip off and down to the floor amongst the pile of his clothes, laying your hands on his thighs and looking up at him from beneath his cock.

He lets out a shaky breath. “You’re gonna suck my dick?”

You nod.

Johnny looks to Simon with a helpless expression as if to ask, What do I do? When you glance back over your shoulder, you see that Simon is giving him nothing to work with, face a blank slate except for his raised brows. Phone in hand, aimed at the two of you. The sight of it seems to steel Johnny’s nerves. He’s never been one to be shy.

“Go at yer own pace, lass,” he says.

Leaning in, you trace your lips against the side of his shaft, feeling the velvety softness against your mouth. He smells like he showered before he came over, though you wouldn’t have minded if he hadn’t. Johnny always smells good—even on those days before he went away when he and Simon would go running together, pushing each other to their limits, returning sweaty and exhausted. Now after all this time you get to see if he tastes as good as he smells. You part your lips and leave open mouthed kisses along his length, looking up at him through your lashes when you feel his fingers sink into your hair. His mouth is parted as he watches you raptly, pupils blown wide.

Confidence mounting, you take the head past your lips and suckle, treating him just as soft and sweetly as you know Simon won’t. Above you, he groans, hips jerking until you take another inch or two past your lips. You let him, rising up on your knees to adjust the angle, sinking your way down until his head brushes the softness at the back of your throat. Taking a calming inhale, you swallow and press forward, letting him sink into your throat until your gag reflex can take no more and forces him out.

Johnny moans like he’s dying, his hands shaking as he fights not to thrust into your throat. Words stream from his mouth, filthy Scottish-tinted praises that have you wriggling in your place, desperate for a hand between your thighs.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Simon asks.

“Never seen no one like her,” Johnny gasps, one hand letting go of your hair so that he can wipe the drool from the side of your mouth. He gives a weak laugh. “And I—fuuck, fuck—I’ve looked.”

“She’ll suck you off until you tell her to stop. Doesn’t matter how long you leave her at it,” Simon says. Fabric rustles behind you, and you ache to be able to turn and see what he is doing. But you are more determined to prove your goodness to Johnny. “Sometimes when I work from home she keeps my cock warm at my desk.”

“Dunno how you get a goddamn thing done with her mouth around yeh.”

“Discipline.”

“I left mine in my other pants—fuck, I’m gonna cum. Are you one of those dirty girls that swallows?” he asks.

You nod. Simon is there suddenly, a warm presence at your shoulder as he passes Johnny the camera. Nearly wrecked, Johnny’s hands shake as he aims it down at you, looking at you through the lens. His balls draw up, cock lengthening that last little bit as he spills into your mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” Simon says at the last moment. You whine but obey. Simon pulls you up and nearly makes you dizzy with the way he kisses you, licks into your open mouth lapping Johnny’s seed from your tongue.

“Jesus, Mary, ‘n Joseph,” Johnny breathes, belatedly remembering to turn the camera onto you both. This will likely be the messiest video you’ve ever made transition wise, but you have a feeling that it will be your favorite.

When the kiss ends, you swallow and pull off to open your mouth, showing Johnny—and the audience—what they want: that you’ve swallowed your portion like a good girl.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have cum,” Johnny laughs weakly. “We’ve barely started. I don’t want this to be over.”

“You’ll cum again,” Simon says. “But it’s time to give someone else a turn. Sitrep?”

Johnny is all grins. “All good here, sir.”

It makes you shiver to hear Johnny call him that. You’ve heard it countless times before, but never like this. The context turns the word into something foreign, something sexy. Not to mention, you know exactly what it does to Simon. Not for the first time, you wonder if his wires didn’t get a little crossed during his time enlisted, if he didn’t learn that particular kink from hearing Johnny chirp it at him every day.

“Good boy,” says Simon softly, reaching out to ruffle Johnny’s mohawk. Johnny bats his hand away, but it’s impossible to miss the way he flushes from the cheeks down his chest at those words. Simon sets the phone on the tripod in the corner, making minor adjustments, and then turns his eyes to you. “C’mere.”

He sets you up against the headboard, your back against his chest. He parts your thighs, reaching down to use his thumbs to spread your sex open for Johnny’s hungry gaze, for the camera’s lens. You hide your masked-face behind your hands, hips rising toward his touch, desperate for the stimulation.

“Pent up?” Simon asks, voice rough.

A sound slips past your lips, low and needy..

“This what you want?” His calloused fingers ghost over your swollen clit.

“Yes,” you mumble, voice muffled by your hands.

“Be a good girl and you’ll get it. You know how to be a good girl?”

“How?”

“Stay relaxed. Keep your thighs open. And don’t lie to me. Can you do that?”

You nod. Yes. Easy things. You fight to relax your body, loosening your muscles. Your hands fall to rest against Simon’s thighs, eyes cracking open to watch Johnny who has seated himself at the end of the bed out of the way of the camera’s view. When he sees you looking, he smiles, reassuring and warm. His cock, which had been soft moments ago, already looks noticeably more interested in the events taking place.

Simon drags his fingers over your clit. You tense all over, sucking in a breath before you remember his first rule and relax, going loose and soft again. He waits, patient. The next time he strokes you, you stay malleable, and he hums deep in his chest, pleased with the progress. His hand cups your whole sex, palm huge compared to you.

“When was the first time you ever wanted to fuck our boy over here?” Simon asks.

You know that he can’t use Johnny’s name, not on film, but neither you nor Johnny had expected the flashbang of this term of endearment. Johnny seems to melt, his eyes going heavy-lidded at the thought of being ‘your boy’. You can’t help but feel the incredible rightness of his words. They resonate deep in your chest like the ringing of a bell, tangible down to your fingertips and toes. Johnny is yours, and he is Simon’s.

“How long?” Simon asks again, more firmly.

“Since—since you brought him home.”

Simon slips two fingers past your entrance as a reward for your honesty. Their thickness has you gasping, fingers scrambling for purchase against his thighs. He hums something in your ear—probably a reminder about trying to relax—and you do try, but it is hard when you ache as badly as you do. You find yourself digging your heels into the bedspread, lifting your hips to try and work his fingers deeper inside of you. He feeds them to your cunt all the way to the last knuckle.

“How’s she feel, sir?” Johnny asks.

“Like the only heaven the likes of us will ever know.”

“I believe it,” Johnny sighs. “Give us a taste.”

Simon extends his fingers and Johnny takes them onto his tongue, licking and sucking the digits clean. You’re close enough to Simon to feel his inhale, to feel the way his cock jumps where it’s pressed against your lower back. He plays at being unaffected, but Simon isn’t immune to the powers of finger-sucking. He isn’t immune to Johnny.

Then he says: “Put that mouth to work, Johnny.”

Johnny drops to his belly between your thighs, breath fanning across your folds. Simon has to pin your legs apart, humming when your nails dig into the skin of his forearms. They are teaming up on you, against you, and you feel so small pinned between them.

“Dreamed of this,” Johnny sighs into your pussy. He nuzzles against you, nose brushing your slit before licking a thick stripe up your folds. He laps at the honey leaking from your entrance, broad strokes of his tongue as Simon’s fingers keep you spread open for his hungry mouth.

Sometimes Johnny’s tongue laps over Simon’s fingers, and when it does, you feel his cock twitch against your back. It only serves to remind you how empty you feel. Your hands grip Johnny’s hair, guiding his soft mouth to your clit where he sucks and laps contentedly, and you beg for his fingers.

He moans against you, voice vibrating through your pussy. His hips have started a slow grind against the bedspread, desperate for friction as his blue eyes find Simon’s dark ones, silently asking for permission.

Simon nods. Johnny slips his middle-most two fingers into you, hooking them softly, searching for that spongy, textured place just inside you. It’s everything you needed, the pleasure in your belly rising to a near painful crest. Your hand scrambles to find one of Simon’s, lacing your fingers together as you burst against Johnny’s tongue, squeezing his fingers, barely remembering to keep from calling his name.

Johnny lays his head against your inner thigh, panting. His eyes are foggy, pussy-drunk as he struggles to focus on you both, his fingers still tucked softly inside you.

“Break,” Simon whispers, kissing your neck. He shifts out from behind you, the only one of you still fully dressed. Going to the tripod in the corner, he pauses the camera and then leaves the room.

“Great abrupt bastard, isn’t he?” Johnny asks, slipping his fingers out from inside you. He goes to lick them clean, but you stop him, bringing his hand to your own mouth and cleaning your slick from his fingers, tongue searching for your taste all the way to the webbing between his knuckles. His laugh is breathy. “You like that? Like the taste of pussy?”

You nod, slipping your mask off briefly.

“Need a pretty girl to play with then, not the likes of me.”

Your hand latches around his wrist as he goes to pull away, lips turning down into a frown. “That’s not what we want. We don’t play with people. People aren’t toys to us. And we’ve never had sex with anyone else like this. You should know that from the videos.”

“Aye,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to offend yeh, lass. I was only teasing.”

“Johnny…”

“Yes?”

“Why’d you go away?” you ask. You know it might ruin the moment, but the curiosity is too much, an old wound with the scab picked clean off until it aches all over again. “Things seemed so good when Simon and I first got together. You were coming around all the time. Then you just…left.”

Johnny can’t meet your eyes as he thinks back, as he remembers those days in the year after Simon first met you. When he speaks, his voice is steady. “I told yeh earlier. Couldn’t stop thinking about the two of you. Didn’t feel right to feel that way ‘bout my best mate and his best girl. And when he told me that he was gonna propose to yeh—I had two choices. Stay and watch, or run away. Maybe Simon’s right. Maybe I am a coward.”

“He told me that the two of you almost kissed once. Back during your SAS days.”

A ghost of a smile appears on Johnny’s mouth. “Outside the Barranquilla, Columbia safehouse. I remember. I thought he would break my teeth if I tried, but Jesus, how I wanted to.”

“I think your odds were 50/50,” you say, scooting back until you are seated in Simon’s old spot, reclining against the headboard. “It started back then for you, didn’t it?”

“Aye. I was a goner.”

“You love him.”

Johnny gives you a secretive smile. He presses his finger to his lips. Shh.

Simon enters the room with three water bottles and pauses, eyes flickering between you both. “The fuck were you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” you say. “Is that water? I’m so thirsty, thank you baby.”

“Her subtlety could use some work, LT,” Johnny says, watching as Simon goes and turns the camera back on. You hastily put your mask back in place.

“Not her forte,” Simon admits dryly. He cracks open one of the bottles of water after tossing the last one to Johnny and drinks half of it in just a few gulps, despite having done very little so far in the scheme of things. You figured that was about to change, watching him shrug out of his shirt.

Simon didn’t undress the way Johnny did. There wasn’t any fanfare or confidence; it was simple and efficient. You knew that Simon’s relationship with his body was a complex one. It had served him well, and he did his best to keep it healthy, but contemplating the aesthetics of it was too offensive to his palate. The scars were intense: thick punctures along his sides, the depressed, pale pucker of bullet wounds, the hard clean lines of a knife here and there. You had never minded, and judging by the way Johnny’s throat clicks when he swallows, Johnny didn’t mind either.

“I want to fuck you,” he says.

“Yes,” you agree. Fingers had been excellent, but nothing could compare to Simon’s cock.

He shakes his head. “Not you. Him.”

You turn your gaze on Johnny whose eyes are avidly watching Simon unfasten his jeans. He pushes them down over his thick thighs and reveals he’s not wearing any underwear beneath, his cock half-hard and rosy. He wraps his fist around it, jerking himself to full stiffness with a perfunctory touch, not at all interested in the show he is putting on for you both.

“Can you take him, Johnny?” you tease.

“I’ll die trying, thanks very much.”

“I hope not,” is all Simon says, going to the bench at the end of the bed and retrieving the lube. He asks: “Condom?”

“Not necessary,” Johnny says, breaths coming faster now. You put your hand on his ankle, remembering the way he had touched you there on Christmas, stroking the bone softly. He glances to you and grins, and you see that what you mistook for nerves is actually excitement. He puts his hand over your own, squeezing. “Are you going to feel left out, lass?”

“Terribly.”

“If you last the whole time,” says Simon, holding the lube up to the light to see how empty it is. “I’ll let you fuck her when I’m finished with you.”

“Jesus,” Johnny laughs weakly. “Can’t argue with that. Throw me that and I’ll get myself ready.”

“I can do it,” says Simon, seating himself on the edge of the bed. Johnny shifts into a better position, feet flat on the bed, knees toward the ceiling. For a long time, Simon just looks at him: his silly hair, the odd scar here and there, his half hard cock. Deftly, he opens the cap on the lube and slicks two fingers while you come to kneel on the other side of Johnny, eager for a show.

“Camera, love,” Simon reminds you, fingers searching between Johnny’s legs. Judging by the way Johnny’s jaw goes tight, he’s found what he’s looking for. You shift, glancing over your shoulder to make sure you are out of the camera’s point of view. Reaching down, you trail your fingertips gently over Johnny’s cock. Simon says: “Been a while?”

“You could say that,” Johnny says, mouth falling open in a silent moan as Simon works him open. You’ve been on the receiving end of Simon’s ministrations; you know his patience can be near painful. Johnny learns it the hard way when Simon pauses twice to lube his fingers, until even the soft thrusts he gives into Johnny’s ass fill the room with the sound of sex.

You play with his cock absently, enjoying being the tormentor instead of the tormented for once. Johnny’s silent breaths turn to heavy pants and then needy groans, foreskin pulling back to reveal the sensitive head as he grows in your palm thanks to Simon’s fingers playing inside him. His heels slip against the bedspread as he searches for the angles that suit him best, and he chokes when he finds them.

“Please, I’m ready,” Johnny says, fingers wrapping around Simon’s wrist. Simon lets him pull his fingers free and reaches for the lube again, this time to slick his cock.

“Any preference for how I take you?” he asks mildly, like one might ask, How do you take your tea? One sugar please and thank you.

“None, so long as your cock’s inside me,” Johnny grits out.

“This’ll do,” says Simon, bullying his way between Johnny’s spread thighs. It takes a few pillows beneath his hips before he’s at the right height for Simon’s cock to notch against his entrance, and then you watch with rapt attention as Johnny’s body seems to blossom to welcome in Simon’s cock, a surplus of lubricant easing the way.

Johnny flinches.

“Easy,” says Simon, stilling. “Relax.”

You curl up at Johnny’s side, slipping beneath one of his arms and cuddling against him. Your nervous fingers find one of his nipples and toy with it softly, kissing at his shoulder while you murmur words of encouragement to him.

Johnny laughs weakly. “Don’t need all that, lass, but thank yeh.”

“Wish I had someone cheering me on the first time I took Simon’s cock,” you admit.

Simon frowns. “I was cheering you on.”

“Less talking please, more fucking,” Johnny says, lips upturned. His body relaxes and Simon sinks the rest of the way inside him, all the way to the fucking hilt, deeper than you can ever take him in your cunt. It thrills you and makes you envious all at once. You pinch Johnny’s nipple, forcing a quiet gasp out of his throat.

Simon looks good—strong. Unaffected. But you know him better. His brow is lower than ever, eyes closed as he centers himself. His breaths come so evenly that you know he must be counting them—four seconds in, four seconds out. His fingertips have sunk into the meat of Johnny’s thighs, gripping him tightly, as if to keep him from squirming away, or to keep him from squirming at all.

“You solid?” Simon asks him.

“Affirm,” Johnny breathes. “Go slow.”

Famous last words—Simon withdraws with painstaking care, until just his head lingers inside Johnny’s body. He sinks back in at the most leisurely pace you’ve ever seen, thrusts smooth and deep as his thighs brush against Johnny’s ass. It takes no time at all for Johnny to regret those words, one of his hands laced with yours and the other twisting in the bedsheets as he begs Simon to move faster.

And Simon can only take so much teasing himself, really. He’s human too.

His hips snap into the open cradle of Johnny’s thighs. Johnny cries out, cock jerking where it lays hard and leaking against his belly. You lean up onto one elbow so that you can watch his pretty face contort: brow furrowing, mouth falling open.

“Not going to cum, right?” you ask him slyly.

He shakes his head.

You glance down at his cock doubtfully. Simon, overhearing your words, takes that as a personal challenge, drilling into Johnny with a single-mindedness that is admirable to see and terrible to be on the receiving end of all in one.

Suddenly tears overflow from Johnny’s eyes, dripping down toward his temples. You sit up in alarm as he lifts his hands but he just palms at his eyes, laughing. Simon slows, stops. He reaches down to pry Johnny’s hands away and then kisses him, something soft and sweet. Johnny’s hands shake as he reaches up to thread his fingers through Simon’s hair, tugging him closer.

Your heart feels liable to burst. You remember Johnny’s finger pressed to his lips, that universal sign. Shh.

“He’s alright,” Simon says, not unkindly. “Aren’t you?”

Johnny croaks an affirmative.

After that, it is less fucking and more making love; there’s nothing else to call in. Simon pins Johnny’s wrists to the bed just to feel like he’s still in control, but his thrusts are syrupy slow, not fully withdrawing, seeking to remain as close to Johnny as he can for as long as possible. You stroke one of Johnny’s palms and Simon lets it free so that you can hold it, your fingers lacing together in a way that is foreign yes, but comfortable.

“You’ve been a good boy for me, Johnny,” Simon says.

“Don’t say that,” Johnny groans, turning his head away, flushed pink.

“It’s true. Know how to be an even better boy?”

Johnny is intrigued. Being a good boy is suddenly beneath him; now he wants to be the best boy. Looking at Simon through his lashes, he asks: “How’s that?”

“Cum on my cock.”

“Don’t do it Johnny,” you whine. “It’s a trap.”

Simon laughs. He kneels back onto his haunches, dragging Johnny’s body along with him, and reaches for the other man’s cock, working it over in his fist. Johnny nearly howls, kept on the edge so long that to see the bottom of the cliffside is to know the promise of pain. He doesn’t know whether to grind his hips deeper against Simon’s cock or to chase the heat of his hand.

“Close,” he groans.

“Go on. Pretty abs like this—make a mess on ‘em.”

Johnny does, pearlescent seed dripping from between Simon’s fingers as he milks Johnny for every last drop. Only then does he begin thrusting again, fast and hard, searching for his own end. Not a handful of thrusts later and he goes sloppy, breath punched from his lungs as he spills inside Johnny.

“You promised me a cock to ride,” you say.

“Couldn’t be helped, lass,” Johnny says with a dopey, lovesick smile. You hum.

“We’ll just have to get you hard again, won’t we?” you ask, wrapping your fingers around his softening cock.

That night, the bed is full. Johnny and you are entwined, legs and arms wrapped around each other creating an endless feedback of heat that Simon was careful not to be swept away in, too focused on his mission to allow for any mistakes. He makes no sound as he slips out of bed. He stops by the tripod in the corner and takes his phone out into the living room, turning the sound down so low that he has to hold the speaker close to his ear to hear it, lest he wake Johnny.

He listens to you and Johnny talk while he was gone, when you believed the camera to be off. He plays it again, watching just the video. By the time he’s returned in the video, Simon’s chest feels full of pressure, like something is inside him trying to crawl its way out. Love. What does Simon Riley know about love?

Well, he knows one thing.

Except maybe now he knows two.

He deletes the video and goes back to bed.

#ghoap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #complicated pleasures #simon riley x reader

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okwonyo · 16 days

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THE LOOK OF LOVE, 或 𓈒𓈒 the moment they knew.

𝒾 ⠀⦂ ⠀ 엔하이픈 ୨୧ f ╱ r! 1OOO fluff angst if you squint established relationship ── kissing skinship crying not proofread ⠀ ｡｡ ⠀ ( 𝑜𝑜𝑒𝑢𝑣𝑟𝑒𝑠 )

지아 ⠀⦂ ⠀i hope this will make you all feel loved and appreciated ! ^^

rblgs♥︎fdbcks & C𝑙𝑖CK

HEESEUNG

it would hit him without any sort of warning, right there in the guts, with no aftercare.

would have taken you to a dinner during a rather cool summer night. the restaurant would be delicious, the conversations would be enthusiastic and smooth, you would hold onto his arm as you would both walk side to side.

the breeze would make you end up on a beach.

the visual of the waves coming back to their original form, the beautiful sight of the sun going back to sleep, the birds flying above your head would be nothing compared to you.

and lister, he is just a man. a weak, simple, rational man who wouldn’t be able to contain his heart at the sight of his woman looking so beautiful. and it would be stupid, as if he was seeing you for the first time.

it would be love, just simple, dizzying love.

JAY

when the beginnings of sunlight would peek through the gaps in the blinds, casting thin golden ribbons over the bed to frame your form and his. when his eyes would flutter open and your warmth welcoming him would be the first thing he feels.

when, despite being tired, the thought of getting up and cooking breakfast for the both of you alone would make his fatigue disappear. when his fingers would stroke a hair strand of your sleepyself behind your ear.

when he would smile to himself the entire time he cooks, just because: wow, he woke up next to you! isn’t that enough?

especially when you would hug him from behind as a greeting and rest your cheek on his back. would say it, immediately, raw and sincere, with his lips against your forehead.

JAKE

you would laugh at one of his very stupid jokes once and he would fall in love with you immediately.

he would feel the literal sensation of falling and falling and falling without any chance of landing.

your laugh would ring like a dulcet lullaby, the electricity that would run through his whole body when you hit his shoulder and tell him to ‘please, shut up’ would be the object of all his dreams.

it would be like his heart would start to get tighter and tiger, a knot would form in his throat with all the words he would wish to say.

would grip onto his shirt, the side where his most important organ is. the blood would rush to it so quickly. ‘i love you, i love you, i love you’ it would scream.

SUNGHOON

the only thing that could ever bring him to his knees, would be you. and everything that comes from you as well.

so, yes, when he would come back home to a thin, invisible, melancholic hue in the air of the shared home you both made for each other and tears escaping from your eyes, he would crumble.

as hard as he can, would try to make them stop. by cupping your face and wiping them off your face sweetly, by asking you what is wrong with tears starting to form in his eyes, by holding your hands tightly.

would not even have time to feel the realization or hear the words he just spoke. with his knees on the floor as he brings your knuckles to his forehead, “i love you,” he would croak, “please don’t cry,”

and it would make you cry even more.

SUNOO

there would be a fondness in his eyes whenever he sees or, even just, thinks about you that would be far too obvious to ever deny.

it would always be obvious, to everyone around the two of you— except to the two of you— that there was always love. no matter how young your relationship was, it was always there.

maybe the realization should come at a more significant and amazing moment. like your first date or the time you watched the fireworks together. but it would be significant, to him, and it is all that matters.

“sunoo,” you would tease, dragging the sound of the double letters at the end of his name. you would bring your hands around your mouth so the sound would be louder, “wah~ you are so pretty, so cute,”

the attempt of making him flustered while he films himself would succeed. and when he would rewatch the video a while after, the moment where he would tell himself ‘she is lucky i am in love with her’ would be obvious.

(as much as the ‘wait, what?’)

JUNWGON

“are you still mad?” he would ask in a soft whisper after you pushed his hand away and took his tie into your own hands. his fingertips would softly touch your upper arms.

you would not even look up at him when responding, “i am not mad,” and he would get a bit sad, as he should. you would look at him with a look in your eyes and smile he would want to kiss away, “you are just very annoying.”

he would hum, watching your fingers work on the tissue around his neck. your gaze would focus on it fully and he would start to feel a bit neglected, craving for your eyes on him again. his, however, would fall on your lips.

he would slowly lean in. a smirk would draw on his face when you tilt your chin up. your lips would brush and then you would tighten the tie around his neck, making him almost choke.

you would give him a grin after patting his chest. his head would fall back when you leave the room and he would bite his lower lip, “god, i love her so much,”

RIKI

would only realize saying it and hearing you saying it back. a little bit silly, right?

it is just that, loving you would come to him as naturally as breathing.

from the very first time he met you, love would already be in his stomach. it would already be growing roots of roses, stems would wrap around his beating heart and they would only wait to finally bloom.

the roses would bloom on a quiet night. a sleepover where you would both sit on the enormous sofa and he would still manage to find a way to corner you between armchairs and his body.

he would be playing with your fingers, having you trapped in his arms, “i love you,” he would breathe out.

you would look at him with a smile before saying, “i love you too.”

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open.

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eraenaa · 4 months

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Tea Party (Modern AU)

Aemond Targaryen x Stark Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Aemond convinces you to let Helaena join your group’s exclusive tea party, using any means necessary just for you to agree.

Warnings: ¿Super Soft Aemond?, Mature, 18+, Stimulation, Aftercare, P in V Sex, {Using Sex as a Weapon}, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2,349

A/N: Based on a request by @slytherincursebreaker

“I have to go,” You sighed and pecked Aemond’s lips as you two were walking along the courtyard of your university. Aemond quietly groaned in protest, “Do you really have to? Just skip it this week,” He said, not letting go of your hand, instead pulling you closer to him, making you laugh. “I’ve already skipped last week’s session, per your request— the girls will have my head if I miss today as well,” You sighed and rested your palm on his chest as he rolled his eye and shook his head. “It’s just an hour… or two,” You added and went to the tip of your toes to peck his lips again, but Aemond took hold of your cheek to deepen your kiss.

When you parted, you breathed out a laugh, “Now I really have to go,” you sighed and turned away to hastily walk to the hall before your dearest partner could drag you to your shared flat, “Hi, Helaena!” You greeted her as you passed his sister, waving your hand and giving her a wide smile. “Where is she going?” Helaena quietly asked her brother, who sighed and shook his head, “Tea party,” He answered, and Helaena nodded, “That reminds me, we found another for you to add to your collection,” Aemond said as he walked with his sister, reaching in the pocket of his leather jacket and acquire a small, clear box that housed a beetle his sister was overly fond of collecting.

Aemond gazed at his sister, slightly frowning as she appeared unimpressed by the small gift you and he had acquired for her. Normally, a smile would adorn her lips, and her eyes would twinkle in mirth; now, however, her expression was threading to melancholy. “Are you well? Do you not like it? Or perhaps you already have this variant?” Aemond asked in concern, halting his steps. Helaena shook her head and plastered a small smile, but her brother saw right through her act. “Tell me,” Aemond insisted, and Helaena sighed, her gaze plastered to the ground.

“I… I want to join their tea party,” She said quietly, but that did not aid Aemond’s confusion about her sullen state. “It’s just… it looks like quite fun. The treats they serve always look so delicious, and I would always see them laughing in the hall,” She explained further. Aemond licked his lips and hummed, nodding in understanding. “Do you truly wish to join?” Aemond asked, and Helaena cast her gaze upward in hope and fervently nodded. “I’ll see what I can do,”

“No,” You responded to Aemond’s query; the both of you were having dinner when he asked you if you could let Heleana join your group’s tea party. “Why not?” Aemond asked. “Aemond, I love Helaena… I do, but she cannot join,” You say, and Aemond’s furrowed brows only severed. “Why not? You’re not giving me a reason. My sister truly wants to join— she noted how fun you and your group have, and she wishes to be part of it.” You sighed and shook your head, taking a sip of wine before speaking.

“Aemond, they’re not having fun— they’re making fun at other people’s expense!” You explained and stood, moving to clear the plates, but Aemond hindered you and took the empty dishes himself as he followed you to the kitchens. “What?” He asked as he placed the dishes in the sink. “Those girls are vicious. They look sweet, they truly do, but they’ll eat her alive,” You explained, but still, Aemond was just wholly confused. “Aemond, you and I know of your sister’s little quirks… and I love them; I find them endearing, but to others… they won’t be so… welcoming to it,” you said delicately.

“Helaena is a Targaryen. She belongs in that group with you and the other daughters of the great families.” Aemond insisted, and you drank the finality of your wine. “Yes, I am aware of your family’s standing— your family’s power is not the problem here. It is that Helaena is too… soft to be a part of that group,” Aemond scoffed, “You are part of the group,” He stated, and you shook your head, stepping closer to him. “I have been desensitized by those girls; our familiarity since childhood had prepared me for their harshness,” You said, “You should have been there today; they did a full half-hour making fun of Jacaerys’ posture alone!” You added, and Aemond snickered. You gazed at his reaction, noting that he would do well in that group along with the ladies who had no problem in drawing criticism at the expense of others. “I just don’t think she’ll be comfortable there,” You said quietly. Aemond sighed, not conceding until he had accomplished getting Helaena into your overly exclusive group.

“Are you not their leader? Can you not just order them to play nice?” Your lips agape at Aemond’s question. “There’s no leader here,” You denied, but Aemond raised his brow, a smirk slipping his lips as he knew fully well that you were practically queen in the eyes of those girls. You breathed out a laugh at the stare Aemond gave you. “Aemond,” You sighed as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Please, for me,” he said, and your heart grew soft at the pleading in his eye. “Aemond,” You sighed once more and tried to walk away, but he urged you to stay rooted on your spot, burying his face in your neck and placing small kisses upon it, trying to sway your mind.

“She… she would not like it,” You stuttered, mind distracted and your body filling with the familiar need that only he could conjure and sedate. Aemond hummed as he sucked on a delicate spot that made your knees weak and your whole being wanton. “How are you so certain?” Aemond hummed as his hands squeezed the flesh of your behind, smirking against your skin as he felt the buds of your breast peak and strain through the thin sheet of your dress. Aemond returned his lips to yours, kissing you in the way that he knew would leave you dazed, the two of you stumbling toward the bedroom of your flat, him gently laying on the bed as his hands wandered through your body, leaving fire in the wake of his cold touch.

You called for his name as his lips traveled from the apex of your neck to your bosom. His hands hiking up the fabric of your dress higher and higher. “Reconsider, my darling?” Aemond hummed as he sucked on your skin, leaving his little marks. Your breathing labored as he bundled the skirt of your dress to your waist. You mindlessly shook your head as he pulled down the bodice of your dress and took the bud of your breast into his mouth, his tongue circling and his teeth lightly biting it.

When Aemond heard no reply, he knew he should double his efforts. His hands slithered upwards, resting on each of your thighs. He tailed his kisses further south and planted them on the insides of your thighs. “Aemond, please,” You called, and you felt him smirk against your skin. “Reconsider first,” he said, and you groaned. His stubbornness and insistence placed a buffer on your wants. Aemond sighed as he felt you push him away, trying to stir away from his hold, but his arms hooked around your thighs prevented you from doing so.

“I’m not in the mood anymore,” You sighed and tried to release yourself from his hold, and Aemond started to regret pushing you further. Aemond sighed as he watched you hop out of bed, and he groaned as he was filled with need for you, but he had overplayed his hand. “Darling,” he called as he followed you to the washroom, trying to wash your face with cold water to lessen the flush on your cheeks. Aemond walked behind you and rested his forehead on your shoulder, a grieved sigh escaping his lips, and you felt his need pressed against your backside.

“I’m sorry,” you hear him murmur and place a kiss on your shoulder. “It is just… I do not want Helaena missing out,” Aemond sighed and brushed away a lock of your silky hair. “I do not want for her to miss out as well— and she won’t! She won’t miss out by not attending this tea party; she’d be saved from their ill topics.” You said and turned around; Aemond flushed against your frame, and you situated between him and the marble sink. You watched as Aemond licked his lips, eye darting around the room.

“Then let her decide. Let her try it first; if she does not like it, she does not have to return now, does she? Let her see for herself,” Aemond suggested, his hands cupping your cheeks. You sighed and relented, nodding your head as his fingers caressed your cheeks. “Fine,” You sighed and Aemond placed a kiss on the side of your lips. “Swear,” He said, knowing you could never go back on your word. You groaned at his tactic, “I swear to you,” You said quietly, and you felt a smile on his lips as he kissed yours.

You moaned quietly as Aemond perched you upon the cool marble of the counter, his fingers caressing your back and slyly undid the zipper of your dress, the sleeves of it coming loose on your shoulder. You moaned against his mouth as his hand yanked downward the bodice of your dress, and his hand toyed with you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, your need for Aemond severe. You hear a quiet sound emit from his throat as you ground your hips against his, your hands flying to the waistband of his trousers to remove it. Aemond parted your lips as he felt you cup his length, your soft hand lightly moving against the pulsating and stiff bulge.

“You’re teasing me, my darling.” He warned, his lilac eye turning deep amethyst with want. With your other hand, you reached to remove his eyepatch to see the whole of him, your thumb tracing his scar, and you breathed heavily as he leaned further into your touch. “You were teasing me first,” came your reply and Aemond smirked before capturing your lips again, him being the one to fully remove his trousers. “Fuck, I missed you,” You hear him breathe out as he sheathed himself inside you. Wetness had greatly gathered and offered no resistance to assist Aemond’s well-endowed length. “You just had me this morning,” You say breathlessly, slightly amused by his statement.

“That was not enough,” He hissed as he felt the tip of his cock press against the spongey spot in your cunt; his hand rested upon your waist as he tilted your head back and rested upon the mirror of the sink. “Aemond… oh god, don’t stop— just like that,” You moaned as his thrusts were relentless, presenting you with pleasure that consumed you whole. You feel his thumb pressed flatly upon your nubbin, drawing circles upon it, and he hissed as you clenched tightly around his length; you were quick to come undone. You moved and placed your hold on the nape of Aemond’s neck, locking your lips as the altered position had proved to lead his thrusts deeper. Aemond groaned as you bit his lip through your kiss, pulling you close and willing you to do it once more.

“Aemond… Aemond,” You cried as you felt the familiar knot in your core tightening once more, your orgasms always quick to follow one another. “Will you come again so quickly, my darling?” Aemond hummed as you guided his hand to your tit once more, him smirking as your eyes rolled back and his hands palmed your breast. “Only I can make you feel as this… only I can have you like this,” Aemond gritted in pleasure. You nodded your head, a moan escaping your lips as you agreed. “Swear it. Swear that you are only mine.” Aemond’s thrust began to falter, his own release coming quickly. “I am only yours; I swear.” You moaned and peeled your eyes open to watch his pleasure-etched face as he spilled himself deep inside your cunt.

You breathed heavily and simply observed as Aemond opened the faucet of the sink and took a towel to run through the water. You bit your lip as slipped out of you, watching as he smirked as he saw your cunt drip of your essences. Your hazy eyes observed as he sank to his knees and cleaned the consequences of your coupling, placing a kiss on the inside of your thighs before hoisting you up and carrying you to your bed so the two of you may rest. He tucked you in his arms and ran his hand through your hair, lulling you to sleep.

The following week, Aemond observed from a distance as you introduced Helaena to your group, who held their weekly tea party. He watched as a smile was on yours and his sister’s face and you guided Helaena to seat next to yours. He observed for a moment as the girl was rendered silent, and you tried to return them to their conversation to reassure them that the outsider they deemed his sister to be would not be a hindrance to their topics.

Aemond glanced to his side and saw his brother appear, his brow in a furrow as he observed the scene. “How… what is Helaena doing there?” He asked in disbelief. Aemond smirked, recalling how he had convinced you. “I have my ways,” he said lowly and watched you take a cup to your lips, the conversation of your group continuing once more. “Will she even fit in there? Does their group not just gossip and criticize other people?” Aegon asked. Aemond watched as his sister’s lips began to move, sharing an anecdote with your group, and he noted how the group’s full attention was on hers. “She’ll do just fine.”

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pickingupmymercedes · 5 months

Text

A thousand times over - Lewis Hamilton

request: Hii! Omg, I just saw a comment on instagram that was so cute it made me think a Lewis fic would be so much cuter. You're my favourite writer for F1 so I know you'd eat this up. So a guy commented that when his wife takes off her wedding rings for baking/gardening/painting/etc and he finds them, he waits til she's done then gives them back to her by proposing to her again. - @happy-golden-hour

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: pure fluff

wordcount: +1K

a/n: The three times Lewis reasks y/n to marry him, and the one time the roles are reversed.

a/n.2: Thank you for the idea bestie, took me a while but I couldn't decide on a single scenario, so there's 3 and a surprise one. Hope you like it ❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The Gardening Proposal

The morning sun made the garden golden, its rays filtering through the leaves and casting long shadows from the pine trees across the lush grass. Even though it wasn’t even 8 am yet, you were already lost in the peaceful new flower bed you had been working on for the past week. The air was crisp and fresh, a bit of fog still lurking deep in the woods that surrounded your country home, adding to the serene atmosphere.

Lewis looked over from the porch at the scene, his ever-attentive eyes lost in thought as he admired you. His fingers played with the golden band of your wedding ring he had found on the kitchen counter just minutes ago. The soft glint of the ring caught his eye, reminding him of the love and commitment you shared.

Before you could even feel his presence, he cleared his throat to catch your attention. Your vision as you turned was him, in only his basketball shorts, kneeled in the grass by the flower bed. In his hand was the band you had left in the kitchen the previous day, placed carefully so it wouldn’t get amidst the dirt.

"Love, would you marry me, again?" Lewis said softly, holding out the ring between his fingers, his gaze filled with warmth and affection. His voice was gentle, carrying a hint of playfulness that always had you melting.

Surprised but delighted by his heartfelt gesture, you accepted the ring, feeling its familiar weight as he slid it back onto your finger. The metal felt cool against your skin, a tangible reminder of the bond you shared. "Thank you," you whispered, your heart swelling with love and gratitude.

Lewis chuckled, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at you. "Well, is that a yes?" he began, his voice filled with warmth and humor. His playful tone made you laugh, easing any lingering nerves.

Tears of happiness welled in your eyes as you nodded, your voice filled with emotion. "Yes, a thousand times over" you replied, sealing your promise with a passionate kiss. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air around you, a perfect moment in your blossoming garden.

The Workout Proposal

The early night lights danced around in your bedroom windows as you read your book. You had just finished an intense workout in your home gym, the exhaustion and exhilaration leaving you feeling both drained and sleepy. So, after a shower, you had wrapped yourself in a plush robe, seeking comfort in your bed for a bit before thinking about dinner.

A while later Lewis found you, curled up in bed. A smile tugged at his lips as he admired your relaxed demeanor, his fingers playing with the ring he had found placed at tv console in the gym, now safely tucked in his pocket. Scooting closer to you on the bed, he gently pulled you into his embrace, his warmth enveloping you. His touch was gentle, and with a contented smile, you nestled closer to Lewis, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. His arms wrapping around you protectively.

In that intimate moment, Lewis gazed into your eyes softly. "I love you," he whispered, his voice soft but filled with conviction. "And I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy."

“I love you” You whispered back as you looked up at him, although not without a questioning look, as to why the sudden confession.

He let out a chuckle and reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the ring, his features full of adoration as he asked you for the thousandth time "Will you marry me, again?" his voice barely above a whisper.

Overwhelmed you took a moment to gather your words, your heart pounding just like it had when he asked for the first time. “Yeah, always”, your voice steady and certain. As he slipped the ring onto your finger, sealing your renewed commitment, your hands reached for the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to yours.

The Candles Proposal

The aroma of a Sunday roast filled the air, mingling with the comforting scent of herbs and spices. You were in the kitchen, focused on preparing a delicious meal for Lewis's family. His mother was by your side, offering her expertise and sharing cherished family recipes.

As you started making fresh pasta from scratch, you carefully removed your new wedding ring, placing it in Lewis's hand for safekeeping. He smiled, understanding the gesture, and pocketed the ring, promising to keep it safe.

The meal was a success, filled with laughter, stories, and the warmth his family always provided. As you two got back home late at night you headed for the shower, to clean up and decompress.

When you returned to the living room, you were greeted by the soft glow of candlelight. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, and soft music played in the romantic and intimate background that Lewis had created.

In the center of the room, Lewis knelt on one knee, his eyes filled with love and determination. The ring you had entrusted to him earlier glinted in his hand, catching the candlelight. "Since I still don’t believe it’s true… would you marry me?” Lewis asked softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection as he held out the ring to you.

"Yes, Lew" you replied, your voice filled with love and gratitude. "I would be honored to marry you, over and over again." Surprised and touched by him, you felt a wave of emotion wash over you. The love and thoughtfulness he had put into this moment a reminder of the lengths he would go to show the love he felt.

The Surprise

As you entered the newly painted nursery, a smile spread across your face at the sight of the lovingly decorated room. Your heart swelled with anticipation at the thought of welcoming your baby into this home and to finally start your own family.

As you admired each detail, your eyes fell upon the wedding band resting on the dresser. Curiosity piqued, you picked up the ring, a tender smile playing on your lips as you realized Lewis had left it behind, probably had taken if off when he was painting.

Knowing he must be in his study, you made your way there, your heart fluttering with excitement. Entering the room, you found Lewis absorbed in his work, surrounded telemetry and car part’s designs. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your head against his shoulder.

He turned to meet your gaze, a soft smile lighting up his face as he pulled you onto his lap, his hands automatically resting on your 6 months-bump. "You know, I can't physically kneel like you always do" you teased, a playful glint in your eye, "but there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

Lewis chuckled, his arms tightening around you as he waited for you to continue. With a grin, you reached into your pocket, retrieving the wedding band. Holding it up between you, you met Lewis's gaze, your heart overflowing with love and joy.

"Would you marry me?" you asked, your voice filled with warmth and affection. Lewis's eyes shimmered with emotion. Without a moment's hesitation, he nodded, his voice filled with love. "Yes, I’ll marry you, every day if need be"

As you slipped the ring onto his finger, sealing your renewed commitment, you knew that no matter what life had in store, your love would always be the guiding light that led you through every joy and challenge.

______________________________________________________________

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#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #f1 x reader #ella asks #f1 imagine #formula 1

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judespoets · 3 months

Text

𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚 | 𝙟𝙪𝙙𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙝𝙖𝙢

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: you haven’t been feeling good. but what happens when jude connects the dots?

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: dad!jude x fem!reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: signs of vomit/ throwing up

You and Jude start your day early, around 6:30 AM. The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a gentle glow through the curtains of your cozy home in Madrid. You nudge Jude gently, the both of you smiling as you hear the soft murmurs of your two-year-old son, Caleb, waking up in the next room.

You slip out of bed, heading to the kitchen to start breakfast and prepare Caleb's lunch for nursery. The kitchen is warm and inviting, filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. You expertly slice fruits, spread peanut butter on bread, and pack a healthy lunch for Caleb. Meanwhile, you hum a cheerful tune, occasionally glancing at the photos of your happy moments on the refrigerator.

Jude, still a bit groggy but smiling, makes his way to Caleb's room. He opens the door to find Caleb standing in his crib, wide-eyed and giggling with excitement. "Good morning, champ!" Jude says, scooping him up into his arms. He changes Caleb's diaper, tickling him slightly to keep the little boy's spirits high.

Once dressed, Jude helps Caleb into his favorite little football-themed outfit, a gift from one of his teammates.

They join you in the kitchen, where you had set out a nutritious breakfast for them.

Caleb babbles happily as you feed him pieces of fruit and yogurt.

Jude pours himself a cup of coffee, sharing a quick kiss with you and exchanging smiles filled with love.

"Good morning, my loves! Did you sleep well, Caleb?" You asked, smiling widely.

"Mornin', Mommy!“ was what Caleb babbled.

"He was so excited to wake up today. I think he knew it was nursery day." Jude told you, softly kissing the back of your hand

"He's been looking forward to seeing his friends. Here, let's get some breakfast in you both." You said as you started feeding Caleb again.

You sit at the kitchen table, Caleb in his high chair, eagerly reaching for his food.

You suddenly felt a wave of nausea wash over you. Putting your hand over your mouth lightly, trying to steady your breathing.

“You okay, baby?” Jude asked next to you, putting his hand on your thigh.

“I don’t know if just don’t feel so good right now.” You answered, looking at him.

“Okay, go lay down i’ll get Caleb ready don’t worry. Should I cancel training?” Jude asked you.

“No, no. It’s not an emergency. You go to training. You’ll take Caleb to nursery on your way, please? I’ll go lay down some more. Thank you babe.” You said, kissing Jude and Caleb, standing up and walking up the stairs with your slightly shaking legs.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s get you washed up and going.” Was the last thing you heard from downstairs before falling into a deep slumber under your sheets.

———

Jude turned the key in the lock, gently pushing open the door with Caleb in his arms. The house was shrouded in darkness, and he carefully navigated the familiar path to the living room, his eyes gradually adjusting to the dim light.

"Shh, buddy," he whispered to Caleb, who clung to him sleepily. "Looks like Mommy's still resting."

He set Caleb down, and the little boy toddled off to find his toys. Jude made his way to the bedroom, opening the door slowly to check on you. You were still curled up under the covers, your breathing deep and slow. He could see the pallor in your face even in the low light and felt a pang of concern.

Quietly, he backed out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. Back in the living room, Caleb had already begun to scatter his toys across the floor. Jude smiled tiredly at the sight, then headed to the kitchen.

He quickly prepared a simple dinner, heating up some soup he had made the night before. He wanted to keep it light for you, knowing you wouldn't have much of an appetite. Once everything was ready, he brought a tray to the bedroom, nudging the door open with his foot.

"(Y/N), love," he whispered, placing the tray on the nightstand. "I've got some soup for you."

You stirred, your eyes fluttering open. You gave him a weak smile. "Thank you, Jude. You didn't have to."

"Of course I did," he replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing a strand of hair from your face. "How are you feeling?"

"Still not great," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jude's heart ached seeing you like this. "Do you want me to call the doctor?"

"No, I think I just need to rest," you said. "Thank you for taking care of everything."

Jude leaned down and kissed your forehead. "I'll handle it. You just focus on getting better."

You gave a small nod, your eyes already closing again. Jude quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. Back in the living room, he found Caleb busy with his toys, his giggles a comforting background noise.

Jude settled on the couch, keeping one eye on Caleb and another on his phone, ready to call the doctor if your condition didn't improve. He found it weird since you’ve been fine this whole time.

Later, you descended the stairs slowly, your empty soup plate in hand.

You moved carefully, trying not to disrupt the fragile equilibrium you had maintained throughout the day. Your stomach churned uncomfortably as you approached the living room, where Jude and Caleb were playing.

Jude glanced up, his face lighting up with a smile that quickly faded into a look of concern when he saw your pallor.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Jude asked, rising to meet you, his hand gently touching your arm.

You gave a weak smile. "Still not great. I thought the soup might help, but..."

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit you, and you instinctively covered your mouth, your eyes wide.

The scent of something — perhaps a lingering whiff from Caleb’s snacks or Jude's cologne — made your stomach rebel.

Jude, noticing your distress, quickly ushered Caleb to his feet.

"Caleb, let's put away the toys for a bit, okay? Mommy needs some quiet time," he said, his voice calm but urgent.

Caleb, sensing the seriousness, nodded and began gathering his toys. Before Jude could turn back to you, you rushed to the nearest bathroom. Jude followed closely, his worry deepening as he heard you retching.

He found you kneeling by the toilet, pale and trembling. "I’m here, (Y/N)," he said softly, rubbing your back in slow, comforting circles. "It’s okay. Just let it out.

You groaned between bouts of vomiting, the smell that had triggered your nausea still lingering in your mind.

Finally, the retching subsided, and you slumped back against Jude, who handed you a glass of water he’d fetched from the sink.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your voice weak. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Probably just a bug,” Jude said, helping you to your feet. “Let’s get you back to bed. You need to rest.”

You nodded gratefully, leaning on Jude as he guided you back upstairs, his concern for you evident in every careful step.

As Jude helped you back upstairs, his mind raced with worry. He laid you gently on the bed, arranging the pillows to make you comfortable. As he did, he noticed you wincing slightly, your face still pale.

"Baby, do you remember what smell made you feel so sick?" Jude asked gently, brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead.

You thought for a moment, your brow furrowing. "It was… I think it was the smell of Caleb's peanut butter sandwich. It just hit me all of a sudden."

Jude's eyes widened slightly as a thought crossed his mind.

He recalled the last time you had been this sensitive to certain smells. It had been when you were pregnant with Caleb. Could it be happening again?

"My Love," he began cautiously, "do you think there’s a chance you might be pregnant?"

You blinked, the question catching you off guard. "I… I don't know. I suppose it's possible. I’ve been feeling off for a few days now."

Jude nodded, his concern mingling with a glimmer of excitement. "Maybe we should get a test, just to be sure."

You managed a small smile, your hand resting on your stomach. "Yeah, I think that’s a good idea."

Jude squeezed your hand reassuringly. "I'll run to the pharmacy and get one. You just rest, okay?"

As you closed her eyes, Jude leaned down and kissed your forehead. He felt a mixture of worry and hope as he headed out the door, ready to find out if your family was about to grow.

Back in the living room, Jude quickly tidied up, clearing away the remnants of Caleb’s snack and any other potential triggers for your nausea. He found Caleb sitting quietly on the couch, sensing the unusual tension.

"Dad, Mommy okay?" Caleb asked, his big eyes filled with concern.

Jude knelt down beside him. "Mommy's not feeling well right now, buddy. I need to go out for a bit to get something that might help her feel better. Can you be a good boy and stay here quietly until I get back?"

Caleb nodded solemnly. "I can do that."

Jude gave him a reassuring hug before grabbing his keys and heading out. The drive to the pharmacy felt longer than usual, his mind racing with possibilities. Once he arrived, he quickly located a pregnancy test and made his way back home, his heart pounding with anticipation.

When he returned, he found you dozing lightly, your breathing steady. He set the test on the nightstand and gently woke you up.

"Baby, I got the test," he whispered, helping you sit up slowly. "Do you feel up to taking it now?

You nodded, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of anxiety and hope.

Jude helped you to the bathroom, steadying you with each step.

After a few moments, you emerged, the test in your hand.

"Now we wait," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly.

Jude wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you sat on the edge of the bed.

"No matter what, we'll face it together," he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

You sat in silence, the seconds ticking by slowly. Finally, you glanced at the test, your eyes widening.

"Jude... it's positive," you breathed.

A flood of emotions washed over Jude as he hugged you tightly, tears of joy and relief mingling with the worry.

"We're going to be parents again," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

You smiled through your own tears, feeling a renewed sense of hope and strength. "Yes, we are."

You stayed like that for a while, holding each other.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham fanfic #judespoets

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letsgetbigger · 4 months

Text

Broken Leg

Part one

It was the third week of the university course, and the campus was buzzing with life and activity. Alex and David, dorm roommates, had hit it off from the start. They attended the same classes, shared meals in the cafeteria, and spent hours together in the gym. Alex was blond and he had an athletic body. What stood out the most about his physique was his perky butt. Despite his shyness, he enjoyed David's company. David, darker-haired and more muscular, exuded confidence and had a dominant presence that Alex found intoxicating. Both were very handsome but still virgins.

One afternoon, David returned from the library loaded with books and notes, only to find Alex in bed with a cast on his leg.

"What happened?" he asked, putting his things aside and approaching him.

Alex sighed, clearly annoyed.

"I had a stupid fall on the stairs. I broke my leg, and the doctor said I should avoid putting weight on it for an entire month."

David frowned.

"Wow. Does it hurt a lot?"

"Yes, but they gave me something for the pain. The worst part is I can't move well, and I don't know how I'll attend classes."

David sat on the edge of Alex's bed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry about that. I'll share my notes with you so you won't fall behind."

"Thanks."

"And forget about going to the cafeteria. I'll bring you takeout."

Alex looked at him with gratitude.

"What would I do without you?"

David stood up, his expression firm.

"I'm here to help. We'll get through this together."

With that promise, David set out to take care of Alex over the following weeks.

On his first day as a nurse, David woke up early to attend classes, leaving Alex sleeping in the room. He returned a few hours later with fast food in a bag from a campus restaurant.

"I brought you something to eat," he said, placing the bag on a tray over Alex's bed. "I'm heading to the cafeteria now and then to the gym. I'll fetch your dinner tonight."

"Thanks."

Hungry, Alex glanced at his food and quickly devoured it: a burger, fries, and a milkshake. He felt a bit guilty about consuming so many calories, but hunger and boredom made him ignore those thoughts.

Each day followed a similar pattern. And the evenings became their time together. David would go out for dinner, and they would settle in Alex's bed to watch movies and series on the laptop. They shared laughs and conversations. David often watched Alex eat, noticing small changes in his body. His toned muscles started to soften, and a small layer of fat accumulated around his waist and thighs. Alex also noticed the changes. Initially, he felt uncomfortable and embarrassed, though there was something intriguing about it all.

One night, while enjoying a movie together, Alex looked at David.

"I think I've gained some weight," he murmured.

David nodded.

"Yeah, I've noticed. But you're fine, Alex."

David's words made Alex blush and awakened something inside him.

As the days passed, both found themselves thinking more and more about Alex's weight gain. The night before removing the cast, they were in bed, watching a movie. David let his hand rest on Alex's abdomen, feeling the soft curve that had formed. Alex tensed at first but then relaxed, allowing David's hand to stay there.

"I didn't know I'd like this so much," Alex admitted quietly, looking at David with bright eyes.

David smiled, his thumb gently caressing Alex's skin.

"Me neither."

They shared a look filled with meaning. The sexual tension was palpable. David, with his hand still on Alex's soft abdomen, decided to take the first step. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Alex's. Alex responded to the kiss, first shyly and then with growing fervor. When they separated, they were breathing heavily.

"Your physical change turns me on, Alex," David confessed.

Alex gulped.

"It turns me on too," he admitted quietly. "And the fact that you're the one who brought me all that food, that you're partly responsible for my change... arouses me a lot."

Alex's words encouraged David. With a mischievous smile, he took off Alex's shirt, exposing his chest and belly. Alex did the same, undressing David with trembling but determined hands. Alex's pecs, once firm, showed a slight layer of fat, and his nipples were more prominent. His belly had lost definition and appeared softly rounded. David's hands moved down to Alex's pants, unbuttoning and pulling them down. Alex mimicked David. They were left in tight briefs, the fabric clearly outlining their painful hard-ons. With a mix of desire and curiosity, David slid Alex's briefs down, freeing his penis. He then revealed his own. They studied each other for a moment, absorbing the sight of one another, before David took the initiative.

"You look incredible," he murmured, his hand sliding over Alex's abdomen.

His voice was thick with desire. He began to work Alex's cock with slow, firm movements. Alex closed his eyes and let out a moan. Each stroke increased the pleasure.

"David," Alex gasped, "I'm going to... oh... God..."

David increased the pace of his hand while attending to his own erection with equal intensity.

"Let go, Alex," David whispered, his eyes locked on his roommate's.

With a final moan, Alex climaxed. He came in David's hand, who soon reached his own orgasm and collapsed beside him. They knew they had just crossed a line, one they weren't willing to step back from. Their lives had changed forever, and they were eager to explore what the future held.

The next morning, a Saturday, Alex left the doctor's office feeling relieved and excited. After weeks with a cast, he could finally move with more freedom. He had put on sweatpants, since all his jeans were too tight. Opening the dorm door, he found David waiting with a big smile and food temptingly spread out on one of the desks.

"Welcome back to freedom, Alex!" David exclaimed, stepping in for a hug. "I thought we should celebrate in style."

Alex smiled, feeling a special warmth inside.

"Thanks, David. Wow, that's a lot of food."

They sat on the bed, and David started serving him generous portions on a tray. Alex, excited, devoured each bite while David watched with satisfaction. As Alex ate, David couldn't help but comment on the changes in Alex's body.

"You've gained a lot, especially in your butt," he said with a naughty look. "It's gotten bigger and rounder. I love it."

Alex felt his cheeks blush, but couldn't deny he liked David's attention.

"Yeah, these sweatpants are one of the few things that fit," he admitted between bites.

"And not just in your butt," David continued, running his hand over Alex's abdomen. "Your belly has grown too."

After a good while of chewing, swallowing, and drinking, Alex was full and satisfied. But David had more plans for him.

"I want to give you something else, as a reward for eating everything," he said seductively.

David knelt in front of Alex and began to pull down his pants, exposing his tight briefs.

"Wow, these look so snug, Alex," he murmured before freeing Alex's semi-erection and starting to pleasure him with his mouth.

Alex's moans filled the room as David worked skillfully. When Alex reached orgasm, his newly gained fat jiggled. David got up, licking his lips, and leaned in to kiss Alex.

"I want to see you grow more. Would you like that?"

Alex, still feeling waves of pleasure, nodded. David smiled with satisfaction.

Part two

Another month passed, during which David dedicated himself to feeding Alex with great care. Every evening, after dinner at the cafeteria, he made sure his roommate’s belly was well filled. Alex eagerly devoured everything, enjoying both the junk food they bought from local restaurants and the numerous baked goods.

One Sunday afternoon, after a particularly heavy lunch, Alex found himself alone in front of the bathroom mirror. He was only wearing briefs, which now didn't really fit. He turned to see his reflection from different angles. His belly had grown noticeably, rounding out and projecting over the elastic waistband of his underwear. His thighs had thickened, and his love handles bulged out at the sides. But the most striking change was his butt: it had become even bigger and rounder, completely filling the back of his underwear and stretching the fabric almost to its limit. David entered the room at that moment with a box of donuts in hand. Seeing Alex admiring himself in the mirror, a smile of pride and desire appeared on his face.

“Look at you,” David said, approaching and running his hands over Alex’s hips to squeeze the fat with adoration. “You’re so fat...”

Alex shivered at David’s touch and his words.

“It’s your fault,” murmured with excitement.

David moved closer, pressing his body against Alex’s. “I know,” he whispered in his ear before offering him a donut. “Eat.”

Alex took the donut and bit into it, enjoying the sweet taste and the feeling of being fed. As Alex ate, David set the box on the sink, unbuttoned his pants, and lowered his underwear, revealing his immediate erection. Without taking his eyes off Alex’s reflection in the mirror, he slid his tight briefs down with difficulty, exposing his plump cheeks.

“This ass needs to be fucked,” David said, rubbing the sticky tip of his cock between the voluptuous cheeks.

As Alex continued to eat the donuts David gave him, David penetrated him very slowly, their moans mixing with the sounds of Alex chewing. Each thrust was a reminder of how much he had changed, how his body had transformed. David kept whispering in his ear how fat he was. Alex, completely surrendered, felt waves of pleasure through his body. His belly bounced slightly with each movement, and his hard nipples rubbed against the mirror. He finished the last donut just as he reached climax, his cries echoing in the bathroom. David kept moving, prolonging the pleasure for both of them, before finally coming. He stayed inside Alex for a few moments, breathing heavily.

“I want to see you even fatter,” he said.

Alex, still feeling David’s cock inside him and the donuts in his stomach, nodded. “Yes. Make me fatter.”

The next day, Alex and David decided they wouldn’t go to class. The desire to spend the day together enjoying their intimacy and Alex’s body transformation was too strong. David woke up early and went out to buy a large amount of food. He returned to the dorm with several bags full of fast food, cake, and sodas. Alex, still in bed, watched with curious and eager eyes as David placed the food on the desk. The aroma of burgers, fries, pizzas, and desserts made his stomach growl with hunger. David approached the bed with a slice of pizza in hand and held it in front of Alex’s lips.

“Today, we’re going to make sure that fat keeps piling on,” he said with a seductive smile.

Alex opened his mouth and bit into the pizza, tasting the greasy cheese. While Alex ate, David sat beside him, caressing his rounded belly. It wobbled when he shook it. On the other hand, his love handles were so irresistible that David couldn’t stop touching them either.

“You’re so fat, Alex. I love how all this jiggly fat moves,” David said in a low, desire-filled voice.

His hands roamed over every roll, every fold, admiring how Alex’s body had transformed. Alex, with his mouth full, could only moan with pleasure. David’s touch and words of admiration made him feel incredibly sexy. He continued devouring slice after slice, all of them offered by his roommate. David leaned in and began kissing Alex’s belly.

“Will you get even fatter for me?” he asked, looking up to meet Alex’s eyes.

“Yes,” Alex replied, his voice trembling with excitement.

David smiled and pulled down Alex’s pre-cum-soaked underwear, revealing his member. As he finished the pizza, David began to jerk him off slowly, his hands moving skillfully. Alex shivered with pleasure, feeling his body become increasingly sensitive to David’s fingers. His belly bounced slightly with each stroke, as did his nipples. David watched Alex with fascination. He couldn’t resist any longer. He turned Alex over and positioned himself behind him, lowering his own pants and underwear.

“I’m going to fuck you, Alex. And while I do, I want you to eat this burger,” he said, bringing it close to his mouth.

Alex grunted in agreement. David slid his cock into Alex with one hand and pushed the burger towards his mouth with the other, making him eat while he thrust. They quickly reached climax.

The first exams finally came to an end, and the accumulated stress from weeks of studying dissipated. One day, David had the idea to buy a scale. He returned to the dorm with a smile. Alex, who had spent the last few months enjoying the food David fed him, was lying in bed, engrossed in a series.

“Alex, come here,” David called with a mischievous grin on his lips.

Alex got up with some effort, his body clearly more voluminous and heavy. He approached David, who placed the scale in the center of the room.

“It’s time to see how much you’ve grown,” David said, his voice filled with anticipation.

Alex stepped on the scale, and they both watched as the numbers stabilized.

“209 pounds,” David read aloud. “Damn, you’ve gained 55 pounds.”

Alex looked at David and noticed his crotch. Without saying a word, he knelt in front of him, lowered his pants, and started sucking his cock. David moaned, his hands burying in Alex’s hair as he took him deeply into his mouth. The sight of a fatter Alex, dedicated to pleasuring him, drove him wild.

“Yes, Alex, keep going,” he said, trembling with pleasure.

Alex sucked him fervently, enjoying the power he had to arouse David. David’s cock was rock hard, and every moan he made encouraged Alex to continue. David couldn’t hold back any longer. He lifted Alex and pushed him onto the bed.

“What an ass,” David whispered, lowering his extremely tight briefs and giving him a smack.

He entered him slowly, savoring every second.

“You’ve gotten so fat for me...” he said as he began to move.

Alex moaned, feeling the pressure and pleasure mix in his body.

“Yes, David, and I love being like this for you,” he responded, moving in sync with David’s thrusts.

David increased the pace, his hands firmly gripping Alex’s love handles.

“You’re so sexy, so... obese,” he murmured.

They both reached orgasm simultaneously, their bodies shaking in unison. After coming, David collapsed on top of Alex, panting and sweaty. A few seconds later, he rolled off and lay next to him.

“David,” Alex began, turning to look him in the eyes, “I have something to confess. I want both of us to get fat. I’d like to see you with some extra pounds.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You’re into fat, it’s obvious. Don’t you wonder what it would feel like on your own body?”

“Well, I am curious, yes.”

“I think we should start this Christmas break. We’ll stay here on campus, and we can spend it eating and enjoying ourselves.”

David smiled, his face lighting up with the same excitement Alex felt.

“We can give it a go.”

They looked at each other with a mix of love and lust, knowing that the path they had chosen together would be full of pleasure and discoveries. And so, with a new determination, they prepared for the next chapter of their shared story, ready to see how far they could go.

Part three

Christmas vacation was coming to an end, and for Alex and David, those days had been a complete transformation. Not just in their bodies, but in their relationship. Ever since Alex had confessed his desire for both of them to gain weight together, they had dedicated every moment to fulfilling it. Every morning, they ordered huge breakfasts for delivery: piles of pancakes covered in butter and maple syrup, sausages, eggs, and calorie-rich milkshakes. At noon, they took turns going out for fast food, which consisted of burgers, pizzas, and huge servings of fries. And dinner was always a feast, with endless desserts. They ate, laughed, and shared caresses as their bodies expanded day by day.

The result of those weeks of indulgence was undeniable. Alex, who had started with a chubby body, had gained even more weight. His belly now spilled over the waistband of his pants, soft and rounded. His thighs rubbed against each other. And his naturally perky butt now projected with additional volume, making it very prominent. David, on the other hand, had begun his transformation with a more muscular body. But the constant intake of food and the temporary abandonment of the gym had added pounds in a distributed manner. His navel, deep as it was, got lost in a belly that was beginning to round out. His large nipples seemed more prominent under the soft fabric of his tight shirts, and his hips and thighs had acquired a layer of fat that gave him a more voluptuous contour. His butt, always firm, now had a softness that made it jiggle slightly when he moved.

It was a Sunday afternoon when they decided to face the results of their dedication. They looked at each other, their eyes full of complicity and desire, and headed to the scale. Alex went first.

“231 pounds,” David announced triumphantly. “You’ve gained another 22 pounds this vacation.”

Alex smiled, feeling pride and excitement. He stepped off the scale and gestured for David to take his place. David stepped up and waited for the numbers to stabilize.

“201 pounds,” read Alex. “You’ve gained almost 44 pounds. How is that possible?”

Without a word, they removed their underwear, which was uncomfortably tight around their waists and butts.

“I love how you look,” murmured David, approaching Alex and sliding a hand over his belly.

“And I love how you’ve gotten,” Alex responded, his hands running down David’s sides.

They celebrated with a kiss what they had created together and David led Alex to the bed.

“I’m going to give you all the pleasure you deserve,” David whispered. “Every pound you’ve gained is because of me, and that drives me crazy.”

His lips kissed Alex’s neck while his fingers played with his nipples. Alex moaned, his hands finding David’s nipples, pinching them gently and enjoying the reaction it provoked.

“And every pound you’ve gained is because of me,” Alex replied.

David smiled, embracing Alex, whose cock was hard and dripping.

“Let’s eat a bit more,” David suggested, reaching for a chocolate cake cut into generous slices that he had left on his desk the day before. “I want to watch you devour this while I fuck you.”

Alex turned around, his breath quickening with anticipation. As David slowly penetrated him, he began eating the slices, one after another, each bite filling him with both food and pleasure. His moans filled the room as David moved inside him, whispering, 'You’re so obese' and 'I love your fat ass.' Alex asked David to eat some cake too, and David obeyed. They finished the whole thing quickly. When they climaxed, David collapsed on Alex, both covered in crumbs.

“Let’s keep this up,” Alex murmured, his voice barely audible. “Let’s get even fatter.”

David nodded, kissing Alex’s forehead.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, waking Alex and David. They stretched in their beds, feeling the additional weight of their bodies after a holiday of indulgence. They looked at each other and laughed, knowing they would have to face the reality of their new sizes today.

“We should try on our school clothes before classes resume,” David said, getting out of bed. “I doubt anything other than a couple of big t-shirts and sweatpants will fit.”

Alex felt a mix of nervousness and excitement at the thought of how his clothes would fit his new curves. They started searching through their closets. David was the first to try on a shirt. It was one of his favorites, black, which used to fit him perfectly. Now, as he slid it over his torso, the fabric stretched noticeably over his belly, and his bulging nipples were more prominent than ever.

“It looks ridiculous on me,” David said, looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and then at Alex.

Alex couldn’t help but bite his lower lip at such a display of David’s weight gain.

“You look like a cow! Let me try,” he said, pulling out some stretchy jeans.

He pulled them up over his wide thighs with difficulty.

“Ugh! I can’t button them,” he commented, turning to see the fabric stretching dangerously over his hips.

David watched as Alex’s unbuttoned pants didn’t cover his butt, accentuating its new roundness.

“You’re the cow. Those seams are going to burst any moment,” David teased.

They continued trying on different clothes, laughing and making erotic comments. It was clear they needed new clothes.

They left their dorm dressed poorly and walked to the nearest store. Every step made their bodies move enticingly: their bellies jiggled slightly, and their butts swayed sensually.

They returned to their dorm having acquired several large pieces of clothing, including underwear, turned on by the sights in the changing rooms.

“Today, I realized how truly fat we are,” David said, touching Alex’s belly and feeling the softness under his fingers.

“I know,” Alex said, grabbing David’s tits.

The room filled with whispers, caresses, and moans, every movement a promise of pleasure.

The first day of classes after the holidays went by somewhat normally for Alex and David. They got up early, dressed in their new clothes, and attended classes. Everyone commented on how much weight they had gained over Christmas, but they just shrugged. After the morning classes, they headed to the cafeteria for lunch. Even though the food was healthy, they ate way too much.

They lay down in their beds back in their dorm room.

“Should we go back to the gym?” Alex asked, though without much conviction.

David looked at him and smiled.

“I’d rather order a pizza and keep enjoying this,” he said, slapping his own belly.

Alex laughed and nodded.

“That sounds better. But pizza? We just ate.”

They decided to play a little prank. They put on the smallest underwear they had, ones they hadn’t thrown away on purpose. The elastic waistband dug into their flesh and shamelessly showed their ass cracks.

“Let’s see the pizza guy's reaction,” David said, adjusting his underwear and admiring his reflection in the mirror.

Soon the doorbell rang. David opened the door, revealing his barely covered body in his briefs. Alex approached as well, both of them shamelessly showing off. The pizza guy stood there, mouth open, unable to avoid staring at their exposed roundness.

“Here... here’s your pizza,” he said in a trembling voice, handing over the boxes.

“Thanks,” Alex said, taking the pizza and turning around.

They burst into laughter as they closed the door.

“He looked at us like we were monsters!” David said.

“That was incredible!” Alex added.

They took off their underwear, sat on Alex’s bed, opened the box, and started devouring the pizza. Every bite was a mix of pleasure and lust.

“Look how fat you are,” David mumbled.

“And what about you? Fat pig,” Alex responded.

Desire grew between them, and as they continued chewing, they touched and masturbated each other. The insults about their obesity took them to new levels of excitement. They were trapped in a cycle of pleasure and fatness, and both knew there was no going back.

Final part

After months of classes, spring break, final exams, much indulgence, and endless sessions of pleasure, the school year was almost over. Alex and David woke up one morning feeling the weight of their bodies, the result of their voracious appetite and constant desire to gain weight.

David opened his eyes first, his hand brushing the expanse of his belly before getting out of bed. His body moved with noticeable effort. The lard on his abdomen spilled over in several folds. His large, dark nipples stood out on his soft chest, surrounded by a mass of flesh that jiggled with every movement. His arms, once firm and toned, were now thick and full. He looked down at his legs. His thighs had widened considerably, and his calves were filled with fat. The most unexpected change was his butt. His glutes had expanded enormously, each fat and rounded cheek bouncing slightly as he walked. His hips had also widened, giving him a more voluptuous shape.

“Alex, are you awake? Let’s weigh ourselves, fatso. It’s time,” David mumbled sleepily.

Alex got out of bed. His body wasn’t far behind in changes. His abs, once firm and defined, had disappeared under a thick layer of fat. His belly hung over the waistband of his XL briefs, creating a roundness that swayed with every movement. His nipples were also larger. As for his arms, they were surrounded by a layer of fat that gave them a soft appearance. His thighs had grown considerably, as had his calves, and his glutes, once firm and perky, were now even bigger and rounder than David’s, a tempting sight with every step he took.

They headed together to the scale. David stepped on first, watching the numbers rapidly rise until they stopped at 326 pounds.

“Holy crap! 326 pounds,” he said with a mix of amazement and excitement.

Then it was Alex’s turn. He stepped on the scale. The numbers climbed until they stopped at 313 pounds.

“313 pounds,” Alex said proudly and worriedly.

David approached Alex to caress his enormous butt, his hands sinking into the soft, overflowing flesh. He squeezed the cheeks lightly, making them jiggle like jelly. Alex's hands roamed David’s soft belly to feel every inch of fat. Then his fingers played with David’s salami-sized nipples, which instantly hardened. They looked at each other intensely. It had totally gotten out of hand. What would their families say when they saw them in the summer?

“David, I love you.”

“I love you too, Alex.”

#gay gainer #gaining weight on purpose #gainer stories #gaining kink #gaining fat #gainer fiction

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catcze · 11 months

Note

not particularly a request if u don't want it to be but as a fellow wriothesley enjoyer I wanted to share this idea

fontaine is based off of france right? so the thought of wrio being able to speak french and absolutely using that to his advantage to be a flirt has been driving me insane. he would be INSUFFERABLE (especially if his s/o isn't fluent) and I'd be loving every second of it

(also love your works <3 it's the main fuel that's been making me so horrifically down bad for him)

OH ?!!? MY GOD ?!?! HEHAKJDJ FUCK I HAVE TO WRITE THIS I CANT NOT !! It's a little short and a little sweet, but i hope you like it!

(Translations listed at the end! I used google translate, so if there's any mistakes, please feel free to correct me!!)

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

Wriothesley has started to say things to you on the regular— but for the life of you, you can't understand. It starts first on a slow day. You're lounging in his office, reading a random book you've plucked from his shelves. He's just looking through some papers, doing nothing too important.

Then, Wriothesley glances up from his papers, lets his eyes fall on you. "Tu me rends si heureux."

And you're furrowing your brow in confusion, staring at him. It's a phrase form his mother tongue, that much you know. But you're not sure what it actually means. The way his smile is a bit too mischievous, you don't think that he intends for you to understand, anyway.

"I'm... sorry?" You ask. What else can you say? You're pretty sure from his insufferably smug expression that he's not going to tell you what it means anytime soon. At the very least, you're pretty sure he's not shit talking you to your face.

Your eyes narrow.

Probably.

He can see the question on the tip of your tongue, the suspicious glance you cast his way. Wriothesley just chuckles and goes back to the papers on his desk.

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart."

The next time, he does it as you're having dinner across from each other in the cafeteria. Your meal is halfway done, having been practically shoveled into your mouth. It probably paints an unflattering picture, but you're too hungry to really care. Resting on the table, he's stubbornly gripping your hand in his own, fingers intertwined. Even though it made eating much more difficult, Wriothesley would scowl and reach back for your hand whenever you tried to take it away, so you just considered it a lost cause.

Lost in filling your stomach, you're almost don't hear what he says.

"Je ne peux pas imaginer le reste de ma vie sans toi." Wriothesley mumbles, thumb stroking the back of your hand tenderly.

You narrow your eyes again, a silent question.

Wriothesley just smiles secretively and raises a hand to his mouth, miming zipping up his lips and locking it with a key, then tossing it away. He winks at you, and you roll your eyes. No answers today, apparently.

"Are you ever going to tell me what it is you've been saying?" you ask once you've swallowed your food.

"Mm. Maybe one day. If I feel like it." And he's grinning again— the cheeky one that he wears whenever he one-ups you, that showcases his dimples and his teeth. You kinda want to punch him, but it also makes you remember how handsome he is when he smiles.

"Fine," you grumble, sighing. You busy yourself once more with your food. "Keep your fucking secrets. See if I care." You do. A lot, actually. You're very curious now.

Wriotheley just smiles and lets you eat.

But he slips up, one evening. To be fair, it's late at night after a hard day's work. Both of you are exhausted— a tangled mass of limbs and sheets on your bed, both of you halfway asleep already.

Your head is cushioned on his chest, nose pressed against his collarbone, and his arms wrapped around you. Wriothesley's nose is pressed into the crown of your head, breathing in the smell of your hair. His breaths are deep and slow, and you can tell without even looking that his eyes are fighting to stay awake. You're no better, though.

Just before you nod off though, you can feel the brush of his lips against your hair. "Je t'aime. Je t'aime tellement," he says quietly, lips brushing the strands in affection. If you had just been the slightest bit more asleep, you might not have even heard it.

But while you may not be fluent in his language, may know little else aside from the most basic of phrases, you recognize that one. It's hard not to, when it's arguably one of the most popular phrases from his mother tongue. Je t'aime. I love you.

Something gooey finds its way into your chest, and the blood rushes through your body as you're overcome by the sheer sweetness of the man you're laying on. Slowly, you crane your neck up to face him, and can see the slight widening of his eyes, the quiet oh shit that runs through his head.

"Is that what you've been saying?" you ask, voice just as quiet as his. Wriothesley hesitates, arms tightening their hold on you.

"... generally, yes."

You smile gently, scooching up enough to press a kiss to his jaw, then to his lips, giggling when he leans down to make it easier for you. You bury your head into his neck then, resting your cheek against him. "I love you too, Wrio."

Translations:

Tu me rends si heureux. — You make me so happy. Je ne peux pas imaginer le reste de ma vie sans toi. — I can't imagine the rest of my life without you. Je t'aime. Je t'aime tellement. — I love you. I love you so much

#astronetwrk #「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #cw gn reader #genshin impact #wriothesley #also !! thank you so much for loving my works ily ♡♡

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twirlyleafs · 5 months

Text

“Gold-digger.” (Pt2) (pt1 here)

Max Verstappen x reader

TW: nothing really, angsty? lol

A/N: oml so many of you asked for a part 2 and I’m just so happy you liked the first part!! thank uuu!!

~~~~

To say that you slept bad was an understatement. The moment Daniel let you in to his and Heidi’s hotel room you had started crying and it took almost half an hour before the couple got a sense of what had happened. They’d been at the dinner, hearing Maxs comments, and after piecing it together with what you were telling them now they began to see the bigger picture. Heidi sat with you on the balcony while Daniel made up the couch, insisting you should share the bed with his girlfriend despite your objection.

You hadn’t been able to sleep that much, and it wasn’t because Daniel’s snoring or Heidi’s tossing and turning. Every time you were about to fall asleep you could hear Maxs voice telling you what a shitty girlfriend you were, or you imagined him complaining to his friends that you used up his money like some sort of gold digger. You knew he didn’t think quite like that, and he definitely wouldn’t do any of those things but the knowledge of how he saw your whole relationship had you spiraling.

When Daniel woke, he was always an early riser, he found you already wide awake and anxious. The Aussie knew by the look on your face that you didn’t want to leave the safety of the hotel room alone and he quickly invited you to breakfast. Said and done, Daniel kissed his sleeping girlfriend goodbye before the two of you trudged out in the hallway. It was still early enough that everything was quiet and empty, the only sound being your yawn and Danny typing on his phone.

“You think they have pancakes?” You asked, rubbing your eyes as you walked. He hummed, looking up from his phone with a small smile.

“I hope so. I need some.”

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “Me too. And I need them to practically be swimming in chocolate sauce and-“ You stopped, both talking and walking, when you saw a door open further down the hallway. Daniel walked a few more steps, glancing between Max stepping out of the room and you with an apologetic pout. He must’ve told Max you were coming. Asshole. You met his gaze and he mouthed a sorry, making you shake your head before carefully looking over at the man standing in the doorway. He offered an unsure smile. Daniel grabbed your arm, giving you no choice but to start walking again. When the two of you reached Max he gave you an encouraging squeeze and patted Max on the shoulder before he disappeared down the hallway. You should’ve known you couldn’t trust Daniel.

“Hey.” Max said softly, making you look up at him. You took note of the dark circles under his eyes and judging by the way his face fell he probably noticed how red yours were.

“Hi.”

“You wanna talk?” Max opened the door a bit wider and with a soft nod you snuck past him into the room. You heard him let out a breath of relief and you found yourself being almost grateful that he seemed to be just as nervous as you were. You sunk down on the edge of the bed, watching as Max sat down in one of the chairs. He rubbed his hands over his face before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “How are you feeling?”

You shrugged and pulled your legs up under yourself, casting your gaze down on your fiddling fingers. “Not to good, I guess.” You answered honestly, Max answering with a soft hum, agreeing. Things were quiet for a while before he spoke up.

“Are you still angry?” You would’ve been annoyed at the question if it wasn’t for the genuine sadness in his voice. Instead you shook your head.

“No. Just a bit sad I think.”

“I didn’t mean to make you sad schatje.” His words were almost whispered. You looked up at him through lashes.

“Do you still believe we’re only together because you’re paying me?”

“That was never- that not what I meant.” He practically whined, shaking his head. “I love you.”

“You just don’t think I actually love you? I’m just using you for your money?” Max gave you a defeated look, shaking his head quickly.

“That’s not-“

“It’s exactly what you said Max!” You exclaimed, interrupting him. You felt the tears pressing behind your eyes again. “Do you know how much of a bad fucking girlfriend I feel like knowing that’s how you see us? Me?” His eyes widened slightly but he didn’t have time to say anything before you started talking again. “I mean, I would’ve paid for my own food, my own travels- everything! If I just knew you felt like that I wouldn’t have let you spend your money on me but you always insist and you’ve always told me you wanted to-“

“I do want to.” He intervened quickly.

“But you want to for the wrong reasons. You want to because you think you need to, because you think I want you to.” When your eyes met again you could tell Max didn’t know what to say. His mouth opened and closed again, no words coming out as his gaze faltered to the ground. You reached up and quickly wiped a stray tear, sniffing quietly as the silence settled. It felt like forever before you heard Maxs voice again.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t either.” You agreed.

“Let’s just-“ Max sighed, scratching the stubble on his cheek. “Let’s just go home, yeah?” When you didn’t answer he leaned forward slightly, trying to get your attention. You slowly raised your gaze to met his, both your eyes portraying to much emotions to process.

“I think I need to be alone for a bit.”

“Yeah, okay. Yeah sure.” He nodded, swallowing harshly. “I’ll- eh, I’ll go down to breakfast and you can order up? If you want to? And then I’ll text you when it’s time to leave for the airport?”

“No, Max.” You shook your head, face contorting in a sad frown. He paused, offering an encouraging nod. He wanted you to tell him what you needed, how to fix this. He was willing to do whatever you wanted. Or at least he thought so. “I think I need to be alone for more than a few hours. Like, I think I should travel alone back home, maybe even back to my parents for a bit. Just to-“

“Wait.” You hated the look of panic mixed with pure hurt that flashed across his face as he sat up a bit straighter. “Wait, no, y/n please.”

“I’m not saying that we’re breaking up Max.” You assured him, watching with a heavy heart as he stood, quickly making his way over to you. The second he sat down next to you on the edge of the bed his hands found yours and you could feel the panic seeping through his fingers.

“I get that I fucked up. I get that. I shouldn’t have said what I said, I didn’t mean it. Liefje please don’t-“

“Max.”

“Please don’t leave me. You know I love you, right?” With every word his voice lost its steadiness and you could practically hear his heart beating out of his chest. “I love you so much-“

“Max.” You interrupted him again, pulling your hand from his grasp to reach up and cup his cheek. “I know, alright? I know. I love you too.” His eyes flickered between yours, unconsciously leaning into your palm.

“Don’t leave.”

With a soft breath you leaned in to press a light kiss against his lips before shuffling closer, letting him wrap his arms around your body. When you placed your head against his chest he tightened his grip, terrified of letting go. The two of you sat like that, just holding each other for what felt forever. You thought back on the past twelve hours. The words that had been said, the insecurities that’d bubbled up. You knew Max never meant to hurt you, you knew that even before you entered his hotel room this morning but the conversation you just had cemented it. The man currently holding you tightly against his chest was the love of your life, no doubt about it, but that didn’t change the fact that all you could think about right now was money. His money, your money, how you could ever let him spend even one euro on you ever again. The thought had your insides churning and that’s why you knew you needed time. Time to process and figure this out before you could come back to him.

“How long?” You snapped out of your thoughts at Maxs voice, so quiet and gentle that you barely caught it at first. When you asked what he meant he let out a breath. “How long do you need? How long til you come back?”

“I don’t know Max. But I’ll come back. I promise.”

~~~~

Ten days. For ten days the only contact between you and Max had been an occasional phone call and a few pictures. He sent you updates on Jimmy and Sassy and you answered with pictures of your parent’s dog, Bongo. Other than that he gave you the space you’d asked for, no matter how much it hurt him not to constantly beg you to come home.

During your time at your parent’s house you’d spent your time just being. Going back to your roots. You hadn’t been brought up traveling the world in private jets or expensive boats and despite loving your life with Max it felt nice to just trudge around your parents backyard in your pajamas, throwing sticks for your dog to fetch. Your father was the most logical person in your life, he’d always been the one you’d turn to when you needed advice and this time it was no different. Your parents both loved Max and they were obviously upset when you came home crying, but after a few days spent talking and reasoning with them you finally saw the situation in a different light. Your dad’s words echoed in your head as you carefully slipped the keys into the door of your apartment, a deep breath leaving your lips when you stepped inside. You were relived to finally be home and you could almost feel yourself buzzing at the thought of seeing Max again. You spoke his name as you walked through the apartment, frowning slightly at the stillness of it. It took you a few minutes before you finally made it to Maxs office, stopping in the doorway when you saw him. He was in his gaming chair, one knee tucked against his chest and chin resting tiredly against it. The computer was turned off, instead his attention was on the toy in his hand as he bounced it slightly for Sassy to play with. You smiled softly at the sight, feeling your chest swell when you heard Max mumble something to the cat.

“Where’s Jimmy?” Despite your words coming out soft and quiet Max flinched, dropping the toy to the ground as he looked up at you. His eyes were wide and lips parted slightly as he took you in, trying to convince himself you were really there.

“You’re home.” He stated and you couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh, nodding.

“I told you I’d come back, right?” Max just shook his head, rising from the chair. In a few quick strides he reached you, immediately wrapping his arms around your body and pressing you tightly against his chest. Without a thought your arms snaked around his waist, feeling your whole body relax completely for the first time since before all this. You didn’t know exactly what it was that had you suddenly feel your throat closing up, the tears pressing behind your eyes as you turned your face even deeper into his shirt, but you knew they were good tears.

“Fuck.” Maxs voice was shaky, you could tell he was on the verge of crying too, and you squeezed him even tighter. “Fuck I missed you.”

“I missed you too Maxie.” You mumbled against his chest, breathing in his scent. You’d known you’d missed him while at your parents, but somehow you hadn’t expected to be quite this emotional reuniting with him. The two of you held each other for a moment, only separating slightly when Sassy pushed her way between your legs, loud noises leaving her small frame. As you leaned away from Max you chuckled down at the furry creature, softly assuring her that you’d missed her too, before your gaze moved up to your boyfriend. You found him already staring down at you, one hand reluctantly leaving your body to reach up and cup your cheek. When you leaned slightly into his palm you noticed him release a breath, finally a small smile making its way to his face. It disappeared too soon for your liking, a light frown taking its place.

“I’m so sorry.” He began, voice serious.

“Max-“ you sighed, but he shook his head and you pressed your lips together, deciding to let him talk. By the look on his face it seemed like he really needed to get this out.

“I realized a few days ago that I never actually apologized. I wanted to call and tell you straightaway but I didn’t want to disturb, I didn’t want to say it over text either but- baby I’m so sorry.” Max spoke slowly, he needed you to really hear him. “I never should’ve said any of that shit and even though I didn’t mean it like you think I did I should’ve realized how it sounded.” He paused for a second, hand slipping from your face to gently hold yours between your bodies. You nodded encouragingly, gently swiping your thumb across his knuckles as he continued. “For me it has always been sort of obvious that the things I have I’ve gotten because of racing. My dad always said that if I wanted something I had to be the best and I guess that just fucked with my head, fucked with the way I see myself and people around me. I’m used to people wanting something from me and somehow I applied that to you too, despite the fact that I’ve actually never felt like that with you. I fell in love with you because you made everything seem so effortless, like you just needed me and nothing else. You’ve never asked me for anything, even if you could and I’d happily give it to you, and I can’t for my life figure out why I would say what I said. I think it was my own insecurities, my fears, that had me place those thoughts on you and I can’t stress enough how fucking sorry I am for that.” He swallowed hard, bottom lip stuck between his teeth as he waited for you to answer. Your eyes trailed over his face and you contemplated carefully how to respond before eventually speaking up.

“I know you didn’t mean it like- like I thought in the beginning. I realize that now, after some time. I understand your point of view- or maybe I don’t understand it but I accept it. I know you Max, I know the way your mind works and your insecurities. But you also know me and it really hurt me to know that even the thought of me being with you for your money crossed your mind.” His gaze dropped down to your hands at your words, nodding. He was ashamed, you knew he was, and despite knowing he might deserve it you really didn’t want him to. Not anymore. With a soft breath you pulled your hand from his, reaching up to cup both his cheeks. When Max met your gaze again you offered a small smile, thumbs moving over his skin. “We all let stupid thoughts cloud our minds sometimes, that’s human. I’m not holding it against you as long as you promise me you’ll tell me if you ever actually feel like I’m somehow taking advantage of you. Or your money.”

“I promise.” He nodded quickly and you couldn’t help but let out a light laugh. Without another word you reached up on your toes, capturing his lips in a long awaited kiss. Despite the fact that it was supposed to be a short and sweet peck the both of you craved more, having been away from each other for way too long. Max deepened the kiss and it didn’t take long until he hoisted you up in his arms, lips instead attacking your neck and shoulder as he mumbled scattered declarations of love against your skin.

Later that evening the two of you laid curled up in bed, legs tangled together and Maxs head placed securely on your chest. As your fingers combed their way through his hair his drew random shapes against your skin, both of you enjoying the sounds of Jimmy and Sassy’s purring from the other side of the bed.

“I’d love you every time.” Max mumbled suddenly, making you pause for a second before continuing your movement.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’d find you no matter what, I’d love you in every timeline and every universe. No matter what any of us were doing I’d find a way to be with you.” His words were almost a bit slurred, the sleepiness thick in his voice, but you heard him loud and clear and it made your heart swell.

“I’d find you too Max. Even if you worked at a gas station.”

Tagging ppl who asked for pt2 <33 @brod16 @spookystitchery @witchsbitchestime @bingussthirdtoe @itsjustkhaos @tylerstacobell @ironmaiden1313 @bitchreader @sp1rl @marvelfangirl04 @kravitzwhore @darleneslane @amberpanda99

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futurewdclandonorris · 2 months

Text

Risqué Routine | Lando Norris⁴

Pairings: Lando Norris x fem!stilettodancer!reader

Summary: Lando is too eager to be the first one to see your choreography before your big show, but halfway through he realizes that maybe he got himself into a lot more than he can handle

Warnings: suggestive, a bit of angst at the end I guess, is dry humping considered smut??? If so, thennnn

Word count: 4.8k

Based on this request

In the dimly lit studio, the music swirled around the room, intertwining with the rhythmic tapping of heels on the polished wooden floor. You twirled and leaped, your body a vessel of grace and power. Each movement was precise, your stilettos like daggers tracing patterns in the air. Your sweat dampened skin glistened under the studio’s soft glowing lights, a beacon of skill and dedication. It was the final rehearsal before the big show, the culmination of grueling practices.

Every muscle in your body screamed in protest, but there was no time for complaints. You had to be perfect. You drew a deep breath in, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, and started the routine again. Every spin, every leap, every flick of your wrist had to be flawless. You pushed your limits, your body moving with a graceful fierceness you never knew you possessed.

The music faded, and you let out a shaky sigh as you held the final pose, your chest rising and falling. Collapsing onto the worn floor, your legs – encased in the stifling embrace of the heels – felt like jelly. But a smile bloomed on your face when the girls approached and jumped on you, engulfing you in a one big group hug and you knew. You have done it.

“You did it, girl!” the girls shouted, their voices a chorus of triumph and relief. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the weight of the moment settled in your chest. All the sacrifices, the long hours of practice, and the moments of uncertainty had led to this.

“Ugh, finally,” you breathed out, a mixture of exhaustion and elation rushing through you.

The sense of accomplishment washed over you, filling every fiber of your being with a warmth that you knew would linger for days to come. As you peeled off your sweaty dance shoes, a feeling of liberation enveloped you, the weight of the performance slowly lifting off your shoulders. The studio was filled with laughter and chatter, the air electric with the shared victory of a successful rehearsal.

The sound of applause filled the studio as your coach entered, a proud smile on her face. "Bravo, my darlings! That was truly magnificent," she said, her voice filled with admiration. “Now I want you to rest and recharge. We have a big day approaching and I want you all in top form.” Her words were met with nods of determination from the group, their eyes sparkling with a shared sense of purpose.

The studio emptied, and after a quick shower and change of clothes, you made your way to your best friend’s house. The familiar path to his house felt like a second nature, the well-worn pavement guiding the way as if it knew your footsteps by heart. The sun had already set behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the quiet neighborhood. The tranquil ambiance of the cool evening air was enhanced by the gentle radiance of the streetlights, creating a serene atmosphere along the trail. You paused at his front gate, taking a moment to catch your breath and admire the twinkling stars above.

When you pushed the front door open, you were greeted with the sound of pots and pans clattering in the kitchen. You followed the noise to the source and found Lando, apron-clad and sweaty, stirring something that smelled delicious in a large pot on the stove.

“Hey, you!” he said, looking up and smiling as you entered the room. “I hope the rehearsal spent you because I'm making dinner!"

You grinned and took a seat at the kitchen counter. “To starvation, actually.” you replied. “What’s for dinner?”

“Spaghetti carbonara,” he said, with a flourish. “Your favorite.”

“You mean, your favorite,” you playfully corrected, the banter between you two a natural dance in itself. “Italian is your favorite.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Well, your enjoyment of it just adds to the experience,” he said, his eyes twinkling in amusement. You watched him move around the kitchen, his movements practiced and sure as he grated cheese and chopped herbs with ease. “How was practice, by the way?”

“Intense,” you breathed out, slumping your shoulders.

“But?” Lando looked at you with a knowing look, waiting for you to continue.

“But I nailed it!” you exclaimed, jumping from your seat.

“Yas!” he shouted and raised his hand for a high five. You clasped your palms together, meeting halfway for a hip bump. “I knew you could do it, girlfriend.”

The aroma of the simmering spaghetti carbonara filled the room, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Lando dished out generous portions onto two plates, the creamy sauce glistening under the soft kitchen lights. You took a bite, savoring the familiar flavors that never failed to bring a sense of home to your taste buds.

"It was... magical, Lando. I felt like I was floating, like my body was finally in sync with the music and the movements." you said almost with a mouthful, barely able to contain your excitement.

Lando's face broke into a proud smile, his eyes sparkling with admiration. "I never doubted you for a second," he said softly, his gaze unwavering. "You were born to dance, to command the stage with your presence."

"Thank you. You always know the right thing to say," you said, touched by his constant encouragement. Lando had been your rock, your continuous source of support and motivation through the ups and downs of your dance journey. He never lost faith in you, even when you doubted yourself.

As you both finished your meal, the conversation drifted to lighter topics, laughter and easy banter flowing between you. The weight of the upcoming performance still lingered at the back of your mind, but for now, in this moment of shared camaraderie and good food, you let yourself bask in the simple joys of friendship.

After dinner, you helped Lando with the dishes, the warm water soothing your tired muscles as you scrubbed each plate clean. The routine of it was comforting, the familiar motions grounding you in the present moment.

“Listen, I know you never want to talk about your choreographies and want to keep the element of surprise, but I can’t resist asking about this one,” Lando began, his voice tinged with curiosity as he dried off the last plate. “I mean, you’ve been practicing for months, pouring your heart and soul into every movement. There must be something special about this one. Can you give me a hint? Just a tiny one?”

You chuckled at his persistence, recognizing that it stemmed from his unfaltering loyalty. You dried your hands on a nearby towel and turned to face him, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“Okay, just a tiny hint,” you teased, drawing out the suspense. “It’s super hot, super sexy and…” you paused, eyes twinkling. “I really hope no one brings their children with them.”

Lando's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, now you've piqued my interest even more," he said, his voice laced with amusement.

“I know, I can’t wait for you to see it!”

“Why wait?” Lando's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Dance for me now," he requested, his gaze daring you.

“I, uh…” you gulped, feeling a sudden rush of nervous energy coursing through your veins. The idea of performing in front of Lando, without the safety of a stage or the shield of a costume, made your heart race with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

“No, I get it, you want it to be a surprise. I'll just have to wait for the big day."

“No, it’s not that,” you reassured. “It’s just… It requires a partner.”

“Well then it’s a good thing there’s two of us right now, am I right?”

You couldn't help but laugh at Lando's eagerness to join in on the impromptu performance. His playful spirit was infectious, and despite the initial nerves, you found yourself giving in to the excitement of the moment. “Yeah, it’s not like you have to do anything else besides sitting on a chair. Let me just change into my dancing heels.”

The familiar click-clack of the heels echoed through the house as you led Lando to his spacious living room. Taking a nearby chair, you dragged it to the center of the room and positioned Lando in front of it, not letting him sit just yet. You pulled out your phone from your pocket and plugged it into the speaker dock, selecting a sultry, pulsating rhythm. The beat thrummed through your veins, awakening a primal energy within you as you stood before your best friend, the heat of the music wrapping around you like a lover's embrace.

The room felt different now, transformed by the anticipation that crackled in the air as you and Lando stood facing each other. The soft glow of the lamp bathed the living room in a warm light, casting shadows that danced along the walls in time with your racing heartbeats.

Without a word, you stepped closer to Lando, the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the residual aroma of the spaghetti carbonara. The first notes filled the space and you took a deep breath, letting the music guide your movements, your body swaying and undulating in time with the beat. Your movements were fluid and deliberate, each step a brushstroke in the canvas of the air as you danced for an audience of one. Lando watched with rapt attention, his gaze never leaving your form as you spun and twirled with abandon.

Another sharp spin ended with your hands on Lando’s shoulders, guiding him to sit, and he followed your lead without any objections. You circled around him, your movements sensuous and hypnotic, as if each step was a silent promise of secrets yet to be revealed. The music seemed to pulse through your veins, dictating each sway of your hips and extension of your limbs. Your hands trailed along Lando's arms, a delicate caress as you moved sinuously around him, a mesmerizing display of passion and grace.

The intensity in Lando's eyes mirrored the fierce determination in your own gaze, a silent understanding passing between you as the dance unfolded. In that moment, there were no words needed, just the unspoken language of movement and connection that bound you together.

You walked away from Lando and stood at the opposite end of the room. What he witnessed was just a warm up. The real show was beginning now.

Without breaking eye contact with him, you began a new series of steps, each movement more intricate and provocative than the last. You sank to your knees in a slow, sensual motion, your hips going side to side in time with your descent. Lando’s breath caught in his throat as he watched you move with a raw intensity he had never seen before. The air between you was charged, each gesture imbued with a magnetic pull that drew him in deeper.

You settled on the floor, your ass high in the air as you arched your back in a provocative cat-like pose, your eyes locking with Lando's as if daring him to look away. He sat on the edge of his seat, captivated by the unfiltered emotion and power radiating from your every action. He felt like an intruder witnessing something intensely private and profound, yet he couldn't tear his gaze away. His heart pounded in his chest, the music and your movements weaving a spell around him that he couldn't break free from.

Laying flat on the floor, you lifted your legs in a straight line above you, your body forming a perfect L-shape. Then slowly, deliberately, you started spreading them apart, inch by inch, until they formed a wide V-shape, your toes pointing towards the ceiling, showing him just how flexible you were. Next thing he knew, you were stretched out in a split, your ass cheeks bouncing off the parquet floor with each impact, the sound echoing through the room like a primal beat. You looked at Lando over your shoulder and winked, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. It was clear that you were enjoying every second of this performance, taking pleasure in his discomfort and arousal.

As you moved with a captivating allure, every twist of your body and arch of your back spoke volumes, a silent confession of desires and dreams long kept hidden. He felt like an outsider peering into a world he had only glimpsed in his wildest fantasies, a world where passion and artistry danced hand in hand.

The room seemed to shrink around you both, the music filling every corner as you propped yourself on your knees and started crawling. Lando’s breath hitched and palms started to sweat as soon as he realized you weren’t just crawling anywhere. You were crawling to him.

His eyes widened in shock and anticipation as you closed the distance between you. Your body moved with a feline grace, every sinuous motion a silent invitation that Lando couldn't resist. He was spellbound, rooted to his spot on the chair as you crawled towards him, your gaze never wavering from his. His mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions - excitement, desire, uncertainty. The air crackled with tension, the unspoken energy between you palpable as you finally reached him, stopping just inches away.

You gazed up at Lando with a sultry look, a silent challenge in your eyes as you reached out and placed a hand on his thigh. The touch was electric, sending a jolt of awareness through both of you. Lando's heart pounded in his chest, the heat of your proximity searing his skin. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as you held each other's gaze, the unstated words hanging heavy in the air between you.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you shifted closer to Lando until your faces were mere inches apart. The intensity of the moment was almost suffocating, the air heavy. Lando's breath mingled with yours, their shallow, rapid rhythm betraying the storm of emotions raging within him. Your lips hovered so close to his, a whisper away from a forbidden temptation that beckoned to both of you.

But then you backed away and flipped your hair full circle, a coy smile playing on your lips. The sudden movement broke the tension and allowed Lando a moment to breathe, but not before you had a leg over him, straddling him without sitting on his lap.

The unexpected shift in energy left Lando reeling, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The boundary between friendship and something more had blurred in an instant, and he found himself caught in a dizzying vortex of longing and restraint. As you straddled him, a surge of impulse coursed through him, igniting a fire that threatened to consume all rational thought.

His hands hovered uncertainly at his sides, unsure where to touch or where to hold back. Your close proximity, the intoxicating scent of your perfume, the heat of your body so near—all these sensations overwhelmed his senses, urging him to abandon caution and dive headlong into the unknown.

You slowly circled your hips above him, slowly reaching his knees, but never sitting on them fully. You ran your fingers delicately up his thighs, teasing him with the promise of contact. He swallowed hard, his breath ragged as he tried to control his rising urge.

“Damn, babe, you will make me blow a check,” he said, trying to break the tension with a touch of humor, but unable to hide the shake in his voice.

With a tantalizing laugh, you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "This is only the preview."

Your lips lingered on his ear, sending shivers down his spine, and as you pulled away, you traced the outline of his jawline with your fingertips. The room was spinning, the music pulsating through every fiber of Lando's being, and the intensity between you was as palpable as the air around you.

Then you stood up and sauntered away, your hips swaying in a way that seemed to carry the entirety of your seduction. Lando's gaze tracked you, his eyes filled with longing and bewilderment, capturing your attention and making it impossible to break away. With every step you took, the anticipation grew, the foreplay reaching almost unbearable heights.

Finally, you turned around, facing Lando once more. You slowly walked back to him, every click of your heels a taunting dance of temptation. Your eyes never left his, daring him to look away, to deny the intense heat that had been ignited between you. You encircled him this time, stopping behind his back and placing your hands on his shoulders. Leaning in closer, your palms glided down his chest and torso, your lips brushing against his neck while your hips ground against his back.

Lando's heart thundered in his chest, a roaring symphony of longing and fear. He couldn't breathe, but it wasn't due to lack of air. He was suffocating under the intensity of your touch, your presence consuming his every thought. Your lips lingered on his neck, and he could feel the heat from your breath on his skin, leaving him weak at the knees.

You pulled away, leaving him panting and craving more. Your fingers traced the outline of his collarbone, making his skin erupt in goosebumps. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying so hard to suppress any sound of pleasure. He was a shaken and unsteady mess, his entire world had just been turned upside down with your tantalizing display. He couldn't help but wonder where this new boundary lay, and if he was willing to cross it. The intensity of those few moments were overwhelming, and the pull between friendship and attraction was becoming dangerously ambiguous. Every touch, every brush of your body against his, was a sweet torture he couldn't resist.

You were in front of him again, your eyes locked with his, a riot of emotions playing across your features. Lando waited anxiously, not knowing where this would lead. But he didn’t have to wait long.

In a sudden rush of forward momentum, your legs were on each side of him and down you went, landing on his lap, sitting fully on his crotch. The air forcefully left Lando's lungs, the force of your descent stealing his breath away. He gripped the edges of the chair desperately, unsure if she should touch you or not. And it was as if you felt his inner struggle, you took his wrists and placed his hands on your waist.

“You can touch me,” you whispered, your breath warm and inviting. “In fact, it is required that you do.”

Lando's hands trembled as they made contact with your skin, the heat and softness sending a shockwave of sensation through him. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, his thumbs gently caressing the small of your back, and he could feel the racing of his heart in his chest. He was lost in your gaze, hypnotized by the fiery spark that danced in your eyes, and he knew that he could not resist any longer.

You leaned back, his hands tightening around you as soon as he realized what you were doing. Your shirt rose as you leaned further back, exposing your stomach and revealing the waistband of your pants. You smiled coyly, hinting at the skin beneath your clothes which he was dying to see.

In one swift motion, you pushed yourself upward, wrapping one arm around his neck, your face stopping just a nose brush away from his. And as on cue, the music stopped. The song might’ve been over, but your dance wasn’t.

You began to dance on his lap, leaving him breathless as you ground yourself against him, the pulsing heat between you impossible to ignore. The movement made his whole body tremble, the sensation of you drawing figure 8s against him nearly driving him insane. His fingers fastened around your waist, his grip almost painful as he held onto you for dear life.

Lando's heart pounded in his chest, and he found it harder and harder to breathe as you continued to undulate against him, your movements becoming more and more suggestive. He watched, transfixed by the way your hips moved in perfect synchrony, like a siren song that he could not escape.

Your eyes locked with his, challenging him to resist the allure of your body, the tantalizing prospect of a life beyond the boundaries he had always known. He could feel the flames growing inside of him, the desire to possess you burning brighter with every step, every shift of your hips against his. The room seemed to spin, the world around you fading away as your hips swirled and twirled, coaxing a response from him that he could no longer deny.

If you felt him hard under you before, you definitely felt him grow harder now, the rigid length of him pressing against your center, the friction causing a wave of pleasure to ripple through you. Moans, groans and loud breathing were the new music, composed by the two of you, and you followed its new rhythm lost in the rapture of your dance.

Lando's hands roamed your body, his fingers tracing a path down your back, over your hips, and finally coming to rest on your waist. You knew you had him right where you wanted him, and you had no intention of stopping now. You pulled back, sliding your hips up and down on him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you felt the heat of his need through his clothes. You could hear the thudding of his heart, matching the beat of your own.

Lando hissed, gripping your hips tighter, urging your movements faster, and pulling you even closer. The fire that had been burning slowly inside him now ignited into an inferno, consuming him whole. The room seemed to spin as the intensity of the moment hit him, and for a brief second, he thought he saw stars.

He leaned his forehead against yours, his breaths becoming shallow and fast. His eyes locked with yours, a mix of arousal and fear dancing within them. He could feel his control slipping, the urge to take things further overwhelming him. Your eyes held a challenge, daring him to take that step, to cross that boundary.

Lando knew he shouldn't do it. He knew it wasn't right, that it could ruin everything. But the spark that had been ignited between you was too strong to ignore. The want, the need, that grew stronger with every movement, every brush of your body against his, was too much to bear.

“Fuck, we should stop,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your eyes softened, a hint of sympathy in them. But you didn’t let go. “Then stop me, push me off your lap. Resist me.”

Lando's grip on your waist hardened, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to do as you said. However, the intensity in his gaze betrayed an entirely different narrative. It was as if the need, the pull between you, had grown too strong, too all-consuming to resist any longer. With a sudden surge of strength, Lando pulled you closer, your breasts pressing against his chest, your lips just a breath away.

Then his face twisted into a grimace, and he thrust his hips upward, slamming into you with a force that made you gasp. His fingers slipped into your hair, pulling you closer, his lips barely brushing against yours.

You couldn't help but arch your back, your body yearning for more. The heat between you was undeniable, the tendrils of passion wrapping around you both, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. Lando's breath was ragged, his pulse thumping in his neck like a war drum. His eyes locked onto yours, pleading and afraid at the same time.

You were a tornado of emotions, but you knew you couldn't stop now. You were lost in the flow of your dance, the way his body responded to yours, the way he held you, the way he looked at you. It was intoxicating, irresistible. You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his, and then you moved, grinding yourself against him in a way that made him groan.

One final thrust of your hips and he shook under you, his hips bucking and hands clutching at your waist for dear life. The moan he was unable to contain escaped from his lips, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze as you both stood still, locked in each other's embrace, your head buried into his neck.

Lando's breaths were shallow and fast, his chest rapidly rising and falling. He was a mess of emotions, pleasure and pain, desire and fear. Slowly, he started to pull away from you, his hands loosening their grip on your waist. It was as if a dam had broken within him, and he could no longer restrain himself.

“I don’t think I will come to your performance,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. "There's something with the team, I forgot... I'll try to cancel, but... Sophie said my presence is mandatory..." he stammered as he tried to explain, and both of you knew that was a lie.

He could easily cancel, he always canceled, but this time it seemed like he just didn't want to.

“Oh... okay,” was all you could manage, feeling a mix of surprise and disappointment at his sudden change of heart.

The room was silent except for your breathing and the beating of Lando's heart. The moment was shattered, the atmosphere heavy with the words that just wouldn't come out.

You wanted to say something, to ask him why he had changed his mind, but the words caught in your throat. You felt the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, and you knew that you had to leave. It was better to walk away now than to let the pain fester.

“I should probably let you clean up,” with a shaky breath, you pushed yourself off Lando's lap, feeling his hands grip your waist one last time before reluctantly releasing you. The room seemed to whirl as you stood up, the world around you feeling surreal and unsteady.

“Yeah…” Lando mumbled, not moving to stop you, but also not moving to stand up either as he watched you gather your stuff. The intensity of the moment had left him reeling, and he wasn't sure how to process the sudden turn of events.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you some other time then,” you said, trying to sound braver than you felt, but your voice still cracked.

Lando nodded, still only watching as you put your bag over your shoulder. His eyes were full of regret, and you could see the pain in his face. He knew what had just happened between you, and he knew you both couldn't undo it.

As you reached the door, you turned back to him one last time. "Take care of yourself, alright?" You tried to smile, but it was weak, and you knew it.

"I will," he replied, his voice barely audible. "Good luck with your performance. You're going to kill it."

You nodded, not wanting to say anything more.

The door closed behind you with a soft click and once alone, Lando buried his face into his hands. He let out a deep sigh, wondering if he had just ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. He didn’t tell you he wouldn’t come to your performance to hurt you, no. He said it to save himself the hurt. He couldn't bear the thought of missing out on your performance, but he also couldn't bear watching you with someone else after what had just happened between the two of you. After you danced for him, and only him. He just couldn’t stand the thought of it. Even if it was just another dance partner and it meant nothing more.

So with each step you took away from him, he felt more and more alone, like he was losing something irreplaceable. And in that moment, he realized that he didn't want to let you go. He wanted to hold on to you, to the feelings he had for you, to the way your body moved against his, to the way your eyes dared him to take that step, to cross that boundary.

But he couldn't bring himself to say it. He knew it would only lead to more pain, for both of you. So he held his silence, let you walk out the door, and stayed in the darkness of his own room, reliving every moment of your dance, every brush of your body against his, every word expressed and unexpressed.

393 notes · View notes

spideyriki · 6 months

Text

pretty in glasses

pairing: bf!sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis: your pretty boyfriend wants to be praised. oh, and he wears glasses!

warnings: sub!sunghoon, heaaaaavy mommy kink, praise kink, mirror sex, oral (f receiving), fingering (f and m receiving), hair pulling, nicknames (babyboy, sweetheart & etc.) + lmk if i missed anything

w. count: 2.3k+

a. note: my first fic! hope you guys like it and excuse me for any mistakes, im not confident in my writing so feedback is appreciated :D (im shitting myself nervous rn sorry)

sunghoon was usually a brat but these past few days, sunghoon has been unusually obedient. he did the chores, prepared you meals, tidied your bedroom and etc. you were appreciative of course but you didn't think too much into it. sunghoon, however had an ulterior motive.

"y/n, what did you think of the dinner today?"

"it was really delicious sunghoon, thank you"

"look! i cleaned our room, do you like it?"

"i love it, baby, thank you"

"is our kitchen tidy enough, y/n?"

"it's lovely, sweetheart. thank you for helping"

sunghoon was craving for praise from you. he was desperate for your gentle attention. being a brat, he didn't get it often (during the sex itself, after sex you always showered him in praise) but he loved it so much and he was determined to get it.

one night when you both had finished dinner, you were resting on your shared bed when sunghoon walked in and sat really close up next to you. you smiled to yourself at his affection and rested a hand on his thigh. sunghoon bit his lip at this and his cheeks dusted a light pink, your action sent blood running down straight to his waiting cock.

sunghoon waited and waited for you to do more but that was all you did. sunghoon was growing increasingly frustrated, a small barely audible whine escaped his mouth as he squirmed. you quirked a brow at this before finally setting down your phone and looking at him, "what's wrong, hoonie?"

he looked up at you. he was wearing his glasses and god was he gorgeous. his big brown eyes staring up at you with his black framed glasses adorning his face, feigning innocence. you wanted to ruin him.

his lips formed a pout, "m-mommy", sunghoon called out softly.

you hummed at him, your hand reached out and gently stroked his cheek.

sunghoon sat up on his knees on the bed while both his hands held yours that was once his thigh, "mommy, i have been a good boy today, right?"

oh? you gave sunghoon a beautiful smile before only nodding at him. now you knew what he wanted.

another whine left his pink lips at your silence before he inched closer to you, his warm skin pressed up against yours, "mommy, please."

"please what, sunghoon?"

his two hands fondled with yours slightly, his eyes casted downwards, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose slightly as he avoided your strong gaze. "please reward me, mommy".

your smile morphed into a smirk, your other hand reaching out to sunghoon's chin and making him look you in the eyes. god his eyes in those glasses were sinful.

"you want mommy to tell you how good you've been, hmm?", your unoccupied hand then swept back his soft hair.

sunghoon bit his lips gently before nodding. his hands that held yours shyly moved it downwards towards his crotch to feel his hardening bulge. all while sunghoon gave you the most innocent eyes through those god forsaken glasses.

your hand on his bulge moved in circular motions before you harshly gripped it. sunghoon releasing a small gasp at the movement.

"words, babyboy"

sunghoon mewled at your words, "p-please tell me i've been a good boy. please let me taste you mommy please. o-or please touch me and fuck me stupid. i wanna be mommy's good boy"

the innocent glint in his eyes behind those glasses all while he was on his knees, you didn't stand a chance.

you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him forward to sit in your lap, a small yelp escaping him when he lost his balance before quickly adjusting his position to sit comfortably.

one last look at your pretty boy in his glasses before you pulled sunghoon in for a deep kiss. the kiss wasn't rushed or urgent but it was messy. your warm tongue slipping into his mouth easily while your teeth clashed with eachother, your saliva mixing together as he kept up with your pace.

sunghoon's hands wondered down to your waist before reaching his hands into your shirt, his large hands massaging slightly before travelling up to your breast. his hands fondled with your boobs, squeezing them gently before his fingertips skillfully rolled your nipples. a satisfied hum left you at the feeling.

sunghoon pulled away from your lips, his lips now beautifully swollen from your abuse. he needed to suck your nipples. once again, his big brown eyes looked up at you while his hands held the hem of your shirt, waiting for approval. any other day, you would've asked him for words but the way he looked so fucking adorable today made him hard to refuse so you gave him a nod. the way he gave you a bright smile made your heart swell up fondly.

in an instant, your shirt was discarded on the floor and sunghoon had your nipple between his plump lips while his hands pawwed at the other. the way sunghoon moaned happily was as if he was the one receiving pleasure. your hands gently ran through his hair. a wave of arousal washed through you as sunghoon looked up at you, batting his long eyelashes at you once again and those glasses resting perfectly on his face. sunghoon switched to your other nipple, sucking just as vigorously on the bud.

the sensation in his mouth was heavenly to him, sunghoon couldn't help but grind his erection into your thigh. at that, you pulled his head away from your boobs by his hair. a whine leaving his lips from the lost of contact as a string of saliva connected him to your hardened nipple.

"do you want me to take care of you, babyboy? i should reward you for being such a good boy~"

sunghoon nodded vigorously, "please, mommy"

you couldn't help but smile at the pretty boy infront of you, "yeah, what do you want me to do? anything you would like to do, babyboy. you've been such a good boy for mommy~"

his dick twitched in his pants at your praise, precum leaking out of his hardened member just by the way you were talking to him softly. after pondering slightly, sunghoon sat back on his knees slightly and pulled your legs apart.

"please, let me taste you mommy. i promise i can make you feel good please."

the was all you needed before you pulled him in for a kiss again, "undress me and yourself, hoon", you whispered in his ear when you pulled away from the kiss.

sunghoon got off your lap and pulled down your pajama pants, every inch of new skin revealed, he left a sweet kiss on it. he nearly drooled at the sight of your black lace panties that rested perfectly on your hips, his erection furthur hardening if that was even possible before he finally took off the garment. once you were bare infront of him, he took started undressing himself.

he didn't give you much of a show because he was so desperate to get a taste of your dripping cunt, you chuckled slightly at his eagerness, "i'm not going anywhere, baby". so you slowed him down when he reached his briefs, deciding to undress him yourself. your hands roamed all across his body from his defined muscles to his torso, not forgetting to run over his nipples before reaching down to his covered erection, repeating your circular motions from earlier, sunghoon let out a loud moan at that, his hips accidentally bucking up at your touch. moving down to his thighs where your nails scratched over them gently. before you finally finally took off his boxers.

his cock sprung out from its confines, standing up proudly. his tip an angry red, precum smudged all over. you couldn't help but smear the precum on his tip even more, a loud whine coming from sunghoon as more precum left his slit.

you let out a chuckle at sunghoon's tiny whine of protest before you stopped teasing his tip to allow sunghoon to continue his ministrations.

within seconds, sunghoon was spreading your legs apart and sitting between them, your pretty pussy was glistening with arousal, clenching around nothing as sunghoon admired you. desperate to dive in, sunghoon was about to take off his glasses before you stopped him and put the glasses back on his face, "keep them on, babyboy"

sunghoon smiled at that before giving you small experimental kitten licks between your folds. his tongue licked a long stripe up from your hole to your clit. holding sunghoon's hair, you shoved his face into your pussy. sunghoon dipped his tongue into your throbbing cunt. he licked into you as if he hadnt eaten for years, you tasted so good. his hands rested on your thighs as they squeezed around his head slightly from the pleasure you were receiving. his tongue explored every crevice of your delicious pussy. his nose rubbing against your clit at his intense licking.

your moans sounded so beautiful to him and only fueled him to make you cum faster. he pulled away and shoved two fingers into your cunt before his tongue latched himself onto your clit, sucking hard. the way his fingers thrusted and curled into you along with his sucking on your clit made your head roll back into your pillow and moans and groans fall from your lips. "you are doing so so good, baby", your praise made sunghoon moan, sending vibrations through you which only intensified the pleasure more. looking down, only to be greeted by sunghoon's big eyes already staring back at you was enough to tip you over the edge. you let out moans and praises as your milky cum squirted out all over sunghoon's fingers which thrusted in you all through your orgasm.

sunghoon gently pulled his fingers out from your messy cunt before putting them into his mouth, moaning around his own fingers at the taste of your arousal before he went down to lick your pussy clean. accidentally overstimulating your sensitive pussy, you pulled him away from yourself and brought him up into a deep kiss.

"good job, babyboy. you made mommy feel so good~", you peppered kisses all over his flushed face as his soft giggles filled the room before kissing him on the lips once again, sunghoon readjusted himself, his red aching cock now resting on your thigh as he tried to discreetly grind against you. pulling away, your hand grabbed his large dick and stroked it.

"since you made mommy feel so good, do you want me to fuck your little hole open, hmm? make my babyboy feel good"

he let out another whine, grinding into your hand, "yes, please mommy, want mommy to fuck me so bad"

sunghoon's face flushed a deep red as you positioned him to face the full length mirror by your bed on all fours. his tiny hole on display for you as you made him look at himself.

putting a generous amount of lube on your fingers, you finger easily protruded into him. sunghoon let out a moan at the feeling of finally being filled up atleast a little bit. thrusting your finger in a few times before adding a second and third to make sure your baby was properly streched out for your strap.

you deemed sunghoon ready once his moans increased in volume and his hips were moving against your fingers. you put on your strap and teased his hole with it slightly watching it clenched around nothing.

"are you ready, hoonie?"

"yes, please fuck me", that was all you needed to hear before pushing in your large cock into him. sunghoon let out a hiss at the stretch.

your hips stilled as you waited for sunghoon to adjust to the strap before he let out a small 'move, please'. grabbing his hips, you thrusted into sunghoon deeply. a deep moan erupted from him as your cock rocked into him roughly.

sunghoon's head fell foward at the pleasure, gripping his hair you made him look at his reflection in the mirror.

"look at how pretty you are, sunghoon. i love these glasses on you. don't you think you look so pretty getting fucked by mommy's cock?"

your pace increased and a whimper fell from sunghoon's lips as he had no choice but to stare at himself taking in all of your girth.

"answer me."

a cry escaped sunghoon as you thrusted into him harder, the tip hitting his prostate.

"yes, wanna l-look pretty just for mommy"

satisfied with his answer, you continued to fuck into him roughly. sunghoon's dick hanging heavily between his thighs, desperate for a release. tears fell from his eyes streaming onto his beautifully flushed cheeks, the force of your thrust making his glasses jump slightly.

you stared at sunghoon's reflection in the mirror and god was he a masterpiece. his beautiful eyes fighting the urge to close shut behind his glasses, tears streaming down his pink cheeks from the intense pleasure, his black hair disheveled from the grip you had on it, his well defined pecs flexing as he struggled to hold himself up in the position. your train of thought was cut off when sunghoon let out a whimper.

his back arched beautifully as the constant thrusting on his prostate grew too much for him, he needed to cum so bad.

"mommy, please please please let me cum"

your heart swelled at his voice which was now higher in pitch as he begged for his release.

"go ahead, my good boy. cum for mommy"

reaching towards his dick you stroked him throughout his orgasm. with a loud moan, he released a nearly concerning amount of cum, dirtying the sheets beneath him.

sunghoon let out a pained whimper as his cock was milked dry, you slowed your movements on both his dick and his hole before gently pulling out of him and letting go off his hair.

sunghoon turned around and fell into your arms. your hands rubbing up and down his back. you left kisses all over his face as he held on to you like his life depended on it.

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stvrchaser · 9 months

Text

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

( pairing ) : clarisse la rue x fem!reader

( words ) : 2000

( note ) : noticed that clarisse has her nails painted in the show and… well this came out of that. reader is heavily aphrodite coded but i don’t think it’s explicitly mentioned anywhere what cabin she’s actually from? only that she’s not from apollo’s and she’s on clarisse’s side for capture the flag

also don’t we just love that every fic i’ve ever published is literally 80% pining? honestly can’t tell you the last time one of my fics didn’t have a scene that goes on for like three paragraphs about how much admiration reader has for their love interest

oh and happy new year!!

Summer days can last for a lifetime and a fulfilling one at that. There’s so much to be done when the world wakes, engulfed in light and warmth, nurturing possibility. There’s so much to look forward to. But today, that anticipation has chosen to work against you.

The sun is setting now, approaching dinnertime, and Clarisse is nowhere to be found. For all of her spontaneity and occasional recklessness, it’s unlike her to abandon routines. That is, routines she shares with you. And walking to dinner together happens to be one of your longest-running practices.

You tried to ask around, careful not to sound too concerned so as not to spark rumors. See, Clarisse La Rue has never been publicly caught in a state that warrants concern. Clarisse La Rue is untouched by the fears that plague the rest of them. But you know better.

It isn’t until you come across a few Ares kids, very obviously overworked and looking nearly faint with exhaustion, that you come to your senses. It isn’t infrequent that Cabin 5 becomes victim to one of Clarisse’s drills, training until fatigue overpowers their fear of her authority. As predicted, you find her in a clear patch of the forest overlooking the strawberry fields. Some days she likes to train here, away from watchful eyes.

The setting sun casts her in golden light, bronze armor glistening alongside golden skin. Clarisse liked to train in full gear — a fruitful habit to get herself accustomed to the added weight of leather and metal. It allows her to move with ease, swinging her spear with grace despite the strength of her whole body being evident in every step. With her head held high, spear raised, and the incredible speed at which she moves, she doesn’t look even the slightest bit mortal, but rather a god amongst men. A warrior and hunter. She is the perfect picture of divinity if you’ve ever seen it.

You let your feet drag against the dirt, a fallen branch snapping beneath your weight. It informs Clarisse of your presence from a safe distance, although the remnants of her focused state aren’t any less intimidating. Her eyes burn bright like the electricity that charges the tip of her spear.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Clarisse realizes her error with a glance at the horizon where the sun is setting and you smile warmly, dismissing any indication of displeasure. You watch her demeanor change, the rigidity in her posture fading with an apologetic tip of her head.

“I’ve been training. Those idiots would know that if they’d stuck around to join me.” Something tells you that that isn’t entirely true. Anyone could assume that she’d been training, but the matter of where was an entirely different question. As far as you know, this particular spot is something only the two of you are familiar with — a small refuge away from everyone else.

“Well, we don’t all have your… passion for these things.”

“You think I’m ridiculous,” she says with a sigh.

“Babe, you’re training for capture the flag. Not war.” Clarisse only shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in arguing. She thinks this is something the two of you might never see eye-to-eye on. While you like your fair bit of competition, Clarisse takes every victory with great significance. As she does with every loss.

“Here, I’ll help you,” you say, approaching to tuck a stray curl behind her ears. Your touch lingers at her cheeks, flushed from physical exertion and maybe something more by the way her gaze settles on your lips. Every intake of breath is louder now that you stand toe to toe and the adrenaline has started to wear off. She’s too worked up to have done this all for a game of capture the flag. “I hope you’re not doing all this to get back at Percy.” Her eyes still linger on your mouth and you think she might’ve not heard you until her brows furrow in confusion.

“Since when are you on a first-name basis?”

“Oh, come on,” you say with a disapproving shake of your head. “He’s just a kid.” You reach for the leather chord at the edge of her breastplate, undoing the knot with ease.

“He’s full of it.” She refuses to look at you now, her head turned upward as if she’d developed a sudden interest in trees. You can’t tell if she’s trying to maintain her composure to keep herself from saying something she’ll regret or if your gaze and proximity was distracting her from the discussion. Maybe a bit of both.

“He’s a baby. You could body-slam him into next Friday. It’s hardly a fair fight.” You untie the last knot keeping her breastplate in place, tugging upward to slip it over her head. Clarisse doesn’t even seem to realize that you’d freed her of her armor until the weight vanished from her body.

She looks at you then with an expression you can’t quite read. Something warm, like gratitude, but reluctant. When she speaks, it’s unexpectedly solemn.

“Do you really believe he killed The Minotaur? Him? Gods, everyone here trains themselves to death for that kind of stuff and he gets all the glory? He doesn’t even know how to shoot.” Now that you’ve been made aware of the gravity of the situation, it’s suddenly harder to find your words. This isn’t the petty rivalry you’d assumed it was, and you had to handle it as such.

“Well, I’m sure a few things have been exaggerated here and there, but that’s not his fault. People love to talk about him, but nobody’s really talking to him. I don’t think he’s had a say in anything that’s been said about him. You know how rumors spread around here.”

“But he’s—”

“Look,” you start, taking her hands into yours. “I’m not asking you to make him friendship bracelets. Just… try not to drown him in the lake, okay?”

You know the exact moment an idea hits her by the mischievous glimmer in her eye. It takes a lot of strength not to bury your face in your hands, afraid that you’ve now planted an idea that would get the poor boy killed. Or worse.

“Clarisse, please.” She surrenders, albeit reluctantly.

“Fine,” she says. Still, you’re not entirely convinced.

“Good. Now say it.”

“What?”

“Say you won’t drown him in the lake.” Clarisse laughs, but it dies down when she realizes you don’t plan to join her.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

“I swear not to drown Percy Jackson in the lake,” she agrees through gritted teeth. You don’t say anything about the way her hands tighten around yours as if it physically pained her to say the words.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you tell her, ignoring that it did, in fact, seem hard. “Now, what are we gonna do with those nails?” Clarisse stares blankly at your joined hands. Chipped black nail polish alongside your perfectly pristine, perfectly preserved set of nails.

“Why do we need to do anything about my nails?”

“Honey, I painted these like two days ago. What do you even do to get them chipped like this? I mean, are you fighting with the back of your hand? I don’t understand.”

“I have to train, you know?” she says, like it’s meant to explain anything. You know better than to ask her to elaborate.

“Shame. You have very pretty nail beds. You should spend less time fighting puppy dog-eyed middle schoolers so you can actually keep them pretty.”

“You think I have pretty nail beds?” You shrug.

“Among other things.”

“Well, tell me about these other things.”

“Hm, and people think I’m vain.”

“Come on. What other things?”

You take a moment to look at her — to really look at her. To dissect every inch of her face and the features that create the picture of beauty you know and love. There are far too many pretty things to point out, but you find yourself drawn to one in particular.

“You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Shut up. I’m not finished.”

“Of course. Don’t let me stop you.”

“And you have the most gorgeous smile.” Clarisse beams with pride. “Yeah, that one. And it doesn’t even matter if it looks like you’re just about ready to tear someone’s throat out with your teeth. I just like to see you happy. I like hearing you laugh even better.”

And laugh she does. Low but sweet, like honey. She looks like the teenage girl she is, deeply infatuated and with a capacity for love she has only ever shared with you.

You indulge in the temporary amusement it brings you to think of how horrified Clarisse might be if anyone else were around to hear her giggle. Clarisse La Rue, Daughter of Ares, infamous for waging war on whichever unfortunate soul so much as breathes in her direction — producing a laugh so gentle and beautiful it could give Orpheus and his songs a run for his money. And you might be the happiest girl alive to have been the cause of it.

“You’re sure you’re not Apollo’s kid?”

“Are you calling me a talented poet?”

“I’m calling you a sap,” Clarisse insists with a sour expression, but her voice is saturated with mirth, eyes too bright, and you know she isn’t entirely opposed to your antics.

“I think the term you’re looking for is romantic.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I’m right, but thank you for the confirmation.”

“I know the nail polish fumes are getting to your head,” she mocks. You feign defeat, retreating with an exaggerated sigh.

“Maybe.” Two steps to your left and you’re concealed by a tree, its trunk twice as wide as either of you. You peak your head, locking eyes with Clarisse. “Or all that training is slowing you down. Honestly! If you’re gonna try to insult me, at least try to come up with something original.”

“Oh, you think I’m slow?” Clarisse asks, every word a thinly veiled threat — a challenge, and one you’re willing to accept.

“Unless you want to prove me wrong.” Clarisse lunges at you without warning, almost too fast, but you’re able to gather your senses. The tree had bought you just enough time to keep her whole body from slamming into yours, the force of it undoubtedly capable of launching you both to the ground.

You dash through the woods as fast as your legs can carry you, your only advantage being that Clarisse must have tired herself out from training. But you know she’s hot on your trail.

From here, you can see the bonfire, flames burning high. You turn, prepared to declare that your victory is just seconds away. You’re tackled to the floor before a word can leave your mouth.

“Oh, come on! That’s not fair, I was distracted!”

“Distracted by what?” Clarisse laughs hysterically although taking a much more graceful tumble to the floor than you had. She’s covered in fallen leaves and her jeans are brown at the knees where the denim fades.

“The pretty girl chasing me.” Clarisse is beside herself with joy, clutching at her stomach and close to tears, and it takes her a minute to calm herself. When the two of you have settled, she speaks again. Or tries to, that is.

“Oh, you are so—“ You place a kiss on her lips, short and sweet, but enough to leave her speechless. Clarisse turns a violent shade of red and you think she might need another minute to calm herself. You take that time to revel in your victory.

You stand, offering your hand to help her up.

“Come on, let’s get dinner and you can rest for the game tomorrow. If you’re gonna lead us to victory, you’re gonna need your strength, captain.” She smiles, intertwining her hand with yours.

“You’re gonna be there? Right beside me?”

“La Rue, you’re crazy if you think there’s even a chance I’d ever leave your side.”

•°. *࿐

reader: pls don’t drown percy in the lake

clarisse: ok fine

clarisse: *tries to drown percy*

reader: what did i say about drowning people??

clarisse: …

clarisse: you never said the toilets were off-limits

also i'm like brand new to the pjo fandom but i’ve been kindly informed of clarisse x silena (and their tragic ending but i turn a blind eye to that so i can preserve my sanity) but when i get there you WILL need to physically restrain me from writing fics about them

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #pjotv x reader #pjo tv adaptation #pjo tv series #clarisse la rue fluff #pining #but they’re already dating #they’re just horrendously down bad for each other and it’s kind of embarrassing #x reader #healthy bit of banter #and trying to convince clarisse to let percy live to see another day #breaking news: summer camp gets awkward when ur gf has beef w the middle schooler #you can’t say she didn’t try to help him ok

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solbaby7 · 4 months

Text

I Dare You

pairing: cassian x reader

warnings:prolly some typos, kinda douchebag!cass but very minimal, sexual tension, swearing, mentions of drinking, (literally have any of you ever gone bull riding before? bc that shit is not for the weak)

summary: Cassian doesn’t think you’re capable of letting your hair down to have some fun. I dare you to prove him wrong.

—

Someone must’ve laced your drink.

They had to have.

It was the only logical explanation for the unusual feelings beginning to churn knots in your gut the longer you took in the handsome planes of Cassian’s face.

Usually, it was easier to overlook when you were sober, too off-put by his demeaning comments and endless sexual innuendos to truly focus on the sharp cut of his jaw or the stubble that resided there. The tempting plush of his bottom lip captures your focus, its glistening from the cheap beer overflowing his cup and the foreign thought of what they would felt like pressed against your own evades your senses.

You blame it on the ambiance.

This place was no Rita’s, not nearly as cozy or tucked away but something about the clubs hypnotic hues of rich purples and soft blues casting over Cassian’s cheeks had your head slowly tilting to the side in silent appreciation.

Had he always had that dimple when he smiled?

“Truth or dare?” Mor yells over the thumping music, effectively breaking you free from your trance and stealing your attention. A bright grin is plastered across her face induced by the empty shot glasses on the table before her.

Your head shakes on instinct, not nearly as prone to letting loose as the rest of the Inner Circle. The outfit alone was far enough out of your comfort zone as is, allowing Mor and Feyre to use you like a baby doll; curling your hair and applying makeup over excited giggles and shared bottles of bubbly. The borrowed fabric sticks to you like second skin, its halter neckline more comfortable than you’d care to admit and the cool breeze of passerby’s on your exposed back is welcome. The tight bodice blends seamlessly into the flowy skirt that tickles the middle of your thighs, showing off more leg than you usually cared to bare but it had looked too nice against your figure to complain. “I don’t really—“

“Don’t even bother,” Cassian interjects, a beer clutched in one hand while the other rested lazily on the back of the booth. “She always says no.”

“That’s not true.”

It was.

You blamed it on their High Lord’s inability to complete his paperwork and file them properly afterwards. When you’d first arrived, there had been centuries worth of paperwork strewn about his storage room in no true order with the subjects varying from treaties and common laws on trade routes to pages worth of detailed documentation dividing up ownership of land. Blueprints for potential and current properties with box after box of receipts kept to keep track of the billing it took to run such a place—much less a whole city.

Simply put, you’d been stuck in work-mode; refusing casual outings and generous offerings of chilled bottles shared over dinner for months until you’d finally made a dent sizable enough to satisfy you. There’s no point in bothering to explain any of that to Cassian though, biting your words over the rim of your glass and the burn on your tongue is soothed by the sweet mixer. “Oh really?” He goads, a cocky glint in golden eyes as he leans forward, shoulders straining in the dark cotton of his shirt . “Answer her then, truth or dare?”

There’s a long pause—one long enough for Rhysand to clear his throat, fully prepared to diffuse the situation but your voice cuts through before he can. “Dare.” It’s spoken stronger than you feel and you muster up the courage to meet his eye as if you hadn’t just been gobbling up the miles of endless muscle packed onto his body.

“I dare you to let loose for once in your boring little life.” Feyre scoffs her disapproval at his wording, a hand smacking at Cassian’s arm but he doesn’t react as if he can even feel it. He’s utterly fixated on you, body language lax and still somehow emitting such a domineering presence it makes your feet shift in high heels. “Unless you’re too prude to even let your hair down?”

A brow arches and you ignore the burn creeping up your neck at the looks your friends are sharing, clearly having a mental conversation on who was going to have to intervene this time. Saving them the trouble, you comply. “Fine.” You’re too occupied in chugging the remnants of your drink to notice the surprised expression crossing the General’s face. He doesn’t miss you though, witnessing a mischievous darkness clouding your eye before you rise from the booth and squeeze through the endless sea of bodies.

“I don’t understand your problem with her,” Mor grumbles with distaste, a hand outstretching for the latest round of drinks being provided by the waiter. “She’s nice.”

“She’s boring,” Cassian promptly retorts, eyes sifting over the crowd in search for a flash of your dusky red dress but it’s nowhere to be found. His spine straightens ever so slightly, the grip on his glass tightening in his silent surveillance for you. “When you said you were hiring a female who’d be around so often that she’d be living with us, I hoped she’d be more…eventful.”

“Is that truly your reasoning, brother?” Rhys drawls out playfully, tugging his mate in closer to his side. A glass of whiskey is in his free hand, tilting the bottom of it tauntingly in Cassian’s direction as he pretends to ponder. “Or maybe it’s because you keep antagonizing her in hopes that she’ll notice you and yet she barely gives you anything back in return? Her passiveness must eat you up at night.”

It earns the High Lord a few laughs and even Azriel can’t hide the amused upturn of his mouth at Cassian’s expense but the Lord of Bloodshed can’t even begin to be bothered with that.

Not when his sights finally land on that sinful shade of red gripping at the curves contained within them. Cassian can’t even hear his family anymore, eardrums tuning out everything that wasn’t you as he watches the way you lean in towards one of the nicely dressed workers with a smile. The exchange is quick but Cassian doesn’t miss a thing, noting the challenging quirk of the males brow and he leads you behind a thick curtain that sectioned off a portion of the bar he hadn’t even noticed until now.

Words can’t describe the way losing his visual on you makes his skin itch, wings twitching with his irritation and the tense line of his shoulders doesn’t release for even a second. A plethora of thoughts plague Cassian’s mind. Surely you hadn’t taken his jest as an invitation to go be with some other male? Even if it would’ve been well within your right it was the furthest from his intentions.

“Run out of witty remarks?” Rhysand prods further, voice full of humor but there’s a hint of serious questioning lingering in his eye. “Or have I stunned you to complete silence?”

Feyre catches on quicker than her counterpart, following Cassian’s line of sight, watching as the same curtains you’d disappeared behind starts beginning to rise, a thundering chime ringing through the bar. “I don’t think it’s you who has him speechless.”

The others follow her gaze and quiet fascination sets root when more space is revealed. Situated right in the middle of the newly revealed stage is what seems to be the magical apparition of a fake bull, complete with horns and a nose that huffed out smoke. It’s one hell of a spectacle that has the inebriated crowd cheering with joy at the promise of such extravagant entertainment. “Trouble is in the house tonight. Let’s welcome her warmly.” The male announces, guiding you into the light and spinning you around for all to take in.

Cassian’s teeth grit together, disturbingly aware of every eye and muttered comment directed your way and his fingers twitch for the familiar weight of his sword. “No way...” He whispers in complete disbelief as you approach the bull with a practiced ease, hoisting yourself on its back with the swipe of your leg.

The motion is fluid, thighs shifting to get situated and the new position hikes up the hem of your dress. All the bare skin that is revealed makes his mouth water, elbows leaning against the table to brace himself.

Your gaze finds Cassian’s easily in the crowd, a devious smirk forms in the corner of your mouth and the wink you send his way has his cock twitching to life in his breeches.

Music flows through the space—a sensual tempo with a bass so deep it rattles the very blood in your body. There’s no explaining why you find such a comfort in it but you submit to the numbness it provides anyway, relishing in the absence of thought as you melt into the beat.

One hand latches securely around the saddle and the well-dressed employee begins his skilled control of the bull. It’s a slow rock, movements mechanical and jerky but you make it look graceful—hips shifting back and forth over and over as the speed increases. You barely look up, too caught up in synchronizing your body with the music, spurred on by the generous cheers from the other drunken fae with energy to burn and coins to spend.

Faster and faster the bull rocks, spinning you from left to right but your remain saddled in place, core strong and thighs braced for the chaotic jostling. Haughty whistles cut through the crowd when the bull abruptly tips forward, shifting the fabrics of your dress until you were face down, ass up and flashing the lacy boy shorts you had on underneath. “Come on,” You whine prettily to the male in control of the mechanism, hair spilling to one side of your face and a pretty blush fans across your cheeks at the salacious exposure. “That all you got?”

“Hold on tight.”

You’re grateful for obtaining the good sense it takes to heed the warning because in an instant the bull is jerking back to life, spinning and rocking in an attempt to shake you off. Jubilant laughter pelts free, hair blowing in the wind and dress flashing more of the soft skin that Cassian was just dying to get his fill of.

He’s been bested—that much the Commander can admit but it doesn’t feel like a loss when you feed his filthy fantasies without even trying. The roll of your waist will surely plague his dreams but the effortlessly seductive glint in your eye will haunt him to his dying breath.

It doesn’t dissipate. Not even when you finally tap out, easing yourself down on shaky legs and shuffle back to the shared booth with a breathy huff.

A peachy sheen has overtaken your cheeks at the bewildered stares your friends give you for your performance but the mess of your curls splaying around your shoulders has Cassian’s heart racing when imagining the others ways he could put you in such a state.

The others watch in complete silence as you steal the beer right from Cassian’s hands, cool condensation dripping down your fingers but you pay it no mind. “It seems that I am plenty of fun to be around,” He watches the slow roll of your throat as you swallow, unable to look away. “But that’s usually reserved for after hours.”

Cassian’s gaze darkens under the implication, lids heavy with desire. “Noted.”

#acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x you #acotar #cassian fic #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian smut #cassian acotar #cassian fanfic #cass fic #cassian #lord of bloodshed #acotar fics #acotar x reader smut #acotar smut

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vinvantae · 27 days

Note

heyyy! sorry if this request is vague but i lack your creative genius so how about the grid x reader with forced proximity (like the two being in a situation where they have to be really close outside of their respective wishes not noncon!). if not all drivers, then maybe just Charles, Lewis and Fernando? thanks love!

I am sooooooo sorry this took so long 😭 I’ve been mega busy lately and haven’t had the time to really sit down and write. Hope you enjoy regardless x

Lewis

“There’s no way this is actually happening right now.”

You stared down at the door handle that was currently laying in your palm, no longer attached to the door. Lewis quirked a brow and plucked it from your hand, turning it over in his a few times.

“I did tell them it was coming loose, didn’t realise it was this close to falling off.” He chuckled softly. “Cosy in here isn’t it?”

The room itself wasn’t that small, but now you had no escape - the walls suddenly felt like they were pressing against you. “Why do we even have this room?”

“I think Bono called it a panic room… apparently, just our luck, it’s also soundproof.”

You groaned and flopped onto the small loveseat that was tucked against the wall - letting your eyes cast around the room. “Have you-“

“Text someone? Yeah. They’re trying to find a way in.” His voice was soft as he sat beside you, a strong hand coming to rest on your knee - the heat immoderately rushing to your cheeks.

You’d had a massive crush on Lewis since the day you’d met - but he was levels and levels above you at Mercedes. You were but a simple social media admin, something he personally opted to not take part in very often so your paths didn’t cross often and when they did you found yourself feeling like a giggly teenager.

You could almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he studied you, a gentle sigh leaving his lips.

“…hey uh, feel free to report me to HR if this crosses some major boundary but I never really get to speak to you alone.” He was fully facing you now, his hand still pressed against your knee - thumb brushing across the black fabric of your work trousers. “You fancy getting dinner sometime or something? I’ve seen you around a lot and I just… I honestly can’t get you out of my head.”

“M-Me? Seriously?” You laughed, practically flooded with disbelief. “You’re Lewis Hamilton.”

He smirked. “Yeah, and you’re you… I’d really like to get to know you outside of this world, no Mercedes branding attached. I already like what I do know, I’d like to see more.”

Your eyes flickered across his face for a moment, trying to read him - and he seemed nothing but genuine. You gave him a cautious nod and his face lit up, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“We’re going to have a blast, trust me.” His grin lit up the room.

Before you could speak again there was a frantic knock on the door. “We’re about to take the hinges off! Stand back please!”

“All clear.” Lewis called back, before giving your hand a squeeze. “Ready to get back out there?”

You looked down at your entwined hands and smiled softly. “As I’ll ever be.”

Charles

Their music was quiet now, just softly playing in the background as Kika giggled - her boyfriend twirling her into his arms, a loving smile on his face. When she had insisted on hosting his birthday party at your shared apartment, you forgot to consider who one of Pierre’s best friends was, a man you loathed. And now, as the night rolled on and all of the other guests had filtered out - it was just the four of you left and whilst Pierre and Kika were still enjoying their tipsy states, you and Charles were as stiff as boards, sat as far apart from each other as possible.

Your eyes followed Kika as she stepped away from Pierre, circling the coffee table to approach you, manicured hands landing on your shoulders as she looked into your eyes. “We’re going to bed… you gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You forced a smile, one she was too inebriated to decipher. “I’m not tired, I’ll tidy up a bit.”

“Oh ‘miga. Don’t stay up too late.” She pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple before leading Pierre away, practically purring.

You rolled your eyes, still not giving the man beside you any attention as you stood up - collecting some cups from the table but as he started clearing the coffee table beside you, you couldn’t help but frown.

“You can go home, Charles.” You grumbled. “You don’t live here, y’know. It’s my mess to clear up.”

“Did Pierre not tell you?” He patted the back of the sofa. “This bad boy is my bed tonight.”

“…he did not. Well, I don’t want to keep you up, so I’ll clean tomorrow or something.”

He practically snorted out a laugh. “I don’t want to sleep in this mess either so, let’s just make it quick yeah?”

The two of you moved around each other quietly - you’d met through your best friends and very quickly decided that you didn’t get on. He was pretty and he knew it - he always had some stunning girl draped over his arm; at first you were just annoyed, just as you got to know her, like her even, he’d bin her off for a new model. He just didn’t know the meaning of the word loyalty.

“You uh, still with… uh Colette was it?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “She wanted something more serious, so no,”

Charles watched you roll your eyes as you shoved a paper cup into the bin bag in your hand.

“What’s it to you anyway? Jealous?” He smirked, throwing a balled up napkin in your direction.

“No. I just don’t understand why you hate commitment so much.” You scoffed. “You always find the loveliest girls and then-“

“I don’t hate commitment. I’ve just not found a girl who challenges me.” His voice was quieter with his admission. “They all will literally just agree with everything and anything I say just because they’re desperate to keep me happy… that’s just not… I don’t want that.”

The silence was heavy but you didn’t dare move, especially as he walked around the coffee table towards you - bin bags long forgotten as he gently took your biceps in his hands.

“I… I know you don’t like me… I don’t blame you.” He sighed softly, letting his hands slowly cascade down your arms until his hands finally found yours, his lips curving into a shy smile when you didn’t pull away. “But I like the way you call me out on my shit, and you make me want to be better.”

“Charles…” You felt breathless. “I don’t want to be the reason you treat women right, you should do that because it’s the right thing to do.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” A soft huff escaped him. “Can we at least maybe start over? Friends?”

Your eyes studied his face - almost as if you were seeing him for the very first time. The way his green eyes still seemed bright under the dim lights of the floor lamps, the way his lips were such a pretty shade of pink… shit.

“Depends… would friends do this?”

Charles stumbled back a little as you kissed him, hands quickly finding purchase on your hips. He groaned as you looped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

Oh he was fucked.

Fernando

You don’t think you could be pressed any further against the side of the van if you tried - Fernando’s manspreading had made sure of that. The two of you had somehow ended up in the back together, the third seat home to camera equipment as per the team’s request. It was supposed to be a quick trip, 20 minutes tops, but the roads were completely gridlocked so you found yourself stuck in the Spaniard’s company for a lot longer than you’d planned.

“Oh my god, Fernando.” You hissed, yanking the hem of your jacket out from under his thigh as he shifted. “Do you want to take up any more of my seat?”

The corner of his mouth tugged up into a small smirk. “Sorry.”

You rolled your eyes. “No you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

A soft huff left your lips, turning away from him to look out the window - noticing the view hadn’t shifted even a little since you last checked. You groaned. “Have we moved at all?”

“Sorry! It’s completely at a standstill, looks like it’s going to be a while!” The driver called back from the front, sending you an apologetic gaze through the rear view mirror.

Fernando couldn’t help but notice your demeanour shift, fully slumped in your seat at this point - a petulant frown on your face. He always thought you were pretty, but you seemed to have a vendetta against him since day one despite his best intentions. And after a while he just gave him, treating you with the same sass you threw at him.

“Do you want to lighten up a touch, cariño” He teased, leaning a little so he could catch your eye. “This car ride is already going to be bad enough without your attitude.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not exactly my favourite person to be around.”

“And why is that? Hmm?” His voice was patronising, condescending almost, and it made you want to smack him upside the head - but you’d definitely get fired. “Did I forget your birthday or something?”

He was surprised by the dejected sigh that left your lips, your eyes almost wet when you looked up at him. “…You’ve just always made me feel like a dumb kid. I know how to do my job. I’m smart, I’m capable. I’m not even that young! But god forbid I do anything myself. Let me move that for you. I’ve got that. Oh no, I’ll do it myself.”

“You think I did all that because I thought you were incapable?” He had to hold back the laugh of disbelief. “Cariño , that was just me being a gentleman… I was trying to be courteous, to impress you.”

Your cheeks heated. “Impress me?”

“Well, yeah.” This time he laughed softly. “You said it yourself, you’re smart, you’re capable… and, forgive me, you’re very beautiful. I never meant to cause upset or make you think I thought little of you.”

You felt beyond embarrassed - this whole time he was just being nice and you had automatically assumed he was looking down on you.

“…want to start over?” Your voice timid, unable to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

“I’d like that.” He held his hand out. “Hi, I’m Fernando.”

It was your turn to laugh as you took his hand in yours, his skin warm against yours as you gave it a firm shake - introducing yourself to him. His gaze was different as he looked at you now, his dark eyes no longer full of distaste but something new.

And you couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

#f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #x reader #charles leclerc x reader #Fernando Alonso x reader #Lewis Hamilton x reader

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vaokses · 1 month

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A ghost to its haunt (Pirtir, Ch.2)

Series Masterlist

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Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You set off ahead of your family towards King's Landing, attempting to escape the restlessness that overtook you as the day your betrothal is to be announced draws nearer. You find yourself a witness to what has become of the people you once knew as the King summons you all for dinner.

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Viserys is a terrible father, but you knew that already. Helaena is a dragonrider and has a close bond with Dreamfyre, the show can fuck right off.

A/N: Very little of Aegon here, I'm sorry. I promise next chapter will be more exciting. I hope you enjoy!

Title is from a diary entry by Virginia Woolf, "I come home - and I have a feeling returning like a ghost to its haunt."

Your hand caresses bronze scales as you come to stand on solid ground, and you find yourself fighting the instinct to command Vermithor to take you to the skies again as you face the awaiting party.

You had hoped that if you were to arrive days before you were set to do so with the rest of your family, they wouldn’t have enough time to make a spectacle out of your arrival.

Then again, a century-old dragon is perhaps not the best means of transport if you intend to catch them off guard.

And so there they stand, the Lord Hand, his daughter the Queen, and the three of her children that still live in King’s Landing.

You aren’t sure what it is you were expecting, but it certainly was not this. You seem to remember them wrong. All of them.

The spirited even if demure Queen of your memories, of angry eyes and fingers gripping a knife and demanding retribution; has left in her place a shadow of herself, a woman of tired eyes that offers an almost sorrowful smile as she greets you. The anger though, the anger remains.

The boy you last saw fighting back tears and putting on a brave face as the maesters treated his wound, stands tall as a man of his own right, wound hidden away behind an eyepatch and any of the humanity of your youth absent in his piecing stare.

Aegon is no less a stranger. Though a mask of him remains, much like the casts of corpses the families of Old Valyria used to make to keep in their homes, the boy you knew once, capricious and uncaring about the legacy or future of any of it; seems to have died since you last saw him, leaving behind something you don’t entirely recognize. Gone is the heedlessness and imprudence of your shared youth, leaving in place something like wariness, like resignation.

He seemed more spirited, livelier, when you were younger. You suppose you didn’t see then that he has his mother’s eyes -the anger, yes, but also the sorrow-, you didn’t notice then that he too shares in what seems a trait of his family of being uneasy in their own skin.

Your eyes meet, and though you find yourself with so much to say, you were taught better than to speak your mind, you know better by now than to let your heart get ahead of yourself. And neither the reproaches of it being his fault that you are to once again lose your home, nor anything else, something perhaps more foolish and far more careless, leave your lips.

Aegon looks back at you, eyes slightly wide in uncertainty and something else, something like expectation, and though for a moment you think he is to say something, lips parted forming for a moment in what you swear is the beginning of your name; he adjusts in his place, and looks away from you.

Finally, in a sea of strangers, there is a familiar face. Helaena looks familiar, feels familiar. Big eyes are fixed on you, though when your own gaze finds hers, she looks away. A smile, kind and warm and exactly as you remember, curves at her lips, and it gives you the impulse -the courage, the strength- you needed to approach them.

The pleasantries leave your lips with ease after you exchange your greetings, “Such a welcome was not necessary, though I am grateful for your kindness.”

“What was possible considering the…short notice of your arrival. It is essential for the people of King’s Landing to see you are welcome here, Princess.” The Hand states, each word chosen carefully. They can’t afford for the people and the Great Houses to think you a hostage, is what he means.

It is Aemond who steps forward then, before you can even utter an answer, hands joined behind his back, head held high even if for a moment it faintly bows in greeting. It seems he gauges you for a moment, as who plans his next step on a board game, eye narrowing before he adds,

“So as not to let them confuse your standing with your brothers’.”

You swear you can hear Otto Hightower heave a sigh at his grandson’s words.

Resigned, but with practiced familiarity after over a year spent in hostile territory, you fix your stance and return his words in kind.

“Surely my brothers are as welcome here as I am.”

“Hm. It just happens it is not a fair comparison, between my…dear nephews and you.”

You are as much of a bastard as your brothers, and you are certain he knows, for his mother is no idiot, and must have put together the coincidence of your conception happening during Daemon’s short stay in King’s Landing after your mother and Laenor’s wedding. And anything Alicent knows, she feeds to her sons, or so has Lady Mysaria warned you.

You would rather believe it is the slights your brothers committed against him, and the fraught nature of their relations, what leads him to see them as lesser than you, and not the thinness of their blood. You’d rather deal with vindictiveness than hypocrisy.

“In your eyes, and the eyes of your family, perhaps,” You remind him. “Not the eyes of the people of the Seven Kingdoms. That I can assure you.”

And it is no lie. You didn’t spend twenty months in foreign lands and sleeping in unfamiliar beds, drinking watered-down wine and eating overcooked duck, for your brothers’ legitimacy to be as challenged as it was before.

“It was not the people of the Seven Kingdoms who built this dynasty, niece. Our family did.” He argues, now in your native Valyrian. It pulls at an old part of your heart when Aemond speaks confidently High Valyrian, it makes proud the girl that would let the candles burn until they died out sitting by him and practicing the intricacies of your native tongue.

There’s a hint of a smile playing at your lips, for at his threat that it is the will and power of the men of your bloodline that can set the future of the inheritance, yours or your brothers’, you can answer with a threat of your own,

“No, dragons did.”

As if another part of this conversation, as if to serve as a reminder, Vermithor rumbles a low call, diverting your uncle’s attention to him. A clipped little hm leaves Aemond’s lips as he gazes upon the Bronze Fury, for the first time since you last saw each other in Driftmark years ago.

You feel the slow breath of warm air leaving the old dragon’s nose, it warms your hands, carefully joined behind your back. From the corner of your eye, you see Helaena’s smile at the sight of him, so alike the smile you saw brightening her face the few times you took to the skies together in your youth.

You know, though you dread to, that you are to command Vermithor to leave you behind, to occupy his place in the Dragonpit, but you hesitate.

You first stepped into the Dragonpit many years ago, long before you claimed Vermithor, to meet Dreamfyre, and then Sunfyre, which Aegon insisted you did after hearing his sister had taken you to see her own dragon. You were but children, and the Pit seemed another world entirely, cavernous and strong and other, but now you look upon them and see nothing but stone, carved by men, for men, to soothe themselves thinking they control fire made flesh.

You say nothing, instead turning around and looking into familiar bronze eyes. Vermithor’s answering rumble for a moment seems to imitate the shrill song Silverwing often directs at their eggs, and without another wasted moment he takes to the skies and towards the outskirts of the city, away from the Pit and towards the Kingswood.

“Dreamfyre knows he is here. She has missed them,” Helaena mutters quietly, watching him fly away and shifting in her place, as if the she-dragon’s restlessness is her own. “They were one, once. They should have remained so.”

You hum in agreement, watching the bronze dragon force the clouds to part for him.

“Much like you and I, they were side by side almost since they hatched, no?”

You turn to her with a smile, but the sharp gaze of the Queen keeps you from saying anything else or from deviating your attention from her.

“Princess. You flew here.” Queen Alicent points out, something like accusation lacing her tone.

You refuse to let your smile falter as you look upon the Queen and answer, “Any journey is made more entertaining, not to mention shorter, on dragonback, Your Grace.”

“Eager, then?”

“Restless.”

“Ah,” She nods, dark eyes trailing over your body from head to toe. “Must be why you come dressed for battle, then.”

You wear nothing too different from what any dragonrider would, and of course in your mother’s colors, but you won’t deny the dark chainmail over your sleeves, or the metal corset clinging to the red and black fabric, though subtle, are meant to resemble armor. It was a gift from your half-sister, readied for when your tour had meant to include King’s Landing.

“Dressed for a long flight, nothing more. I’m sure any of your children, all experienced dragonriders, would understand.” You answer, ready to force them into the conversation in order to avoid an ambush.

“A dress does make flying uncomfortable,” Helaena provides, as kind as you remember. Her gaze flickers to you, and she murmurs, so quietly it is almost silent, “A cloak for war, lies for battle.”

___

Merely an hour after your arrival -barely giving you any time to reach the Keep in the carriage, much less settle in what you are told are to be your apartments-they send your handmaidens a message, instructing them to ready you for dinner, for the King is awake and well, and wishes to welcome you as the pain from his illness prevented him from doing this morning.

The two handmaidens assigned to you -as yours must be somewhere in Blackwater Bay by now, making the trip here with the rest of your family- busy themselves without even a prompt from you, one tending to you in your bath and the other setting to straightening and readying the dress you brought with you on Vermithor’s saddle, along with a few other essentials.

You count on your family to bring what else you might need, along with the rest of your clothes and jewels, with them when they arrive on their boats. It is a practiced routine by now, after so long travelling on Vermithor, to take with you only what is most important while a day or two later the rest of the servants bring the rest.

“Is this…common? For my grandsire to attend dinner with all of them?” You ask one of the handmaidens as she brushes a conditioning cream onto your hair.

You do not care about the routines in the Keep, that isn’t why you are asking. You want to know the kind of women they have assigned to serve you, as you did whenever you traveled ahead of your own handmaidens during your tour.

“As any family meets as one for supper, Princess, so does the King’s.”

These girls are terrible liars.

You are surprised to find Princess Helaena waiting outside your apartments when you are leaving them to join supper. She stands tall, expression carefully void of any tells, and greets you with a murmur of your name.

Not your title, not niece, your name. Strange, that you cannot recall the last time your name was preferred, or the last time it was not uttered as a call to heel.

You accept her strange offer and let her walk you to the dining room, handmaidens and Kingsguards in tow.

“You are wearing red.”

“It is our family’s color. We are blood and fire.”

“Mother never makes me wear green.” She comments instead of offering an answer, and it is only at her words that you notice this morning, while her brothers wore dark green -almost black, but you know better-, and her mother vibrant emerald, she wore a soft blue dress with silver details.

“This dress is beautiful, Helaena.” You tell her, admiring the greys and blues of its silk, the various designs embroidered in its sleeves.

She lifts a loose sleeve to show you. Your eyes trail over ling insects of many legs and of odd antennas, before stopping to linger on a spider of red and black.

“I made these.”

“Oh, they are quite impressive,” You admit, reaching for her sleeve but stopping yourself a moment before when the Princess stiffens up at the threat of contact. Lifting your gaze, you await permission, or an explanation perhaps, but Helaena merely looks away. Even if a tad thrown off balance by her reaction, you grant her distance and continue, “Are these…real creatures? I have seen nothing like them before.”

“I copy them from drawings, or descriptions. Grandsire gifts me books that the maesters write about the animals and insects they find in their travels,” She tells you, and for a moment you are sitting with her on the stone steps of Driftmark’s castle on that last night, that last reunion, watching the spider crawling over your hands as she tells you about its origins, about the strings her grandfather pulled to gift her this creature, both of you unaware that your brothers were fighting in the tunnels below. The memory, the unexpected nostalgia that comes with it, catch you off guard long enough that the conversation dies out. After a few beats of silence, your aunt offers, “I’ll teach you, if you want.”

“Oh.”

“To embroider. Not spin.”

“I-I would love to learn, I-…”

“He is my brother,” She interrupts you, big eyes unwavering in their intensity. She speaks with certainty, with purpose, as if these scattered sentences hold just one meaning, “Despite the rest, b-before the rest. He is my brother.”

“I was sent here as a bride, not an assassin. Is this a warning?” You try to jest, but she loses none of the intensity, none of the…anger.

“Yes.” Helaena promises, surprising even herself at the statement, it seems.

Seeming to hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do or how to move, she finally decides to stride into the dining room that awaits you, leaving you behind.

___

Your mother was right. By the Gods, you hate to admit it, but your mother was right. You should have never ridden ahead of them.

The painfully small gathering has arranged you all around a small table, sitting you by the King’s side with Helaena at your other side, while your uncles and the Lord Hand sit across from you in the small table.

Granted, in your travels you scarcely found yourself dining with a family lacking tension, it is almost a condition of noble blood to hate those you share it with, but there is something else to whatever haunts the family that resides in the Keep. Errant, a thought crosses your mind, a gratefulness to your mother to have taken you from here if this was to be the outcome for you as well.

There lingers a lifelessness that reminds you of the marble model your grandsire keeps of Old Valyria, that makes you think of them all as beasts desperately trapped in the brittle stiffness of marble figurines.

The Queen sits as tightly coiled as a spring, jarring tiny movements, almost spasms, as she as she takes her seat next to the King; though her eyes, big and anxious, trail over you all, jumping from person to person like an anxious deer’s. Yet, neither she nor anyone else comments on any of this strangeness. Perhaps this is what is normal for her, for them.

Helaena has made it her mission to fold her napkin into some form or another, hunched over the table to focus on her task, and refuses to deviate her attention from it; while Aegon seems to have made his mission to discover how quickly he can sight the bottom of his cup, and appears to be making faster progress to his goal with each refill from the servants.

And Aemond is making quick progress to losing his other eye, by your hand this time, if he doesn’t cease in repeating this maddening little trick with his knife. He throws it a tiny distance so it embeds on the table, then pulls it out. Repeats this once more. Then spins the round-handled knife on his finger, one, two, three times. Back to the table, and the cycle starts again. Thud, thud, swish, swish, swish.

“I hear you came here on your dragon. How was your journey here, Princess?” Otto Hightower asks, and whether he intended to or not he has thrown you a rope to pull yourself out of the waters. After more than a year of travel and ceaseless talks with nobles, of endless dinners and constant lies and embellishments, an exchange like this is as natural to you as it is for Daemon to wield Dark Sister.

Thud, thud, swish, swish, swish.

“Quite wet, I’m afraid, my Lord Hand,” You answer, accepting a small pork tart a servant offers you. Nodding your thanks, you continue, “Vermithor enjoys the rain, and cares not for my opinion on it. If he sees a storm nearby, he’ll take us to fly right through it.”

Thud, thud, swish, swish, swish. By all the Gods, what use have Lord Confessors for instruments of torture when Aemond and his Gods-damned knife trick exist?

“I told you before, my girl,” King Viserys muses with a wry chuckle. “The idea that we control them is…is an illusion.”

“We control them no more than we control our own children,” You tell your grandsire, agreeable smile, as is expected, on your lips. “Or our parents.”

He seems to gather a deeper meaning from your words, and where you merely meant to compare the veteran dragon that claimed you as his rider and your parents’ own protectiveness, your grandsire takes it as a reproach of sorts, based on his downturned mouth, on his furrowed brow.

“I…I know you must still resent my decisions. I myself have come to regret them, with the years,” You are certain your confusion must be clear in your face, but he pushes forward with a grimace of pain as he leans closer. “But you are mine own, Rhaenyra. In my eyes, know that none of them could even compare, you must kn-…”

Queen Alicent interrupts him with a quiet whisper of his name and her hand resting on his shoulder, but you hear the unspoken words as if a dragon had roared them, as does everyone in the room, you are certain.

You venture to look to your right and find Helaena hunched over the table, both elbows resting besides her plate, and fiddling with her napkin, still attempting to fold it into some shape or another, and unaware of or unwilling to react to her father’s words. But you notice the way she has made herself smaller, the way her shoulders are hunched up almost to her ears, and you feel your heart break a little.

Prince Aemond is still relentlessly toying with the knife, but where the movements were practiced now they have a certain jitteriness to them, as if the repetitive motions are no longer the result of idleness, but of restlessness. It reminds you of the anxious flicks of Vermithor’s tail when he grows agitated.

The only one immobile is Aegon.

He is as still as a stone statue, arms extended and gripping the edges of the table as if catching himself from standing up -from fleeing? Or fighting?-. His eyes -by the Gods, he truly has his mother’s eyes-, wide in shock and shame and something older than himself, remain trained on the table before him.

A breath, stuttered and shallow, and his gaze lifts to his father. Pain, disgust, and somewhere in them you could swear there is also rage. You’ve seen trapped wolves with that look, you’ve seen cornered snakes with that look.

“Rhaenyra isn’t here, my love,” Alicent tells the King, “She will join us in a day’s time, to announce her daughter’s betrothal to Aegon. Remember?”

At the reminder, as quick as a soldier standing to attention, as instinctively as if a command had been issued, Aegon’s eyes flicker to you, only to find you already looking at him. The minuscule smile he offers you is one of lips pressed into a thin line, it is bitter, it is defiant in the face of humiliation, and it is terribly sad.

Cravenly, foolishly, you find yourself looking away. You turn to the King instead.

“Yes, of…of course,” There’s clarity in Viserys’ eyes and his mind for a moment before the pain or the remedy for it seems to dull it once more. “Forgive me, child. You do look a mirror of your mother.”

Your smile is a grimace but still sweet enough for your grandsire to answer with one in kind, but you find yourself stuck with no path forward, with no idea on what to make of this. What you know for certain however, is that you will forbid your handmaidens from ever again braiding your hair in the same manner your mother wears it.

“When she came of age, I was drowning in an ever-growing sea of letters and gifts, proposals and requests for her hand,” He reminisces, nostalgia as intoxicating to his senses as the strongest of wines. “I’m sure it was no different when you did.”

By the Gods, you want this conversation to be over, you have wanted for few things more fervently than an end to this uncomfortable and dreadful affair.

Stiffly, carelessly, you answer, “I wouldn’t know, I refused to hear of it.”

“Ah.” The King concedes, leaning back, disappointment and something impossibly close to grief clouding his gaze.

With a deep breath, through gritted teeth, you force yourself to add, “W-Which she tells me she often also did, when she was my age.”

“She resisted my every attempt to find her a match, as I’m sure she has told you,” He says, not wasting a moment to return to the bittersweet draw of memories. He lifts his cane to aim the ivory dragon your way with a smile on his lips that almost makes him have the healthier and rounder face of the grandsire you remember from your youth. Almost. “And I hear you resisted as well, and set off in your tour to make your own choice. You inherited her beauty and her temperament.”

But you didn’t inherit her temperament, and you don’t look like her. And though you love her, you aren’t like her, in your faults and in your virtues.

You understand, however, that it is yet another mask, another face. Some will wish to see your mother’s daughter and nothing more, and so you know that if you aim to win -and you do- that is the face you ought to show.

“I can only hope, grandsire.”

“It does warm this old man’s heart to know you walk willingly into this union, child,” Willingly? Your nails dig like claws onto your thighs, and from the corner of your eye you notice Helaena stop in her folding of the damn napkin and turn her gaze to you. “Despite the sacrifice it demands from you, despite the kind of man you must marry.”

He hasn’t said his son’s name. Hasn’t even looked at him since dinner started.

Now that you think about it, you doubt he has looked upon any of his children at all tonight.

And he hasn’t looked at you, not really. Not without seeing the face of the daughter he lost, the daughter he failed.

And though you ache to tell the King that were the odds to be even slightly more in your favor you would feed Aegon to Vermithor without hesitation, not in virtue of who he is but instead who he must become; and though you know what you must answer with is gratefulness for the recognition of your sacrifice, agreeable demeanor and a sweet smile; it is an old instinct, older than the one learned during your family’s self-imposed exile to Dragonstone, what decides your next words.

“It is no sacrifice,” You tell him, lie coming naturally to you, a skill in no small part Aegon helped you develop, with all the times in your youth that you lied to cover for him. “As you might remember, we were quite close, all of us. I am glad to return here, and I could ask for no better match.”

He knows you are lying. He is old and dying but he knows you are lying.

At least your grandsire remains as you remember him, and will take the comfort of an empty lie over the difficult reality of truth. He smiles, a sentencing.

“That is good to hear, sweet girl. It gives me hope that our House will remain united, able to withstand what tribulations are to come.”

“As it should. Only a dragon can kill another. Our House is invulnerable as long as it remains one,” You agree, as is expected, as is demanded. It is unbefitting, untoward, unthinkable, to have you admit you have often thought about it all burning, breaking, crumbling. To admit you have often wished for it. “I am honored to do as expected from me, and uphold the family, the crown.”

“You possess an admirable sense of duty, of sacrifice, Princess,” The Queen compliments, to which you know you must answer with a smile. Elbows leaning on the table, Alicent rests her chin on the back of her joined hands and asks, “Did you inherit that from your mother also?”

The smile, as false as a vow made in wine, falls from your lips instantly.

The Hand clears his throat, straightening in his chair, and at her direct attack there is not the calculating, almost proud look in his eye that was there the night she wielded a knife against your mother. He looks tired, disappointed and irked, but mostly tired. The look in his eyes reminds you of the Dragonkeepers in charge of herding the hatchlings.

“We will cease with these…these quarrels at once. Otherwise, our dinners, and our lives, will feel entirely too long,” It steals the ground from under your feet, the breath from your lungs, to hear him say such a thing. A lifetime. “Prince Daeron sent word that you were able to meet with him in Oldtown during your travels, Princess.”

Once again, The Hand saves you all, and thankfully diverts your attention from your own spiraling thoughts.

“Yes, my Lord. He and Ser Gwayne were kind enough to take me on a few outings and show me around. As beautiful a city as I ever saw.” You tell him, and though the answer is practiced and instinctual, it is no lie. The most innocuous street a thousand years old, every stone that makes up its castle witness to a hundred battles.

“It is a wonder.” Otto agrees.

You should bite your tongue, until it bleeds if you must, you know you should. But you didn’t inherit your mother’s temperament, and you want to remind them. Foolishly, recklessly, you want to remind them that you do not run when cornered.

So you add, “One must thank the Gods that your ancestor had the good sense to bend the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. It would have been a shame for such a wonder, such a House, to burn.”

“How fortunate the Hightowers are, then,” Aemond drums a short little beat with his fingers on the table, drawing the attention to himself. “That of the dragons capable of such destruction, only Vhagar remains.”

“Yes, marvelous creature that she is. Yet long past her prime,” You retort. “In all her might, Vhagar is a relic of days sadly gone from us.”

“Hm.” Another drum of his fingers on the table, and though he is still a stranger, you notice the clear tell of anger on him, a twitch on his lip, the slightest widening of his eye. You’ve seen Dragonkeepers with decades of experience burned to ash for the simple mistake of not heeding the creature’s warnings.

You will gain nothing from antagonizing him, and while you may amuse yourself by prodding to see what it is that makes him tick, you are aware Aemond remains a weapon you ought to be careful not to see turned at you.

In your months travelling through Westeros, entertaining conversations with Lords and Ladies from the most brilliant to the dullest, from the most hostile to the meekest, you have learned almost everyone has exposed nerves. Most are aware of them, and attempt to guard them, as you yourself have attempted to guard your own over the years.

Others, in arrogance or desperation, find themselves unable to. And while your grandsire’s need for peace -perhaps not peace, but merely the absence of conflict, not an extinguished forest fire, but a land devoid of air, where not even embers might linger alive- was something you expected would be easy to learn was his weakness, you are surprised by how swiftly you understand pride is Aemond’s.

“I have not seen you ride her in years, I fear neither my memories nor the stories I have heard must do either of you justice now, after so long bonded,” You admit, false sweetness twining with honest admiration. “Once I am settled here, would you take me to see her, uncle? We could fly together.”

You would think a praise as plain as those extended to some Lord or another during your travels, a request as simple as this, would not so easily disarm him, but it seems to.

A twitch of his mouth, as if he stops himself from giving a quicker answer, and Aemond leans back in his seat. A retreat.

Another drum of his fingers on the table, but there’s a nervousness to the movement now, and you fight for control to keep the smug smile off your lips.

“Of course, Princess.”

You bow your head and mutter a quick kirimvose, and catch yourself slipping, offering an honest smile. A part of you, still the child that would linger long after the candles had started to die out practicing Valyrian with a book recounting the Conquest, is still filled with awe at the mere thought of Visenya’s dragon.

And the part of you that felt her blood sing when Daemon made you take flight with him on Caraxes and Vermithor and taught you all he could of how to lead a dragon during war, during a true dance, wants more than little else for a chance to prove yourself against the Queen of All Dragons and her rider.

“A most excellent suggestion, sweet girl,” The King praises. “Two of the oldest living dragons, the two branches of our House, flying as one again. It will remind the Realm we stand as one.”

Must everything be for the good of the Realm, to send a message? Must everything be for appearances’ sake? You merely wanted Aemond and his hoary dragon to be reminded you and the Bronze Fury remain faster, better.

Reminding yourself to play, and desperate to close any openings these people might find, you search for a shield.

“I have dearly missed the musicians from King’s Landing. Many fond memories of my youth involve their melodies,” You announce, entirely more chipper than you have ever been naturally. Turning to the King, you prompt, “If you please, grandsire?”

He acquiesces, and orders the music start with a slight cough at the end of his words. He reaches with a clammy, cold hand and squeezes your fingers once before letting go.

Strangely, perhaps in the most bizarre interaction you’ve had since arriving, you find the Lord Hand regard you quietly and offer you a nod when your eyes meet, as if approving.

With your future betrothed seemingly intent on ignoring you and Aemond back to his maddening little game with his knife -it is strange, that even in such distinct actions and attitudes, the brothers remind you in the same way of the lions the Lannisters of Casterly Rock presented to you when you arrived, and the incessant circles the poor beasts would pace, forsaking food and water to keep up the mad repetition their time in captivity had impressed in them-; you find yourself with no remaining choice but to bother sweet Helaena.

“Are dinners in the Keep usually…like this?”

Like a castle a stone away from crumbling to dust, like a barrel leaking oil next to an open flame. Like an open wound, dug into by uncaring, rotten fingers.

“No. The pain makes father sleep a lot, so he doesn’t join us. Grandsire is always too busy to attend,” She tells you, intent on achieving on the folded napkin the perfect angle for what you know is a dragon. “And usually no one talks to me.”

“Oh.”

She taps the dragon’s snout once, twice, to further correct its position. Looks at it for a few beats of silence, studying it.

“I hope that changes with you here again. I haven’t had a sister before.”

Though her wording is strange, it is no different from the way the girl you remember from your childhood used to speak. You allow yourself a smile, honest for once, “Neither have I.”

“You have Baela and Rhaena,” She argues without thinking, before her eyes widen and rise to meet yours. “I’m sorry.”

“No use in lying to you, is there?”

She breathes a warm little laugh, but ducks her head, even as she admits, “Everyone still tries.”

“I can assure you it is not meant as a personal offense, Helaena,” You promise her, “To many it becomes an instinct. It is no longer a choice they can make.”

Her brow twitches, as if something bothers her, and she does a miniscule shake of her head as if to rid it of something. Instead of sharing thoughts you are certain are itching to be voiced, Helaena presents the napkin dragon to you.

You take it with careful hands, and bow your head with murmured, yet heartfelt, thanks.

___

Dismissed from what you are certain has been the longest dinner of your entire existence, you walk with Helaena to your room, your handmaidens having gone ahead of you to ready each of your rooms.

In your hand the cloth dragon is carefully cradled, and you muse aloud about where it is you will place it.

“Rhaenyra taught me to make these. I used to make them daily for father, for him to put next to his marble ones,” Helaena reminisces, “He discarded every one of them. Aemond found them one day, tried to hide them so I wouldn’t know.”

“I take it he didn’t succeed.”

“My brothers are terrible at hiding things, both of them.”

“I know, and so are mine. Remember when Aegon and Jace agreed to steal Sunfyre and Vermax from the Pits to have them race? Days before they were giddy, couldn’t for the lives of them hide they were up to something.”

“You cursed at them in Valyrian and in Common when you found out what they were planning.”

And yet you still went with them, as did Helaena. Even Aemond, grumbling the whole way, joined you and watched the dragons fly overhead with you all.

Foolishly, you find that you remember that day fondly, even though Jace refused to talk to you for a week after finding out you had bet on Sunfyre winning.

Instead of admitting that memories of a shared youth linger fresher in your mind, closer to your heart, that you would like, you argue,

“It was an objectively stupid idea. If our mothers had found out they would have had their hides. And ours.”

“They found out.”

“They did?” Your smile falters. Even to this day Jace boasts about the time he stole his own dragon from the Pits. “My mother never said anything.”

“Mine did. She-…” She stops, startles at a thud from within your room as the servants move about. She shakes her head again, though you gather it is memories and not something relating to her dreams that she aims to clear from her head now. “They found out.”

“I’ll be sure to tell that to my brother, he still believes himself some masterful thief for pulling it off.” You tell her, attempting to bring levity back into the conversation. It feels like yet another mask, for no one’s benefit, and you aren’t sure what to make of both the realization that you wear it even now, and the fact that you refuse to drop it.

You both come to a stop in the door to your apartments -what used to be your mother’s apartments, instead of the rooms you occupied when you were last here-, and Helaena speaks again,

“You couldn’t know, but I…I…” Her hands spasm, open and close, one, two times. Like dying spiders. “You hurt me, by leaving.”

“I never meant to.”

“I know. You didn’t have a choice,” She concedes, but the stiffness remains. Helaena lifts her head a little higher, hands joined together before her. “It doesn’t change that it hurt, however.”

“I…”

“Goodnight.”

She bows her head as a goodbye and doesn’t wait for an answer before she takes her leave.

Thank you for reading! Some chapters of this series will skip in time a bit, so if there's anything that wasn't clear or that you'd like to know about the time in between, or any skipped scenes, or stuff from the past, feel free to ask!

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