#“I can't believe Ao3 allows [x] to be here!” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

httpsserene · 4 months ago

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𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 '𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨 | 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐜𝐬. 𝟓𝟓 & 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒

summary: have you worked every shift possible for a chance of running into carlos and lando? yes. are you mad that you have a month of summer left and you still haven’t stumbled upon them? yes.

content warning: 18+. mdni. explicit sexual content. plot with porn. summer fling/vacation romance. fluff. light angst. light angst with a happy ending. banter. attempt at humor. explicit language. for extended tags, open in ao3.

pairing: poly! carlos sainz jr x lando norris x phd-student! fem!black!reader

word count: 18k words. (new record!)

from, serene: i am extremely proud of what i created. i hope it was worth waiting for, and i can't wait for the next episode !!! my next upload might be an alex albon smau series, for those that requested it. pls pls pls, send me asks and leave comments on this if you'd like! i'd love to hear your thoughts on sip of sunshine, and how it's building so far xxx thank you so much, my loves :) (50 more followers until 3k :o)

this has also been uploaded on my AO3 for anybody who finds it easier to read a fic of this length on there (looking out for those on mobile x)

Studying for a doctorate does not directly correlate to a person’s brilliance. If you were smart, you wouldn’t have returned to the golf club for another summer with the sole hope of reuniting with the two stunningly fine men you shared a ten-minute conversation with. However, you chose to beat intelligence in a foot race, and here you are: driving the same beverage cart while sweating off your sunscreen for the fifth year in a row; furthermore, you have not crossed paths with Carlos and Lando once in the two months you’ve been working.

It’s difficult to believe that Lando had told the truth when he mentioned that they’ve been attending Club La Moraleja consistently for the past four years. You want to believe him, but the evidence against him is overwhelming. You’ve worked every possible shift this season, at every possible time, on every possible course, without a single spotting of the duo from the beginning of June.

It’s August. If you allow yourself to think maniacally, you would infer that they’re avoiding you on purpose.

Previously, you were under the assumption that they were obviously flirting with you. The sexual innuendos, double-entendres, calling you a “sip of sunshine,” and the eighty euro tip Carlos left you (which had to be a mistake)—from which you deduced that they were making a move on you. You would even say that their instance in convincing you to return to the green was the smoking gun you needed to seal their fate in the case of you catching their interest.

Nonetheless, they are nowhere to be found.

You cope by entertaining the aspect of you suffering from heat stroke or heat exhaustion, and you created Carlos and Lando as a figment of your delusions during your compromised mental state. On the other hand, there’s also a chance that they took your joking threat—of never returning if you had to put up with their subpar pick-up lines—seriously. You didn’t consider that they would misunderstand your teasing banter but, you haven’t seen them a single time this summer.

It’s unsettling. You’ve never been this disappointed about men not taking the clear hint.

Obviously, you’d be relieved if any of the sleazy, rude, and archaic golfers stopped bothering you after their first attempt. But, Carlos and Lando? They’re the exact opposite of the men you described. They’re young, polite, funny, charming, and attractive. It’s not outlandish for you to say that there was some budding chemistry between you three.

It’s regrettably characteristic of you to develop crushes on men you haven’t shared more than one conversation with. Too bad you’re never going to see them again. And, screw them! Who do they think they are? It’s not like they’re anybody special—they probably delighted in filling your mind with false hope.

The next time you see them, you’re running them over with the bev cart. All gas, no breaks.

The motor whirs loudly as you drive over a hill to the last hole of Course Four—and, you’ll be damned.

“Well, look at you! You stayed!”

You can’t tell if this is the universe blessing you or sending you a curse in disguise.

Lando’s words ring in your ears as your brain fails to compute the sight of him and Carlos smiling at you from across the green, down in a bunker.

Lando’s…matured beautifully, over the year you haven’t seen him. He was attractive before, but as you direct the cart closer, you can tell he’s grown into himself. There’s a broadness to his shoulders, a sharpness to his eyes, and a hollowness to his cheekbones that certainly makes it impossible for anybody to deny that he’s beautiful.

Carlos is angeringly more handsome than he was before, somehow. You blame it on the backwards cap and his stupidly wide, warm, beautiful, brown eyes. You cut the engine off, scratching fiendishly at the back of your neck to dispel your thoughts about his nose and lips, how you would pay to see his brown eyes darkened between your thighs.

“Obviously,” you state dryly, roughly tucking the curls that slipped from your ponytail behind your ear, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Their grins falter at your biting tone and they glance at each other in surprise at your irritated response. They climb out of the bunker and walk to meet you at the side of the cart. You’ve turned your back to them, hearing their footsteps approach but you continue to mindlessly organize any cups that shifted out of place as you drove.

“It was just an observation,” the Brit continues, you can hear him still smiling around his words, “A conversation starter, I guess.”

You put on an impassive expression before turning around and staring at the two with your arms crossed, “Mm. Who’s the one who’s bad enough at golf to land in the bunker? Wait—don’t tell me! You’re both probably stuck in the sand trap.”

Lando’s mouth audibly drops open with an insulted gasp and Carlos’s brow furrows in confusion.

You wave a dismissive hand through the air before they can reply, “What do you want to drink?”

“Uh…What?” Carlos fumbles, lost at your deviation.

“What, ‘what?’” You snap, annoyed at his feigned innocence, like he’s unaware that they lead you on for the entirety of a summer that they just appeared in, “What do you want to drink? As in a refreshment? ¿Una bebida? I know you’re familiar with ordering from the cart as I served you last year—and since you both have been coming here for five years!” [A drink?]

The two stare at you in blatant terror as your voice echoes in the air. Their stunned silence at your “unfounded” anger only serves to exasperate you further.

“Make it quick,” your voice trembles infuriatingly, “What would you like to drink?”

“Did we do something wrong? If we upset you, we have no idea what we did,” Carlos rambles pleadingly. You almost buy it.

“Yeah, what’s with the attitude?” Lando gracefully ruins their chances of being acquitted, “We haven’t seen you in nearly a year; What could we have done wrong?”

“Attitude—are you serious!?” You scoff, insulted at the very idea, before continuing mockingly “Whatever—it’s a beer and a lime mocktail, right? Or, would you prefer a sip of sunshine?”

The men don’t have a chance to edit their orders as you sharply throw open the beer cooler, all three of you flinching as the lid slams into the cart and the bottles and cans clamoring together worryingly. You don’t let the fear of damaged property interrupt your fury as you brandish the beer towards Carlos, snatching your hand away as soon as his closes around the neck of the bottle.

He murmurs his thanks in his native tongue but the curl of his accent—no matter how alluring it sounds—incenses you further, and you huffily turn your back towards them as you craft Lando’s drink.

The thought of them being truthful about their confusion about your annoyance flares in your mind as you shovel ice into the plastic cup. It’s possible that there has been some miscommunication…but, that would be embarrassing for you to admit. You’ve already acted incredibly rude and like a total brat to them—to customers, at that! Ohmygod, you’ve let your personal emotions affect your work; they could report you to your manager and have you fired.

Your breath stutters as your overcome with a chill that feels like you’ve dumped ice down your own shirt. The drink is quickly assembled, and you find yourself wishing for a painless death as you fasten an orange slice as garnish on the rim of the cup instead of a lime. A slice of sunshine, if you will.

Meekly, this time around, you offer the cup to Lando. He looks increasingly disturbed at the sudden switch of your demeanor. You watch the Brit glance at his companion, his look clearly communicating that he’s checking if Carlos agrees that you’ve lost your mind, most likely.

The Spaniard must have agreed because Lando giggles nervously, the sound glaringly revealing his discomfort, “You didn’t poison my drink, did you?”

Your brain starts to self-destruct in embarrassment. Carlos hides his face in his free hand, but the sound of pain that escapes him at the ill-timed joke is clear. To be fair, Lando looked like he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but the damage was done.

Your cheeks burn furiously, you’re simultaneously angry and disappointed in yourself. How could you allow yourself to become overrun by your emotions on the clock? It’s unprofessional and uncharacteristic of you.

You excuse yourself shakily, “I-I am so sorry. Perdóname. I was rude to you both for no reason. I apologize sincerely for my behavior. Do not worry about paying, your drinks are on me. I hope you both enjoy yourself on the green—Buenas tardes.” [Forgive me; Good afternoon.]

Carlos and Lando are silent as you scamper into the driver’s seat, tail figuratively tucked between your legs. The ride back to the clubhouse is silent as you berate yourself for your stupidity. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to forget the way you ruined your chances with them. You already know your subconscious will play this on repeat every time you try to sleep. The cart beeps as you reverse into its assigned spot. Isabel, one of the fellow cart girls—and your best friend—waves at you with a smile as she walks over towards you. She must be the next on shift.

“You look like you’ve just been fired,” Isa’s smile has transformed into a look of concern, “¿Estás bien?” [Are you okay?]

Grabbing your belongings, you slide out of the driver's seat with a haunted look in your eyes. “You remember the two guys I told you about? From last summer? I think I just scared them away.”

“No,” Isa exhales in denial, pulling you into a hug, “There’s no way. What happened?”

“I yelled at them and insulted them for being bad at golf,” you mumble, yelping sharply as she communicates her displeasure by slapping at your arm, “I was mad at them, okay! They were pretending to be innocent, like they had no clue they avoided me for the entire summer! They’re going to complain to the Club and get me fired because I was unprofessional and rude!”

“Ay! You don’t know that! You still served them, and apologized right?” Isa brightens further when you mention you served them for free, she ignores your pout as you rub your hand against the stinging skin of your bicep, “Then, it’s probably nothing. If they do complain, this is your first complaint ever. You won’t get fired—you will just have to wash the carts for the rest of the summer.”

You fall to your knees on the hot concrete in despair and Isa snorts at your dramatics, bending to pluck the cart keys from your pocket.

“I’m just going to quit, inmediamente!” [Immediately!]

“If you quit, I quit,” Isa reminds you, “And, out of the two of us, I need this job. I’m broke. So, you can’t quit, unless you want me to suffer.”

“I would take care of you,” you beg, “I have my office job back in the States. You could marry me and get a green card! Let me quit!”

Isa cackles at the concept, “You hate your office job. Anyway, quitting won’t save you from your colleagues here. Don’t forget we’re all going out tomorrow night! You can’t escape this time, you promised me.”

You groan in indignation, “Is it a crime to not like clubbing every night?”

“¡Sí, lo es!,” She frowns, “It’s clubbing every night in Madrid! And, I need moral support if I have to watch Lucas flirt with Sofia. I don’t know what he sees in her.” [Yes, it is!]

Grumbling fitfully, you wish her a good shift before dragging yourself into the Clubhouse. You’re still quitting. There’s not a chance in hell that you’re coming back next summer—there is nothing worth staying for anymore. Sorry, Isa.

Out of all the shifts you’ve worked, the 8 A.M. to 3 P.M. is your least favorite. You blink blearily as you hang up your belongings in the same locker you chose four years ago, fighting the urge to rub at your eyes, with the thought of not smearing your mascara. Pinning your nametag on your pressed shirt is muscle memory, and you slide on a club-branded visor to protect your face because the UV index is concerningly high today.

You pause to stare at the photos pinned to the inside of your locker door—they date from your very first summer till now, with familiar faces and some you haven’t seen in a while. It’s heartwarming. You haven’t posted a single one of these photos in here; your friends do it on their own (the password to your locker is apparently community knowledge—you could change it, but then you’d stop collecting them), taping Polaroids from moments on the course to shenanigans off the course to nights out in the city, with captions and notes written on the back.

The sense of belonging and community you found here is why it was so difficult to come to a decision about leaving this place and its people behind. Your lips tilt up at a photo of you and the cart team covering your boss’s car in sticky notes two summers ago—he made you all collect the stray golf balls from the putting green that night in retaliation. And, he laughed deeply as the sprinklers drenched all of you, which is another few snapshots commemorated in your locker.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to leave.

“Mami,” Lilia, the receptionist on duty this morning, calls you from the locker room door, “The two really hot Formula One drivers are asking for you?”

You shoot a look of confusion her way, “huh—why me? I don’t know them?”

“Umm, yes you do?” Lilia mirrors your bafflement, “They say you’ve served them before. And that they want to apologize for something?”

“¿Qué?”

“I don’t know! I’m just repeating what they told me—” The brunette woman cuts herself short, and her eyes narrow after a moment, “Hey, if they’re bothering you, I’ll get them banned. I didn’t tell them that you were here, I just said I’d check to see if you had come in. Did they bother you? Don’t lie to me! I’ll call security and get them gone!”

“What, no! I don’t know them, or even know what Formula One is! I haven’t had a bad interaction or served any drivers—oh.” Your stomach sinks as your eyes shut woefully, “I fucked up.”

Lilia threatens to get them banned again when she sees the bronze skin of your face lose its luster. You tell her to let them know you’ll be out in a moment and to not threaten them. You step to the full-length mirror to check your appearance and adjust your uniform. Centering yourself with a few deep breaths, you turn the door handle and make your way out to the reception desk.

The squeaking of your sneakers on the tile floor only adds to your anticipation. A small part of you hopes that Carlos and Lando aren’t the Formula One drivers asking for you, and that this is all some misunderstanding. You feel your soul die inside of you as your eyes meet theirs. Their expressions look determined and apologetic, and your palms feel sweaty as you come to terms with them preparing to file a formal complaint.

Lilia clears her throat abruptly from where she’s pretending to organize membership files. You see a blush bloom on Carlos and Lando’s cheeks as they realize that they’ve been staring at you without saying anything for longer than what’s politely appropriate, but you beat them to the chase.

“Buenos días. U-umm,” you anxiously scratch at the nape of your neck, “…Is this about yesterday? Or the tip you left last summer? It was too generous to not be an accident. It’s past our refund period, but I can reach out to the manager on duty to see if we can work something out.” [Good morning.]

“I gave you eighty euros on purpose,” Carlos states without doubt, and you feel Lilia’s stare piercing your side profile.

“Oh.”

“I wanted to speak to you about yesterday—”

You cut in, “Yesterday was my fault! I think I misunderstood you both and I overreacted. It was nothing personal—”

Lando clasps his hands together, interrupting you with an imploring tone, “It was personal, though. Which is fine, I think we deserved it. Especially if there was a misunderstanding on our part. We would’ve communicated with you clearer if we were sure that you were on the same page as us. We would appreciate it if you would allow us to make it up to you.”

Lilia kicks your ankle underneath the desk, doing enough freaking out for the both of you as you struggle to keep your face calm.

“I feel like I’m still the one at fault for the miscommunication. But—how were you planning to…smooth things over, I guess?” You ask.

“Allow us to take you to dinner tonight, and explain,” Carlos finishes, weaponizing those eyes of his, helped by Lando softening his own at you desperately for a chance.

“Oh—um, I would love to, really, but I already have plans tonight—,” You’re getting tired of being interrupted, but Lilia is quick to clear your schedule.

“No!” The raven-haired woman jumps up from her seat, slapping her hand on the counter forcefully, causing the three of you to jump. “She’s free tonight!” She smiles scaringly wide at Carlos and Lando.

Lilia turns to you and her smile and voice quiets to something genuine, “I will explain to the others about why you could not make it. Isa will understand as long as you remember to keep us both updated, yes?”

You roll your eyes, resigned , “Yes.”

You’re surprised at the tentative happiness growing in the boys’ appearances, “I guess I can do dinner tonight. What’s the plan?”

Phone numbers are exchanged and they agree to pick you up from your house at seven. They linger through their goodbyes, clearly not wanting to end the conversation. It’s flattering that they're willingly exposing their obsession with you so soon. You shoo them away with the reminder of seeing each other tonight and the fact that you are, in fact, on the clock. Lilia slaps you on the arm repeatedly as you watch them exit through the front doors with a dreamy sigh.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Lilia lets out a scream of excitement and pulls you into a hug, the two of you jumping up and down overwhelmed with joy. You’re caught by your boss Marco, who takes one glance before he turns around to head back into his office, forcing the two of you into hysterical giggles.

You pull back from her, and you can’t quiet the large grin dancing on your lips, “I have no idea what to wear!”

Carlos texted you twenty minutes ago alerting you that they’re on the way to pick you up. Lando added that they can’t wait to see you a minute later. You were ready thirty minutes before they started heading your way. Ten minutes ago you decided to change your entire outfit. You settled on a linen cropped tank and matching maxi skirt with a pair of sandals. You fiddle with your accessories endlessly, and you do the same with a few stray curls that refuse to sit where you want them.

Grabbing your purse and phone, you rush out of your room and down the stairs to find your parents in the kitchen adding the finishing touches to their own dinner.

“¡Mija—qué bonita!” your mom gasps, wiping her hands on a towel before she pulls you closer to look at you, “Where have you been hiding this outfit?” [My daughter, how beautiful she is!]

“Má, I’ve had it for a while,” you subject yourself to her cooing and prodding as she spins you around, looking at your dad for help, who only offers you a shrug, “—I just have not had anywhere to wear it.”

“Hm? Then, what’s so special about tonight? I thought you were clubbing with your friends, no?” You avoid meeting her prying eyes, pretending to find interest in what’s simmering on the stove.

“Eh, why is there a Ferrari outside of my house?” your dad asks, drawing your attention to the front window. The sleek black convertible is parked by the curb, and your phone buzzes in your hands. Lando has informed you of their arrival, and you quickly tell them you’ll be right out to avoid them coming to the door. You don’t know if they’re “meet the parents” caliber yet, Ferrari or not.

“Don’t worry about it, Papà. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back tonight,” you press kisses to both of your parents’ cheeks, “Save some food for me to take to work tomorrow, please?”

Your mom pinches your ear, “Ay! You are going on a date? Finally! Is he handsome on top of being rich? A Ferrari is okay as long as he is as beautiful as the car, you know?”

Your dad makes a noise of complaint as he follows you both towards the door, “A Ferrari is more than okay as long as he respects you and treats you well. And, if he buys me a Ferrari too—ask him for me.”

You fuss at them, flustered but smug as you ignore your dad’s request, and you turn to smirk at your mom, “Papà, I plan to find outfit they treat me well tonight. Mamá. They’re both gorgeous.”

Your dad blinks in confusion as your mom crows in delight, “¡Mija! I knew I raised you properly! ¡Vas, vas! Have fun and you have to tell me everything when you get back, yes?” [My girl!; Go, go!]

“Sí, Mamá. ¡Muchos besos, te quiero!” You slip out of the door, the sound of your mother explaining that you’ve garnered the interest of two men to your father fading behind you as you walk to the car. [Yes, mom. Kisses, I love you!]

Carlos and Lando are waiting for you on the curb, the engine purring lowly behind them. Your gait slows as you near, and the Spaniard reaches out to press his lips to the back of your hand fleetingly.

They’ve dressed well; Lando in a light gray, short-sleeved, collared, v-neck that rests untucked over white chinos and a pair of gray sneakers to match. He’s sprinkled with bracelets, a few of them decorate his toned forearms on both wrists, and there’s a singular silver chain peeking from the cut of his shirt. Carlos is dressed similarly with the white chinos, yet he’s chosen a light blue button-up with the first few buttons undone, and a pair of dress shoes. His outfit is complimented by a dazzling watch.

You murmur a greeting to both men, unable to hold eye contact with either of them for long. It’s one thing to fantasize that you have a chance with men clearly out of your league, and it’s another thing to have to muster up the confidence to speak to them outside of your uniform.

Lando impatiently shifts on his feet as the older man keeps hold of your hand for longer than necessary. When you’re released, Lando takes it a step further and pulls you into a hug, his body heated and solid against yours. A shiver runs down your spine when his hand rests on the exposed skin of the small of your back. You hum, pleased as you inhale the velvety scent of his cologne, missing the closeness as he pulls away from you a beat later.

You step back, your heart thudding as you quip, “I didn’t know we were on hugging terms already.”

“I’m sorry,” Lando flushes easily, and Carlos chuckles, “I should’ve asked if it was okay.”

“I liked it,” you smile at him, pretending as if your heart isn’t pounding forcefully from the brief embrace, “I-I mean, it was fine, don’t worry.”

The Brit hums at your response, his eyes drifting along your form before meeting yours again with a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. His blush recedes as yours strengthens, now apparent on your darker skin.

“Lovely house,” he withdraws, and you’re thankful he avoided commenting on the evident flush he invoked with nothing more than a hug and a pass of his eyes.

“Thank you, my parents bought it and moved here after I started university,” you explain needlessly, “They’re pretty great. They were the ones who made me apply for the position at La Moraleja. So, really, it’s them you have to credit with us meeting, I suppose.”

“We also have to thank them for having a beautiful daughter,” Carlos alleges smoothly.

You fluster, “I-I’ll pass the message along. Both of you are very handsome, but I think you guys hear that often.”.

“Don’t worry. It sounds sweeter coming from you,” Lando edits his point with an impish grin, “—and from Carlos too, sometimes.”

“Don’t be a brat, Lando,” the Spaniard’s voice is light as he entertains the younger, “Unfortunately, I think we will be late if we continue to stand here and flirt in the street,” Carlos says, and his eyes shift to look past you and at your house, “—And, I think your dad might come outside and kill us. Which would not be very pleasant, in my opinion.”

You spin around, chagrined at the sight of your dad watching the three of you with a harsh stare.

“Yes! Let’s get going, I would hate to be late. Ignore him, please.” Lando waves at your dad anyways, endearing himself to you further, “And, you won’t have to worry about being murdered as long as you get him a Ferrari.”

The two men startle into laughter at that, and you hold your hands up candidly, “What? His words, not mine!”

You didn’t account for the oddness of one of you sitting in the backseat, but Lando assigns himself to the back, claiming that you have “passenger princess” rights.

The wind ruffles through your curls aimlessly as Carlos drives towards your destination. The ride is filled with endless chatter and flirting. A smile is constantly on your face as the three of you speak through topics easily. There’s not a single time you feel like an outsider, even though it’s clear how familiar they are with each other.

The restaurant you find yourself in isn’t screaming its extravagance at you, which is surprising. While it’s dimly lit, and you can hear live music thrumming through the air from somewhere deeper inside over the lively chatter—it feels like a classic restaurant, intimate and comfortable. Like somewhere you could go for a nice dinner often.

The hostess straightens upwards with recognition when she spots Carlos and she greets the three of you good naturedly before disappearing to check if your table is ready.

The Spaniard notices the surprise on your face, “My family and I have dined here since I was young. You have never come here before? ”

You shake your head, “I’m a little jealous, if I’m being honest,” Carlos tilts his head, listening, “I’m mad I didn’t discover this place sooner. The atmosphere is amazing!”

The hostess returns, gesturing for you all to follow after her and Lando grasps your hand to catch your attention as you walk, “If you think the vibe is amazing, just wait until you try the food.”

The table is not in direct sight of anyone besides the kitchen, clearly a spot meant for privacy. Your hidden behind a half wall and a screen overgrown with plants, and the volume of the restaurant seems quieter through the barrier. You lean back in your chair as the three of you wrap up the discussion about yesterday’s conflict.

“I feel incredibly stupid now,” you chuckle, embarrassed. The brown skin of your face burns hot. You focus on the empty wine glass in front of you, avoiding their eyes plainly.

“No,” Carlos’s voice is stern, the serious tone shocking you into looking at him, “Do not be rude to yourself—you are not stupid.”

You stare, dumbfounded, reeling as you process the manner in which he shut down your negative self-talk. If his words totally dissolved your mortification over your immature reaction to seeing them again, you might have thought harder about how that was kind of hot of him to do.

“Aren’t you studying for a PhD?” Lando asks rhetorically, “I think that literally means you’re not stupid.”

You scoff lightly—feeling humored instead of humiliated—at how easily he swept away the tension with a light-hearted comment. The Brit doesn’t know how many people have enlightened you with the knowledge that common sense is, unfortunately, uncommon in post-grad. But, you’ll let his words wash away your self-deprecation lest this turns into an unsolicited therapy session instead of a date an apology dinner.

“Fine. I’m not stupid—but, you can’t deny that it wasn’t a little dumb of me to assume that you guys had lied to me about visiting the golf club every year. And, it was a little more dumb of me to make my decision about working here for another season just because there was a chance that I could see you guys—never mind.” Your teeth clack together forcefully as you slam your mouth shut.

The duo straighten up at the sudden end to your sentence, brains quickly filling in the blanks for them. Lando’s poorly attempting to hide his satisfied smile behind his hand and Carlos’s eyes are bright with understanding. You’ve learned your lesson about making hasty assumptions but you don’t think it’s foolish to deduce this means that they’re actually interested in you too, this time around.

“Ah. Well, we should not have assumed that you knew we were Formula One drivers, which maybe was obvious from how you spoke to us,” Carlos shrugs his shoulders, leveling the blame, “And, I think it’s sweet that you were hoping to run into us again.”

“Mmm,” you hum nervously, “I think it’s delusional.”

One of their shoes knocks against yours underneath the table and you jump in surprise. Carlos’s chest shakes with a silent laugh and his eyebrow raises at you pressingly.

“We should’ve asked for your number last summer,” Lando adds nonchalantly.

You rattle at his boldness, and you’re given a moment to ponder that as the waiter stops to pour you and Carlos a glass of white wine (Lando refused). You take a brief sip, humming pleasantly at the light and easy flavor, the live music and easy conversation floating through the air providing you a reprieve from your immersion in the two men.

Your attention is recaptured as you watch Carlos offer Lando a chance to taste from his glass.

Earlier, the Brit had told you he dislikes the taste of most alcohols when the waiter stepped away to grab the bottle Carlos requested. Yet, Lando accepts, not without making his distaste apparent with an adorable frown. He takes the tiniest sip possible with a look of apprehension and recoils from the glass as he swallows, his nose scrunching in disgust as he shakes his head to further sell his distate.

Carlos rolls his eyes and laughs, revealing to you how used he is to Lando’s dramatics. He raises a hand to rub at the short hair on the nape of the younger’s neck in comfort.

The look on your face must be cloyingly sweet if the light dust of pink that rises to the Brit’s cheeks when he realizes you’ve watched the entire interaction, is meaningful. Carlos’s eyes become intense when he spots how Lando curls into himself shyly under your eyes. The Spaniard whispers, his volume low enough for only Lando to hear and you wish you knew exactly what was said, because it deepens the tint of his cheeks to a furious red.

You figure you’ll save him from his torment by bringing up the important stuff.

“So, you only have a month of summer vacation,” you start, fingers fiddling with the edge of a fan-folded napkin, “Which is in August. That’s…so short. My fall semester starts the first week of September.”

Silence falls as they digest the underlying meaning of your sentence. Is it in everyone’s best interest to start something that has to end so soon? Is it in your best interest to risk catching feelings for two athletes (celebrity-athletes, at that) during the last month of your break?

“A month is a long time,” the younger man starts, his blue-green eyes intent, “We’ll just have to make the most out of it, right? I want to get to know you more, and I have a feeling that the three of us will have a fun time together—If you want to give it a try.”

“A ‘fun time’? Like—like a fling?” Your expression remains indifferent as you ask. You need them to clarify what they want out of this without revealing your emotions. It’s only proper for you to prevent any future miscommunication or misunderstanding about this; you learned from your earlier mistake.

Lando’s earnest gaze has lost some of its shine, and Carlos’s eyes now seem guarded.

“Calling it a fling is harsh,” the Spaniard responds, “It’s more of a summer romance, no?”

Your laugh isn’t genuine, but they don’t know you well enough to discern that, “Alright, I’ll give our ‘summer romance’ a chance. Using a synonym doesn’t change the definition, you know?”

Lando cocks his head at you, staring deeply. It feels like he’s trying to puzzle you out, and you stare back in feigned confusion.

“It’s nothing,” He relaxes, leaning back in his chair and moving Carlos’s glass out of the way as he sees the waiter nearing the table with your appetizers, “I just find it odd that you called yourself stupid earlier.” You don’t know what to make of that, but it’s forgotten as the starters are devoured and the conversation shifts into them getting to know you and vice versa.

The older man with them at the golf course last year was Carlos’s father, who is a two-time Rally World Champion. You’re surprised to learn that they’ve only been dating for around a year. Lando says he developed a crush on Carlos when they were teammates at Mclaren, but he was afraid of ruining their relationship and potentially, his career, if he confessed–so he kept quiet. Carlos didn’t realize he was romantically interested in Lando until he signed his contract with Ferrari.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupt, “If you guys have only been together for a year, did you get together before or after you saw me at the golf course for the first time?”

“A year and three months,” the Spaniard corrects with a serene smile, “Our anniversary was in May.”

The Brit continues for him, “—Which means we started dating about three months before we saw you. Give or take a few weeks.”

You gave a low whistle of surprise—three months into their relationship and they were on the same page about chasing after you. Since then, they had several serious conversations about adding a third to their relationship but hadn’t found or looked for anybody they’d consider to try with. Besides you.

Obviously, they like playing golf; Lando is abysmal, and Carlos is not bad at it. Carlos has two sisters, Lando has a brother and two sisters. Both of them are middle children. Lando is a picky eater, and hates fish and seafood. Carlos will eat anything Lando doesn’t. Lando founded a company with his best friend. Carlos is a Real Madrid fanatic. Lando occasionally streams on Twitch. Carlos enjoys surfing and cycling.

“I’m sorry for saying that you guys sucked at golf yesterday,” you apologize sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” the Brit says, unperturbed, “I do suck at golf. I just wasn’t expecting to hear it come from you.”

“I suck less at golf,” the older man states, “But, if I was good, I would not have been in the sand pit in the first place, no?”

They visit Spain often because family is important to Carlos. Lando’s loved like another son by Carlos’s family and Carlos is loved the same by Lando’s family. Lando is needy. Carlos likes being needed. Carlos is mildly possessive. Lando is too self-critical. Carlos makes the best pancakes. Lando wants to build a beautiful vintage car collection.

They want to see you again. You enjoyed dinner more than you thought was possible.

They defrosted your nerves and allowed your personality to shine through. It helps that they were actively listening as you complained and gushed over your studies, told anecdotes of the shenanigans you and the others got up to on the golf course, and spoke about your future outlooks. They didn’t mind your lack of knowledge about Formula One and explained the sport in detail to you. They were determined to figure out what made you mad, what made you happy, what made you laugh, what made you shy—and, what made you go pink.

It didn’t take them long to discern that staring at your lips is the trick. When they made that discovery, they weaponized it the entire night. While one of them played with the rings on your fingers or tucked a curl behind your ear, the other managed to fluster you by letting their eyes wander for a few seconds before meeting yours again with increasing intensity. You experienced heart failure several times, and had to ask them to repeat themselves more frequently thanks to their psychological warfare.

Your heart feels like it may cease to function again as they walk you to your doorstep. The lights inside the house are off, you returned later than you thought you would. Your parents left the porch light on for you and it casts an amber warmth. Carlos and Lando don’t invite themselves into your space as you dig your house keys out of your purse, ever the polite men. The sound of your keys jingling harmonizes with your triumphant hum as you pull them out.

You face the boys, placing your hand on the doorknob behind you, waiting for them to speak.

“Are we forgiven for unintentionally leading you to believe that we led you on and wasted your time?” Lando blurts out.

You knock your head back against the doorframe, abashed, shutting your eyes to dispel the HD playback your brain gifts you with. “If you both agree to never bring it up again, I’ll forgive you.”

“I suddenly do not know what we’re talking about,” Carlos nods seriously, and Lando echoes the sentiment.

You release the doorknob and take the few steps towards them. As you expected, their eyes simultaneously drift to stare at your mouth. You lightly place a hand on Carlos’s shoulder before leaning up and brushing your lips across his cheek in the lightest ghost of a kiss, before moving to Lando and doing the same.

You carefully backpedal to the door turning to insert your key into the lock, before you look back at them. Your heart flutters at the sight of Carlos, who’s frozen, standing all wide-eyed and pressing his fingers to his cheek like he’s unsure if he imagined the kiss. Lando however, looks hungry. His eyes are the darkest you’ve seen tonight, and they’re locked on how you teasingly flick your tongue across your bottom lip.

“While we may only have a month to spend together—it doesn’t mean I’m easy. I, at least!—need a second date before I let you do anything more than stare at my lips and hold my hand. It might take three dates before I even let you kiss my cheek,” you tease with a joking shrug of your shoulders.

“It’s a good thing that you have my phone number,” the lock clicks open, and you push the door open, “If you don’t use it to set up another date, I think I’ll have no choice but to never forgive you guys.”

“We’ll be using it,” Carlos asserts, recovered from the daze you left him in.

“Hm, good. Text me when you get home.” You step in your entryway, waving your fingers at the two of them leisurely, “Buenas noches.” [Goodnight.]

They mimic your goodbye and you shut the door, clicking the lock. You nosily peek through the peephole to spy on their reactions. Carlos tugs Lando into a bear hug, their wide smiles hidden as they press into each other and the sharpest pitch squeal you’ve heard from Lando travels through the front door. You cover your own giggle with a hand as you watch the two of them kiss and almost skip down your driveway back to the car. You press your back to the door with a deep sigh, a lovestruck smile painting your face while you lay limp to let your heartbeat slow to a normal speed.

The hallway light flicks on and you shriek as your mom stares at you with a deranged smile on her lips, “Tell me everything!”

“Mamá! What are you doing up? It’s late!” You exclaim, straightening upwards with your hands on your hips, failing at distracting her from how you were weak in the knees a couple of seconds ago. “It’s okay, mija! I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee for us and you can tell me all about your date!” She rushes forward, grabbing your hand to pull you into the kitchen.

Ironically, the second date ends up being late night mini golf. Even better, you destroy them at it. It wasn’t an easy feat, they made plenty of attempts to sabotage and distract you; whether it was yelling, spooking, poking, or prodding at you as you readied your putt, but it wasn’t enough to give them a chance of catching up.

You figure more of your mistakes were from being unable to stop laughing as the two performed atrociously. Carlos ended up polluting every water feature with golf balls and Lando couldn’t manage to finish a single hole in under 8 strokes—the highest par was 6. You patted Lando on the back consolingly, telling him to find comfort in the fact that they’re equally terrible at putt-putt golf.

The two seemed surprised at your finesse with a club, almost like they’d forgotten you work on a golf course. You may not be a caddy, but you’ve had plenty of time to work on perfecting your technique. You did well enough to place sixth on the leaderboard, the employees said that Carlos’ score might be the worst they’ve ever seen.

With their egos severely bruised, you convinced them to soothe the loss over with ice cream at a neighboring parlor. Lando was satisfied with plain vanilla and Carlos with a scoop of dulce de leche. You elected for cookies and cream, but found yourself being fed their flavors as well.

The sugary treats were delicious. Watching them stare at your lips pursed around a spoonful of ice cream was far more delectable. Lando broke the fourth time you managed to dot a bit of vanilla above your upper lip. He choked on a whine before leaning into your space. He hesitated a hair’s width away from your lips, his shuddering exhales mixing with yours, his eyes searching for approval. Your eyes fluttered shut and Lando closed the gap.

His lips were soft and chilled, a result of the ice cream. Warmth blossomed in your chest as you leaned into the kiss, the taste of vanilla lingering in the embrace. His hand raised to cradle your cheek as your lips brushed together languidly, the sound of your heart racing within your chest fading out as you become absorbed by the kiss.

Lando pulls away, falling back into his seat with his chest heaving. You stare after him with wide eyes, jolting out of it when you notice you’ve dropped your spoon into your lap, Carlos’s dulce de leche ice cream spilling onto your thigh.

“Do I get to lick this off your thigh since Lando got to kiss it off your lips?” Carlos asks, his tone half genuine, half facetious.

You kick at his ankle underneath the booth and he throws his hands up placatingly.

“Wait–,” you anxiously flit your eyes around the parlor, “—you shouldn’t have kissed me here Lando. Out in public? Aren’t people going to recognize—”

“We’ve been the only people in here for the past thirty minutes or so,” Lando interrupts, gathering the near-empty dishes and balled-up napkins, “They’ve also been closed for twenty minutes. When you went to the bathroom when we came in, Carlos and I signed something for the owner who was more than happy to keep things quiet for his second favorite Spanish Formula One driver.”

“Second favorite?” Carlos furrows his eyebrows at his boyfriend, his umber eyes adorably confused.

“Mate,” the Brit scoffs, “I might be in love with you ��n all but we're not going to act like Fernando isn’t the best thing that came out of Spain, besides churros.”

The unfavored Spaniard holds his hand to his chest in betrayal before his eyes narrow and he moves to assault Lando with a pinch to his chest. While you’d love to continue watching this disguised act of foreplay, you would rather be a participant than a voyeur.

“¡Cabrónes!” The two freeze, heads snapping to look at you as your voice cuts through the catfight.

“I think the owner would be even happier if you licked the ice cream off my thigh outside of his parlor so he could finally lock up, sí?”

How Lando kisses with a desperate hunger, Carlos kisses with a ravaging heat. Like he wants to roast your nerve endings with every brush of his lips against yours.

The fiery press of his mouth stokes the arousal building in your navel. His hand tangles in your hair as he directs the tilt of your head. A stuttered whimper slips from your mouth into his as your tongues glide together, a buzzing sensation tingling down your spine as his other hand squeezes your waist tightly.

He walks you backward towards the bed, his lips devouring yours as you wrap your arms around his neck, attempting to pull your bodies even closer than they are. You stumble, gasping when his hand palms your ass and it’s the first time your lips have separated since Carlos claimed them in the hallway. He tumbles into you as his feet stumble around yours, the darkness of the bedroom not bettering the situation. He nearly sends you both to the floor instead of the plush mattress if not for Lando catching your body and a hand firmly pressed to Carlos’s chest to hold him upright, expletives falling from your mouths until balance is restored.

You rest your forehead on the older man’s collarbone as you abruptly giggle at being so kiss drunk you forgot how to backpedal. The two drivers have no choice but to laugh at the sound of your amusement, Lando cackling and Carlos’s chest shaking with his laughter.

“I’m not against fucking on the floor,” Lando voices, the sound of his grin loud enough for you to visualize, “But—can we at least have our first time with you on this extremely comfortable bed?”

“First time?” You raise a brow jokingly, nonchalantly pulling your shirt over your head and letting it fall to the floor, “That implies you’re thinking there’s gonna be a second.”

The Spaniard steps away to click the nightstand lamp on, the room partially bathed in warm yellow light. Your eyes adjust seamlessly to the low lighting, allowing you to revel in the sight of him appreciating your exposed skin, even when covered with a plain black bra—you’ve never been more thankful to be wearing a matching pair of panties.

The younger man unclasps the latch of the garment, dragging the straps down your arms, goosebumps rising in the wake of his fingertips, and the bra lands atop your shirt. You feel his breath cascade heatedly along your left shoulder before his lips purse delicately against the brown skin.

He nips closer to the crook of your neck, lowly murmuring, “I know we’ll be having you for more than a third time.”

Surely feeling left out, Carlos unzips your skirt, tugging it down your hips and offering a hand for you to hold as you step free of it, “Many more times. But for tonight,” the older man pauses, toying with the band of your panties, looking at you with a smirk, “We must settle on saving the floor for round two. After we have caused you to ruin the sheets.”

Internally, you scream in elation. Two men eager to fuck you stupid, for the rest of your summer—you pray they’re not bluffing. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex good enough for a repeat performance. Externally, you shimmy out of your panties and tug at the hem of Carlos’ button-up once you’re bare.

“If you want me to ruin your sheets, I’m pretty sure that requires you both to be less clothed.”

Lando’s free of everything but his briefs in a handful of seconds while Carlos struggles to unbutton his shirt. The younger pulls you into bed, guiding you to lay on your back as he holds himself over you, dipping to kiss you messily, unafraid to let his moans knit with yours. By the time the older man has lost his clothes and joined the two of you on the bed, the Brit’s focus has traveled down the length of your neck to your chest. Reddened marks bloom on your bronzed skin, mottled across your decolletage in a pattern only known as desire.

He laves his tongue against a pebbled nipple, his teeth scraping the sensitive bud, delighting in the way your body arches upwards into his mouth. Your hand pulls tightly at brunette curls, his resulting whimper at the burn of his scalp muffled around your breast, his eyes screwing shut. You loosen your grasp, unable to determine if that was a positive reaction and you’re pleased to see his eyes fly open, his gaze demanding more. His large hand envelopes your wrist, attempting to have you further mess up his hair, but the motion is halted when Carlos cocks Lando’s head backward with an unrelenting fist.

The younger man shudders, his eyes rolling at the rough treatment. He rises to lessen the pressure of his boyfriend’s grasp, settling into a kneel between your legs with Carlos pressed to his back. The burn of his scalp subsides when the hold weakens, the tension leaving the younger man in a breath and his head droops back on a broad shoulder.

The Spaniard captivates your attention as he presses a kiss to Lando’s jaw, moving the same hand that was in his boyfriend’s hair to splay against his abdomen, a finger dipping to poke at his bellybutton, causing Lando to jolt with a whine. Carlos coos, calming the man with a rub of hand along his torso.

“Don’t let him fool you. He likes a bit of pain,” Carlos tweaks Lando’s nipple demonstratively, letting the sight of the younger man’s arousal jumping underneath his briefs accompanied by a strangled moan speak for itself. “He’s a brat, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. A little sting is enough to remind him how to act…most times. Right, Landito?”

The man moves to hide his face in Carlos’s neck as if it’ll hide the sight of him nodding in confirmation. It doesn’t help that the meek “yes” he breathes into the muscle isn’t muffled at all.

“And because he wants to be good,” Carlos continues, pulling at Lando’s waistband and releasing it to snap against flushed, pink skin, “He’s going to keep himself busy with you while I see if I can still taste the dulce on your thigh. Is that okay with you?”

You gulp, anticipatory. “M-more than okay.”

The younger man's eyes are all pupil, ringed with stormy-colored irises as he’s lowered by your side. You were contemplating teasing him about his brat complex—but the haze of his eyes causes you to reconsider.

The gap of his teeth remains adorable even as he bites his lips, the plush skin reddened and raw from where he’s already scraped the skin off. Prolonged eye contact from him seems impossible—his gaze flits away from yours after a handful of seconds. He struggles to decide where to look, happening upon your lips, zoning out with a yearning pout. Lando is clueless to the effect of his fixation; he reignites the redness on your cheeks and the skipping of your heartbeat.

Frightened by Carlos’s spit-slicked lips brushing along the bone of your ankle, you twitch, breaking Lando’s trance.

The Brit’s blush deepens when he notices you’ve been watching him stare without saying a word. He muffles a mortified whimper into a pillow, smushing his face so deeply into the fabric you worry he may strangle himself. You glance at Carlos for assistance and the man only nods in the younger’s direction, continuing to drag his mouth up your legs, pausing to suckle the skin of your thighs and smirking when he feels the muscles flex underneath his lips.

“Lando, chico,” you croon, petting a hand through the curls at the crown of his head, “Look at me.”

He peeks an eye at you shyly, turning to face you fully, reassured at the enamored look you cover him with.

“Besamé,” you murmur, knowing it’s something Lando’s heard plenty of times from the man nestled between your legs. [Kiss me.]

The younger understood, rushing to press his lips to yours filthly. The frantic energy is winsome, your chest tightening at the sounds of him whining and mewling needily into your mouth. He licks into your mouth insistently, his attention devoted to tasting the remaining sweetness of ice cream on your tongue. From below, Carlos hums as his tongue polishes off the remaining stickiness on your bronzed skin.

The sounds they rip from you are muffled by the younger man, but the grunt of annoyance Carlos makes as the lingering dulce de leche flavoring of your thigh disappears is clear. He drags his tongue against your labia in one firm stroke, your abdomen undulating at the unexpected attention to your cunt. He smacks his lips, savoring, before a moan rumbles through his chest.

“Better than the ice cream,” he announces, the brown of his iris darkened with greed.

Lando frees your lips to look at his boyfriend pleadingly, and you take the time to breathe. He left you lightheaded as he kissed every ounce of oxygen from your lungs.

“ ‘wanna taste, ” Lando begs, and Carlos pulls up to meld their lips together, and you're briefly hypnotized by the muscles of his arms contracting through the movement.

The most reedy whine escapes the curly-haired man as Carlos shares the taste of your arousal with him. Your head is filled with the sound of blood rushing through your ears, buffering at the sight of the two men feasting on your essence—what were you thinking when you agreed to be a summer romance? You’re never going to be able to recover from this, and they haven’t even fucked you yet.

They separate, Lando’s chest heaving as he licks along his lips in search of any faint traces of your taste. Carlos resituates himself between your thighs, his voice carrying a firm edge, “Wait your turn, cariño. Keep being good for me—for us, yes?”

The younger man seems small as he nods, appearing a little empty-headed at the command, but he obeys. Turning back to peck your lips sweetly, Lando trails downward to leave a few marks of his own along the column of your neck.

You grab his jaw lightly, “No marks—,” the light in his eyes dulls slightly, “—that high up.” He brightens and lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nipping at your skin, energized by your nails scratching along his scalp.

Your mouth parts in a silent gasp as Carlos joins in. He laps between your folds sloppily, his nose knocking your clit with every bob pf his head. The hand that isn’t buried in brunette curls fists in Carlos’s locks of hair, holding him steady while he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue.

Your brain buzzes, toes curling as the older man eats you out, the sounds of him enjoying his meal reverberating through the air, harmonizing with your cries and Lando’s snuffles as he toys with your nipples.

Carlos presses a finger inside, thrusting shallowly against your fluttering walls and his mouth purses around your bud, the suckle of his lips puppeteering your spine into arching and your hips into bucking. His stubble scratches your thighs, the scrape searing but adding to your gratification.

He curls upwards, dragging roughly through the clenching of your cunt, adding a second finger that your walls swallow voraciously. The ache of the stretch is calmed quickly by the ample leaking of your arousal and the constant attention of a tongue on your clit as Carlos steadfastly hunts for your sweet spot.

Your mewls are ragged, forced from your lungs with every press of his fingers. Your eyes flutter as pleasure singes your skin, you find the strength to hold them open as you lock gazes with the man between your legs. His eyes are characteristically wide, but they scream his commitment to making you scream.

There’s no fighting. Your head falls back when his fingers graze near that pleasure point and your eyes screw shut when he perfects the angle and massages your sweet spot with his fingertips.

A shrill shriek leaves your lips as the penetration becomes unrelenting. He constantly presses on the button that has your thighs tightening around his head, but the temptation of taking his final breath between your legs has him doubling down, suckling at your clit forcefully as he prods a third finger inside of you.

Lando chokes, crying out loudly as your hand yanks at his curls, his hips jumping to grind along your hip, his briefs damp from where he’s been leaking. Carlos’s laugh as he watches his boyfriend desperately hump in search of friction, vibrates around your swollen bud, forcing out a squeal nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of your slick squelching around his fingers.

Abruptly, he pulls away. His digits slip from your walls, your entrance left to pucker hungrily around air. Carlos’s stare is loud as he fights the urge to press inside of you again.

The lack of stimulation is maddening. You free your hold on Lando, and he collapses onto you, body pinning yours to the bed—his weight steadying as you restrain your anger at the sudden halt.

You blink deliriously at the sight of Carlos tearing a condom wrapper open with his teeth. The slowing rhythm of your heart speeds up as you revel at the image of his hand rolling the condom down his hardened length, flushed and throbbing with arousal.

It’s daunting. It’s been a long time since you’ve last had sex. At some point, you decided to prioritize protecting your peace rather than dealing with men who aren’t going to do anything other than ruin your PH and fail to make you cum. It doesn’t help that Carlos is well-endowed; you need to come to terms that you’re going to have a limp after this.

Lando sits upwards to watch his boyfriend drag his length through your folds, moaning in unison with you as Carlos’s tip brushes along your pulsing clit. The Spaniard grunts at the heated slide before resting at the gape of your entrance, but he looks up to you for your go ahead.

“I-it’s been a while,” you admit tensely, covering your eyes with the back of your hand as anxiety builds in your navel.

“How long is ‘a while?’” Carlos asks, without a single hint of judgment. Lando pulls your hand off your face tenderly, revealing their compassionate expressions.

“You remember how I joked about not kissing you guys until a second date?” You toy with Lando’s fingers distractedly, and they confirm their recollection, “Well—there hasn’t been anybody that’s made it past a second date in a long time.”

“Carlos is gentle,” Lando reassures you, halting your play with his fingers to hold your hand comfortingly, “I promise. And he listens very well, and pays attention, and goes at your pace. If he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass.”

You giggle at that, your nerves fading as Carlos yelps at the threat. This exact kind of behavior is the kind you can see yourself falling in love with.

“Ay! Yes—Lando has permission to knock some sense into me if I hurt you,” Carlos jokes, pausing momentarily before his tone becomes hopeful, “And, we would really like to be the ones who make it to a third date—I’ll follow your pace, I swear.”

The knot in your stomach tightens for another reason besides arousal.

“I believe you,” you murmur, relaxing back into the bed, raising your’s and Lando’s joined hands to press a kiss to his wrist. Lando hums sweetly at you, laying at your side again, his free hand cradling your waist, thumb brushing calmingly on your rich brown skin.

Carlos breaches you softly—gently, as Lando said he would. The three fingers he stretched you with was a safe play. If it were only two, you would be feeling a sharp pain instead of an ache. The burn is delicious, your inhale stutters as the head of his cock pops into you.

“Joder,” Carlos curses, his jaw clenched tightly, his grip tight on your thighs, as he inches deeper. His eyes trace your complexion attentively for any sign that it’s too much. “Relax, mi corázon—let me in.”

The sweet endearment encourages you to pant through a tiny whimper. Lando’s hand pets along your navel as he sweeps a kiss across your brow bone.

“‘s big isn’t he?” He murmurs, voice breathy, “Fuck—it’s gonna be worth it when he’s all the way inside you, yeah? Stretching you out just right, touching spots you didn’t know existed. It hurts a little, I know, love. But, it hurts so good, doesn’t it? I don’t know how that fits inside me every time I take it, but it’s worth it.”

You whimper fitfully—you want to watch Carlos make him take it.

The discomfort twisting your brows lightens slightly, and Carlos pulls out before he sinks another inch in. The shallow stroke sends an appealing rush of sharp pleasure skittering up your spine and it pools at the back of your head.

A real moan is forced from your chest, and your eyes open to see Lando tucking a curl behind your ear, smiling knowingly.

“Yeah, that felt good didn’t it, baby?” You can’t solely credit the burst of pleasure behind your eyes to Carlos’s barely there thrusts as he works deeper. The praise and pet names Lando seems keen to utilize should be accounted for as well. The Brit presses down on your navel with an astoundingly large palm.

His lips graze your ear as he whispers, “Don’t you wanna feel him here? All deep inside of you?” He pauses briefly, letting your imagination work before continuing. “I feel him there when he fucks me. Like he’s making room for himself, yeah? Gonna open up for him? For me? Gonna let yourself feel good, sunshine?”

Carlos’s hips meet the backs of your thighs as he bottoms out.

Choked gasps leave you and Carlos. Your skin alight, your pores flaring raw. His calloused hands rub over your hips and thighs, one settling where Lando’s was previously holding at your waist and the other amply squeezing the curve of your ass.

Behind your closed eyes, you see the white flare of heat zinging through every nerve ending, your body overstimulated at receiving pleasure in the highest, unfiltered form. Lando was right—it feels like he made room for himself. The weight of him is searing, your walls fluttering frantically as they adjust.

Your most conscious thought is realizing why orgasms are referred to as “little deaths.” Because, if him fucking into you for the first time is this good? Cumming around him has to feel akin to ascending to heaven.

The younger man turns your head towards him with a gentle nudge of your cheek. His eyes peer into you searchingly. You don’t know what he’s trying to find. You’re more concerned with coaxing him into another kiss.

You raise up with an unsteady arm, toppling forward to press your lips to his, but you miss and land near the corner of his mouth. At your disappointed grown, Lando moves to kiss you chastely, before he looks at Carlos.

The older man’s eyes are silken as they dance between you and his boyfriend. It takes Lando tugging him forward with a hand on his bicep for him to understand that you’re pining for a kiss from him as well.

The Spaniard catches the strangled mewl you make with his lips, the change in angle as he hovers over you amplifying the pressure of him within you tenfold. Delicately, he leads the dance of tongues, using the lip lock to distract you from the barely there roll of his hips.

It works, the nervous tension that had gathered in your core unraveling completely at the sensual rock. The grinds remain tender as he gradually works you up to weightier strokes and a quicker rhythm.

Your lips uncouple when your head lulls backwards, a drawn-out purr rolling underneath your chest. With your knees bending to cradle Carlos’s hips, you cast lidded eyes to the Spaniard, bathing underneath his appreciative gaze and the blissful twist to his brows as he rolls into you.

“Carlitos, fóllame,” you murmur, watching his eyes widen in surprise, “I said it’s been a long time, not that I’m going to break.” [Fuck me.]

Lando grins beside you, quieting his laughter by pressing his face into your hair. The older man flusters, a red flush spreading across his chest, and he reminds you that he’d promised to be gentle.

His dedication to his word is attractive and you’re thankful he followed through. You tell him as such, but not without another teasing jab, “Thank you for being gentle. However, I think continuing to be gentle when I ask for more might decrease your chances at a third date.”

Lando jerks upwards to gape at the two of you, frazzled, “That’s not even funny! Babe—do better!”

The brown-eyed man doesn’t entertain either of you with a verbal response.

A bitten-off shout is punched from your chest as his hips slam into you with vigor, your vision crossing as the older man settles into a hard pace. His cock threatens to slip out of you with every stroke out and your body jolts with every ruthless thrust inside, the maddening force turning your mind syrupy with arousal and lightning-hot pleasure.

Endless praise is voiced by Carlos between every rough grunting pant he releases. Your brain is filled with seductive words; bien chica, so tight, you sound so pretty, you can take it.

You can only hope he hears your gratitude through your repeated moans. You dig your nails into his muscled back as he grazes your sweet spot every couple of thrusts. The sharp pain only has Carlos’s hips stuttering for a moment. He growls, his grip turns bruising as he fucks into you with abandon. Your lungs burn and your legs shake. You squirm beneath him fruitlessly, attempting to buck away from the overwhelming grind, but you're pinned underneath his body weight. Your escape attempt is noticed by both men.

Lando tuts, pressing you down into the mattress with an arm around your waist to prevent any future attempt of you shifting. “Don’t run from it, sunshine.”

Carlos laughs sardonically, and you squeal as shame crawls along your synapses at the noise. He changes the angle of his thrusts to bully that spongy spot inside of you relentlessly, “It’s not too much, no? I thought you said you didn’t want me to be gentle?”

Your body curls in distress, mouth-parted wide at the excruciating attention paid to your most nirvanic point . You try to squeeze your walls tighter around him, to afflict a hint of the unbearable pleasure he’s wreaked upon you. Your shocked to discover that he’s fucked you open so well that your cunt can’t do much more than take what he gives you.

Your wetness squelches with his motions, a thin layer of sweat accumulates on your skin and steams the air around you. The scent of sex and aftertaste of ice cream permeates your mind as your orgasm peaks.

It bursts through you, the intensity slamming through you like a train. Your body falls limp as the pleasure overrides your control, the unrestrained screams of their names are piercing as the waves brutally crash over you.

Carlos slams his lips to yours, your teeth clacking together painfully and you can only pant into his mouth as he messily kisses you through your orgasm and steamrolls into his own with his strongest pounding thrusts.

Spanish curses are hidden by your mouth as he lays into you, like he’s not quite done molding you to his shape. He fucks you both through it, the vigor of his grinds wearing as the spurts of his spend slows within the condom.

His arms buckle, pushing an umphf from your chest as he falls onto you. The heaviness is grounding and you wrap your arms around him, shuddering through the aftershocks.

Lando shifts needily at your side, but doesn’t speak. He pulls the arm on your waist from underneath his Carlos’s torso and drags a finger along the reddened scores your nails carved into his boyfriend’s back, with a look in your eyes you can’t place. Is it envy? Quietly, you contemplate the ache you feel between your legs.

“Get naked, cariño,” you rasp, finding a second wind at the younger man doing as you asked, “It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t get a turn, too.”

Carlos nuzzles deeper into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, his lips and eyelashes tickling your cooling skin. He misses the sight of his boyfriend wildly flinging his briefs to an unknown corner of the bedroom.

Sitting on his haunches, the Brit’s reaches to grab his cock. It’s leaking and (concerningly) redder than the skin of his cheeks from the lack of attention paid to it. He yanks his hand back as if slapped, and digs his nails into the meat of his thighs.

Oh, you think, is it too much for him or is he not supposed to touch?

You reach to close your palm around his poor, dripping length, only managing a single, loose stroke when a pained hiss is ripped from Lando’s teeth. His hips jerk back, freeing himself from barely there hold of your hand. The toned muscles of his abdomen jump as his cock flares and a stream of precum dribbles from his swollen tip.

“Fu-uck,” he shakes, “— ‘can’t. Too sensitive, ‘ll cum.”

The green and blue pools of his eyes are wet with moisture, and his chest—dotted with moles and patches of flushed skin—trembles with every inhale. The man laying on your chest shifts to trail his eyes over Lando’s form. The corner of his lips tilts into a smirk as his boyfriend attempts to hide his arousal behind a hand.

“Sol,” Carlos says to you as his eyes remain piercing into the Brit, “You should ride him—if you are able to, of course.” [Sunshine/Sun]

“Uhh…” you stutter, your attention bouncing between the two as you refrain from answering.

The numbness settling within your cunt can be ignored if it means you get to have the younger man underneath you. Except, it looks like he’s about to cry, and you don’t want to pressure him into agreeing with your answer if he honestly can’t handle it. The teary-eyed man whimpers thinly, splaying himself on his back next to you, looking past you to meet Carlos’s eyes meekly, his voice tiny as he responds, “—won’t last.”

The Spaniard pulls out of you slowly, murmuring apologies and kissing your cheekbone when your brow twinges in discomfort. He helps you straddle the younger man’s hips, careful to support you as your legs haven’t stopped quivering.

His hand drifts between your pelvises, dragging a nail along the underside of Lando’s cock and you can’t deny the buzz of electricity that sings in your gut at the younger man’s wounded cry. The tears spill over his waterline, though he’s squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop them from falling. Carlos tuts at the man patronizingly.

“Too much, Landito?” Carlos pouts at him, “It is fine if you cannot take it. If you don’t want to cum tonight that’s—“

Lando’s eyelids spring open, looking at Carlos desperately as he babbles, “No,no,no,no—‘wanna cum. Please, ‘los.”

The seconds Carlos spends rolling protection over Lando’s cock are filled with choked gasps as the younger man cries, overwhelmed at the lightest touch of fingertips. You lower around his cock smoothly, walls clenching around him greedily, vision tunneling on the soundless bliss of his expression when your ass meets his skin.

You hum at the fullness, your mind settling at how right it feels. The first circle of your hips has Lando’s hands clawing at your hips, adding his own marks on your skin to compliment his boyfriend’s. He wriggles, overwhelmed, but bucks to meet your rolling body regardless.

He’s flushed from head to waist, fresh tears painting tracks of salt down his face before they drip off his jawline to splash on the bed sheets. Your pace remains tantric, and you don’t move more than an inch upwards to avoid testing his limits. The suckling, hot, drag is more than enough for him, if the pulsing of his cock is any telling. Your own sensitivity begins to bite at the base of your spine, your brain exhausted at the feeling of Lando pressing into the rawness that Carlos carved out.

The Spaniard must notice the way the two of you are tiring of chasing euphoria. Lando’s grinds weaken as the precipice of ecstasy is dangled in front of him, hoarse sobs racking through him as he fails to reach it on his own. Carlos splays his hand across Lando’s throat. The Brit’s whimpers pleadingly, and his mouth parts roundly as his boyfriend applies a light pressure to the sides of his neck.

Lando shakes apart underneath you with uneven thrusts, his helpless gasps echoing through the room as you continue the grind of your hips to coax him through the bliss of release. He bodily restricts your movements when you edge him towards too-much, pulling you off of him with a single hand underneath your thigh.

Your knees buckle, pitching over to lie face down next to the British man, who mewls sharply as Carlos pulls the soiled condom off. The heat of the Spaniard disappears, the sheets ruffling as he leaves the bed, causing Lando to make a noise of confusion.

“Water, mi amor,” Carlos chuckles, and you’re happy your face is hidden as you can’t contain your expression of envy at the endearment. He maneuvers Lando’s arms to curl around you, “I am getting us water. I will be quick.”

The younger man, as fucked-out as he is, uses a surprising amount of force to pull you into his chest as he buries his nose in your frazzled nest of hair. He uses his other hand to pull your leg around his hip and hums happily when your bodies press together without an ounce of space to spare. He squeezes you tightly, your dejected frown disappearing as you bask in his embrace, uncaring of the layer of sweat pooling on your cooling skin and the stickiness of your thighs.

There’s three cups with straws in Carlos’s hands as he rejoins the two of you on the bed. He sets one on the nightstand and holds the other two while you and Lando untangle your limbs. Once Carlos is satisfied by the slow sips you two take, he slinks into the bathroom and returns with a warm, soaked cloth to wipe the grime from everyone’s bodies.

He’s careful about the press of the rag, paying attention to every muscle that tenses in sensitivity and tries to do the job as painless as possible. He nods in content once finished, scooping his glass up to rehydrate himself as well.

Lando bites at the metal straw, the gap of his teeth ridiculously cute even as his eyes brighten with mischief, “So…five minutes and we go again?”

“¡Que te jodan!” You cast a look of disbelief at him, “Lando you just cried through an entire orgasm and you want to go again? Already?” [Fuck you!]

The Brit shrugs loftily, slurping through the last bit of water in his cup and toothily smiling as he blinks at you in feigned innocence. His softened length twitches to attention, and you rest your head in your hand, shutting your eyes briefly for strength.

“Oh, what the hell,” you mumble, before clearing your throat, speaking louder, “I need like 15 minutes—or, until I can feel my legs again. Whichever comes first.”

Carlos collects the empty cup from Lando and sets it on the nightstand with his own. “Would you like to watch him fall apart around me while you wait?”

You choke on the sip of water in your mouth, coughing desperately to clear your throat as your eyes water from the burn. The worried look in the Spaniard’s eyes has an amused tinge to it, even as he pats you on the back in aid—you have a feeling he timed his question with your swallow on purpose.

“That’s a stupid question,” you croak, strangled, “Of course, I want to watch.”

You snuffle against a warmed patch of skin annoyed. The heat of sunlight paints your face golden, and you shift to burrow further into the warmth of limbs around you to drowsily slip back into sleep. You find yourself nodding off, but your ears become alert to the sounds of birds calling and chirping outside.

Your body reacts before your brain as you fly upwards into a seated position. Shit! You have to go to work!

A pained whimper is exhaled as your lower body aches, sore from last night’s activities. The tangle of tanned arms fall limply around your waist at your change in position, the snores of the two men beside you uninterrupted. You carefully pry their arms away, and slip from the bed, digging through the pile of clothes on the floor, grinding your teeth at the numbness of your legs underneath you.

You dress yourself quickly, closing your eyes in thanks for Carlos forcing you into the shower before you passed out. Hopping across the bedroom to tug your skirt up, you stumble into the bathroom to examine the state you're in, pulling your shirt over your head all the while.

Your curls are a mess, but that can be fixed at work. Lando respected your wishes of keeping his marks below the collar, but you can spot a few of the bruises on your thighs that their fingertips left.

You curse briefly, unsure if you have a skirt long enough that would hide the mottled skin before remembering that you have a pair of biker shorts that you can slide on underneath that will get the job done. Pressing a thumb into the shape of Carlos’s thumb, you shiver at the glance of pain that sparks up your spine, swallowing tightly as you recall how it was left there.

With a shake of your head to expel the unseemly thoughts, you turn the faucet on to splash water on your face. You need to call an Uber to get to work. Rushing out of the en-suite, you frantically search for your phone, trying to remain silent to avoid waking up the boys tucked in that ridiculously plush mattress.

“¿Qué estas buscando?” You screech frightfully at the rough timber of Carlos’ voice, spinning around to look at him. [What are you looking for?]

He’s preciously ruffled; his hair sticks up wildly, the comforter draped around his waist as he leans upwards, the planes of his tanned skin sharp in the morning hours, his eyes squinted in your direction under the brightness of the room—the curtains are wide open.

Did you have sex—illuminated with a single lamp—with the curtains wide open? That’s a problem to fixate over later, you need your phone.

“Have you seen my phone? I can’t find it,” you straighten your shirt, your volume quieting near the end of your sentence as Lando shifts in the bed with a displeased pout that softens when he settles.

“I plugged it in here for you,” Carlos whispers, rolling to take it off the charger, flashing the marks your nails etched into his back.

He lifts himself out of bed with a rough groan, your mouth drying as you watch him walk to you, clad in a pair of boxers that leave little (it’s not little at all, actually) to the imagination. Carlos’s hand cushions your cheek as he brushes his lips on yours softly, the delicate rhythm washing away your concerns about being late.

Your lips break apart with a soft pop and he laughs at the discontented sigh you exhale, offering a languid press of lips to your forehead in apology. You reluctantly take the phone from his hand, your eyes bugging out as you realize that you needed to leave five minutes ago to have plenty of time to fix your appearance before you clock in.

“¡Puta madre!” you exclaim, “I’m fucked. I’m going to be so late ‘cause I have to wait for an car.”

“ —Wait for a car?” Carlos’s eyebrows twist in confusion, scratching at his stubble, “Where are you going? You are not staying?”

You throw him a soft look, turning away to figure out where your socks disappeared to, “I’m late for work, Carlitos. I can’t stay—even though I really want to.”

Carlos ah’s in understanding, assisting you in the search for your socks, his voice still croaky with disuse as he talks, “I can drive you? We are only twenty minutes away if you follow the road laws.”

You huff a laugh at his insinuation, tugging your socks on and patting at his arm softly, before gesturing to Lando in the bed, “You don’t have to. I don’t want to inconvenience you, you should be in bed with him. It’s my fault for not having my alarm properly set.”

Carlos shakes his head, rooting through his dresser for a pair of sweatpants that he pulls on, “You are not inconveniencing me. It would be rude if I let you be late to work after last night. I’m not that kind of man. Neither of us are.”

You give in as you watch him pull a plain white tee over his head—he’s too sweet for a fleeting romance. He ambles over to Lando, brushing the unruly curls off his forehead and pressing a kiss to his temple. He tucks the blankets around his boyfriend and a lick of jealousy blooms in your subconscious before you pluck it.

Carlos grabs his own phone off another charger and stands, speaking to you warmly, “Your shoes and purse are downstairs, yes? There’s some protein bars in the kitchen pantry, grab as many as you want. I should have treated you to a proper breakfast but you do not have the time. I’m going to use the bathroom quickly, if that’s okay?”

You nod, and Carlos quietly shuts the bathroom door behind him. You breathe deeply at the situation you’ve found yourself in, and you scramble to send a quick text to the group chat telling them to cover for you and promising to cover a shift for anybody who does in the future.

Your phone buzzes almost instantly after with an influx of messages and you click the screen off. They’re probably freaking out at the uncharacteristic vagueness of your whereabouts, but you put off responding to press your own kiss to Lando’s temple before heading downstairs, tenderly stepping to minimize the unsteadiness of your walk.

You appreciate the decor you didn’t get to see last night, the vacation home vibes blatant as you walk through; a modern twist of Spanish style decor. There’s even a fireplace you spot on your way past a sitting room.

You lace up your sneakers, grabbing your purse from the console table in the entryway before searching for the kitchen to grab a protein bar to hold you over until your lunch break. The kitchen is artful, modern in the sense of the new appliances but the colors and details of the tiled walls, clutter, and cabinets gives it a soul. It feels lived in.

You dryly swallow an ibuprofen—you always carry a few in your purse—hoping it will relieve your soreness before work. You open the pantry door, finding an assortment of protein bars and taking your time to read the labels as you hear a door open which means Carlos is heading down. You grab two bars that fit your taste and softly shut the door, unwrapping one to take a bite of now.

“Ah, I knew I would see you again,” Carlos Sr. smiles at you from the kitchen entry, chuckling at the way you jump and nearly drop the bars in your hands, “I will not lie to you, I thought it would be at the golf club and not here.”

Your lips part and seal as you search for a polite answer, but he continues speaking.

“Let me tell you a secret,” he clasps his hands delightfully, “Did my son tell you that he’s been asking me about you every time I am on the course? Papá, did you see her? Papá, when are you going back to Madrid? Aye, they’re smitten over you, mija?”

“¿En serio?” you relax at his mellow tone, enlightened by the new information. [Really?]

“¡Sí!” The older man exclaims, passing by you to start a pot of coffee, “To be honest, I thought you were out of their league last summer,” you laugh, knowing it’s definitely the other way around, “—Honestly!” He insists, turning to face you as the coffee starts to drip.

“I mean, you are in university, getting a further degree,” he shakes his head in respect of your commitment, “Those two just drive in circles for a living! I couldn’t even convince my son to drive rally like I did, ese cabrón.” [That bastard.]

You laugh a little harder at the jab on his own son, muffling it behind a hand, and he continues, “—And, when they told me they did not get your number! Ay! I was so mad at them. I told them to drop everything and go after you, but by the time they made their way up there you were already gone.”

You feel like shit about your outburst on the green. Your expression shutters, and he pats at your shoulder in comfort, “Oh. I-I didn’t know—“

“How could you?” He hums in question, “It is not your fault, if that’s what you are—“

“Mi sol, have you seen my wallet—” Carlos Jr. steps into the kitchen, words cutting off as he balks at the sight of his father, and he shouts, “Papá! ¿Qué hace aquí?” [My sunshine; Dad! What are you doing here?]

“¿Qué estoy haciendo en la casa que compré?” His dad fires back, amused at his son’s stunned question. [What am I doing in the house I bought?]

Carlos blinks at his dad before turning to you, slipping his hand into yours and tugging you out of the kitchen softly, “Let’s go; you’re going to be late, no?”

Sr. chortles as he grabs a mug from the cabinet, “¡Mijo! Hiding a woman from me?! It is okay, Lando will tell me everything. That is why he’s my favorite son!”

Carlos throws his head back with an exasperated groan, but it doesn’t hide the redness of his ears from his father’s teasing.

You stifle your smile, squeezing his hand pacifyingly, “Your wallet is in the bowl at the front. Um, if it’s possible,” you tuck a curl behind your ear shyly, “Do you have another car besides the Ferrari? I love it, but I cannot show up stepping out of that.”

Carlos snorts, shoving his wallet into his pocket and leading you to the garage, “Is a Porsche fine?”

“It’ll work.”

He gets you there in thirteen minutes, slowing the car to a crawl as you direct him to the employee entrance. You grab your purse, awkwardly pausing as you pop the door open.

You face him with a sheepish grin, “Thank you for the ride. Tell Lando I said good morning.”

Carlos drags his eyes over your form languidly, before he nods imperceptibly, “Do you have enough time to get ready?”

“You’ve made up a few extra minutes for me with your skilled driving on the way here,” Carlos huffs a laugh at that, “So, I should be okay.”

The two of you fall back into silence, unsure of what else to say. You take the leap of faith this time around, it’s the most you can do after learning the way they tried to catch you before you left last summer.

“It wouldn’t be overstepping if I kissed you, right?”

“Ven aquí,” Carlos exhales, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning over the console to meet you halfway. [Come here.]

His lips are swollen and textured from your’s and Lando’s combined attention, but the kiss is the sweetest and most tender one you’ve ever experienced. The soft exhale of breath from his nose stokes the butterflies in your stomach, who flutter awake as adoration pumps through your veins. The two of you part, eyes fluttering open to stare softly. He settles back into his seat, looking at your lips longingly, his line of sight broken as you exit the vehicle.

You clear your throat, “Um, I’ll text you guys when I get home later, okay? Adiós, te qu—hasta luego.” [Bye, I l—see you later.]

You shut the door and speed walk into the building before he could say anything about how you nearly exposed how down bad you are already. You hope he doesn’t bring it up, for the sake of your mental stability. The moment you step into the employee locker room, you're accosted by your friends, Isa, Lucas, and Stephanie.

“Damn,” Lucas snaps, “I was really hoping you’d be late. I need my shift on Tuesday covered.”

You shrug, sliding past the girls to walk to your locker. “Sucks to suck.”

“¡Oye, pequeña!” Isa and Stephanie box you in at your locker as you grab your spare uniform and sport shorts, Isa stresses, “You cannot, walk in here and act like nothing happened! You show up wearing the outfit I picked out for you yesterday? Your hair is a mess! You sent the vaguest text about possibly showing up late? And, you get dropped off in a Porsche!?” [Hey, girly(i guess, idrk how to explain it)!]

Stephanie’s eyes blow wide and you rest your head into the cool metal of your locker door as she bursts, “Girl—did you get laid?!”

“Thank you for that, Steph,” you bite out, turning to look at them with the politest grimace you can muster, “Now, everyone will know exactly what I got up to last night because Lucas—,” you point behind you with a thumb, speaking loudly to drive your words in, “—Is physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut.”

He raises his hands up and backs out of the locker room with a devious smile.

Turning to Isa, you shake your head, “I do not know why you like him. He’s such a chismosa.” [Gossip.]

She rolls her eyes at you, following you as you make your way into the bathroom, “It’s not a bad thing. He tells me all of the gossip I miss out on–why are there bruises on your thigh—holy fuck! He must have big hands. Which means he has a big—”

“Okay!” You screech, running into a stall and locking the door shut behind you, “I will tell you and the girls every single detail as soon as we finish today!”

She makes a triumphant noise, her steps fading as she exits the restroom, “You better! Or, I’ll force you to listen to me wax poetic about Lucas’s eyes for hours!”

Scoffing, you tug your shirt over your head and yell back, “You already do that anyways!”

The slicked-back ponytail you gelled your hair into, has already sprung flyaways since you didn’t have enough time to set your hair with a wrap before you had to drive out onto the course. You’re almost three hours into your shift, and the sun feels like it’s at its strongest even though you have a few more hours of it burning hotter. Only twenty minutes until lunch, you remind yourself, then you can fix your hair and cool down in the restaurant's walk-in freezer.

You’ve just finished serving a bachelor party, a group of ten men who didn’t give you a hard time. You talked loosely with them, engaging in small talk because connections are everything and you never know who you might run into on the green.

Like Carlos and Lando, case in point.

The groom-to-be actually met his fiancé here. She was a bartender in the clubhouse about seven years ago, and on complete chance she ended up being the one to serve him. He was starry-eyed as he explained to you that he fell in love with her as soon as he saw her. He ordered an unbelievably expensive amount of drinks for him and his boys (the same group of men in the bachelor party), and when she slid the bill over to him, he said, “For this price, you could’ve bought me for the night.”

You called bullshit, and he looked at his friends who backed up his words; they all heard it when he said it. You watched as he took a sip from his beer bottle with a reverent shake of his head, “Now, we’re getting married next week. On August 12th, or 8/12. Which was the price of the tab that night, $812.”

You made a joke about him needing to strengthen his self-esteem if he would consider selling his body for a measly $800, and to attend an A.A. meeting because that’s a ridiculous amount of money to spend on drinks that leave your system quicker than you ingested them.

The men crowed in laughter at your ribbing of the groom-to-be, but you did seriously congratulate him on his engagement and wished him a long, happy marriage.

And currently, you’ve parked your cart for a few minutes to get over the urge you feel to cry. You're jealous of a woman you’ve never met before because she gets to love a man who’s devoting the rest of his life to her. She gets to marry him, and you’ve agreed to be nothing more than a summer romance to the men you could see yourself falling in love with.

You thank the universe for allowing you to cross paths with the groom-to-be. It reminded you of your place with the Formula One drivers and it’s a temporary one.

Your walkie-talkie crackles with the sound of your name and you sniffle deeply, blinking your eyes quickly to rid the moisture.

“What’s up?” You chirp cheerily into the voice box, waiting for a response.

“By chance, are you missing your earrings? Over.” It’s Ryan, he takes his radio messages seriously. You tug at your earlobes, and damn, you feel naked.

“I am. Did I leave them in the dressing room?”

“You have to say ‘over’ at the end of your messages, you know that. Over.”

“Ryan...” you hold the line open to annoy him a little bit before you give in, “Did I leave them in the dressing room? O-v-e-r, over.”

“I was going to be nice to you but you lost that chance. Over.”

You snort, intrigued to hear how he’s going to ‘retaliate.’ The two of you started here at the same time and Ryan has become like a little brother to you, against your will.

“I just wanted to let you know that two objectively handsome men turned in your earrings to the front desk,” you shout in surprise, firing up the golf cart and slamming the pedal down to head back to the clubhouse, “Hmm…I think they said you left them at their house last night. Overrrrr.” He draws the ‘over’ out teasingly and the walkie-talkie squeals with static and screams of surprise from the other employees on the channel.

“TWO? YOU FREAK!!!” Lucas.

Incoherent screaming. Isa.

“Nobody here can call me a slut anymore!” Rob.

“Is that why you couldn’t sit comfortably at the morning meeting?!” Sofia.

Ryan’s voice crackles through, “Oh! I forgot to mention—don’t worry about stealing food from the restaurant for lunch; they dropped off a meal for you. Over.”

The walkie-talkie explodes with noise and you turn the volume to zero. You’re reporting them all to HR.

You tune out the jeers in the break room as you devour a croquetade jamón and chase it with a spoonful of rice. You send a photo of the food with a thumbs-up in the frame, to Carlos and Lando. You type out your thanks for the jewelry return and lunch. There’s no hesitation as you press send on message inquiring about when the third date is going to happen.

The third date is private cooking lesson where you’re coached through making a few classic Spanish tapas. Lando immersed too deeply and only responded to ‘Chef Lando’ during the class. Carlos ate all of the chorizo he was supposed to use on his flatbread. You terrify the actual chef with your less than savory cutting technique. Your torn apart on their fingers that night, as they take turns coaxing you over the cliff.

You decrease the amount hours you’re able to work at the golf course. You’re only on the schedule during the middle of the week–Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday—leaving you with a four day weekend to frolic around Madrid with your boyfr—with Carlos and Lando.

The fourth date is dinner and a show. It’s your first time watching a ballet, and your lucky enough to be watching the performance at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe. It’s also the first time you get railed in a women’s bathroom stall at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe.

Lando pants raggedly as he fucks into you from behind, “Ah—shit, sunshine, you’re so tight.”

Your moan is muffled around Carlos’s cock and he hisses at the vibration, knocking his head against the stall door loudy.

When Lando climaxes, he whimpers out a, “te quiero.” You pretend to miss it as you concentrate on sucking Carlos to completion. Carlos licks his spend from your tongue, babbling his te quiero’s into your mouth. You don’t say it back. [Te quiero means I love you, but it’s more casual, less serious in nature.]

The fifth date is pottery and you ride Carlos’s face to the image of Lando’s hands coning down his clay on the wheel. The sixth date is driving around the outskirts of Madrd’s city limits and passing the phone around to queue a song to play as you three switch between talking and enjoying the tunes.

The seventh date is painting the mugs you made; you made two, one for Carlos and one for Lando—they each made you one as well. You’ve painted Carlos’s as a lemon and Lando’s as an orange—and homage to the sip of sunshine line they pulled on you. Lando painted a field of sunflowers for you. Carlos painted a sun with rays spilling from it, the words ‘my sunshine’ scripted into the middle of the sun.

Somewhere between the fifth and seventh date, they became comfortable with saying te quiero to you outside of sex.

It’s said as you serve them drinks on the course, as they drop you of at home after dates, as they cuddle with you without wanting more, as they wake you up between them in the morning.

You give in somewhere beewen the sixth and seventh date. But, you only allow yourself to say te quiero during or after sex.

And, you stifle your sobs of anguish into your pillow at home, dreading the day you return to school and they return to racing.

Your dad enjoys the mobile car show of priceless automobiles that appear in his driveway to pick you up. Your mom eagerly awaits your renditions of your dates every night and you’re careful to edit around the explicit parts.

The dates progress to you spending your four days off at their Carlos Sr. 's vacation home, packing a bag with your necessities so you don’t have to risk wasting time away from them by stopping at your house. They take the time to explain to you just how much of a goat Lewis Hamilton is. Lando helps with your wash day, soaking up your tidbits of advice for his own curls. Carlos lets you soundboard ideas for your dissertation off of him without complaining, iterjecting every once in a while with a viewpoint you hadn’t considered.

Your craving for intimacy is satiated. They twirl you around in the kitchen to Spanish ballads they sing terribly at the top of their lungs. They terrorize you on the green, choosing increasingly difficult cocktails for you to make so you have to spend more time with them instead of doing your job. You and Carlos terrorize Lando with a football games of keep away. You and Lando terrorize Carlos by hiding his shirts from him so he has to walk around topless. They don’t terrorize you in retaliation—if you don’t count their constant te quiero’s as terrorizing acts.They pick you up at some ridiculous hours when you’ve gone clubbing with your friends; making sure you chug a glass of water, helping you rinse off in the shower and moisturizing your skin before dressing you in their clothes, doing your skincare for you before putting you to bed.

They drag their feet through helping you repack your belongings on the morning of your last day in Spain. You let Lando get away with tugging garments out of your bag every time you turn your back to him, hiding your smile as you see Carlos assist him by stuffing it at the bottom of the pile of clothes that doesn’t seem to shrink.

Eventually, they give up. Their eyes trace your form as you do your last walkaround to make sure you haven’t left anything behind. Your check ends at the front door, grabbing your keys from the bowl on the entryway table.

You sigh heavily, “Well, don’t just stand there.”

They gravitate towards you, hugging you tightly and peppering an endless amount of bittersweet kisses along any patch of skin they can reach. Lando hunches down to hide his face in your neck, and Carlos rests his forehead against yours.

“¡Chicos, calmaté!” Your giggly exclamation sounds watery, “I am coming back next year, remember?”

“That’s too longgg,” Lando complains into your neck, his voice sounding as pitiful as yours. You step backwards to cradle his face between your hands. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are dejected even as he smiles shakily under your touch.

“Date us.” Carlos blurts out desperately, “Ay, perdóname—May we date you, please?” [Forgive me.]

You gape at the older man, struggling to ascertain what he’s asked of you.

Stumbling gracelessly, your hands fall from Lando’s face, who makes a hurt noise at the loss. “Date me? I thought you both said this was just a fling?”

The Brit twists his hands together at your words, his face saddening further as he corrects you, “Summer romance—fling is too harsh.”

“Too casual?” You shout, “I thought this was supposed to be casual! I felt like shit whenever I didn’t say te quiero back! I wanted more the moment we sat down at that restaurant a month ago, but I thought I couldn’t have it because that’s not what we agreed on!”

“You want more?” Carlos clarifies, his tone optimistic.

“¡Cabrón!” You laugh, hurtling forward to throw your arms around his neck. Relieved tears spill over your waterline, soaking into the Spaniard’s shirt. “I’m damn near in love with you guys–yes,yes,yes, I want more.”

Lando glows, blubbering incoherently with happiness and you shush him with your lips.

“I wish you had asked me days ago,” you sniffle cutely, smiling crookedly as you continue, “—’cause I really do have to leave, or I won’t have enough time to pack my things into my suitcases at home.”

You groan as you find yourself with an armful of two Formula One drivers bemoaning the unfairness of being separated from you even though they just got you.

“Mis amores, escúchame—you had me the entire time,” you coo, “We all know how phones work. We can communicate speedily with texts, and video calls, and send voice messages, and even regular calls. If we’re doing this we have to have a serious talk about it when I land in the States, yeah? Long distance is difficult, but I’m willing to put in the effort to make it work, if you two do the same.” [My loves, listen to me.]

“Phone sex isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Lando quips, smiling as he watches you and Carlos chortle at the unexpected comment.

The laughter ringing through the air fizzles out. You bite your lip, shaking your head slightly as their stares fixate on your mouth. They haven’t managed to stop ogling at your lips over the course of the month.

“Te quiero,” you state. Lando repeats it back instantly, Carlos kisses you before doing the same.

You pick up your bag from the floor, “Promise me that you’ll do your best to make this relationship work.”

Their confirmations are swift, even taking turns crossing their pinkies with yours and with themselves. Your heart sings with love. They walk you to your car. Carlos takes the bag from your hand and places it in your backseat, Lando holds your door open, making sure you don’t hit your head as you sit in the driver’s seat.

He shuts the door smoothly, and you roll down the window to exchange your last goodbyes.

“See you next summer.”

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stanswifeirl · 5 months ago

Text

NERD GETS APPRECIATED AND WHIPS IT OUT!

notes: cross-posted on my ao3!

contains: stanford pines x gn!reader

warning: masturbation, some self depreciating talk, him feeling guilty about thinking about you while he jerks it

Glass Shard Beach was rarely kind to him, and there were few normal scenarios he could recall throughout his life.

But now? Here he was, reduced to a stuttering, nervous wreck at the simple words of praise that seemed to flow from your mouth with ease, just like the process of diffusion with non-polar molecules (which, for your information, is pretty damn easy).

This type of reaction is expected, he thinks. How often did a guy find someone as attractive as you in a Fifth Dimensional Calculus class? Of course you would attract his attention!

He didn't like to audibly put down the work done at Backupsmore University, but it wasn't often he'd find someone so... smart. Maybe well-read is a better word? Someone who viewed his work not only with interest, but from a new perspective.

It was dangerous. The way your voice filled the space with intelligent dialogue made him wish it was the only sound he ever heard. The way your scent made him lose focus on his work whenever you leaned in to assist him on a project was simply intoxicating.

He could think up plenty of flowery phrases to describe what he's feeling... Actually expressing them was where his expertise fell short.

To put it simply, the guy was head over heels, and he didn't know how to handle it.

Inviting you to conduct research for class was probably the worst possible decision he could've made. It was absolutely thrilling to spend an afternoon with you, but the growing tightness in his pants only proved to sully his mood. He was sure you noticed. There was no way you didn't, even if you decided to carry on like you didn't know what you were doing to him. Surely, he couldn't be the only one feeling the chemistry!

He didn't know how you worked up the courage to call him sweet names, or pat his shoulder politely at the end of the night when he dropped you off in front of your apartment complex.

More than thankful for the dim lighting, he was only able to mumble out a hurried "Goodbye!" before slamming his foot down on the gas pedal, ready to get the hell outta there.

Ford drives, things pressed tightly together in shame, into an empty parking lot. He parks.

"Sweet Moses." He whines into his hands, patting down drops of sweat with the cuff of his shirt. "Goodness. I'm horrible. You don't deserve this. God, I can't believe I'm..."

His hand shoots for his pocket, pulling out a 38 sided die. To freak, or not to freak? That was the question. He squirms uncomfortably in his seat, closes his eyes, and takes a breath.

Ford mentally cringes it when he rolls it onto his dashboard, realizing how lame he must look as he uses his game dice to decide on if he should masturbate or not.

Mind running a mile a minute, the poor guy was always a bit too self aware of his actions, he realizes how lame he looks allowing a dice roll to tell him whether he's allowed to jerk off or not.

His face scrunches up in disgust as he unzips his pants, hand hesitantly hovering over his painfully erect dick.

"This is so embarrassing." He groans, feeling the length of his dick as it twitches under his touch.

Ford’s face flushes as he slowly moves his hand up and down, humiliated. His back straightens as his thumb brushes over the head, already leaking in precum.

He grits his teeth, feeling his face burning hot with shame as he strokes himself to the thought of you. As much as he admires your fiercely intelligent mind, he can't help but be captivated by how fucking hot you are.

Leaning back in his seat, his eyes flutter closed as he imagines hands brushing against his skin, comforting eyes looking up at him in that way that made him feel so, so safe. His hand moves faster as his breathing grows ragged.

"God, I'm such a loser." He whispers to himself, face growing hot as he realizes how pathetic he sounds.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew what was happening right now? Would you enjoy it? Maybe you'd entertain him. He'd like that.

Oh. Oh. That idea really sticks with him.

Your presence always seemed so commanding. So sure of yourself. Maybe, he hopes, you'd like taking charge of him when he was at his most vulnerable.

His back arches as he bucks into his hand, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to imagine it was you touching him. He should be allowed to indulge a little, shouldn't he? He doesn't know anymore.

It's almost this primal instinct that keep his thoughts out of logic mode, and far more acutely aware on the shockwaves of pleasure coursing throughout his body.

His chest feels tight as he imagines your hand slowly running up and down the base, teasing the head. Tears prick up in the corners of his eyes as picture after picture of you enter his mind.

He curses, stuttering your name as he twists his hand, quickening his pace.

"Thank you." He chokes out, face burning in humiliation as he feels his orgasm building. He didn't mean to think if you this way— the least he could do was thank the image of you.

His head slams back into his seat as he reaches his climax, body trembling as his hand and car floor is stained with long ropes of cum. The mind fog quickly clears, and makes quick work of grabbing tissues from the glove compartment to clean his mess up.

Ew. He'd have to clean properly in the morning.

#stanford pines x reader #stanford pines #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you

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fangswbenefits · 1 year ago

Text

The Arrangement (14) - Trance

Chapter summary: Astarion wishes he coukd freeze this moment in time, but fate has a way of interfering.

Pairing: Astation x female!Tav

Warnings: Astarion's POV. Mentions of trauma.

Word count: 2.6k

Series Masterlist . Ao3

Vampirism had warped his bodily need to trance.

The tadpole had meddled with it even further and he barely found the need for it all, but there was some semblance. Now, it was back to what it used to be.

He had no actual need for it, but he had come to realise it was the only way to be with you without facing the prison his mind had become. It allowed him to bypass how it held back his body.

In his trance-induced dreams, he was finally free.

Whatever freedom meant to him, he was sure you were involved somehow.

Even if only bound to a dream and nothing more.

After all, you had made it perfectly clear that a friendship was all you could offer.

He had made peace with that.

For the most part.

He still had these moments of wanting to slip into his subconscious and lose himself in you.

The mattress underneath his body was comfortable enough and the raindrops outside that thumped against the window, presented themselves as more than enough to lull him into the beginnings of a trance.

He let go of his weight.

He blacked out everything around him in the hopes he'd find you.

Your chirpy laughter was what he heard first. Unknowingly, a faint smile tugged gently at his lips. He could easily get lost in the warmth of your voice.

He was getting deep enough that your voice now had a corporeal form, too.

Your kind face took over each corner of his mind until all of him was you.

Astarion could barely withstand trancing unless he could conjure you this way.

You were the calm in a restless sea that kept on drowning him.

In his mind, he could find himself being with you with nothing holding him back.

It was freeing and soothing.

It was an illusion, and in the back of his head, he almost felt it slip away as awareness threatened to overtake.

He frowned.

Your voice faded and your pleasant face held a grave expression. It was as if you could tell something was wrong.

And you'd be right.

There was something wrong with his trance.

As frustration began to dissolve the image of you, he let out a low growl of annoyance as his eyes snapped open.

And he immediately understood why it felt off.

Ava was standing near the edge of his bed, holding a sweet smile that he had grown to appreciate over the past few weeks.

“You were reaching for her again, weren't you?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It's the only way I can these days.”

She lowered herself to sit, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. “You know that isn't true.”

“Ava, I don't wish to be lectured,” he said, more harshly than intended.

She nodded and said nothing else.

There was nothing more to be said. She had tried to make him see that he was the only one standing in between himself and you.

He had heard it all before and he was sick of it.

It wasn't as easy as snapping his fingers, because a large part of him didn't want your friendship.

He could find friends. In fact, he didn't even know if he needed friends.

Your friendship wasn't enough, but he had no right to demand more when he was struggling this hard with his mind.

Could he even offer more? Did he even deserve more?

“Do you wish me to leave?” Ava's voice snapped him from his thoughts. “I can, but maybe a piece of advice is in order.”

His frown eased and he nodded.

“I would urge you to stop seeking her in your mind. She's out there. You two have been seeing each other to honour your arrangement.” She paused briefly, studying his reaction. “I can lay here with you and help with your intimacy, but I'm not the one you seek.”

Silence.

“The chance you seek is within you and I believe she can help in more ways than one.”

He scoffed. “I can't ask that of her. This is not something she has to concern herself with.”

Ava leaned against the headboard with a sigh. “Lovers help each other through the toughest of times.”

The word ignited a visceral reaction inside him at once.

“We're not lovers!”

Ava didn't even flinch at his snarl. “But you could be.”

Ava was terribly skilled at worming her way under his skin. He didn't regret having gotten closer to her even if merely as an exchange of sorts.

“Leave.”

The word spilled from his lips like poison and he knew he wasn't being fair, but he couldn't stand talking about you.

Not with her.

You would be utterly disappointed that he was giving out his blood like this.

He was beginning to dread any talks of you with her.

Mostly because Ava didn't know you and no string of words he might voice would ever do you justice.

You had saved him from himself. You had trusted him when no one else would. You had been his first and he had been yours.

How could he possibly put into words how much you meant to him?

“Astarion, jus-”

He had made up his mind. “Leave. I don't need love advice from anyone – least of all you.”

It was harsh.

And it was enough to cause her eyes to widen in unmistakable displeasure.

“That was uncalled for.”

She rose to her feet and walked out of the room without sparing another glance in his direction, the door closing loudly behind her.

In a way, he was thankful she didn't. He knew he'd find hurt in her face and he could do without the reminder of how snarky he could be.

For all intents and purposes, Ava had been the sole constant in his life and he might even consider her a… friend.

He had made some progress along the way.

Touching you as he fed didn't feel suffocating. He could even bear your touch as you held on to him for support.

He would need to feed soon.

Your blood was more filling than anything he could hunt out there, but the set schedule wasn't enough.

He pushed himself to sit, face buried in his hands.

You were already giving him more than he could ever repay. Again.

But he still found in himself the unshakable desire for more.

More. More. More.

This was the nature of his bond with you.

No in-betweens. No half measures.

With you, it was all or nothing.

And his vampiric nature always found ways to creep into his mind.

Blood.

“Astarion?”

He was rooted to the garden bench, your eyes on him.

Shaking his head, he cleared his throat. “Yes?”

Uncertainty covered your face and he immediately realised you feared he had spaced out too far for her reach.

“Oh, I apologise, dear,” he said, putting on his best mask. “I suppose I wasn't expecting this revelation.”

But even such a practised facade was no longer enough to keep you convinced.

You knew him too well.

Slowly, you came to sit by his side again. “I'm sorry, Astarion.”

That immediately gnawed at his nerves. “Whatever for?”

“I know you were fond of Ava, and it's never easy to realise that someone we might have placed our trust in once can be capable of such things.”

Your logic wasn't flawed per se, but it didn't quite cover what he was now feeling.

“You think I'm upset because I care for her?”

“You don't?”

He tensed up. “My relationship with her felt necessary. It was built out of mutual need.”

At this, your features hardened. “Like ours when we first met?”

“It could never be like ours.”

He tried his best to hide the offence he had taken from your words, but, once again, you were able to read right through him.

“Didn't you see her as a friend?”

Quite frankly… “No.”

“Then why do you seem so shaken?”

Astarion should have known better than to give in to his impulsiveness, as it rarely did him any favours.

Yet…

“Why? Why do you think?” he said through gritted teeth. “I feel ashamed! More so because it was my recklessness that could have potentially been the cause of all of this.”

You looked alarmed, but took your time to word out an answer. “Astarion, you couldn't have known. If this is actually true, then she played you.”

He scoffed, avoiding your piercing eyes. “Ironic, isn't it? I used to be so good at reading people and…” His voice faltered momentarily. “... and now I realise how much of a fool I am.”

Your hand met his cheek and you slowly turned his head until your eyes found his again. “You're not a fool for trusting people. You didn’t trust me at first, remember? It was all about survival.”

Astarion was sure that if his heart still pulsed, it would have shattered.

“I trusted you and you trusted me.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “You are far too trusting.”

You smiled warmly and his defences immediately crumbled. “And you hardly trust anyone. Still, we met halfway, didn't we? Through pain and blood and gore and with all the odds against us, we found a way.”

Astarion realised for the nth time in that moment that he adored you.

He didn't think he had it in him to break the flow of this moment and say it out loud, but he did.

Trust was never on the table with him. He had built his undeath around using and abusing the trust others placed on him, only to bring them to their demise. Therefore, he never expected the same grace to be extended to him. He was unworthy, wasn't he?

Until you came along and shifted his world on its axis, showing him that there was still good out there reserved even for those deemed monsters.

Your hand dropped from his face, but your caring smile only deepened.

“I will not think any less of you if my suspicions are confirmed.”

It would be so easy to just accept your words, but he still hesitated. “Maybe you should. I roped you and others over something driven by selfishness.”

And now you were visibly angry.

“Astarion. Stop it – please. You told me about the spawn in the Underdark, too. A selfish person wouldn't even factor them in.”

He grimaced. “Be it as it may. It didn't start out like that. I thought of only myself when I made the deal with Ava. My blood for a possible cure to my hunger.”

“Does it matter how it started? Does it, really? You're not the person you used to be. You're not driven by the same survival instinct and selfishness.”

“Because of you.” he blurted out.

Did this version of himself even exist without you? If it hadn't been for you, he would have ascended. He would have sacrificed thousands of souls and reach

A part of him still lingered on the ‘what if’ of it all. Deep down, he knew that refusing to partake in the ritual had been the right choice for him. For everyone.

But he still wondered… what if.

“What of the ritual, then? I was so blinded by greed and power that I would have caved in if not for you.”

Weak.

Pathetic.

Broken.

You seemed slightly taken aback before offering a reassuring smile. “You're so wrong, Astarion. I merely reminded you of who you already were. You saved yourself.”

He was stunned silent for a moment.

You were being genuine and it was clear you meant every single word.

“I've told you this before, but I'm proud of you,” you said, reaching for his hand and he nearly hissed from the sudden shift in temperature. You were always so warm… even on a cool night. “I hope you are, too.”

He wasn't. He truly wasn't, but he would lie for you.

His voice would give him away, so he merely nodded, earning a tender squeeze from you.

“Maybe we ought to go and meet Wyll now.”

He hesitated as you tugged his hand, not moving an inch.

In truth, he'd rather stay here with you and savour this moment. He was excruciatingly exhausted from the emotional turmoil the past days had brought on.

“The sooner we go, the better,” you reminded him.

Astarion looked up at the night sky until his gaze found the horizon line, hues of soft pink and orange swirling in the distance.

Dawn was about to break.

The sun couldn't be kept from rising just as he couldn't keep himself from you.

“We'll figure this out, Astarion. Together.”

You gave his hand another squeeze and shifted in his seat, fully facing you.

For a moment, he considered kissing you. He thought it would be fitting. He could allow his body to convey what words would always fail to do so.

But his body was at the mercy of his mind.

So you spoke first, “May I hug you?”

It was a simple enough request, yet he appreciated you asking beforehand.

“Of course, darling.”

You leaned into him, engulfing his body within the warmth of yours. He lowered his chin to rest on your shoulder and you mimicked him, clearly doing your best to read his body language.

He was tense at first, mostly due to the unwavering fear that his mind might play a trick on him.

But he found himself slowly but surely easing into you, welcoming your touch. He could hear your pulse quicken alongside your neck and his stomach lurched in response. His most basic instincts being put to the test.

A wave of revulsion washed down in a frail attempt at keeping his hunger for your blood at bay.

Eventually, he was able to have it subside into the back of his mind, like an ever-watchful fiend, waiting for him to give permission.

But he had sworn off feeding on you again. At least, for the time being. As painful as it was – and borderline unnatural for a vampire – he had to resist this.

The act itself was too tainted for now, and the wildlife around Baldur's Gate would have to suffice.

He wished he could freeze this moment in time and have everything else be background noise.

And when you finally pulled back from the embrace, he saw tears streaming down your face, causing him to stir in alert.

“What did I do?”

You shook your head, your face too close. “Nothing. You're just…”

It was time to lighten the mood and that was a skill he indulged like no other.

“Ridiculously handsome?”

You chuckled, your breath fanning his lips. “Incredibly so. But…”

He cradled your face in his hands, thumb brushing against the softness of your cheek, as he waited for you to continue.

You shivered under his touch.

Was it from the cold?

Or was it something else?

You were close. Too close.

He could feel your every breath on his face and this ever-growing pull was now enveloping him.

Oh, how he wanted to kiss you.

Make you his and his alone.

“What is it, love?”

The word had left his lips before he could register how he was almost… panting.

Your hands came to grip his arms and he found himself leaning into you again.

“Astarion… I…”

He arched a brow, suddenly aware that something was amiss.

Something was terribly wrong.

Your eyes were glassy and your skin had grown cold, mouth agape and face void of any tangible expression.

Suddenly, you went limp in his arms but not before letting out a piercing pained shriek that tore through the night air and through him like the sharpest of knives. Your pulse was weak, but he could still feel your heart fighting through

Amongst the shock and panic, he spotted movement in the corner of his eye.

A hooded figure was standing still by the fence and he immediately knew who it was.

“Hello, Astarion.”

TBC

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!reader #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #the arrangement

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jointherebellion215 · 11 months ago

Text

Flowers

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: You're living a perfectly content life on Geidi Prime with your husband. It's a shame your mind can't rest, sparked by glimpses of a life unknown. Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.

Word Count: 1.5k

TW: Dark!Feyd-Rautha, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, yandere!Feyd-Rautha, manipulation, gaslighting, like SO much gaslighting holy shit, descriptions of violence, abusive relationship, emotional abuse, isolation, tragedy, nonconsensual drug use, nonconsensual medical treatement, induced memory loss, amnesia, dubious consent, pregnancy, songfic, happy-but-not-really-happy ending, I know I said female!reader but there's virtually no pronoun usage or descriptive words in thisfor the reader besides titles so maybe GN!reader??

A/N: I'm blown away, almost 500 notes on His Kiss, the Riot? Holy shit, all of the thanks! Here it is, the final part! I'm ending it with the song that actually started this whole idea. Listening to Eva's interpretation of Eurydice singing Flowers gave me the most delicious, fucked-up bit of inspiration and this came out. I was clutching my own metaphorical pearls writing this cause damn, this gets dark. Like, way more than I thought I could write. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the end of this twisted tale. Thank you for reading! As always, I appreciate you taking the time to like, comment, and reblog.

Read Part One and Part Two

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.

Lily white and poppy red

I trembled when he laid me out

“You won’t feel a thing,” he said, “when you go down”

Nothing gonna wake you now

Drops of blood.

A wicked, black smile.

“You won’t feel a thing.”

You wake up with a gasp. Your doctor had warned you about dreams like this. They weren’t real, just an aftereffect of your accident.

The medical staff for House Harkonnen had been gracious enough to inform you of your predicament. When your family had recently hosted the Harkonnens, you quickly met and fell deeply in love with the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. Your love for each other was so intense that you had demanded to get married right away. Your father disapproved of the union, so he disowned you and banished you, demanding to never see you again.

On the journey back to Geidi Prime, a stray asteroid hit the ship and caused you to hit your head. Feyd had apparently worried for your life, which saddened you and warmed your heart. It was nice to know that someone truly cared for you. However, your mind wasn’t quite the same afterwards. Your life before Geidi Prime was completely unknown to you. Your memories were in a fragile state.

That was just a few months earlier. Unfortunately, your mind has not yet recovered your memories prior to the accident. You were diligently taking a specially brewed tea that would calm your mind so it wouldn’t fracture under the immense pressure to try and fix itself. When you asked how long it would take for you to recover, your heart cracked when they said that it may take the rest of your natural life.

While it broke your heart to hear of your father’s dismissal of your feelings, you believed that you were strong enough to carry on. Having no further ties to your home world made it better to settle in with your new family.

You are a Harkonnen now.

Now, your footsteps make the quietest of echoes as you traipse down the narrow corridor. Heads of nearby servants and slaves bow, and eyes snap to the floor as you pass by. You feel the barest of sympathies, for not being allowed the simplest of human connection with their na-Baronness. But it was paradise considering the consequences should anyone ever feel bold enough to try otherwise.

Your husband wouldn’t allow that.

Dreams are sweet, until they’re not

Men are kind, until they aren’t

Flowers bloom, until they rot and fall apart

“Can I not have a single friend on this planet?!”

You burst into your shared chambers, rage rushing through your veins. All you had wanted was to have lunch and tea with one of the few female palace advisors you had taken a liking to. Maybe share a laugh or a story. Make a connection outside of your new family. That was all ruined when Feyd barged in and gutted your companion, stomach-to-throat, while she sat in her chair.

You were sure that your shoes had trailed blood down the hallway, but your mind was focused elsewhere at the moment.

“What use would you have for friends? I am right here.” He closed in on you, grasping your arms and forcing you to look in his direction. “Am I not enough for you? Do I not give you everything you should ever desire?”

His hands tighten around your wrists, making you flinch. A stray tear falls from your eyes, guilt starts to overcome your anger.

“No, not at all, husband! You have given me everything I could have wished for and more,” You wrench your hands out of his grip and grasp his face. He showered you with gifts, never let you go hungry or thirsty and this is how you repay him? “I just… I didn’t think you would want to hear me talk about certain things. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“I know you don’t, my darling.”

You take a deep breath as you feel the tension in the room start to settle.

“Your mind is already fragile from the accident… I just want to keep you safe.”

Safe. That was the key here. He takes step back and retrieves a small dagger from his belt.

Feyd holds it up, showing you the weapon. “Did you know that your friend had a blade dipped in poison strapped onto her person?”

You can feel the blood rushing from your face. No. You didn’t know.

“I-I didn’t see a knife on her. She couldn’t have-“

“She did.”

He drops the blade and leans in closer to you, forehead aligning with yours. “There are people out there who seek to harm you, who seek to harm me through you. I can never let that happen.”

You nod furiously. You couldn’t believe that you had been so stupid.

Trust is unbelievably hard to come by in the Galactic Imperium. Your few months’ worth of memories can even attest to that. It seems that the only people you can truly rely on is family.

“I only want what’s best for you.”

You understand now.

Is anybody listening?

I open my mouth and nothing comes out

Another argument discussion had emerged from your telling of your latest dream. Your husband was convinced that you were entirely too exhausted to put any stock into what your subconscious was telling you, but you thought otherwise.

Fingers run through a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—

“I swear to you, it felt so real! It was almost like a memory, like something I-,” A firm hand is placed on your shoulder as you give a slight stumble. Feyd puts a hand on your back, leading you to the edge of your bed, setting you on the bench that was placed against the footboard.

“Please, have some of your morning tea, my darling. You look a bit peaked.” You accepted the cup he gave you, settling down and taking a few sips of the warm, spiced drink. Your mind instantly calms, anxieties evaporating from your body like puffs of smoke. Never mind the memories that you had just… Floating.

Your husband is now on one knee in front of you, arms encasing your body, as his hands cup your face. He brings your eyes to meet his, seemingly searching. For what? You do not know.

“What were you saying about this dream of yours?” A pause reverberates throughout the room as your head tilts in confusion.

“My…?” You stutter, mouth opening to complete a thought that was no longer entirely there. “I can’t quite remember. What were we talking about?”

Your husband gives a smirk, analyzing your face once more before placing his hand on the dark fabric covering your swollen belly.

“Nothing of import. It seems that my heir is set on scrambling your thoughts.”

There seemed to be nothing in this world that brought more joy to Feyd-Rautha’s face than the sight of you and his unborn child. He’s more protective of you now than ever, having guards always posted near you, having you wear a shield during all public appearances. Not to mention, he was damn near insatiable in private. His hands and mouth are practically dragged away from you and your growing stomach every morning.

You give a chuckle. “I’d heard about pregnancy brain before, but never knew it to be this taxing! Perhaps I’ll take a walk later if I’m feeling up to it.”

Feyd gives your cheek a soft pat before rising to his feet, “Rest, my darling. I shall check in on the both of you later.” His hand rests next to yours, giving your belly a quick rub before he walks towards the door.

Your head goes to set on your pillow, the warmth from the tea running through your body. You must be really tired, since you fall asleep so quickly.

Quick enough to not hear the deadbolt lock clicking from the outside once the door is closed.

Flowers, I remember field of flowers

Soft beneath my heels

Walking in the sun, I remember someone

Someone by my side, turned his face to mine

The dreams start to encroach your mind while you are awake. You continue to follow your doctor’s instructions: take your daily tea, rest often, don’t overexert your body or your mind. But, ever persistent, they push through, finding parallels with your daily life to latch onto.

A hand, gently enlaced with yours, guides you through a meadow—

You husband’s hands lead you to stand with him by his uncle’s side, preparing for another ceremony.

A laugh, familiar and warm—

A chilling cackle of laughter reaches you in your viewing box, watching your husband gleefully slay another adversary in the arena.

Bright, yellow sunlight caressing your face and neck—

The black sun of Geidi Prime pulses in your periphery as you wave to a crowd below, your husband standing stoically next to you.

A kiss, given freely—

Feyd ravishes you in your chambers, lips melding together with yours.

My darling—

My love—

My darling—

“Is everything alright, my darling?”

You blink, snapping back to the present. Pale, smooth skin and blue eyes, your husband extends his hand towards you. Safe. He gives you everything. You and your child will never struggle or suffer with him. You are safe with him. Aren’t you?

Blood splatters over a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—

You give a bright smile.

If you ever walk this way

Come and find me lying in the bed I made

612 notes · View notes

court-jobi · 5 months ago

Text

You're It For Me

Pairing: Bakugou x reader (biker!prohero reader, afab pronouns used)

Words: 4K

Rating: T+

Warnings: Pro-hero Bakugou/Pro-hero Reader, canon-typical aftermath, love confessions, light hurt/comfort, protective Bakugou is protective, bedsharing-not spicy (yet)

Summary:

Bakugou fears very little in this life- because he knows with you by his side, even fighting the worst of the worst villains is easier when you're on the other end of the line in his headset. But never one to let things go unsaid, he makes sure to cup the side of your face and tell you the greatest promise short of 'I love you' that he can before storming out for the mission: "You're it for me. Got that?" You have to swear it back every time, so he believes it. It's both a promise and a lifeline- especially when he hears the worst possible communique: that the team's lost visual of you.

A/N: my ao3 loves have encouraged this pairing to be something of a series, so maybe that's what this will become!

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

Beeping right into his left eardrum signals an incoming update through Bakugou’s earpiece, pinpointing the alert straight to the source over the raucous cheers of his thankful public. He’d taken on the ‘A’ grouping of villains, while you pursued ‘B’ as they made an escape from the scene. The ‘A’ punks were the ‘muscle’, but Dynamight was far stronger than any of them had anticipated.

‘Pissy extras, you weren’t worth my time’, he’d touted when his good ole buddy Cellophane wrapped em up tight in a nice, neat bow.

Bakugou might have celebrated this win a bit more with the crowd surrounding him, having caught the villain and was prepared to call it a day alongside Sero, ticking off another win tally in traditional, mega-blasty action… if not for the update coming through on his comms:

"We lost sight of Joyride- crash site at the industrial pylons at 6-5-2 and 6-5-7- Tightrope is-- confirmed; eliminated. Repeat, requesting visual of Joyride-"

Bakugou's soul drops to his gut.

There was a crash and you were missing. Sero hears the same update and looks to Bakugou gravely- knowing full well who you are to him. Not just a teammate, but more, in every way.

Turning quickly from the gathering of people, Bakugou takes a one-armed leap from the side of the building and blasts off a slight cushion to his fall, then jogs towards the incoming transport with Jeanist's interns calling out for him to report back. He doesn't listen to any word of thanks as he marches to the transport. He's fueled by pure anxiety behind masked eyes, rage bubbling hot in his breath. He listens to his radio, and prays.

"--still no sight of- wait, wait! Joyride spotted! We have visual! Status? She alive? Affirmative, she's coming up over the edge- (laughs) I can't believe it, she chucked that eight-wheeler straight into it!"

Bakugou swallows, throat tight despite the relief.

"Ok Dynamight, off to rende with Joy–?-"

"YOU HEARD ‘EM, MOVE!"

Poor intern shutting right up and driving away, Bakugou shucks off his pauldrons and vambraces against his discipline that he should really keep em on until fully off duty, but with his protective instincts still in overdrive, he knows he's producing more than enough sweat should he be caught by surprise at this point in the aftermath. He's not going to need the extra firepower where he's going.

Screeching to a slowed approach, Bakugou can't wait the extra second to allow the van to come to a complete stop before he's chucking the door open and jumping past the cordoned off emergency vehicles assisting passersby. He shouts only briefly for 'making way', and people listen to the man on a mission. Calls of thanks fall to his deaf ears- by choice, this time.

From around the corner, he turns assessing the damage surrounding the crash site below. He spots Uravity already helping, and is grateful for her expertise while still set on recovering you.

There ahead -his angel in a leather jacket trudging up the off ramp with weary steps- is the sight he thanks every god in the heavens for.

Bakugou stays his swearing out of sheer gratitude to not see copious amounts of blood draining your face; that sheen on you is just sweat as you’ve chucked your helmet off to breathe better. One look at you and it’s like no other day; you just look understandably tired and in want of a shower more than life. Your expression isn’t pained– just your usual distaste for incline treks by show of your flat, annoyed brows and mouth breathing. That look coming from a top 20 Pro Hero known for her stylish grace is funny- if only under different circumstances.

There's a crack in his voice as he shouts your callsign, but he's not ashamed of it; not with the punch of fear ripping the sound from him. He sets off in a run– straight to you.

You look up at the alarmed call. Dynamight is hurtling towards you, and you're just as relieved to see a sight for sore eyes. Seems the shock of what you just did catches up as you find renewed haste in leaving the smokey scene behind you. You pick yourself up into a jog with a delirious smile forcing its way onto your face.

In a span of a few seconds, Bakugou shoves up his protective face mask, catching your bounding self up into his arms, hugging you tight for two full, shaking breaths before pulling you into a fire-loaded, protective kiss.

Smokelines are smudged across his cheeks and burning tears lay built up at his lash line as he heaves grateful breaths in and out through his nose against your cheek. This kiss is tense, but needed. Without an ounce of regret, he keeps you painfully close. You held no less affection from him, your hands immediately grabbing for purchase on his nape, sweat-licked and all. You gasp for a breath with a laugh before he smashes his mouth across yours with tongue, messy and relieved and angry that something has scared him so bad.

Releasing your lips from his, he bumps his forehead to yours for a solemn few seconds to rein himself in.

He husks, "You good-?"

"Yeah."

"Not hurt?"

"Nah~"

"You swear."

You nod with your eyes still closed, breathing a quick answer before being given another couple hard kisses on your cheek. You're hugged tight again, swayed as he takes a couple traipsing steps with you in his arms. A heart-wrenching, gutteral sigh rasps from him, leaving you reeling as he holds you in sight of who knows how many. The fact that you're not alone in this moment is only a fleeting thought as your residual adrenaline causes you to shake- probably the reason why Bakugou is set on keeping a tight hold on you.

"I'm ok, Katsuki. M'okay-" you answer shakily, barely a whisper. You're convincing yourself under the guise of assuring him. It works, in a way.

"Thank fuck," he answers to your neck.

He’d done his part- you heard so on the coms once you found your dislodged helmet after you made a timed dismount off the bike before it careened you both off the exit ramp. It was then that you reactivated the jostled ‘live’ signal from your helmet and typed back the status code that you were alive. The mic had broken, or else you would have reported so yourself.

But the fact remains, you haven’t told anyone reporting on the scene what you’ve seen- what you’ve done. You did stop the villain’s crew from taking what they’d stolen, but you’d effectively ended anyone else’s chances of recovering the files with the demolition site you’d essentially forced them into. The valued records didn’t fall in the wrong hands, certainly, and it’s an ultimate grace that no other civilian lives were lost, but you do think about how grim the scene looks at the bottom of the ramp.

There’s no earthly way anyone could have survived that firefest. For some reason, the gravity of that fight grips you now. You’d almost joined them had you not thought hast enough.

"He's.. he's dead. Tightrope and them, the uh- runner. I hit 'em."

"Good. F’he wasn’t, I was gonna kill him myself."

You chuckle, despite the subject matter. Tired breaths still heave from you, coupled with the gentle relief of Bakugou’s supporting arms around you– bare arms you now notice are cannonless, as they set you fully down on your own.

"Oi, BACK IT UP!"

You realize there's a few reporting drones coming in at your back when Katsuki’s dominant hand lifts off of you to bat one away with a harmless smack on a lens; luckily Bakugou is already ushering you back to the van, keeping you ahead of him with a careful palm to your shoulder. He lets you lead towards shelter and a thorough once-over from the medic team for the shock. More grateful civilians cheer praises on both of you, especially your name since it was evidently shared by many as the saving agent of the day.

Unlike your chilly counterpart, you did offer a wave and a reassuring, proud grin for those onlookers, but Bakugou knows your true feelings better as you grit through your teeth,

“Oh, yes please, photos. What I’d kill for a bath right now…”

After a ride back to the agency, you start to breathe normally again. On the bus where you’re strapped up with a bp cuff monitoring your status, your care is complete with your hand in Bakugou's as he stands above you. He hovers even more after you hit the showers, dress down comfortably, and receive one of the highest compliments from your agency lead on your quick actions and limited infrastructure casualties. Finally, true ease in your tummy relaxes as you get a pass on submitting your report while in your current state until morning, and as you are given a lift back to the apartment complex-- of course, with Bakugou in tow.

It's the early morning hours when you are able to go lay down, the smallest change in the sky after the night’s darkest hour giving way to a persistent sun. It does little to threaten your desire to sleep though, with your protective boyfriend playing bodyguard keeping a hand on you at all times then offering to stay 'until you fall asleep'.

You feel the safest you have in months that morning…

When he follows your soft ask for him to see you safely upstairs, carries out his nighttime routine alongside yours, he does nothing more forward than wrap his entire body as close to you as possible. He kisses you goodnight with care and softness and just an edge of heat.

"You fucking scared me." Bakugou whispers into the quiet space you've created.

"I thought nothing scares you."

He huffs, but it's a sad, wet sound. "Tch, like hell it doesn't."

You're both quiet for a while after that, just relishing in your joint safety, touching each other to soothe the chills from within, soaking in his light presses to your forehead until he lays a kiss longer than the others–

"I love you so damn much," Bakugou rasps all in one go, "I love you."

It's the first time he's said it, outright.

You'd thought you'd scream and kick your feet if he ever got around to saying what you already believed to be true. All you want instead is to absolutely melt into his skin and sob.

"HEY-"

Bakugou called out to you at the start of all this in full, armored glory- nearly every bit of skin covered up in his winter suit while the dead of summer sun bears down. For this crazy mission, he’s been preparing all afternoon, ready to bring his all to the fight ahead.

One word and you whip around before he yanks you into speaking range. He grounds you with a hand to your shoulder keeping you still- expecting him to say ‘be careful’, maybe even an extra ‘watch for those crackhead speed demons out there’.

But with his commanding, brash voice on, you weren't sure what he'd say to you- not when he’s looking at you like that.

"You-- y'better not pull anything stupid now," he stares you down with complete earnest, choosing words carefully because he figured you might be listened to on the team’s headsets.

Yet never one to let things go unsaid, he cupped the side of your neck for the next bit-

"You're it for me. Got that?"

Your azure-blazed helmet hid most of your face, so you smiled with your eyes so he could see that you agreed. You heard him loud and clear, and got his meaning entirely.

You placed your hand in an 'i love you' sign on his chest before another call over the radio gave directions and pulled you both apart to look for the flare.

"-Got it,” you resolved while only giving him a second before you crafted a biped transitbike in record time with your quirk- "Go kick some fuckin’ ass!"

Heart zinging with motivation, you sped away- leaving Bakugou to cackle at your rare cursing and blowing his own way skyward and into his element.

Tipping your head up, you can barely find words with him looking at you like this. It’s the look from this morning all over again: a tight, straight-set scowl dead set on keeping himself from crying, hand sifted itself into your hair like you're going to be ripped from him in an instant, and soft eyes that are begging- a look you never thought you'd see from him.

You don't have it in you to tease him, or even be your trademark soft and demure to contrast his hard and offensive shell. No, you feel like doting on him when he's like this, because you know you’re the only one who sees him this way. This vulnerable, laid beside you with a weighted blanket on him to soothe his anxiety, too.

So you promise your whole existence to him instead: a genuine word without fear of an audience.

"I love you, too. You’re it for me."

You sink in and out of sleep while he holds you like this. Though gratefully, he's out like a light after the last few kisses he laid on your head when you said it back-- like his spirit could finally rest knowing you believed the same.

You keep waking up in the night unsettled by some restless instincts left over from the night before.

After twisting again and turning your neck to bleakly look at the light coming in, you heard his drowsy inhale bring out a grumbly moan,

"Go t'sleep."

'It's bright,' you say through your exhaustion, but it's evident that you're far too awake by your tone.

At this, you heave in surprise as Bakugou completely flips you onto the other side of him, tilting you with a palm until you turn the other way (towards the bathroom) and lie completely in his shadow. You check his face to see if he's upset at your waking him, but his eyes remain shut by sleep and are solely focused on blindly making sure you're completely locked in and comfortable in his arms, still.

It's thoughtful and strikes you sweetly, tucked back in his embrace again. You feel completely secure with his warmth flooding you at your back.

"Thanks."

Again, he simply whispers,

"mmm sleep f'me, 'ngel... I've gotcha."

A phone buzzes just minutes later, his. It's Kirishima- and like moth and flame they are for each other, Bakugou answers, tipping only onto his back so he’s barely moving from you. You still sleep through lightly and you hear him talking, but not each and every word fully.

Bakugou swiped up to answer the call, but didn’t deign a chipper welcome necessary.

"......hey uhhh Bakugou?"

"hmwhat."

"Are you still sleeping?"

"Yes."

"It's after 2pm, man! Thought you were dead to the world~"

"I am. Whaddya need."

"Well, just wanted to check on you man. I saw the fight last night, and I've tried calling Little Miss, too but she's not answerin’."

"Had the same night. She's 'sleep too."

"Eh, I shoulda figured. Looked like it took it out of you."

"Tch, wasn’t that hard."

Kirishima played into his mischievous lilt on his end of the line,

"mmmm sure bout that? That uh, kiss, didn't look like ‘nothing’."

...Kirishima wasn't there. How would he have known you kissed?...

Bakugou wakes a little more. "Huh."

Kirishima burrs the speaker a little on the other line. Must be from him laughing through his nose knowing Bakugou's severe dislike for that sort of attention.

"I mean, I get it. I'd probably be the same after watching my girl go down like that, but-- hate to break it to ya, but it's everywhere, Kats."

"-Whaddya mean."

Notifications have flooded his phone when he cracks open an eye to really look at it, but he opens the most recent from Kirishima, texted by the redhead’s insistence for Bakugou to take a look.

There are stills of said clip of him running up to you and kissing you– one particular shot looks gorgeously cinematic because someone with a photo-optic quirk had clearly followed him, probably from that drone he almost broke. Screenshots Kirishima has collected (proof of ‘true manliness’, he claims) all bear headlines of how this was the most unexpected hero pairing of the season: how "Joynamight" is stealing the hearts of swooning civilians everywhere- and likely the shutdown of the entire hero rumor mill surrounding the explosive hero standing at No. 5. The dating scene has allegedly erupted into chaos over the news.

Bakugou stared at the photo of him holding you. One camera turned more at his shoulders by the way he'd stepped, so in this photo, he could see you more clearly- holding on as just about any loved one would hug their better half, but so beautifully content and safe in your face- if a little emotional yourself.

A blank hum is all Bakugou offered. Soft. Seemingly disinterested if it wasn't for the proud smirk.

Kirishima snickered on the other end of the line. "You sucker."

"Yeah, yeah."

"...dytell er yet?"

"Not there... But.. couldn't not, yknow."

"aaand?"

"... Dont scream about it, mtired."

Kiri audibly gasped, then at least honored Bakugou's request for distance from the phone, whooping and hollering off speakerphone, uplifted at the news. His carrying on made even a sleep-laden Bakugou happy, even if he lay there rolling his eyes for his friend to be done.

You finally stirred beside him, turning over with a stretch and seeking him out. He quickly received you, kissing your forehead again, then tipping back to the phone. "I'll call you back later, Eij."

"--Huh? Dude I WANNA KNOW WHAT YOU SAID, WHAT HA-"

"Mmm who's that," you moaned.

Bakugou rubbed your back to rouse you the rest of the way. "Your big red dog."

You chortled at Kirishima's new moniker. "Whas’hewant."

Bakugou debated letting you stay in your bubble, but figured ripping the bandaid might be best.

"Just called to give us a head's up."

You looked up to him, "About what?"

Bakugou only smirked, tilting his phone to you. To focus on the light, you woke up fully, eyes widening to just how bad they did -indeed- immortalize your private moment on the scene.Those grimey, windswept headshots you’d feared at the medtend were the least of your photogenic worries now.

But-- like his own reaction-- you couldn't keep from smiling.

"Ohhhh~" you sighed, then deeper, "Ohhhhh we are in deep shit."

Bakugou snuggled in– smug as all getout, "Yeah, we are."

"Wait, lemme see-- oh my God, Kats... Oh Katsuki, this-.."

"Yeah yeah, give it back-"

"Nooo I need that one! Send it to me!"

"It's likely blown yours up too, dummy! Get your own!"

Memory of your reentry home failed you, so you had to ask him where your phone ended up because you didn't have a clue. He’d put it on the charger for you, of course. Then, sitting side by side, you both were reviewing the more urgent notes from your respective social media managers with deep, secretive chuckles.

These photos were a romantic’s dream, but a PR jumpscare. Had to be addressed in some way or it would never end, truly.

"What’d yours say?"

You fixed your wonky part with a little fluff to your hair, settling your initial overwhelm of nerves: " ‘Go on something lowkey- Present Mic’s show or a podcast off the mainstream, say ‘friendship is magic’, maybe tease it if I want to, and move on.’ I dunno- that seems like a lot of public speaking and scheduling out the wazoo. You?"

"She's just yapping. Didn't read it all." Bakugou barely cared about his social media presence since his manager did most of the publishing, save for Bakugou sharing some highlights of his select, predictable group of hero team ups. Besides that, he just focused on paying them well enough to cover his bullshit if he ever let his temper flare. Besides, now he was waiting on what you'd say, "So what're you gonna do?"

You debated, smirking like a devil the whole time as you realized what could be the fastest way to get your take out in the open,

"... I wanna share the photographer's post. Not this J’akku Press spread."

This earned a smirk for you, "Yeah?"

"...yeah?" you returned a shy look- wondering if you were crazy.

"I will, if you will."

Bakugou’s soft, sleepy loyalty is one you fear will disappear after you both get started with your day. When Dynamight reports back in, you can only hope that he’d still feel the same way today as he did yesterday- though you imagine managing the tabloid fodder a post like this can make will be less than pleasant for him. He’s so private most of the time, and when he’s not digitally absent, he’s loud. This hesitation must have shown on your face– because he takes your hand for a second and kisses it to stop your spiral.

"I meant what I said. You’re it- you’re mine. Whether we tell the world or not. Up to you."

You bite your lip again, and doubled down. You shift to snuggle with your back cradled on his chest, building the shared post:

"Aftermath: Joyride emerges from crash scene unscathed, reunited with Dynamight in a rare tender moment for today's top tier heroes." Joyride_fm: see edit: Lucky, lucky girl. Sorry for scaring you, m'love❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 #rideordie

Bakugou snickers, kissing your shoulder closest to him. "Do it, I'll repost that one."

He, however, did not let you read as he added his response thread, making you wonder what kind of a novel he was going to be sharing because of how long he was taking...

Instead, you just curled into his side and peppered him in a few distracting kisses on his chest. He’d come bolting to you last night, a core memory you’d be fantasizing about for a long time. Just watching the way his chest is rising and falling here in bed so calmly when you know just hours ago it was heaving like you’d been lost at sea, you are so gone on him. When he nudged his shoulder for you to check his draft, you damn near cried:

"Aftermath: Joyride emerges from crash scene unscathed, reunited with Dynamight in a rare tender moment for today's top tier heroes." THE_Dynamight_SoV: Hero work is not for the weak. We train, we fight, and we do everything we can to make our world a safer one, to whatever end. This woman is one of many selfless, ball-busting, indomitable heroes that I'm not only proud to do this work with, but one I can't see myself living without. You're looking at the face of a man who's holding his priorities right there in 4k. So yeah. If you see one of us like this after a battle, know it's because heroes get scared too– for good fucking reason. Better not make this a habit, dummy. ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 #rideandDONTdie

"Oh my God~~" your tears and misty sniffles had you caving into his shoulder, "my tweet was so STUPID!!"

Katsuki bragged with proud cackles as you cried it out, sending the post out for the Internet to bawl over before you could dare edit your post, and turned his phone right back to silent.

You got snotty and overly emotional at how sweet he was with his statement, but were comforted by his hands smoothing over you until you calmed.

"Love you,” you settled into the peace he held you in.

"Love you, dummy."

When you got up for the afternoon run back to the office to finish your reports with fresh eyes, you entered the building as normal. There’s no hint in how either of you carry yourselves that say you all just spend the last twelve hours like koalas draped over each other. The only sign of such affections was your use of an Allmight tervis you're nursing your coffee with –clearly his– which your good ole partner in electric crime, Chargebolt, clocked from the end of the hallway:

"JOYNAMIGHT 2024!!!!"

"SHUDDUP, POWER OUTTAGE!!!"

#bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha #bnha

163 notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 1 month ago

Text

Calling Out

Zayne x gn!Reader

I do really love this one. I love when Zayne is staunchly trying to take care of us even when we're a bit stubborn about it

Warnings: fluff, a little silly, sleep deprivation, exhaustion, stress

Word Count: 714

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

"How long have you been awake?"

"You don't want the answer to that question."

"I assume I wouldn't be jumping for joy if I heard it."

You sigh and rub at your tired eyes. All day, you've been hunched over your desk, clawing your hair out in frustration with your school work. On top of that, someone at work just quit, meaning you're one of the lucky few that gets to pick up the slack and take on more shifts until the company can bother to hire someone halfway decent. You're just grateful you have enough time in between the two to meet with Zayne for lunch.

"I was up all night," you admit. "One of my teachers thought it would be a great idea to give us an assignment that should take a week and have it due that same day."

"You didn't go to bed immediately after?"

"No."

"Is there a reason?"

"Couldn't sleep."

The waiter brings over a cup of coffee and a cup of green tea. You mutter a thanks and grab some sugar packets from the caddy on the table. You rip a few of them open at once with your teeth, lazily stir it in, and go to take a sip. Zayne's hand covers the top, and your mouth hits his fingers before he drags it down.

"You just put salt in your coffee."

... No fucking way. You pick up the "sugar" packets to read the writing on the side. Sure enough, it's salt. You groan and slouch in your chair, head back and eyes closed. A touch melodramatic, perhaps, but Zayne thinks nothing of it as he places the cup of green tea in front of you.

"Drink this."

You look at it with a frown. "There's not enough caffeine in that."

He nods. "Precisely. You need to rest."

You sigh. "I can't, Zayne, I have work after this."

"Call out."

"I can't-"

"Doctor's orders. I'll give you a note."

"Zayne, I can't call in sick now! We're already understaffed and there's nobody who can cover for my shift on such short notice!"

He pushes the cup toward you more insistently. "Drink. You're going to work yourself into the ground if you keep on like this."

You snort humorlessly. "Hey, kettle."

He shoots you a disapproving look. "If you're not going to worry about your health, then allow me to. There is no situation that you can think up where your well-being comes after work."

You stare down into the green tea. You know he's right - of course he is. But there's a guilt that gnaws on your conscious every time you think of taking a break. For better or worse, that guilt has been the driving force behind your work. How long have you been detached from the "love of the game", from getting your degree to get the job you've always wanted? It no longer feels like a stepping stone to your future. It's a boulder in the way that you need to push up a mountain, inch by agonizing inch. It's only a matter of time before it comes rolling back on top of you; if you keep working through it, maybe you can avoid that happening.

And yet here you are. Your grasp on the boulder is slipping.

You take a small sip. It's herbal and warm. It doesn't have the kick the coffee does. You hope you can stay awake through lunch.

The stern look on his face relaxes slightly. He doesn't have to worry about you being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance because you passed out on the job. "How many sick days do you have saved up?"

You rub your eyes as you think. "I don't know. Enough for an emergency."

He flags down a passing waiter and hands them the ruined coffee. They take it away with a confused look. "Would you like me to make the call for you?" he asks, genuinely.

"Won't they be confused why my doctor is personally calling them from my phone? Would they even believe that?"

"Let me worry about that." He holds out his hand expectantly. You sigh. There’s no way you’re getting out of Zayne’s care now. Resigned, you pull it out of your pocket and pass it over.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

#fanfic #fanfiction #zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne #lnds zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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olderthannetfic · 3 months ago

Note

sorry it didn't entirely occur to me that race play wasn't inherently racist. Guess I literally should've just googled that to see, flew over my head. Wasn't intending to be bait or whatever, I was genuinely confused what goes too far in fiction or not, since you could write practically anything including immoral stuff. It was hard to wrap my head around and entirely forgot POC could write stuff that would be considered racist if a white person did it. My bad I understand the reasoning now. Again sorry was genuinely just curious cuz I'm not a "professional" in what's right or not (I usually follow the majority to determine what's right, I'm a sheep, my biggest fear is to be offensive in any way so I try to listen to people who know their stuff and follow), terms and complicated words (at least complicated to me) tend to go over my head. Perhaps I should've used a tonetag to show I was being genuine in my response and meant to be curious and not to harm. I apologize sorry for making you mad have a nice day/night afternoon :) I really appreciate the work you put in this blog, it's very informational for me

Oh god. You're in earnest? Well, in that case, you were doing a pitch-perfect imitation of the people you've been reading, and those people are annoying.

It's fiction. Who cares what's in it?

The thing that makes it matter is how the fiction is disseminated and the whole context around it. For example, media aimed at young children is held to higher standards because four-year-olds often aren't that competent at telling fiction from reality or understanding that depiction isn't endorsement.

Mainstream US TV shows have millions of viewers. If they reinforce mainstream unconscious prejudices, that tends to encourage the audience to continue unchecked in those beliefs.

Weird niche porn or fanfic on AO3 have tiny audiences, often deal with things that are already contentious, and are labeled as non-mainstream in the first place by their very nature.

"But what if people write immoral fiction?" is itself an unethical position. It is the domain of the religious right, radfems, and other assholes who believe in thought crimes.

Yes, sheep do follow these people. This is an unethical behavior, but it is common.

The tyranny of the majority is not a good thing. The fact that a large number of people on social media say that such-and-such makes them feel gross is not an excuse for them to tell a smaller group with "gross" tastes what they're allowed to do in their own circles. Lots of people are horny over weird shit. This is fine.

The fear of ever offending anyone is a prison that will cause you to make bad choices.

Genuine harm is bad, but lots of people are offended at the drop of a hat. Yes, this goes for nonwhite people too, and it definitely goes for idiots white knighting in fandom spaces and going "You can't write X about characters of color! You can't write Y! Everything is problematic!"

As has been discussed on here many times, a lot of fans, including nonwhite fans, find that kind of behavior stifling to the point where they can't write about those characters at all. The response is often a huffy "Well, they shouldn't feel like that." But they do feel like that. It's not on purpose. Most people feel like that, to be honest. Living in a fishbowl has a chilling effect on art just like being afraid of offending paralyzes you yourself.

Offensiveness is highly dependent on context. Not only will it vary with your cultural background, but a great writer can handle material and make it feel nuanced, while a crummy writer will fall flat on their face with the same material.

If we are too precious about "Nobody should ever offend anyone", we're calling for all fans to publicly disclose their demographic and for all fans to be extremely skilled. Pity the poor, dumb teenager who just wants to write about their black blorbos because they are black themselves... and a shitty writer... who likes sex pollen.

If you look again, you will notice that a lot of fandom drama around offensiveness boils down to "You have a rape kink and that's not okay".

The bottom line, anon, is that fandom has a bullying problem. The internet has a bullying problem. People who are too scared to have their own stance on what's offensive or what's correct behavior are easily weaponized in bullying campaigns. This is the problem with being a sheep. You'll reblog shit saying "Well, I'm not sure, but this sounds important..." and then it turns out to be a smear campaign. Or maybe you personally won't do that, but you will stay silent when you should speak out.

Doing the right thing often involves offending people.

Look, anon, I've been canceled before for supposedly being "fandom's worst racist", and yet there are a bunch of fans of color in my comments section because they're tired of prissy jackasses who won't ever expose themselves by having an opinion, think it's more important to never be wrong than to have a conversation and risk changing their minds, who think only one very specific, very American, and very era/platform/fandom-specific standard is okay, and who hate on kinky fanfic day in and day out.

To interact with other humans is to risk offending someone. Yes, I think it's on all of us to at least recognize extremely blatant racist stereotypes, but that doesn't mean agreeing with every single moron who walks up and goes "I had a yucky feeling, and now that's your problem."

A lot of this pearl clutching makes one think of that line from Cold Comfort Farm:

"I saw something nasty in the woodshed!"

The matriarch of the family took to her bed years ago, claiming to have been prostrated by the sight of some unnamed horror (in context, probably people fucking). For years, she has used this supposed ~harm~ to bully and control the rest of the family.

Fandom is also full of this behavior lately. "Other people's fiction made me shake and cry!!!" is not actual harm. It is, at best, people who are genuinely upset but who need to take it up with a mental health professional. Very often, however, it is shitty, manipulative, abusive behavior that is entirely intentional. Do not fall for it.

Some people are just children and need to be told "No."

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parfaitblogs · 7 months ago

Text

scared of my guitar ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you fall out of love, and he notices.

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: established relationship. they suck at communicating. whole lot of nothing again why can't i write guys. no happy ending. word count: 1.2k a/n: this is for the girls who are the problem in their relationships!! i see u!! i hear u!!! thank u olivia rodrigo for representing us.

also posted here on my ao3 !

You were perhaps the most awful and cruel person in the world.

Those were the self-deprecating thoughts you had every single night, morning, and every hour in between. Thoughts you have been having for a month now, and thoughts you were praying would go away. Because the longer you have them, the more solidified they become in your brain, and the closer you get to knowing you need to address them. With him.

The man currently in your kitchen, making two separate cups of tea, like he did every night he was home. Putting all his love and care into making it the way you like, the way you had taught him. Which, truthfully, didn't take long to teach him — he was a fast learner. Always taking the first sip and telling you if it was still too hot to drink, burning his own mouth and allowing you to scold him for it. A nighttime routine that went on for as long as you could remember.

But it wasn't enough.

You knew he'd crack you open eventually. He didn't need to be a profiler to read you — he knew more about you than you sometimes thought you knew about yourself. He used to coax you to open up to him about past traumas, never going too far, always pushing just enough to get you to share what you needed to. He was sometimes so in tune with your emotions you wondered if he had crawled into your brain and set up camp the day you two met.

But no, that was just Spencer.

The first time he asked if something was wrong was three months ago. He had come home from a particularly long case, and you didn't greet him at the door with the same enthusiasm you usually did. Sure, you were happy, but there was a certain spark behind your eyes missing. But it was two in the morning, and you were technically exhausted, so you were able to blame it on that. He was skeptical, but he knew you, and he knew not to push it.

The second time he confronted you, you had spent an entire week without spending time with him. You both worked full time, but you also always made time for each other. Whether that be as planned as a Friday night movie, or as simple as picking the other up from work. But you had successfully avoided him outside of simple 'good morning's' and 'good night's'.

He had sat you down the following Tuesday night, and asked if things between you two were okay. You lied, and said yes, and you watched him become even more suspicious than the time before. He didn't believe you. Again, he didn't push it.

A small part of you wished he would've. Maybe you could've had the difficult conversation, and it would be over, and you'd be sitting on your couch with a shattered heart over a broken relationship, instead of a shattered heart over one that still exists.

You knew it was coming when he had sat down with the teas, placing both of them on the coffee table, and you two sitting in an awkward silence for a few moments.

You lifted your head to glance at him, expecting him to be staring at you, but he wasn't. His eyes, instead, trained on the two coffee mugs, cogs turning in his brain. A sight — watching him think — that used to bring you so much joy, now filling your stomach with an uncomfortable sense of anxiety.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off before you could, his gaze unwavering from the mugs.

"What's wrong?"

What a layered question, you thought, bitterly. Because what wasn't wrong?

You wanted to deflect it, tell him nothing, again, say you were fine. But with how serious he seemed, you decided against it. He wouldn't let that pass this time.

"I don't know," you settled on saying, voice shaky, unsure how to actually say what you were feeling.

He slowly nodded his head, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Can you try to know, please?"

He still wasn't looking at you.

You inhaled, eyes fluttering as you attempted to regain your emotions, blinking away the tears filling them already. God, confrontation was hard.

When you were silent for probably too many minutes, he turned his head to look at you, the sight cracking right down the centre of your heart.

He wasn't sad looking, per se. Exhausted was probably the better word for it. His eyes devoid of most emotion, his naturally downturned lips frowning further. And that wasn't even the most painful part of it. No, it was the barely audible,

"You don't love me anymore, do you?"

His voice impossibly small, eyes blinking a few times, as if he was doing what you had done and fighting back his own tears. If somebody had shoved a knife in your abdomen fifty times over, twisting it every time, you decided it would hurt less than that.

You couldn't find an answer, your lips parting and closing three or four times as you wracked your brain for something — anything — to say that would take that expression off his face. But anything like that would be a lie, and he would see right through it. You knew that.

So, you settled on a small shake of your head, averting your eyes for your own sake.

He didn't say anything; simply inhaled sharply and nodded his own head, fingers flexing and stretching against each other in a nervous habit you had noticed what felt like years ago.

"How long?" he then asked, and you, for the umpteenth time that night, wanted to lie.

But you didn't. "I had my first doubt four months ago," you said. "But three months ago."

"And you waited four months to tell me?" his voice was impossibly strained.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I didn't know if it was just a fleeting thought because you weren't home or not."

"Right," he answered, hands running down his face, index fingers digging into his eyes. "So then you waited three months after you realised?"

"I didn't know how to bring it up."

You could see the frustration slowly settling in his chest, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Spencer—"

"—No," he cut you off, shooting a bullet through your heart as his eyes fluttered shut, and he paused, swallowing back what you figured would be another sob. And you couldn't even blame him. "No, don't—don't justify it. Please. You strung me along for three months?"

Yes, you did. And you felt awful, staring at him as he drummed his fingers against his thighs; an anxious tic, his eyes settling back on your body.

"I'm sorry."

It was a pathetic apology, as if it could take back the past three months of interactions he was no doubt overanalysing inside his brain. It couldn't. You knew that, he knew that.

"Why did you stay?" he finally asked after an eternally long silence between you two.

"I was scared," you whispered. Not intentionally — that's just how small your voice comes out, and it's embarrassing.

"Of what?"

"Regretting it."

He let out a sigh, nodding his head. He could at least understand that. "I wish you would've told me."

"Me too."

More silence, more anxious heart-beating and more uncomfortable eye contact to each other.

"I'm sorry," you repeat, breaking the silence.

He merely nodded his head, eyes searching over your face for a few more seconds, before he stood up, picking up his phone from the coffee table and pocketing it.

"Yeah," he said, quietly. "So am I."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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vixstarria · 1 year ago

Text

Another gift

This is a continuation of my headcanon of Astarion’s romance with bard Tav. I can’t remember the actual chronology of cutscenes, but let’s assume this takes place after you’ve started a sexual relationship with Astarion and are beginning to grow closer. I was going to take it in a different direction initially, but these things have a mind of their own once they get going.

If you like it, check out my first fic. I do plan on writing more!

P.S. I may have taken some liberties with the game background story and DnD lore and magic system here – if it doesn’t really match up or make sense – sorry! Also I’m still only on Act 2.

Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion.

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav

Comfort, fluff, budding love, humour, angst, banter, no spoilers, non-explicit

Approximately 2,000 words.

AO3

Astarion was standing outside his tent with his back to the camp, staring into a silver mirror. The man had either lost his vampiric condition, lost his mind, or was simply brooding.

“Looking at something?” he asked absent-mindedly, as you approached.

Brooding. Definitely brooding.

“Looking for something.”

“Oh?” He turned towards you. “Just my company, or is there something else I can offer you?”

“I'm the one making an offering, actually. I thought I’d bring you a little snack”

Astarion grinned and beckoned you inside his tent.

Inside, aside from his bedroll, was a trunk with a large mirror opposite, a lit lantern and a scattering of weapons, equipment and books. You assumed your usual position, cross-legged on the bedroll, and offered him your wrist. This didn’t take long. Just a little pick me up.

He finished, planting a light kiss on your wrist, reached for his amulet and whispered an incantation to heal the wound. He kept hold of your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Do you have any idea how much I appreciate that you don’t sexualise this?”

“I haven’t thought about it... Really?”

“Well imagine that any time you went to, say, take a bite of a turkey leg, there was someone staring, groping themselves and wagging their tongue at you. When you’re just trying to perform basic functions to stay alive.”

“Sweetheart, that’s an average evening at the pub for me, when I perform. With or without me biting on anything. ...But I see what you mean”. You contemplated what he just said in a brief silence. “I can't believe you just compared me to a turkey leg.”

“You’re more of a ripe, juicy peach” he said. You found yourself oddly pleased to be compared to fruit rather than poultry.

You glanced at the large mirror standing on the floor of the tent.

“You own an awful lot of mirrors for a vampire. Why do you even keep this here?”

“That? Oh, it reflects light... makes the tent appear more spacious... prevents anyone from sneaking up on me. ...Unless they’re another vampire.” Astarion said contemplatively. “And I figured, I woke up once with a tadpole in my brain that let me walk in the sun again – who's to say I won’t catch another parasite tomorrow that might cure my vampirism entirely?”

“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?”

“Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red. My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing I’ve lost. I wouldn’t even recognise myself anymore. It’s been two hundred years.”

“But...” you fumbled, trying to wrap your mind around that. “You could have found a street artist to sketch you since then.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Or commissioned a portraitist, those artistic types would accommodate you any time of day or night”

“Commissioned a - …I’m sorry, at what point did I give you the impression that Cazador paid us an allowance..?” Astarion was growing agitated. “And before you say I could have stolen – remember, everything I had, anything I acquired by any means, the clothes on my back, my body, my will – it all belonged to the master.” He paused, regaining control of his demeanour. “There was no point in having any possessions, it would all be the bastard’s in the end. I didn’t want to give him any more than I absolutely had to.”

You kicked yourself in the ass mentally.

“Well how’s this... We get to Baldur’s Gale. We exterminate Cazador and take over his palace. Then we rip out whatever he’s got as décor, commission all the best artists, and hang paintings of you on every wall. There will be nothing but portraits of Astarion everywhere.” Astarion’s eyes softened as he watched you gesticulating and getting carried away by your own imagination. “Astarion in shining armour. Astarion on a horse. Astarion on silk bedsheets, half-covered in rose petals. Pirate Astarion. Astarion stroking a cat. Historic events, but every single person depicted is Astarion. Oh! And in the main banquet hall, there will be an enormous mural of you, fully naked, lounging on a divan and being fed grapes by a cadre of nymphs.”

“With a fig leaf covering my unmentionables?”

“A comically large fig leaf. Or better yet, no fig leaf, just your full unmentionable glory looming over the dining table” You paused, as if sobering up after being lost in your grand vision, and added in a more serious tone: “We can commission busts and statues, too. Get a mold of your face for a hyper-realistic one.”

“We” he whispered, as if to himself, with a scornful chuckle.

“Oh? Do you have someone else in Baldur’s Gate you’d rather spend time with?” You realised how callous that might have come across as soon as the words were out, and cringed inwardly.

“...No, I don’t” he said absently.

“Elves live long lives... Do you still have real family there? Friends from... before? ...A spouse? Children?” You'd wondered about this before, and figured you may as well lie in the hole you’d dug for yourself.

“Gods, no!” Astarion blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t even considered a full adult by elven society then. No, mercifully I didn’t leave any little Astarions behind. All my friends from my youth are either dead or have blissfully forgotten me. And I don’t even know where my family is.”

You gave him a sympathetic and questioning look, waiting for him to go on. He sighed and continued.

“As you might expect, Cazador placed a restriction on me, preventing me from telling anyone about my affliction. I couldn’t approach my old acquaintances and go ‘Surprise! I’m actually alive! ...Sort of. I’m just someone’s vampire spawn slave now!’. No. I was to turn around and walk the other way if I ever came upon anyone who might recognise me. I was supposed to be devoted only to my new ‘family’.” he scowled. “I feared that Cazador would use anyone he thought might be important to me against me - for fun, or to teach me a ‘lesson’. And he would have, too: the mental torture he unleashed on his spawn was far worse than physical.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I couldn’t go and see my family, but as soon as I had my wits about me, I managed to arrange for one of the mercenary guilds to quickly escort my relatives out of the city. They were to be told that I made some powerful enemies who had me murdered, and that these enemies would come for them next. That they had to leave, change their names, and never return. I don’t know where they went. I can’t know, if I want them to be safe.” He looked away. “I can’t imagine how much they hated and cursed me. I ruined their lives.” he whispered.

“You saved them!” you objected, taking his hand. He shrugged but squeezed your hand back.

“I suppose I might have. Cazador would’ve left their heads on spikes in my crypt by now, otherwise.” He met your eyes again. “So yes, if anyone is going to be helping me decorate a palace, it’s you.” he added with a false cheer, clearly finished with the topic of Cazador.

You thought he might want to be alone then and were about to leave, but he gently pulled you towards himself. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a trunk. You settled between his legs, your back against his chest, his lips right at your ear, one arm across your shoulders and chest, the other playing with your hair. The large mirror was on the ground right in front of you. He studied your reflection over your shoulder. You appeared to be lounging suspended at an odd angle.

“How does it even work, anyway... It’s not just your body that disappears, it’s your clothing, too”. You grabbed a hat from the top of the trunk, holding it by its crown, and held it over Astarion’s head, moving it in circles against his hair. “Now you see it...” You let go and watched it disappear in the reflection. “Now you don’t.”

“I’m actually not sure, darling. Maybe it needs to be supported solely by me. Or it’s got to do with movement” He threw the hat back onto the trunk, where it reappeared in the reflection.

“Say...” threw your head back to look up into his eyes “Do you think my reflection would disappear... if a part of you was inside?” you bit your lip and grinned mischievously.

“I don’t think so, but I love how that dirty mind of yours works” he purred in your ear. “Let’s check and find out” His hand slid towards the clasp of your pants, but you swatted it away.

“Later.” Suddenly you were on a mission. “I have an idea.”

The rest of your group were gathered around the fire as you made a dash for your tent and grabbed your kit of stage paints and powders.

“Chk, are you doing each other’s makeup in there?” came a scoff from Lae’zel, as you rushed past.

“Don’t be jealous, Lae. We’ll have a girls night and braid each other’s hair tomorrow” you retorted, making Shadowheart choke on her drink.

Back in Astarion’s tent, you reached for one of your loose facial powders.

“You really don’t need to do anything, I’m used to it and nothing will work anyway” protested a confused and weary Astarion.

“Astarion!” you said gravely, “This isn’t for you. This is for science”, and you blew the powder hard into his face. Sure enough, an outline of his features appeared briefly in the mirror, as the powder flew all around him. “It worked!”

“Fan-tastic! Too bad you had to blind me to achieve that split second of a silhouette!” he coughed and rubbed at his eyes.

“It should work with water, too, if you want me to pour some over your head. You need to wash all that powder off anyway, you look ridiculous.”

He glared at you through the still flying powder particles and pointed a finger at your face.

“No.”

“Actually, hang on, I have a better idea.” You heard him groan into his hands behind you, as you ran back to your tent, to return with an amulet.

“So, the good news is, I am really, really bad at this.”

“If this involves setting me on fire again...”

“That was an accident. Anyway... No, this lets me create a fog cloud. Or so it should. I can just barely manage some fog tendrils. Now if I just aim them at your face...” You concentrated on the spell. Whisps of fog appeared around Astarion. “Look...” As the fog tendrils twisted in the air, you could just make out a form that they floated around, in the reflection, one unmistakably of a face.

“Well...” breathed Astarion, transfixed by the reflection, trying to make motions with his head to make the fog recoil. “It’s not much, but it’s more than I’ve seen in centuries”

“Come on” you grasped his hand. “Let’s go outside, it needs a different light and a slight breeze”

Astarion snatched his handheld mirror and followed you. He was actually eager.

Outside, Astarion spun in the whispy fog, gazing at the mirror in disbelief, as you continued to concentrate on the spell. It was actually working. Your conjuration magic was just bad enough to make the thinnest layer of fog, framing his face like a delicate mask and reflecting in the mirror. What would have been considered incredibly precise work by a wizard, was made possible entirely thanks to you borderline failing.

“That’s better... I’ll channel the fog right, you turn left against it. No, your other left! No, don’t go into the fire, you idiot, it won’t be my fault this time”

You grabbed Astarion by the hand and tried to guide him away from fire and anything he could trip over – he was paying exactly zero mind to anything around him, as he semi-stumbled in circles, looking in the mirror. Scratch ran around you, barking, excited for a new game, and eventually tripped you both.

“Another gift...” Astarion smiled at you, as Scratch did his utmost to lick his face.

Meanwhile, the group watched the two of you from a distance, dumbfounded. Lae'zel broke the silence:

“Your people have the strangest mating rituals.”

“Should I... should I tell them I can probably just cast mirror image on him? I’ve only done it on myself, but it should follow the same principle” added Gale.

“Maybe tomorrow” said Shadowheart. “Just let them enjoy this tonight.”

~~~~~

Next in series

AO3

#astarion #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic

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whaledenwtf · 1 year ago

Text

Professor!Gale x Reader - Extra Credit

Oh yeah, its all coming together. I really like the idea of Professor Dekarios and I find teachers really hot (and so is Gale). Also, since this is a student teacher scenario, I imagine the age difference to be about 10 years, with you being around 25 and Gale being 35. Both legal and consenting adults. So many people have already contributed to this scenario and I decided to try!! Hope I do this hot wizard justice. :)

AO3 LINK: Here

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist: Here (MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN PLEASE REQUEST STUFF)

Warnings: afab!reader and Male Smut, Body Worship ( Female Receiving), Squirting (hehe), Creampie, Oral (Female Receiving), Sex on a desk (you're welcome), Praise Kink, Power Imbalance, CONSENSUAL Teacher and Student Dynamic, Slight Angst, Speaks of Academic Anxiety and Fear of Failure

My priority is always trying to keep the characters as close to their in-game personality as possible!!

WORD COUNT: 6892

You have been attending Blackstaff for the last couple of years. Nothing was truly noteworthy in that time, until your last semester of your last year. You were a flourishing wizard, excelling in every class. Until you were seated in his class.

In your first day of class with Professor Dekarios, you were taken aback by his good looks. You were so used to old stuffy wizards for professors that you could never fathom them to be young, and attractive. You were distracted by his looks, and then his knowledge. He's well-read, and holds the interest of all his students. You knew that most of your classmates were attracted to the wizard, but you felt so incredibly awkward sitting in his class spending the majority of it fantasizing about him.

"Here are your current marks in my course. Most of you are excelling-" He gives a pointed glare to the backrow of the class, who are all giggling at his attention. "But for those who find their grades are... less than subpar, you can speak to me after class or in my office hours." Your hands brush when he hands you your grade, and your heart speeds up a bit. After everyone has received their grade, you hear groans of exasperation and gasps of elation. Flipping over the paper, your eyes widen.

A-

This can't be right you think to yourself, questioning what you have done to slip from your perfect A+ average. Logically speaking, you knew this wouldn't kill you outright, but it sure felt like it would.

"Now, we will continue today's lesson with the history of the evocation spell Green-Flame Blade. Interestingly, the spell's origins come from-" His voice drowns out. Your heart thumps loudly in your ears. You felt... anxious; confined and claustrophobic. You feel a minor tremor go through your body. You snap out of it, and look up to see everyone packing up to leave. How long was I not listening? You ask yourself. You felt guilty, your wandering mind has allowed you to lose track on your priorities. You couldn't fail. You had to succeed, and push yourself further than you have ever had in your life. The line to speak to Professor Dekarios was not as long as you expected, but your anxiety had slowly increased with every second you were left waiting. Once the person in front of you had left, you step closer to his desk, shy and nervous.

"Ah, Miss (Y/N)! How can I help you today?" He is standing behind his desk, slightly bent over so he could lean over it.

"I wanted to speak to you about my grade, Professor Dekarios." He furrows his brows.

"You're grade? I'm surprised, considering you are my best student-" He shuffles closer to you, conspiratorially. "Between me and you, the entire class has an average of C+. You're the student who I see the most potential in." You blush at the words. You were surprised that you were his best student, considering the many talented and intelligent peers you were surrounded with. You find it difficult to believe the course average is a C+.

"I want to know if there is anything to raise my grade. I find this to be unacceptable, and wish to boost my grade." You whisper quietly. He hums.

"You remind me of myself when I was a young wizard. Despite the fact I excelled, I felt the need to better... the best." You've heard the rumours about your professor. He was once Mystra's Chosen, and the whirlwind romance was all anyone could talk about. One doesn't simply get chosen without reason; you had to have unimaginable potential and have such an understanding of the Weave that Mystra herself would welcome you.

"I remind you of yourself?" He hums in affirmation. He begins packing his things, before glancing up at you.

"You think that this grade is the end of your world. That the universe itself will implode around you." He states it as though he read your mind, and you wonder if he casted detect thoughts on your mind. "I see no issue with your grade, (Y/N). In all my years of teaching, you're the first student who even reached an A grade in any of my courses. You're an intelligent, talented wizard." You shake your head, frowning.

"Please, Professor Dekarios. Let me prove myself to you." He finishes packing up, before standing at full height and rubbing his beard.

"Well, perhaps I can find something that would be stimulating enough for your caliber." You smile wide then, and squeal.

"Oh thank you! Thank you! I won't let you down." He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

"Come to my office hours later tonight and we can further discuss what can be done." You nod, your cheeks straining from how wide your smile was.

"I'll see you then." You begin to walk away from his desk, picking up your things. As you walk out of his class, you turn around to look at him again. He is turned away from you, and you admire him from a distance. You cross the threshold of the door, head held high. You will prove yourself.

You were grateful that you could change out of the Blackstaff uniform you were forced to wear. You were in a blouse and skirt, with your Blackstaff cloak around your shoulders. You knock on the door of his office, nervous and excited.

"Come in." Despite being muffled, you could tell it was him. You open the door slowly, before walking in and closing the door behind you.

"Hi Professor Dekarios." He smiles up at you from his seat, waving over to the two armchairs infront of his desk.

"Take a seat, Miss (Y/N)." You go to sit down.

"You can just call me (Y/N)." You tell him, biting your lip. His eyes glance to your lips for a moment before connecting your gazes.

"Alright, (Y/N). I went ahead and took the liberty of getting your transcript and I must say I am truly impressed." You glance down to his hands to see him holding a piece of parchment. "I had not realized I had such a prodigal individual in my class, though I am not surprised. You have exceeded my expectations for what I see in students. I can say with certainty that we are more alike than I originally thought." You blush at his words, the praise from his lips making your heart flutter in your chest.

"Thank you, Professor." He leans forward, to once again look over your transcript.

"That being said, imagine my surprise in seeing your transcript! Your grades are extraordinary. In both theory and practical courses you've achieved top grades." You hum as a response, nodding. His eyes snap up to yours, and you get struck by his beauty. In the light of his office, his eyes are a chocolate-brown. Despite having the most common eye colour, on him they seem well-placed. Perfect.

"Is there anything that may be affecting you outside of your studies? You may be my best student but I can tell your mind wanders elsewhere during my course." You blush and look down.

"My mind often wanders, and I am sorry about that." He hums, rubbing his beard in thought.

"Is there any issues at home? A particularly distracting significant other?" Your head snaps up at his words. He is watching you intently, his attention on you completely.

"Oh- um. No. No family to have issues with, and no relationship to be distracted by. Just me and my wandering mind." You see him exhale, and the tension in his shoulders leaves.

"Alright." He sounds pleased at the information. "Well, there isn't anything I can do regarding previous grades as they are already in the system-" You whimper, eyes watering. He stands to crouch next to where you are seated. He places a hand on your arm, rubbing it in a comforting matter.

"Please don't cry. I'm not particularly good at handling beautiful crying women. " You turn to look at him in shock.

"I'm sorry professor-" He cuts you off, still rubbing your arm.

"Please call me Gale." You nod, looking down. He goes to stand, knees cracking.

"However-" Your eyes snap up. "I may be able to give you an additional assignment that can boost your grade. Like I said, you're my top student and you don't need much to boost such a grade." In your excitement, you jumped up and hugged him.

"Oh thank you Gale! I won't let you down." His arms wrap around you as he chuckles.

"You can't disappoint me." He says with certainty. You look up at him blushing. His eyes glance down at your lips. After a breathe, you move away from him, biting your lip. He coughs, trying to clear the atmosphere.

"What do you need for the assignment?" He ponders this for a moment.

"As an exception, I'll accept anything. Whether that be a written assignment, practical application or otherwise." You smile.

"I can do that." He smiles at you, and you blush at his radiance.

"Perfect! As long as it is done before the final grades are processed the grade will be adjusted and your transcript unaffected." You nod excitedly.

"I'm forever in your debt, Gale." He waves you off.

"Pish-posh. Just trying to help." You turn to walk to the door, but before you can step further he grabs your hand gently. Your head snaps back to him.

"Please do not hesitate to speak to me if you need anything else." He squeezes your hand before letting go, and you've never felt such an acute sense of loss.

"Thank you. I may take you up on that offer." He smiles down at you.

"Take care of yourself (Y/N)." You nod, before leaving his office. You felt a sense of excitement, and were grateful for Gale's ability to bend the rules for you. You will not let him down.

The next time you see Gale was in class the next week. You decided to apply yourself further, and made it a personal goal to answer more questions and be part of more discussions. You can feel the ire from your classmates, but you ignore them in favour of basking in the validation and praise from Gale. "Very good, (Y/N)! The application of Mage Hand can be used only outside of combat! However, it can be used to pick up weapons. I remember once when-" He cuts himself off when a student raises their hand. You turn to look at the student, who you remember was one of the girls who usually interrupts class.

"So can we use it in the bedroom?" She asks flirtatiously. Her friends all giggle around her. You roll your eyes and look at Gale. He coughs to cover his shock.

"I-um. It can be." You smirk at his reply. His eyes glance at you and the side of his lips quirk up.

"Do you have any experience using it, professor?" He blushes.

"I don't think that's an appropriate question regarding the lesson." She sighs. Before anyone can speak up, the bell rings and people get up from their desks and leave. You walk up to Gale, holding your notebook. There are still some people in the class, wandering and speaking to eachother

"Hi Ga-Professor." He smiles at you.

"Hi (Y/N). How can I help?" He asks as he packs up his things.

"I have decided on what to do for the assignment." He perks up at your words.

"Wonderful! May I ask what you plan on doing?" You grin.

"It will be a surprise, but I will be casting a spell! No written assignment." He closes his bag and stands to his full height.

"I'm excited for your practical prowess. When do you plan on showing me this incredible act?" You think for a moment.

"Anytime that works with you." He nods to the door, silently asking you to follow him. You follow next to him as he speaks.

"I do not have any other commitments today." You bite your lip.

"Me neither." He opens the door for you, waving you to walk in front of him. You bow jokingly, before walking ahead of him. You both laugh as you walk out.

The walk to his office is filled with varying topics of conversation. From his Tressym, Tara, to topics regarding spells and their origins. You were slightly disappointed when you arrive to his office door, saddened by the end of your conversation. Once again, he opens the door and lets you in first.

"Let's get started! You are keeping me at the edge of my seat." He lays his things down before standing next to you.

"I've decided that I will be casting a spell above what you have taught us." His eyebrows jump up his forehead.

"Which spell?" He asks, curiously. You lay your things down, and raise your hands into position.

"Astral Projection." You tell him confidently. His jaw drops.

"Holy hells. Are you sure you will be able to cast it? What about the hour long casting time? Have you considered-" You cut him off as you begin the hand gestures.

"I've been concentrating for the last hour. I've also successfully casted this spell multiple times." You tell him. He leans forward on his desk, watching you intently. You begin to mutter the cast, the Weave flowing through you like water in a river. You look directly in his eyes as you mutter the last word, and then you feel yourself floating. Once you feel the ground under your feet, you look next to you and see Gale in awe.

"Phenomenal! You executed the spell perfectly- furthermore you concentrated during our conversation. I've never been so impressed by such a feat!" He tells you, his voice echoing in the astral plane. You grin at him.

"Did I pass?" You ask coquettishly. He laughs out loud, looking at the outline of his body.

"Pass? I'm considering sending a strongly worded letter to the Dean to have you graduate right away!" You laugh out loud. He walks forward, looking at the area in interest.

"Are you able to transport us into a different realm?" He asks excitedly. You giggle at his enthusiasm. He smiles at you.

"Of course. I have a place in mind!" You close your eyes, casting a silent spell. When you open them, you find yourself in your bedroom.

"Is this your bedroom?" He asks curiously. You nod, smiling.

"It is my safe haven. It's where I first casted most of my spells, and successfully astral projected for the first time." He walks around, looking at the stacks of books and trinkets with interest.

"It suits your style." He says gently. You blush at his words. He sits down on your bed, taking a book into his hands.

"Death and Divinity: A Godly Guide. Interesting tome." He tells you. You sit next to him, taking the tome in your hand.

"I was curious about death. It takes so much from us, and will take us too, one day." You tell him quietly, explaining how the tome got into your possession. He hums, placing a hand on yours.

"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live." He says sadly. You turn to look at his profile, and see a sadness that seems exhaustive.

"Life gives us a lot. But it can also take. You're stronger than I am, especially after all you dealt with." You tell him as you squeeze his hand. His thumb caresses your hand gently.

"I am no stronger than any other man." He replies, looking at you.

"I find it difficult to believe that." You whisper to him. His eyes glance at your lips again.

"I'm afraid I am no different than any other. Quite ordinary." You glance at his lips, leaning closer.

"Nothing about you is ordinary, Gale Dekarios." He leans closer, and his lips graze yours. You drop the tome on the floor and grip him closer to you, basking in the comfort and warmth of his kiss. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you gasp. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hands moving to grip your face as his tongue explores your mouth. You moan, leaning further into him. After a moment you separate, gasping out.

"I am so sorry." Gale apologizes profusely, standing. You stand with him, smoothing your hands down your clothes.

"Do not apologize. It's my fault." You tell him, embarrassed.

"I am the one who went further. I will be honest, (Y/N). You've captivated me. You are a constant in my thoughts. I apologize for being so unprofessional." Your heart sings at his words. You take his face into your hands and pull him into a kiss.

"The only reason I was distracted in your course was because I think of you. You occupy my thoughts- and I cannot stop." You tell him earnestly. His eyes widen.

"O-oh." You pull away to grip his hands.

"I'm sorry Gale. I understand this will only cause you problems. I can transfer course-"

"Absolutely not. Despite the fact that I am your professor, I can not imagine you removing yourself from my course. I- I do not want to let you go now that you are in my reach, and in my grasp." He tells you as he leans in, his breath fanning across your lips. He kisses you again, passionately. The back of your knees hit your bed, and you fall over. He climbs over you, still kissing you. As his hands begin to roam, your concentration snaps, and you find yourselves in his office.

The fantasy was ripped from you both. You are panting, eyes wide as you stared at your professor.

"I-" You start, breathless. He takes two steps forward, pupils blown wide.

"Please." He whispers. You wait for a moment, before the urge is too strong. You pull him down to kiss you, moaning and gasping into his lips. You open your mouth, and he spares no time in exploring it. Your tongues dance around each other, exploring and absorbing the other. You pull away when you hear footsteps outside the door. You jump from him as they get closer. You rush to hide under his desk, grateful that nobody could see you from the other side. The doorknob shifts, and someone walks in.

"Hi Professor Dekarios~" You frown as you hear the voice of that student who interrupted class today.

"To what do I owe the-" he harrumphs. "pleasure?" the way he said it with such disdain makes you smile.

"I heard another student speaking about an extra assignment and was wondering if it would be possible for me to have one as well?" You don't hear anything for a moment, but you assume Gale waved her over to the chair in front of his desk as you see his feet shuffle closer to you.

"I suppose I can do so. What did you have in mind?" He asks her as he sits down, trying to not kick you.

"I can think of a couple of things I can do to boost my grade." She says huskily. You bite your tongue, trying not to groan at her words.

"Well I am all ears." Gale tells her. You smile at his inability to understand her intentions.

"Well... We are here, in your office... alone." You can hear her lean forward by the way the chair creaks.

"Yes?" He asks her unsure. You stifle a giggle in your hand, which she didn't hear. He had heard your giggle, and nudged you with the toe of his shoe.

"I can do anything you like. Some have said I'm good with my mouth." He coughs out, and from your angle you see his eyes are wide like saucers.

"A-are you insinuating that- Absolutely not! I will have to send a letter to the Dean of the academy to have you cease your studies immediately-"

"B-but Professor-" She squeals out. He goes to stand.

"Not only is that incredibly disrespectful and unprofessional, but you make a mockery of wizardry itself. Leave now-" He says angrily, before pausing. "please." He ends softly. You hear her sobs as she runs out, the door slamming behind her. He sighs as he goes to lock the door. Once you hear the click of the lock, you make your way out from under his desk.

"I am sorry you had to hear that-" You wave him off.

"Do not apologize to me." He exhales loudly, rubbing a hand over his face which looked tired all of a sudden. You pick up your things which were hidden in the corner of the room.

"Are you leaving?" He asked sadly. You turn to him, biting your lip.

"I understand you have a lot on your plate, Gale. I do not want to add to it-" You walk towards him, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. "But I also do not want to overstay my welcome after such a situation. It doesn't change what I said and how I feel." You reassure him. He closes his eyes, running his fingers through his hair.

"I feel the need to apologize for ruining the moment-" You cut him off, taking his face into your hand and caressing it with your thumb. His eyes flutter open, eyes gazing into you with tenderness.

"There will be many more moments. If you'd like-" You take a random sheet of paper from your notebook and scribble on it before tearing it off and giving it to him. "Here is my address. Send me a pigeon or come visit me." You graze his lips once more, before pulling away and unlocking the door. You turn to glance at him once more, and see he is holding the paper, rubbing his lips softly. You blush and turn away, heading home for the day.

That night, as you are sitting on your couch and reading a novel you hear a knock at the door. Your bare feet patter against the hardwood of your floors. You open the door to see Gale standing there, holding a bottle of wine and a bag full of books.

"Oh! Hi Gale." You usher him in, closing the door behind him as he toes off his shoes.

"I understand you probably did not mean I could come over tonight, but I had to see you again." He tells you. You blush at his words, before taking the items from his hands.

"You are welcome any time. Please, take a seat. I was just reading." You usher him to the couch, where he takes a seat and looks around your home, interested.

"I brought a bottle of wine and some literature. I thought you would enjoy it." He tells you shyly. You grin at him, and he is struck by your beauty.

"I don't need anything to enjoy your presence, Gale. The thought is appreciated regardless. Let me get us some glasses so we can enjoy it together." He nods at you, smiling. As you walk to the kitchen, you ponder the day over in your head. You were in awe of what transpired today; between you admitting your feelings for your professor, to him reciprocating those feelings! From the student who over imposed, to your perfect cast of Astral Projection. It was a taxing day, and you are glad you could relax before tomorrow's sun rose.

As you walk back to your living room, you see Gale has stood and looked over your bookshelves.

"Are you impressed?" He jumps at your words, before turning around and smirking.

"Many of these tomes I have at home. Quite a collection you have here." You smile, putting down the two glasses on an end table next to the couch.

"Not as extensive as I wish, but I will hope to get there." He turns around to look further, before chuckling. He pulls out a slim novel, grinning.

"The Tale of Tadpoles and Illithids; Saving Baldur's Gate-" He smirks at you, as you blush. "Didn't think you were such a fan. Want an autograph?" He teases you. You snatch the book out of his hand, sticking your tongue out.

"Not my fault you are an accomplished wizard and author. I happen to enjoy reading all sorts of topics and... well... I was interested." You admit to him. He puts an arm around your shoulder and pulls you in, before kissing the top of your head.

"I am interested too- in you, of course." He says confidently, before rushing in to add that last part. You laugh at his fumble, leaning your chin on his chest to look up at him.

"Is that so?" You ask him lowly, biting your lip. His eyes follow the movement, and he exhales softly. Now in the privacy of your home, in your space, you feel confident and sure of your actions and words.

"I do." He whispers. You pull away from him, taking his hand in your own and tugging him to the couch.

"Let us enjoy good wine and great company." You tell him, smiling as he gets comfortable.

"Thank you for-" He harrumphs, blushing. "-for letting me in." You pour the wine into the glasses, handing him one. You edge yourself closer to him, the heat of his body warming you in different ways.

"Of course. I won't leave you outside. I extended an invitation for a reason." You lean against your hand, taking a sip of wine. You moan at the taste, your tongue swiping across your lips to catch any stray drops. He blushes into his glass, all of a sudden bashful.

"Was there anything in particular you wanted to speak about?" You ask him curiously, after a minute of silence. He looks down at the glass in his hand, swirling it around.

"I just wanted- no needed- to see you. I do not know how to traverse this path we laid out for ourselves... I mean, I am your professor! I cannot help wanting you in every way, and any way. Intellectually, spiritually, physically-" He ends huskily. You gulp a sip of wine, blushing into the glass. "You have taken my thoughts hostage, and I cannot help but be gravitated to you. You are phenomenal in ways I admire, and like a moth to a flame, I am magnetized." Your thigh bumps into his as you pull your legs up onto the couch.

"I am honoured that you think so highly of me. I can't help but feel concerned that you will realize I am not much. You've experienced so much, and I feel- no; I know- that I will come short of your expectations." You tell him honestly, sighing. His hand makes itself known on your thigh, his thumb caressing circles into the thin fabric of your lounge clothes.

"I cannot let you think for a moment that you will come short of any expectations I have. You've exceeded any and all expectations I have had in others for the longest time. You're absolutely radiant. Let me show you." His hand begins to move upwards. You bite your lip as your gaze trails from his hand, to his face. He was already watching you intently, looking for any sign of denial.

"Please." You whisper, echoing his words from earlier today. He stands to take both your glasses and sets them down, before crouching down in front of where you are seated on the couch.

"May I?" He whispers, looking up at you. You can't help but feel as though he was a worshipper, and you, his goddess. You felt a pang of adoration for him, and cannot help but understand what enthralled Mystra when she came upon him. He was utterly irresistible, and you were tired of resisting against him and his charm. You nod, swallowing in excitement. His hands caress your calves, going up and massaging your thighs. He takes his time, even laying soft kisses on the top of the fabric covering your thighs. His eyes glance up as he does so, taking in the small gasps and sighs of pleasure coming from your lips. He slowly tugs the fabric of your pants down, pulling them off your feet and folding it with a gentleness you admire.

You are already buzzing in excitement, pupils blown wide and hands gripping the fabric of your couch. When he looks up from his task, he is aroused at the fact you were parading around without any undergarments.

"You little minx. I cannot wait to devour you. Would you like that?" You moan, your hand going to his hair and tugging as you nod excitedly. He chuckles at your enthusiasm, before his hands go to your knees to spread you open. You whimper as he does so, and the groan he lets out when he sees you spread open for him is whorish.

"Look at the mess you have made for me. Such a good girl for me." He whispers into the skin of your inner thigh, his beard scratching you deliciously. You whimper at his words, one of your hands going up to your top to pull it up over your breasts so you could play with them.

"J-just for you." He moans as you speak, inhaling your scent. Your core pulsates at the action, your cunt tightening around nothing as your slick leaks out.

"You smell delicious. I know I will get drunk off the taste of you." He tells you before kissing your clit. You arch off the couch, your foot sliding up and finding purchase on his back. He curls his forearms under your thighs and pulls you closer to the edge of the couch, and the show of his strength makes you moan out his name. He begins to lick your lower lips, moaning into you at your taste.

"Gods, I have dreamt of this for months. I will make sure you cum on my tongue more than once tonight. Consider that a promise, sweetheart." He says into your core, eyes looking up at you.

The picture you painted was gorgeous, with blushing skin and half-lidded eyes. Your hand is holding your breast in your hand, playing and tugging with its peak. He keeps his gaze on you as he expertly explores your inner sanctum. You gasp, moan and whimper at every flick and swipe of his dexterous tongue, his name a prayer on your lips. His tongue prods at your entrance, as one of his hands spreads you open further. He thrusts into you with the appendage, as his nose bumps into your clit. He pulls away to suck the pearl, groaning at the sight of you arching painfully off the couch in pleasure. Your other hand finds itself in his hair, tugging on it and pushing him further into your cunt. You feel the coil in your lower belly snap, and you shout, your body almost split in half from the way you arch. You can feel your spend rush out of you, squirting and coating Gale's lower half of his face; you think even his shirt is drenched. You have minor convulsions of oversensitivity and Gale continues to lick you, groaning at your taste.

"O-oh. P-please ah. I'm sensitive." You whimper into the air, body hunched over. You felt like jelly. As your eyes come into focus, you see Gale looking at you with a dark look in his eyes.

"I promised more than once. I will deliver through with that promise. Be a good girl and hold your legs for me." You whimper, your arms limply moving to hold them up for him. His arms uncoil from your thighs to gather some of your slick from the inside of your thighs. He looks directly into your eyes as he licks up the spend, his tongue weaving through his digits. You whine, gyrating your hips. He chuckles at the movement, before taking two of his spit-riddled fingers and thrusting them into you. He groans at your tightness, scissoring his fingers to spread you open.

"You are so good for me. Want me to make you feel good?-" You nod, whimpering. "Such a good girl. Can't wait to make you scream my name again. This time I'll make you cum on my fingers." You never expected Gale to be so forward and... dirty. Hearing those words come from lips that brought you to another dimension of pleasure was nothing short of thrilling, and your body was already begging him for more. You nod, tears welling in your eyes from the overwhelming need you felt for the man who spent the last twenty minutes worshipping your figure. He begins to thrust his fingers as his tongue laps up at your still sensitive clit. You knew you wouldn't last long with the way his tongue and fingers worked together to make you come apart for him.

Your hand finds itself back at the roots of his hair, tugging the strands. He groans at the action, kissing the side of your inner thigh as his eyes glitter with adoration.

"Gods. I do not know how I could ever let you go after tonight." He whispers. You suppose he was speaking to himself, but you heard him and you felt an overwhelming sense that your heart felt... full. You're not sure if it's the arousal, the adrenaline from the mind-blowing orgasm or something that is just Gale Dekarios, but you decided it was a dangerous feeling. Those three words made your tongue feel like lead, and his touch was distracting enough for you to only let out sounds rather than words. He started tracing letters on your clit, and you begin gyrating on his face again, his beard burning you slightly.

"That's it, sweetheart. Take what you need from me. Gods you are beautiful. I love seeing you like this." You gasp out when you hit your peak again, explosions behind your eyelids. You tightened around his fingers, whimpering and mumbling nonsense in your deliriousness. Your ears are ringing, and you just babble words. For a moment, he looks at you with shock before he gazes at you with adoration, petting your hair and kissing random parts of your body as you come down from your high. Once the last tremor goes through you and you can hear the world again, you look around and realize he is laying down under you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you struggle with the loss of time you faced.

"I-I never experienced... What happened?" You ask him, turning over so you were chest to chest. He chuckles at your questions, his hands caressing your back and arms.

"Not to toot my own horn, but you seemed very adamant in not coming back down from your high. Said such nonsensical things..." He whispered, kissing your lips. You fidget on his chest. your thigh bumping into his bulge as he groans.

"What did I say?" You whispered worriedly.

"You said you loved me-" You groan, hiding your face in his chest, which you now notice is shirtless. Just how much did you miss? "Now don't hide such a beautiful face-" His hand finds itself at the back of your neck, positioning you to look up at him. "I love you too, you know." He whispers, the hand at the nape of your neck pulling you forward into a passionate kiss. You felt overstimulated, between the kiss, your heightened adrenaline and the fact he laid his heart bare- you wanted to give yourself to him wholly. You pull away from his lips, hands on his chest so you could look down at him.

"I need you." You tell him blankly. His eyes widened.

"Do not feel the need to please me. What I did, I wanted to. I will never ask you to reciprocate." He tells you, his hand pushing away stray hairs and tucking them behind your ear.

"I don't remember stuttering, Professor Dekarios." In a sudden show of strength, he picks you up and lays you on the closest flat surface - your desk.

"Such a naughty girl." He tells you, groaning. As your back is laid flat on the desk, you spread your legs, biting your lip.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Your foot nudges the seam of his pants, toeing the button holding them up. He closes his eyes, biting his lip.

"If you continue that I will not last as long as I'd like." He tells you honestly, groaning. You pull your foot away, but he grabs it to kiss your calf. You smile up at him, as he gazes into your eyes adoringly.

"Gods. How lucky am I?" He whispers into your skin. You giggle, running a hand through his hair sweetly.

"I feel as though I'm the lucky one." You tell him, smile widening. His hand goes to the button of his pants, pulling it out of the loop. His pants fall, leaving him in his undergarments. He pulls those off too, leaving him completely bare. You raise yourself onto your elbows to admire him.

His physique was exquisite, with defined muscle and the perfect amount of hair. His chest had a light scattering of it, which then trailed down to his belly button before becoming coarser and showing a darkened happy trail, which was accentuated by his v-line. His trail goes lower until it reaches the base of his cock, as trimmed as the rest of him. What excited you, though, was his cock; it was like the rest of him- perfect. He was above average in length and girth, and the tip was flushed with pearls of precum leaking from his slit. He pumps himself once, then twice, before smirking down at you.

"Admiring what you see?" He asks cheekily. You bite your lip as your eyes trail back up to his face.

"I'd like a taste." You whisper sensually. He gulps loudly, before his hand goes to the back of his neck.

"Ah-That won't be necessary. I'd much rather bring you to the planes of ecstacy." You pout at his words.

"Next time I want to please you. Bring you passion." You respond. He smiles.

"Next time?" He's being cheeky again. You hum, taking your legs into your hand and bending in half to present yourself to him. Your hands are on the insides of your knees, and this angle shows your puffy and overstimulated pussy. He groans at the sight, and another pearl of precum leaks from his cock.

"Please... Gale. No more teasing." You whimper, watching as his hand strokes himself again. He nods, shuffling closer to you. He rubs the head of his cock against your slit, bumping into your clit. You jump at the touch, gasping. You then feel the tip of him go to your entrance, entering it slightly before pulling away.

"GA-" You couldn't even finish saying his name, as he bottoms out in one thrust, both of you moaning in unison. His thrusts are slow but deep, his girth stretching you to your max; and his length poking at your cervix. He thrusts slowly, his eyes gauging your reactions and what you like.

"M-more." You whisper. He begins to speed up, the friction between you both making lewd noises that fill the space. All you can hear in your living room is the slapping sounds of him thrusting into you, your pussy's wetness and the joined whimpers. He leans in closer to kiss you, his chest rubbing against your nipples. The change in angle also leads him to go deeper, his tip kissing your cervix much more roughly. You feel your end coming closer, your moans loud against his lips. He pulls away, looking at you with hooded eyes.

"Give it to me. Cum on my cock." He tells you roughly. You feel his fingers begin to rub tight circles around your clit. The coil snaps, and you cum around him, gasping his name repeatedly. As you ascend, Gale groans into your neck, your tightening walls bringing him to his end quickly. He stills, filling you with his seed. You both stay there, panting. As you descend from your highs, you feel yourself be lifted by Gale, who brings you to your bedroom.

He lays you on the bed, before going into multiple rooms. You hear him go aha! from your position on the bed. Lifting yourself onto your forearms, you see him walk back in with a cloth. He wipes you down gently, one hand on task and the other carding itself in your hair. Once he deems you clean enough, he lies next to you and pulls you into his arms. He kisses your forehead and sighs.

"Thank you." You tell him, curling into his embrace as you lay your head on his chest.

"For what?" He asks you curiously. You lean your head up to look into his eyes.

"For allowing me extra credit." He chuckles and leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back sweetly, excited for what your future will look like now that he is in your life.

#fanfic #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #smut #bg3 #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x reader #gale dekarios x reader

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an-abyss-of-stars · 5 months ago

Text

𖤓 Don't You Dare Do This Without Me 𖤓

Pairing: Rhaena x Aemond

Warnings: Smutty hints...mainly consensual

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Rhaena THOUGHT she was merely dismissing her husband's call for affection after an argument. Little did she know, her rebuffing had instead sent her petulant husband off on a tirade to burn an enitre village to ash.

Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ao3

Note: (THIS fic is intended to be a little mini-series. It's a piece of a plot I've been toying around with for a month or two. A Dark King Aemond story with Queen Rhaena grappling with her horrid situation. I do have an entire long form story/idea for this premise, that would start immediately after the war and span over several years. It would be much darker than this smutty snippet, like practically 'dead dove' really! But this little fun fic here entered my brain and I just figured I'd throw it out here as a mini 5-6 part thingy.)

So hopefully it's an enjoyable little something something!!

——

"I can't believe him, I can't fuc-" Rhaena's anger induced muttering died upon her tongue as she stepped into her shared royal chambers, her feet halting almost immediately as her legs stiffly stood right in front her three-year-old son. Little Aemon had run up to her as soon as the doors flew open, rushing to hug her skirts as he stared up at her expectantly.

What was he doing here?

It was early, still the middle of the afternoon, she was certain that by all accounts her toddler should only be nearing the end of lessons now. Not dawdling around in her chambers to play-

"Darling! Sweetling, you are early," Rhaena schooled her previously set scowl into a bright affectionate smile, lilting her voice as her eyes took in the visage of her charming little boy. It was beginning to feel like such an effort, schooling her emotions from her son these days, seeing as he seemed to be so perceptive already. Any slight twinge upon her face, and his sweet little face would scrunch into a look of instant concern for his mother's wellbeing. Followed by the little hand he'd place upon her leg before he asked 'are you well, mama?'.

It was a wonder where he'd managed to inherit such sweetness, surely not from his father.

With a gentle sigh, Rhaena began to crouch herself down to Aemon's level, careful to keep her balance as her swollen belly carried a true weight to it now. Her back felt it, her thighs and her knees worked to compensate for it. Offset the weight she'd put on for the health of this third babe. Though she was eight moons along, so she was nearly to term. It was a motion she navigated with skill now, for she knew her body well and so she knew her limits when it came to this stage of her pregnancies. Soon enough she'd seat herself down or lay abed for an hour or two before the ache creeping along her calves worked down to her swollen feet.

In the meantime, however, she placed a soft hand upon her eldest son's check and smiled warmly at him. Eliciting an equally dazzling giggle from her little boy, the adorable sound almost immediately soothed her heart. Allowing her to push aside the stresses of the day, the endless aggravation only her husband could muster within her, just long enough to focus in on her child. Meeting his gaze, she sought to pry just a tad, "what of your lessons in the library, sweet one? Have they truly concluded or have you managed to escape from your maester yet again?"

At that, Aemon teetered on his toes for a moment. His hand absentmindedly holding onto Rhaena's shoulder for balance as he happily gurgled at the playful accusation. Gently biting his thumb with his free hand, a near bashful blush spread upon the apples of his cheeks as his attention was just as quickly drawn away. Distracted already, the mop of curly platinum blonde hair that reached the nape of his neck swished with the motion he'd made. His pale cinnamon brown skin glowing in the rays of the afternoon sun.

Ah, dear...she did love her son dearly, but his mind did tend to wander off all too easily at times. If he was not obsessively focused on something of his interest, his mind was liable to dawdle. It was Rhaena who had to work to lure his attention back to her, nudging his chubby cheek with the caress of her thumb. Adding an accompanying prodding hum for him to both listen and follow the sound.

Thankfully it was enough, her toddler was quick to turn back to her. His distraction, the glittering rays of beaming sunlight, had poured in through the paneled windows of the room. Illuminating everything within sight of the spacious solar, the various deep crimson red furniture, the large round oak table that was just off center. It was still covered with stacked books and rolled scrolls that Aemond had left out to continue analyzing later in the day. Toys still remained scattered by the fire upon the maroon fur carpet, Rhaena supposed Aemon had been sat there waiting for her return. Most likely playing there with his young wet-nurse, Elaya.

The nineteen-year old maid from the Riverlands was currently sat by the fire in one of the cozier armchairs, rocking Rhaena's second born son, Daemion, in her arms. Now, Daemion shared many features with his elder brother, the same almond eye-shape and rounded bow-shaped lips…both a blend of their parentage. They held the same curly hair texture, although, Daemion’s little tuft of curls shone more silver than Aemon’s blonde in the sunlight. And Aemon’s skin was slightly paler than Daemion’s. His eyes were a shade of bright lilac as opposed to Aemon’s pale indigo. Daemion’s little button nose reminded Rhaena more of her own than Aemond’s, although the point at the end of it still spoke of the boy’s inheritance from his father.

In either case, little Daemion’s eyes were levelled low as he relaxed in the arms of his wet-nurse. It was to be expected, Rhaena had only nursed the babe but an hour ago, so it was more than likely that her one-year old was simply feeling the drowsy calls of his milk-filled stomach. She'd left her younger son in the safe arms of her trusted wet-nurse perhaps a half hour ago when she'd initially left her chambers to visit her twin sister, Baela.

In the case of her eldest, however, Rhaena knew well that the bright afternoon sun was an enticing thing to a young Targaryen. It promised games in the garden, playful training in the training yard...but most of all, it promised the possibility for dragon riding. Aemon was newly minted in the activity, having gone for his first flight with his father just a few days ago. It was all he would talk of, on and on he happily talked the ears off of anyone who'd listen. From Maesters to maids, to his aunt, Baela, to his uncle Aegon, and especially to his equally young cousins Maegelle and Laena. The two daughters Baela had birthed for her husband under Aemond's reign as King. All of a part of rebuilding their family's line, restoring the Targaryen bloodline.

A bloodline Aemond more than single handedly destroyed himself...but Rhaena had gone down that road before. It never led anywhere, it never returned what she'd lost.

It was easier to focus on what she did have. The title of Queen may have been thrusted upon her, as well as her first born son...but she'd found her stride. Settled herself into motherhood, her new station, her new title, her seat next to the throne. She'd even willingly taken to her main duty as Queen, found her own pleasure in conceiving her second and soon to be third child. She'd found her way to loving and at times controlling the psychopathic irate dragon she'd been made to call 'husband'.

Besides, he had his moments, she supposed, he was always good to their sons and their nieces. He quite frankly adored all of the young children they’d brought into the world for House Targaryen. He was prideful over their very existence, especially that of their own two sons. He spent every moment in their presence showing them love and acceptance. Their young princes were dotted on ever since their births, they wanted for nothing. They were always made to feel wanted. A sense of innate yet nurturing compensation on Aemond's part, Rhaena was sure. He went wordlessly about it, but she could surmise that he wished to give his sons everything he did not have in his youth.

Everything his own father failed to deliver.

As seen by the flight he'd taken Aemon on, their little boy had loved flying upon Vhagar so much. The experience improved greatly by the fact that Aemond had eagerly taken the time to indulge their son of his own accord. Vhagar was the most magnificent dragon to her young son, his favourite of all that he'd seen in his little life.

And that was why he'd loved that day more than any other.

Though it was unfortunate, Rhaena always thought.

For while she agreed, Vhagar was a magnificent dragon, a relic of times long gone...a living piece of history. But she couldn't help but think that her young Aemon had missed a truly glorious age of dragons, he'd never be able to meet his true Targaryen grandparents or two of his other aunts…the rest of his uncles. He'd never be able to see any of their dragons...Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax, Arrax, Tyraxes, Meleys...so many lost. So many gone...and sometimes four years seemed just long enough to put the darkness behind her, to call it all history so that she might distance herself from the pain of it all.

But other times, it was just too blatant...just too obvious.

So many members of her family were missing from this current family portrait. The chasms were there, Rhaena’s current life would always lack because of their absence. The vacant holes they'd made upon her person, upon her heart, forever cutting slivers away from her there. No amount of new Targaryen babes could replace them.

They were all dead and gone...and she was made Queen of the rubble in the aftermath, wed to a kinslayer...the second usurper King.

What a fate.

And her little son knew none of it truly.

"No, mama! I finished, my lessons are all done! Maestwer...um...maestwer Alfa...Alfadwer-" Aemon blurted out his little rambled response, finally recalling that he'd been asked a question nearly ten minutes prior. He'd taken so long, Rhaena's mind had drifted to far darker memories. Though as she'd learned through her experience with motherhood, it didn't do to dwell on such things with children around. They always noticed it...they weren't naive enough to miss it entirely.

"Maester Alfador, you mean," Rhaena gently corrected, smoothing a couple of his curls back behind his ear.

Aemon was quick to nod eagerly, pointing towards Elaya to add, "yes and...and he told Elaya how papa went out!"

'Out' was putting it mildly, for while Rhaena knew not the extent of Maester Alfador's knowledge on the matter at hand. She did however know exactly what sent Aemond 'out' of the castle just a few hours ago. As she recalled it, Rhaena had received the order from the Kingsguard guarding her door earlier this morn.

See, earlier in the morning, before the sun had properly risen. Rhaena had awoken to a rather...regularly expected act, a warm delicious pleasure that crept up between her thighs in long wet languid swipes. The feeling seeped into her peaceful slumber until the aching arousal dragged her back into consciousness. Where she'd awoken to find her husband settled between her legs, his arms tangled around her thighs keeping them spread as he lapped at her quivering wanting cunt.

Eventful as it was... she'd awoken to many mornings with such activities to pull her from her sleep. Aemond was always eager, he had been ever since he’d stolen her from the Vale and made her his wife. Only now the urges seemed heightened, especially since she began to reciprocate his wantings. The conception of little Daemion was the birth of these feelings...and now the conception of another babe barely a year later had shown the realm and their present court that their union was—mending.

Into what, exactly?

Something feral and animalistic, surely. A complicated mess of attraction, love and loathing.

In either case, once Aemond had brought her to the brink of ecstasy itself...he pressed a kiss upon her rounded belly and readied himself for the training yard. From there, she hadn't seen him. Assumably he'd returned to bathe and dress himself again for the early morning council meeting, but she'd fallen back to sleep in-between that time. Only normally, he would have woken her. Normally, they'd have readied for the meeting with his council together...she'd negotiated that right of hers from her husband after the birth of Daemion. As his Queen, she wanted a spot upon his council, to be an active participant in his rule. Time after time, whether it was another one of their vicious volatile arguments between them or an instance of a sweet and tender domesticity as they lazed naked within their bed. Aemond had spent the last two years echoing the sentiment to her, that she was more than just his broodmare.

And then he did this.

He removed her from the council this morning. Without even the gall to tell her himself, he left for the meeting without her and then left the information for their guard to relay to her.

Of course, later upon his return, when Rhaena was properly woken. Bathed and dressed herself in a lovely velvety gown, a dark Targaryen red with intricate black lace linings. With added black lace and sewn jeweled dragons and floral embroidery woven along her bodice and the hem of her skirt. She'd been sat upon her favourite chaise, providing their second son with his early morning feeding.

That was when Aemond burst through the doors with a look of exhaustion and a need for attention.

A need she had no intention of abiding by as he sought to exclude her so soundly this morn with no warning once so ever. In all honesty it had tainted the way she'd sweetly awoken in bed with him, as clearly that was more than just his hungered need to taste her first thing in the morn. As it was just as equally his act of service to placate her for what he had planned on doing all along.

As it happened, Rhaena had burped their babe upon her shoulder, before she swiftly handed him off to Elaya to take to the nursery. It was only once the young wet-nurse had left the room that Aemond moved for Rhaena. Taking long strides to meet her upon the chaise, she'd scoffed at him then, knowing exactly what he wanted. His heated gaze lingered on her still exposed bosom, lustful and wanting...though she was too annoyed with him to indulge him.

Perky and engorged as they were, she knew he more than likely wished to lay with her. To rest his head upon her swollen breasts as she caressed his hair and allowed him to unwind from his otherwise stressful meeting. And perhaps, had she'd been present for said meeting...or at the very least privy to the information that had been shared or delved into there...she would have sympathized. She would have given him exactly what he wanted, she'd placate him, hold him as he sometimes wishes to be cuddled.

But no, not then.

Instead she pulled the buttons of her chemise closed, lifting herself up off of the chaise, she walked around him and made her way to the long ornamented wall-length mirror that stood on the northern side of their chambers. There she stared purposely at her reflection only, working to ignore the way his perplexed expression morphed into one of burning irritation. As Rhaena casually touched up the ends of a few of her long loosening twists, it would soon be time to undo them, free her curls and wash her hair. A task she'd take to later this evening before bed.

In the moment, however, Rhaena focused on herself. The vast majority of her maternity gowns had elegant buttons upon the front of the gown, made for easier access to nurse her babe at any given time of the day. A stipulation that had always been a part of her marriage, Aemond would have no one but her to nurse their children.

Though it was in that mirror's reflection that their argument had started. He'd made his way towards her, and she'd turned her dragon's fire directly upon him. Perhaps she'd been warranted in it, that inundated rage of feeling belittled and undermined felt all too consuming for her to ignore in the face of Aemond's condescending rebuttals. That she was apparently in no 'condition' to need to be present for council meetings, that she would be filled in on the most ‘pertinent information’ when needed.

Perhaps it was her body now, so late in her pregnancy, hormones ran amok fluttering dangerous levels of heightened emotions throughout her. Though even still, she was certain of it.

He was sidelining her...she could feel it.

And she didn't know why.

‘Confinement’ felt like such a half-assed answer.

He was hiding things from her and yet he still sought rewards for such blatant behaviour. Was it any wonder she denied him those rewards, she was in no mood to lay tangled in bed with him. She was in no mood to allow him to nuzzle his cheek upon her ample chest while he caressed her belly and teased her core with soft presses of his slender fingers. She knew him far too well for that. The progression of him starting off by claiming that he just wished for her to 'set him at ease'. Only, within the hour he'd seduce her to the point of having her gown torn off with his cock working her with rough deep wanting strokes.

It was something he could never resist, especially when she was this far along with one of her pregnancies. All he wanted was to be inside of her, to feel her heated walls clenched tightly around thick length. His ever constant need to sink into her warmth, soak himself in her wetness. All as he held her tightly against him, nestled between her thighs as he rocked into her with perfect rhythm. Set at a pace of his choosing, with his teeth grazing her neck marking her body. And that ironclad grip of his, enough to set bruises, enough to make her shudder with want…the sort of hold that prevented the mere idea of escape.

Letting her go...it was never an option, it always seemed a foreign concept to him.

This would have been no different and seeing as she was cross with him. She chose to stand her ground, to hold fast to her willpower against his handsome seductive charms. It was a hard thing sometimes these days, seeing as her body almost always wanted for him...a true traitor, really. Her body had always betrayed her when it came to him. Ever since her early days, even when she firmed her way through every bedding session. Even the nights she cried through the utter heartbreak of allowing the acts done upon her…in the name of her safety…in the name of her duty.

It’d been disgusting then, to think that her body had still enjoyed it even when her mind screamed the opposite. The thought of taking in the cock of the man who’d killed her first love, her second love…her grandmother…and then her father.

Perhaps some days still…she found herself disgusted with herself. Because she didn’t hate it as much as she should anymore…because she’d found her way to enjoying it all.

Surely the Gods’ frowned upon her.

Thankfully, though, in that moment, when she denied him she stood by it. And because she stood so harshly against his whims, he stormed out of their rooms. A dark thunderous slam of pent up aggression and building animosity, he needed a different outlet seeing as his preferred choice had repudiated him. And in that knowledge, Rhaena knew well that he'd only ever go to Vhagar next.

In this world Aemond Targaryen had two sanctuaries.

Vhagar…and Rhaena, herself.

And if one would not have him…then he’d storm his way over to the one that would.

That however, had been several hours ago now. Rhaena had spent the rest of her morning in peace, she'd bathed and dressed Aemon herself. It was a good distraction from her own frustrations. She broke her fast with her young son, watched on as he ate his oats and banana slices messily. Biting back small amused smiles as she corrected his loose hold of his spoon and dabbed a napkin to his grubby mouth. Nibbling on her own custard pastry, delicately sipping her spiced tea in between. Their meal had been nice, they'd spoken about the day's activities her son wished to partake in. The lessons he was most excited to learn about today, as well as his hope to go flying with his father again later in the afternoon.

Seeing as Morning was still growing, now a much larger beast over the last four years...she was still too small for Rhaena to fly upon herself. Let alone for her to take her son up with her. No, the choices were limited. Aemon could either fly with his father upon Vhagar, with his aunt upon Moondancer, or his uncle upon Sunfyre. As his own little golden hatchling, Golding...was his current name for his bonded beast, the he-dragon was still far too small for him to mount. Though Golding was surely a temporary name as Aemond intended on convincing their son to choose a more suited name for the dragon. But that was a conversation they'd have to shelf for now. Aemon was still a toddler and so he quite enjoyed the name he'd chosen.

In either case, as Aemon's choice for dragons to fly upon was scarce...he would always choose Vhagar first, he was painfully enamoured with every facet of his father. Even the less than savoury parts of him.

Once Maester Alfador came to fetch Aemon for his lessons to attend with his cousins, Rhaena turned her attention back to her younger son. Playing letter blocks with Daemion, reading to him and singing lullabies as he grew sleepy in her arms. She'd taken him and sat upon the balcony overlooking the courtyard so that her babe could take some sun and fresh air as he slept soundly, there she listened to sounds of the busy castle. The birds chirping in the wind and the distant roars of the dragons near the pits.

And there she'd thought of Vhagar and her husband. There was so much she still wished to say, so much he'd simply chosen to walk out on just because he could. With the full freedom that came with the title of King...he expressed that power either as intelligently as he wished or as childishly as a man of four and twenty could.

But now with Aemon in her company once again, she'd have to deal with the boy’s father, Aemond later...once he returned from his petulant flight upon Vhagar... she'd deal with him then.

Returning her focus to her son, she pressed a sweet kiss upon Aemon's forehead. Gazing down into his pale indigo eyes, a mirror of his father's own. In fact, in all honesty…Aemon's entire visage was simply a little mirror to Aemond's own. They shared the same face shape...or at least the pudgy round face Aemond once held in childhood. It was a good indicator for the features their son would one day mature into. The two of them also shared near identical noses and lip shapes. Although, Rhaena's own added genes had ensured that the tip of Aemon's nose was just a tad bit more rounded. His lips more rounded than Aemond's own plush sharp bow-shaped lips.

It was in the little things, Rhaena supposed. How their son had inherited her curly hair, a pinch of her tawny complexion. Her soft curved eyebrows and her almond shaped eyes.

Yet still, all in all, their son was the living embodiment of a namesake, one Aemond had purposely bestowed upon their first child. Either to flood his own ego or in a dubious if not blindingly obvious attempt to flaunt his supposed legitimate reign over the one he'd stolen. The one he’d slaughtered in order to usurp the throne.

Though surely the realm was privy to the fact that it was Rhaena's own blood that made their son and the rest of their children so pure, they'd made both a purebred Valyrian heir and a spare for the throne. A union that started with a form of forced coerced duty...now led by something far more complicated.

Something that existed between the bounds of love and hatred.

For the moment, Rhaena gave her son leave to return to his toys. He'd want to play with her, but she needed a moment to herself first. She'd only just returned from spending some time with her sister in the gardens, where she'd divulged a splintered version of the events of this morning. Not that it mattered really, Baela may have joined Rhaena in their unified ridiculing of their King. But at the end of the day Baela would remind Rhaena of the same fact she always had, that Aemond Targaryen was a fickle psychotic being…and that she should be careful to never push the bounds and risk her life in the process.

Because she’d already done so years ago…she’d already made such attempts in the past. And while she still had her life granted to her, she did not walk away the victor in those situations.

So in that way, her elder sister’s advice had always been sound…but it was hard to swallow at times. Seeing as Rhaena’s forced marriage barely compared to the near bliss Baela was lucky enough to experience with her own spouse. In their case, her union with Aegon was a long time coming, a match Baela had hoped for since she was six and ten. Though it was a shame that just as she'd gotten used to the idea of marrying their sweet and loyal Jace...he'd been plucked from their lives.

Although Rhaena always supposed that as devastating as his loss was, he was spared in a way. For while he’d come to love his betrothed, his daring Baela…she…she still secretly harboured feelings for the enemy. The night before Viserys had died, Baela had spent one final night with Aegon before he was set to wed Helaena. She'd left that passionate encounter with the settling seed of a man she was most likely to never see again. The Gods, though, they could be funny in that way. Tearing the realm apart, bathing a family in blood and tragedy only for the fates to align yet again. For Baela to finally have Aegon as she once wished, just in time to make her not-so hidden pregnancy legitimate before it was too late. Only now both their hands were tainted. War had taken both Jace and Helaena. War had taken everyone away from the dragon twins except their lone grandsire, Corlys Velaryon and his now legitimized heir Alyn Velaryon.

*KNOCK, KNOCK...KNOCK*

The pounding knock at the door drew Rhaena back out of her thoughts once again, she was losing it slowly but surely. She really did need her husband to return, she needed to clear her own mind...she needed to focus on something, anything else. The knock was hard, blunt and formulaic, it could have only belonged to a member of the Kingsguard. So when Rhaena swung the door open to see Ser Willis Fell, she was not surprised to come face to face with his hardened visage. Expressionless as he was, the redheaded man simply stepped aside for a young squire to hold out a silver platter in front of their Queen.

"For you, my Queen. A raven hath just arrived," the young lanky boy bowed his head, as a sign of sheepish reverence and respect.

A small scroll.

A missive.

How odd.

Tumultuous as this reign had been over the years, at this point in time, nothing beyond yet another rebellion could warrant the urgency of a missive like this.

—

Part 2 coming soon...maybe Friday!

#aemond targaryen #rhaena targaryen #rhaena x aemond #aemond x rhaena #rhaemond #hotd fanfic #hotd #catch my ass posting Rhaemond now that s2 has effectively soured everyone's feelings for the show and these characters all together 🤣💀#ANYWAYS #instead of working on the series i already have on-going 😭😭😭#here's a mini-part fic I started!!#YES there will be smut #Don't You Dare Do This Without Me

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blackhairedjjun · 2 years ago

Text

6:49 am — c.yj

pairing: choi yeonjun x gender neutral reader | genre / tropes: fluff, established relationship, bed sharing (sfw) | word count: 624 | warnings: none

author's notes: so yeonjun's vlog had me giggling and kicking my feet wow i felt so in love watching it and i can't believe they let us see that footage of him waking up wow so many domestic thoughts... yeah i had to write this bc of that <3 also it's been rainy as hell where i live and the thought of snuggling next to someone during a cold rainy morning just makes me soft

this fic has been crossposted to ao3 here

you are awakened by the sound of rain outside, a thousand tiny drumming droplets melting together into a sheet of white noise. a morning like this should feel cold, and yet you feel comfortably warm -- thick sheets are crumpled around your body and your boyfriend is snuggled next to you, his warmth spilling over to your side. with the sheets covering most of him, all you see are wisps of black hair falling over his forehead and closed eyes. he still looks beautiful that way.

you don't know what time it is, but the sound of rain and the dim grey light all beckon you to go back to sleep. you cuddle into yeonjun's side, resting your head against his chest, and let the sound of his breathing lull you back into a brief slumber.

in your brief moments of rest you have no dreams, only a faint feeling of contentment that envelops you. when you wake again, it's to yeonjun's voice in your ear, still heavy with sleep: "good morning..."

slowly you open your eyes. his face is so close to yours that it startles you into wakefulness -- but not that you mind. half-lidded eyes gaze at you with such tenderness that you feel content all over again, and he reaches out a hand to pull back the covers from your chin and get a better look at you.

"sleep well?" he asks.

"yeah, you?"

"yeah..." he drapes the sheets more snugly around himself and moves closer to you. "let's stay in for a while."

you hum in agreement. his arm wraps around your waist, rubbing circles into your back, and you reach a hand out to brush his hair away from his eyes.

for a while the two of you simply lay there in silence, basking in each other -- you don't know if you've been lying down for one minute or thirty, but it doesn't matter. you bury your face in the crook of his neck and allow yourself to just feel him -- the way his arm subconsciously pulls you closer to him, the way you seem to perfectly fit into his side, the way his pulse falls in sync with yours in a slow, steady beat. the feeling of contentment washes over you in another wave and grows into a sense of safety. being in his arm feels right, it feels like home. even with the rain pouring outside, as long as you're with yeonjun, you know that the day will be okay.

you pause for a moment to pull away from him and admire his features. you're drawn to plush half-parted lips, then up to eyes that flutter open to admire you right back.

god, you're so beautiful, you think.

"you think so?"

"what?" you blink a few times, not realizing you said that out loud.

"you said i was... beautiful..."

you chuckle and place your hand atop the arm he has wrapped around you. "you are beautiful, jjunie. you're always beautiful to me."

he breaks into a full smile and buries his face underneath the covers. you're so close to him that even you can feel his face heating up.

"it's true!" you say with a chuckle.

he squirms under the sheets and you can't help but giggle at his reaction. finally, his head peeks out again and his words are soft: "i like it when you say that..."

"can i say it again then?"

"please."

you bring your face closer to his and he closes the gap with a soft kiss. his lips move gently against yours, and when he pulls away his cheeks are dusted with a faint pink.

this time you don't hesitate to say it out loud.

"you are so beautiful."

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x you #choi yeonjun x reader #kpop x reader #txt imagines #kpop imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt fluff #yeonjun fluff #tomorrow x together imagines #txt fic #txt fanfic #bhj: violet's works

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makeyoumine69 · 7 months ago

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Till Death Do Us Part (Chapter Four)

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader; [no y/n]

SUMMARY: When you meet Patrick's colleagues in Barcadia, you realize that you're getting more and more entangled in his lifestyle, which you didn't like at all. Escaping your golden cage with someone from your past is the only thing you can think about. The question is, will Bateman allow you to do that?

CONTAINS: Smut, angst, breast fucking, cum eating, swearing, implied murders, blood and violence, fainting, spanking, degradation, cheating, abusive and toxic behavior, unhealthy relationships, NSFW art, Patrick Bateman is a warning himself.

WORDS: 5.8k

A/N: Another chapter for my dear readers, I hope you like it!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

Inflamed with an unquenchable desire for more, Patrick growled and slowed his thrusts, staring down at you. "Where shall I cum then, Becca? Huh? Your... hair? You want me to mess up your hair?" He teased, tilting his head up slightly. "I'm not putting on a fucking condom. I can't feel anything with one. "

His blatant statement about not using condoms made you nervous, but you managed to hide it. "Are you not going to use condoms...at all?" You asked with a hint of provocation. "I think...I think you told me you didn't want to have kids."

Did he really tell me that or am I hallucinating? 'Why can't I remember anything that happened this morning, and why am I so dizzy and my body feels like dough? Was that pill he gave me a painkiller or...'

Patrick huffed. "Well-no, I never told you... but there's no risk if I don't use a condom for this..." Patrick said through his teeth, averting his eyes as he lied to you. He would do everything in his power to make you believe that what happened this morning was all in your head.

Perplexed, you felt a sudden wave of nausea rise from your stomach, but Patrick continued, pressing your tits tighter against his throbbing cock. You needed him to climax or you might vomit right here and now. "Cum in my mouth...please...I beg you!" You urged him on, covering his hands with yours and opening your mouth wide so that his swollen tip now slid in and out with precious friction.

(Check out NSFW art on AO3!)

Bateman pressed your breasts together against his cock, moaning as he thrust faster. The man was a little surprised by what you wanted, but obliged. Huffing, he grinned and pulled on your hair, feeling himself on the verge of falling over the edge. Then Patrick pushed his tip into your mouth before he cummed hard, his hot seed filling your mouth and going down your throat. A little rough, Bateman yanked your head up so you wouldn't choke. With his eyes closed, he panted heavily and wiped his forehead with his arm.

Bateman's sperm did not taste as sweet as you expected. Because of your naivety and inexperience with sex, you really believed your friends' gossip about how delicious it felt when the man came right in your mouth because it tasted like fucking honey. But in reality, his seed was salty and very dense, making it hard to swallow, but spitting it out was not an option. Panting, you swallowed the last drop of the warm liquid and looked up at Patrick, who was still breathing heavily and enjoying the aftershocks of his orgasm.

'I can't believe I made him cum...or did he do it himself?' Just the thought of him having a strong orgasm because of you made you feel strangely proud, but you shook off such thoughts before it was too late. "Can I use the bathroom, please?" You asked quietly, lying motionless under him. "I'm afraid we're going to be late."

Patrick blinked a few times before he opened his eyes. He sighed with satisfaction and moved away from you, pulling up his boxers. Relieved, Bateman didn't seem at all tired from the orgasm. He felt calmer and less impulsive now, returning to his friendly facade. The man chuckled. "You don't need to ask permission. This is your home too, you know." He said ominously before moving to the kitchen and quickly grabbing an Evian water from the fridge. He tossed it to you. "Drink this. Don't drink the tap water." Patrick stated, assuming you wanted to go to the bathroom to wash your mouth out. Then he went back to his bedroom and put his suit back on, running his hand over it to smooth out any wrinkles.

After almost 20 minutes, you finally got outside where the black limousine was waiting for you. Since it was late fall, the wind was quite cold, so you decided to put on one of your coats, and although it was not fur or super expensive, it was one of your favorites. Inside the limousine, Bateman took out his Walkman and put the earphones on his head before turning to look out the window as they pulled away. You didn't even try to get his attention. On the contrary, you even enjoyed a few moments of peace, as a new circle of hell awaited you in Barcadia. 'I brushed my teeth twice and I can still feel his taste on my tongue. God, how am I going to forget this?' Your train of thought was interrupted by a sudden tight grip on your knee. As you looked down at his large palm, then in his hazel eyes, you noticed something unusual in the way he was smiling at you, as if enjoying his triumph of getting what he wanted. Slowly, but determinedly, you removed his hand from your knee and adjusted the hem of your dress to give him no room to play. Patrick, in his Prada coat, took your hand firmly, not allowing you to pull away this time, opened the car door to get you out, and led you into the restaurant, where you were immediately seated at a table in a secluded part of the restaurant.

(Patrick and my version of Becca by amazing @anyarlly!)

"Hello Price, Daisy-" the man greeted, then his eyes went wide. "...McDermott...and Van Patten." Bateman furrowed his brows, then looked at Price, who sat down and pulled out a chair for you. "You didn't tell me McDufus and his friend were coming tonight?" He whispered.

Price shrugged and pulled the lit cigar from between his teeth. "I invited them. They didn't have much to do tonight." He said casually before looking at you. He smiled a wolfish grin. "This must be your... oh, your FIANCE, Bateman." Price chuckled. "I can... tell it wasn't your choice. Definitely a step down from you-know-who." Timothy scoffed, chuckled at Patrick and gave him a high five.

Soon the waitress came over and set menus for all of them. Even though you didn't hear the whole conversation, the echo of Tim's last words stuck in your head like they were imprinted on your brain. 'Just don't think about it, don't think about it.' Sighing sadly, you picked up the menu so quickly that it almost flew out of your hands, but you managed to hold it still, using it as a shield from prying eyes. You didn't listen to what they were saying, trying to concentrate on the huge list of dishes, but you weren't really hungry—you were still suffering from nausea. Patrick's sneaky touch on your leg under the table was just as sudden as it had been in the limo, but this time you couldn't just push his hand away. 'Damn it!'

Patrick chuckled, not bothering to defend you at all. Smirking, he opened the menu with one hand and looked at the list of meals. His other hand went down and rested on your leg and stayed there. He hummed and drummed on the menu with his fingers. "I think I'll have... peanut butter soup. The Times called it a... playful little dish." He smiled and put the menu down. "Is Paul Owen still handling the Fisher account?"

Craig chewed on a toothpick in his teeth, glanced up at you for a moment before looking back at the menu. He put it down and chuckled. "God, it's always the Fisher account with you, Bateman." He shook his head. "And of course the Jew still has it. Hell, I think he had to suck off some higher-ups to get it." He rolled his eyes. "I heard it's worth 800 million already."

"You're so full of shit, McDermott." Price said, shaking his cigar between his fingers. "It's only worth 400." He huffed and leaned back in his seat, spreading his legs. His eyes were on you for a moment before he looked at Daisy. "Take whatever you want, doll. Just make sure it's not too fattening." He grinned before he looked back at you. "So... where did you go to school? ACLU? Camden?" He took a drag from the cigar and blew a puff of smoke in your direction.

Timothy's question didn't really affect your mood, as you were already too fed up, but the way his girlfriend was staring at you was nothing but annoying. 'I wish I could throw that glass of water right in her smug face!'

Despite the evil thoughts in your head, you managed to keep up your fake facade of amity and politeness because you didn't want to have another scene with Bateman. "I'm a student at New York Medical College," you declared openly and without shame. "And I'm about to finish my internship as a scrub nurse." With that, you smiled at Price, realizing that your answer was not what he was expecting. Probably. As you were about to add another comment, Bateman's palm slid up your hip, almost touching you between your legs, but you stopped him just an inch away. Turning to look at him, you whispered barely audibly. "What the hell are you doing?"

"A nurse? Oh my God, that's so boring," Daisy complained, rolling her eyes. "Do you have a lighter, darling?" The blonde woman smiled at Tim and pulled out a cigarette, then wrapped her plump lips around it in a suggestive gesture. After Tim lit hers and his, Daisy noticed her nose wrinkle at the pungent scent of snuff, which only encouraged the blonde to blow more and more smoke. "I can't believe he's really going to marry that hick." Daisy whispered in Tim's ear before planting a small kiss on his neck.

Frowning, Price leaned back in his seat. "Huh... Well, I went to Stanford." He clicked his tongue. "I have a co-op here and a place in the Hamptons. And a Porsche." He bragged, running a hand through his slicked back hair. His attention was drawn back to his girlfriend, who chuckled softly. He pulled a book of matches from his pocket and struck a match, lighting her cigarette before relighting his cigar. He chuckled and tilted his head back from the kiss. "Well, it's an arranged marriage, darling. The poor bastard has no choice."

Disgusted, Daisy scoffed and took a long drag on her cigarette. "I can't believe such marriages still exist in the 20th century." The blonde continued to look at you and Patrick, and just as she was about to take another swipe, the waiter came to their table, ready to take their orders. "I think I'll have... a plate of Greek salad and fresh orange juice."

Patrick's attention was on McDermott. "Oh, Jesus McDermott—what does his being Jewish have to do with anything?" The man muttered, furrowing his brow. He moved his hand further up your thigh, his hand slipping under your dress. He touched the hem of your panties at your hips, keeping his eyes on McDermott. "A dreidel, not a menorah—you spin a dreidel." He rolled his eyes and looked back at you. He smiled, feigning ignorance. "I'm not doing anything, sweetheart."

Your fists clenched and unclenched under the table because the whole situation was so damn embarrassing and irritating. "Don't call me 'sweetheart,'" you hissed gritted clenched teeth before finally pulling Bateman's palm away from your leg. The waiter waited patiently for your order, but unfortunately you were about to disappoint him as you were not hungry at all. "Just... just a cup of coffee, please." You mumbled, dropping your eyes to the table and examining the beautiful napkin on it.

Patrick frowned at you for the tenth time during dinner, frustrated by your reluctance. The man sighed and looked back at the menu. "I'll have the peanut butter soup and an Evian." Then he pointed at you. "Along with the coffee, she'll have the pine nut salad with goat cheese." He said with a smile. Patrick didn't care if you ate it or not—he thought you could stand to lose a few pounds anyway, but it looked bad to go to a restaurant like this and not order any food.

"Well, that's what rich families do." Price shrugged and scanned the menu again. "I'll have the... tuna tartare with balsamic dressing. And a glass of red wine." He looked at Bateman with a smug smile. "No alcohol today, Bateman? Don't be such a lightweight." He chuckled. Patrick didn't react.

"I'll have the red snapper pizza with a glass of champagne." McDermott smiled and then looked at Patrick. "I'm surprised you didn't order the fucking potato pancakes, Bateman." He chuckled.

David scratched his head, breaking his silence for the evening to place his order. "I'll have the... oh God…I think I'll have the... ceviche sandwich with pea dressing. And a cappuccino." He looked up at the waiter and adjusted his horn rimmed glasses.

The waiter wrote down the orders and left. Soon the table was full of different dishes, and they all looked absolutely delicious, but it didn't help with the nausea at all. The men were still talking business when you noticed a tiny drop of blood on the napkin you held up to your nose, thinking you were about to sneeze. "Excuse me, I'll be right back." With that, you quickly got up from your seat and rushed to the nearest waiter to ask where you could find a bathroom.

Daisy didn't miss the sight of you walking away looking unhealthy, but the blonde just giggled. "She probably can't stand high cuisine, can she?" She chirped and looked at Tim for approval, hoping he would find her comment funny. "Patrick, do you remember my friend Claire? She has very rich parents, maybe you should meet her sometime?"

Patrick stared at his plate without touching it. The way his meal was organized was... just beautiful, he thought. He couldn't bring himself to ruin it, no matter how hungry he was. He looked up and saw you making your way to the bathroom. "Excuse me." He stood up, his eyes fixed on you. He would follow a few feet away so as not to be noticed. He slipped into the women's restroom, staying close to the wall.

Timothy watched Patrick leave, shaking his head. He started to eat, looking silently at Daisy until he swallowed. "I guess he's not interested. Don't blame him. Claire's a total bitch." He sneered.

As soon as you scooted into the ladies' room, you rushed to the sink and opened the cold water, noticing that your nosebleed was increasing. 'Damn, I haven't had a nosebleed in centuries. Maybe the pill Patrick gave me caused all this?' In panic, you hovered over the sink, almost choking, feeling the sharp headache and nausea, along with the metallic taste of blood running down your throat. You thanked God that the bathroom was empty and you wouldn't scare anyone with such a scene, but at the same time you suddenly thought that if you died here and now, no one would notice. With these cloudy thoughts, you slipped to the floor and lost consciousness.

Patrick came in just as you fainted. Annoyed, he looked down at your body with a puzzled expression on his face. Did he accidentally cause an overdose? Was the coffee poisoned? Did you have a heart attack? Were you murdered? Despite all these possibilities, he knew he had to act quickly if he didn't want you to possibly die. He took his monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and fixed your head in one place, pinching your nose to stop the flow of blood. He held your mouth open with his hand so you could breathe. Then, with ease, Bateman picked you up in his arms and slipped out the back of the restaurant. He didn't really care about abandoning his friends. They owed him a lot of paid meals anyway.

Soon you were in his apartment again, lying on the couch with your head against the armrest.

Why is it so cold in here? Have I died? You felt nothing but a cold darkness surrounding you, as if you were falling into the black void but never reaching its bottom. Maybe you really died? Everything was screaming about it when suddenly in your foggy head there was a loud children's noise, a group of boys chasing you, throwing stones at you and calling you an ugly face until they trapped you in the next alley.

"Look at her, boys, she's going to drown in her own tears!" One of the children laughed and pointed at you with a large wooden stick.

"Please... don't do this... I just want to go home... I didn't do anything wrong!" You begged, cowering in the dirty corner of the nearby building.

The group of bullies just giggled at your weakness when one of them suddenly screamed in pain. All eyes were on the tall, brown-haired boy, his eyebrows furrowed and his palms clenched into fists as he punched one of the boys right in his disgusting face. "Get away from her or I'll kick your asses! All of you!" Patrick barked, pulling up the sleeves of his fancy shirt.

Only now did you realize that you were dreaming, because you could see Patrick's childish face so clearly, as if you were back in time. To the moment when he had been the one to protect you from getting hurt. You wanted to stay in this dream forever, you wanted to touch Patty's soft hair and hug him tightly, but soon the image from your past began to fade and your eyes were wide open as you looked at the perfectly white ceiling above you. "Patty?" You whimpered and looked around, your eyes starting to water as you realized you were alone. "I'm so scared...I need you..." You covered your face and sobbed like a little baby.

Meanwhile, Patrick was in the kitchen, cutting up various fruits on a plate. He knew that you hadn't eaten anything today, which was probably the reason why you fainted. Patrick didn't really know how to cook, so he just cut up some fruit that you could easily eat. He perked up a bit when he heard a familiar nickname, but he couldn't remember the last time he had heard it. The man walked into the living room with the plate and set it down on the table. He stared at you with a blank face as you sobbed, unsure of what to do. "Uh-hey... stop it." Bateman nudged your shoulder with his hand, his eyebrows furrowed.

Bateman's stern voice helped you come to your senses, and now you felt so embarrassed, so humiliated. Visibly shaking, you hugged yourself, your hands rubbing nervously over your shoulders. "What was that medicine you gave me before dinner?" You asked quietly—a sheer testament to your exhaustion and weakness. "I felt bad from the moment we stepped outside," you added, closing your eyes. "I still feel like shit... Did you plan to kill me, Patrick? If you want to get rid of me so badly, you can just talk to your mother and this marriage won't happen." Despite your attempts to stop yourself from crying, several tears streamed down your tired face. You hated yourself for being so vulnerable and weak, so without caring about your poor statement, you tried to stand up.

'Christ,' Patrick thought, biting the inside of his cheek. The man couldn't stand that kind of crying. He really only liked crying when he physically caused it. "I didn't give you any medicine." He said through clenched teeth. "I gave you a Xanax and some Evian water. Evian water. Do you hear me? Xanax and an Evian. I didn't drug you." He ignored all of your words and pushed you back down from your standing position. Irritated, he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look up at him, anger behind his eyes. "Look, I want you to pull yourself together. Stop making a fucking scene." He said slowly. "How many times do I have to tell you the facts? This... marriage is going to happen whether we like it or not? Capiche? Comprende?" Then he whispered. "This, uh, situation is the only thing keeping you alive. If you weren't with me, Manhattan would eat you alive. Especially with the way you act. You really have a rotten attitude. Now stop fucking crying!"

'A rotten attitude, really?' Bateman's statement echoed in your head like a broken record. You brushed his hand away quickly. "Maybe it's you who's been spoiled by wealth and money?" You replied in a hysterical tone. "You gave me such a powerful sedative without telling me? You... you're a fucking monster, you..." your eyes suddenly rolled back into your head and you leaned on Patrick's shoulders for support. "I hate you... for killing the person... who was the light in the darkness for me... my whole life." And with that, you fainted again, going limp in his embrace.

Patrick scowled and clenched his hands at his sides. He thought about grabbing an ax and throwing it right in your face to shut you up. The man stood still. "Uh, are you... you know, mentally disabled?" He asked, almost exploding with anger. "I SPECIFICALLY told you it was a Xanax." Did he? He couldn't remember. "YOU took it. I didn't make you take it. God, I can't deal with this, you STUPID BITCH!" Bateman snapped before you passed out.

A phone call was so out of place, but the female voice on the answering machine immediately caught Patrick's attention. "Hey Patrick, it's Courtney," she paused for a second, choosing her words very carefully. "I heard you were at Barcadia today... Patrick... I really miss you and," another pause hung in the air, but this time it was obvious that Courtney was trying to suppress her sobs. "Luis is away this weekend, I thought... I thought you could come and see me... if you want."

Patrick was shaking with rage now. He stood up and pushed you away from him. Huffing, he stared down at you before he focused on the beeping phone. He walked over and brought it to his ear. "Yes... Courtney... I'll be there. Just, just don't cry when I get there. I've already had to deal with that today." Bateman said and then hung up. He looked back at you with a disdainful expression before he left the apartment and grabbed his briefcase. No sex could really calm him down from the anger he felt. He'd find a bum or a prostitute afterwards. Annoyed as hell, the man locked the apartment door and started walking to Courtney's brownstone, passing beggars and men who looked just like him and women who looked just like Evelyn.

The long day finally came to an end.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were blinded by the light coming through the large window in Bateman's living room; you even had to cover your face from the brightness. Slowly, you got up from the couch, and after using the bathroom, you cautiously crept into the kitchen, where you found some sliced fruit that was starting to get musty, making you think that Bateman had probably forgotten about it. 'Wait, where is he?' Only now did you realize that you were alone, and that feeling lifted your spirits as you finally had the chance to call your ex-boyfriend Vincent. Although you didn't have a clear answer why the idea of calling him was so inspiring, since you had broken up a long time ago, but maybe... maybe Vincent would inform your family about Bateman's tantrums and you could escape this golden cage. With the grace of a cat, you slipped into Patrick's bedroom and picked up the phone to dial a familiar number of your college crush.

When another beep came from the receiver, you bit your lower lip. "Come on, pick up the phone, Vincent."

Just like in the movies, you heard a male voice right after you said those words. "Hello?"

"Vincent! Vincent, hi, it's Rebecca!" You brought the phone closer to you, holding it as if it were your lifeline. "I'm sorry to call you so early in the morning..."

"That's okay, I was getting ready for my daily shift anyway," the man paused and you could hear his thoughtful humming. "Did something happen?"

Closing your eyes for a second, you wanted to say yes, but then you pushed that thought away, not wanting to cause trouble for a person you once had a relationship with. "No, I just... thought maybe you could pick me up since today is my shift too."

"Sure," Vincent replied and you knew he was smiling. "Tell me the number you're calling from so I can call you back a little later."

After you gave the number, not really caring what Patrick might think about it, you and Vincent said goodbye to each other and hung up the phone. 'I hope that idiot doesn't come back before I leave'. The thought of Vincent accidentally walking into Patrick made your stomach churn. 'Dear God, please don't let this happen,' you prayed and went to the bathroom, still feeling dizzy but desperate to freshen up. At first you thought about taking a shower, but then you changed your mind and decided to take a warm, relaxing bath. It took you several minutes to get the bath ready and get out of your clothes. As you sat in the refreshing water, you let out a sigh of relief. Grinning like the most bratty child, you grabbed the bottle of soap sitting next to you and poured a handful of it. 'Ohhh, I wish Patty could see me now.' That was the first time you really had fun in this apartment. The steam soon filled the bathroom, making you too relaxed and you didn't even notice that you were falling asleep as you leaned against the edge of the tub and closed your eyes for just a second. 'Just a second.' You whispered to yourself before you drifted off.

Patrick entered the apartment at 8 in the morning. He was still wearing his Armani suit from last night, an overcoat, and black leather gloves. In his hand was a blood knife he had just used to stab a homeless woman to death. Blood and body parts were splattered on his gloves, coat, and even his face. He longed for a shower. Or better yet, a bath. A quick one. He had to go to the office today... and he had a lunch reservation with McDermott at Pastel's. And Price was going to take him to the Tunnel again. Patrick first washed the knife in the kitchen sink, watching the blood run down the drain. Frowning, he dried it and set it aside, his nose wrinkling as he noticed a strange odor in the air. He looked over and sighed, grabbed the fruit and threw it in the garbage. Then Bateman walked to the bathroom and took off his gloves and coat, leaving them on the floor. He then removed his Armani jacket, silk tie and cotton shirt. He admired his rock-hard body for a moment in the mirror before looking at the tub. He jumped and took a step back, his eyes wide with fear. He took a step closer and sighed. "Oh, Christ." He moved to the tub and tapped you on the hip with his bloodied shoe. "Get up!" Then he kicked you. "Do you know how pathetic you look?"

Suddenly you woke up with a squeal, startled by the sudden sharp pain in your leg. "Ouch!" You groaned before raising your eyes to see Patrick's tall figure standing next to the tub. "Patrick?" Shocked by the pain, you even forgot to cover yourself, as if Bateman hadn't already seen you naked. When you noticed the blood on your fiancé's face, you swallowed nervously and blinked several times as if to shake off the fear. "Is that blood? What happened? Are you hurt?" your questions were so fast and erratic that you even choked on your breath. "Do you need help?" You could not ask his question because you were a nurse.

Patrick touched the blood on his face and looked down at the red that stained his fingers. "Uh, no." The man said slowly. "It's... cranberry juice, cranapple." Then he stopped, seeing that the blood was too dark and thick. "I mean, chocolate. From a.. Dove bar. Hershey's syrup." He clicked his tongue, then looked back at you. "Now get out of my tub. What are you doing in there anyway?" He asked, then held up his hand. "You know what, I don't even care. Just... just go. Go... study or something. And stop sounding so damn sad."

Frowning, you wanted to say something in protest, but then you decided to just do what he asked, because you didn't want to have another fight. Slowly you got out of the tub and took the towel to wrap around your wet body. The fact that Bateman didn't even care about your nakedness was a bit disappointing, but now you should have concentrated on other things—exams and your work, because yesterday you had missed your preparation and hadn't even told your boss that you wouldn't come. With an annoyed face, you walked to the door, grumbling: "Have a good time, narcissistic king.

Excited, Patrick suddenly stopped you by putting a hand on your shoulder. He had a tight grip on you, the veins in his hands were visible. "A word of advice—if you're going to walk around my house like a slut..." He motioned to your body. "Then don't be a prude when I want to fuck you. Okay?" Before you could respond, he landed a hard slap on your ass before pushing you out, closing and locking the door. He sighed and finished undressing, putting an ice pack on his face as he filled the tub with water. He soaked his body and let his violent impulses slowly drift away for the day.

Even after some time, your ass still burned from the hard spanking Bateman had given you, but you tried to concentrate on your studies. Again and again you read the same sentence because you couldn't concentrate on anything, all you could think about was what had happened to Patrick and was that really a chocolate? As a nurse, you could tell blood from everything else, but why did he lie to you? Maybe he didn't want to make you nervous...although that wasn't really his type of attitude. Another thing that was bothering you was who did he spend the night with? Probably Courtney, since she called him last night, or maybe he called some prostitutes and they had an orgy. 'Fuck, why do I care?' You scoffed when suddenly the phone rang. Seizing the moment while Bateman was still in the bathroom, you dashed across the living room and grabbed the hung up phone. "Vincent? Vincent, is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me," the guy replied, bringing the phone closer. "Do you still want me to pick you up? I'll be leaving in a few minutes." Vincent looked out the window and saw that it was starting to pour outside. Your sudden call an hour ago was like a thunderstorm in the clear sky. It made him so nervous and stirred up some old feelings he thought had gone away long ago, but they hadn't and now he wanted to help you with anything you needed.

At the same moment, Patrick stepped out of the bathtub, grabbed his towel and ran it through his hair. He used his fingers to style it slightly, letting his bangs fall into his face. He wrapped the towel around his hips, leaving most of his body exposed. Enjoying the refreshment, he walked out and was about to go into the bedroom when he heard your voice. Bateman stopped and looked into the room to see you on the phone. 'Vincent? The name wasn't familiar. His brother had a friend named Vincent, but he doubted it was the same person. He strode into the room and took the phone from your hand, gently but forcefully. His unhappy expression suddenly changed to a smile as he put the phone to his ear. "Hi. Pat Bateman. Who do I, uh, have the pleasure of speaking to?"

Vincent almost bit his tongue when he heard Bateman's baritone on the other side of the phone. After a short cough, the man put the phone back to his ear. "I'm Rebecca's lecturer and I'm very concerned about her absence from yesterday's lectures," he lied, trying to keep his composure so that Patrick wouldn't notice. "And she also mentioned that you can be aggressive at times. Is that true?"

"Give it to me!" Suddenly you grabbed the phone and pulled it away from Bateman with all your might. "Give it to me or I'll start screaming and your neighbors will call the police!" You were absolutely cold-blooded and desperate in your attempts to snatch the phone from him. When Patrick tried to push you away as an annoying pest, you were ready to bite him without fear.

Scowling, Patrick let go of the phone when you reached for it and stared at you. He calmly walked to the phone dock and pressed a button, the phone shutting off and going to dial tone. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair before turning back to you. The man grabbed your hand to steady you, his face looking more exhausted than angry. "Listen to me." He said softly, staring at you intensely. "If you continue this behavior, you will ruin my life. If you keep acting like a...victim...like you're trapped here...calling for help and making up rumors about me to your ex-boyfriends, and yes, I know that's not your teacher—I've met her. Hear me out. You…You're going to bring down everything I've spent my life building." He inhaled slowly. "I'm just as trapped as you are... and I know my behavior can be... erratic at times, but I really am trying my best. Do you understand that? Do you hear the words I say to you?"

Breathing heavily, you fixed your still wet hair. "When you say I'm not a victim," you paused and swallowed. "Why can't I have a fucking phone call?" you asked, crossing your arms defensively. "He's not my ex-boyfriend! He's just a guy from my college and we work together..." Bateman's hot breath on your cheek made you stop talking and jerk away. "And I'm not spreading rumors, I just needed to explain why I wasn't there yesterday." The dangerous glow in the man's eyes was so damn scary that even though you had so much more to say, you decided to save it for another time. "I... I should get ready for work." Sitting on his big bed, so small and weak, wearing only a long shirt and nothing underneath, you felt like a caged bird whose owner was teasing it with an open window, proving to the statement that freedom was only an illusion.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

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bbyquokka · 1 year ago

Text

trapped with him

– in which yn looses a bet and ends up becoming felix's pet !!

pairing | lee felix x fem reader

genre | work colleagues, enemies to ??, smut – 18+ is advised!

cw | dom felix ; breast/nipple play ; sexual bets ; oral (f rec) ; clit stimulation ; vaginal fingering ; sexual asphyxiation (choking) ; unprotected sex ; birth control ; clit slapping w cock ; multiple orgasms ; pull out method ; cum on body ; pet/master

words | 5.7k ~ ( 5,794 )

note | this is a lil thank you fic for @oshimee for sending me a second package 🙊 there is still one more ty fic that is in the works so uh, enjoyyy! don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog

m.list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

“i can't believe this is happening.” you let out a disgruntled groan, head in your hands. a displeasured tut is heard from the side of you, causing you to feel even more annoyed at the situation.

you're stuck in work, or rather, you're trapped in work with your worst enemy; lee felix. a sudden snow blizzard occurred which caused a major power outage in the city. the whole city went quiet. trains and buses being canceled due to the fast mountain of snow being created.

unlucky for you, the company doors work electrical meaning you and everyone else have a fob key that allows you in and out and when there is no electricity, there's no escape.

what's even more unlucky, is that you and felix are the last to leave. you both work under the same branch meaning you both work somewhat closely together. today, you ended a little bit later than usual (only because your boss insisted on work being completed)

you and felix were the only two in the office. no words were exchanged between the two of you and if there were, it was very short. once you completed the last set of work, you breathed a sigh of sweet relief, cleaned your desk and grabbed your belongings. as soon as you grabbed your coat, the power went out resulting in your current situation.

“i can't believe i'm stuck in here with you.” felix grunts. he's sat on the floor just opposite you. his hair disheveled from running his hands through it numerous times with his tie and top button of his shirt loosened up.

“i guess that's the only thing we find in common.” you say sarcastically with a sarcastic smile. ever since felix joined the company, you never liked him. you hate how everyone pines over him. you hate how he looks so pretty and perfect everyday. you hate how he can do things better than you. how he can pick things up faster than you. you hate seeing your employees fuss over him. you hate how he always comes into work and is greeted with flowers or chocolates or even a letter of confession.

you hate how he politely turns people down. you just hate everything about him and to be stuck in work with him is a living nightmare for you both.

“why hasn't the back up generator started yet!” you groan, kicking your head back and straightening out your legs in an attempt to feel somewhat comfortable. but that's hard when you spend all day in nothing but work clothing. the appeal of heading home and changing into fuzzy pajamas sounds like bliss round about now.

“this fucking sucks.” felix sighs before standing up and looking out of the window. the snow is still heavily falling with the wind blowing it in various directions. people holding onto their hats, nuzzling their faces into their scarves as the bitter chill hits them.

“how long do you think we will be here?” you mumble. felix tuts.

“the fuck am i suppose to know.”

“alright! jesus, don't get your panties in a twist felix. was just a simple question.”

“has anyone told you how annoying you are?”

“several actually. why? am i annoying you?” you smirk. annoying felix is much more enjoyable than you thought.

“please yn.” he sighs before sitting back down on the floor. “just shut up.”

“have you always been like this?”

“like what?”

“a stuck up annoying brat that has no manners.”

“only when it comes to you.”

“mhm, thought so. because you seem so sweet and innocent with other people. especially when they pine over you.”

“it's called being polite and they don't pine!” felix unbuttons a few more buttons of his shirt before untying his tie and throwing it on the floor beside him. his body is heating up due to how hot it's getting in the workplace. you get a small peak at his honey skin as well as his collarbones.

your heart thumbs a little against your chest. butterflies swim in your stomach and lay dormant in your groin. you frown to yourself.

surely your worst enemy isn't making you feel aroused?!

“oh please! yes felix. right away felix.” you mock before rolling your eyes. felix smirks.

“what can i say. i love it when my pets behave.”

“pets?!” you look at him wide eyed before glaring. “you're insufferable. i hate you.”

felix smirks before leaning back against the wall. several minutes have passed by in silence with the exception of passing traffic and cars honking their horns. the office now feels like a sauna. the insufferable hot air hanging above your head and making it difficult for you to breathe.

your work clothes stick to your body, making you grimace and feel disgusting. felix has pushed his hair back with a headband, his brow coated in a thin layer of sweat as a few more buttons of his shirt have popped open.

you wish you could pop open a few more of your buttons but with the tops of your breasts daring to show, you chose not to. felix sits with his legs parted, one foot on the ground and leg bent which allows him to rest his arm on his knee. his head tilted to the side a little, lips parted and eyes closed.

"so fucking hot.” he mumbles. you give him a small hum of agreement, fanning yourself with your hand.

several more minutes pass with you and felix not talking to one another. this allows you to admire him from afar. you're so used to seeing him prim and proper. hair neat and perfectly styled, not a strand out of place.

seeing him like this however, makes you feel a little hot and bothered. he looks different, feels different. your eyes travel up and down his body, taking in every detail you can see. you can't deny that he's a very handsome man with a unique beauty. his freckles being your favourite thing about him; but you'd never tell him that to his face.

“like what you see?” you look at felix as heat travels to your cheeks. he's smirking. you've been caught. you swallow and avert your gaze which makes felix laugh. “cute.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. from the corner of your eyes, you see felix unbuckling the belt of his work pants. his eyes are on you. he's watching you; teasing you.

you suddenly feel vulnerable but you don't hate it. your body heats up, heart rate speeding up. you look at him, making the mistake of making eye contact with him. he smirks.

he's got you right where he wants you.

“hey yn. why do you hate me so much?” he says with a pout. you frown. you want to look away, avoid the conversation but you can't. your body won't listen. it's like he has a hold on you, gripping onto you tightly whilst watching you slowly melt in the palm of his hands.

“i don't hate you.” you mumble. “i just hate the way you act.”

“how i act?”

“you're so nice to everyone. so caring and attentive. you let people down gently, even when you get showered with cards and confessions. even when you look so uncomfortable, you still remain polite and professional. i hate it. it makes me sick.”

“are you sure you hate me because of the way i act with others or because you hate that other people have my attention?” your eyes widen at the thought.

you open your mouth to speak but felix is quicker than you.

“i see you yn.” he purrs before standing up and walking to you. you swallow thickly as you follow his movements. “i see the way you look at me. i see the dirty looks you give people when they confess. i see the jealousy.” felix bends down between your open legs. he strokes your cheek gently, a soft whimper escapes your lips as your body burns hotter and hotter.

“you want me yn. you desire me.”

“bullshit.” you whisper.

“tell me yn. when was the last time you had sex?”

“t-that has nothing to do with you!” you stutter. felix tuts and strokes your hair.

“but are you not pent up, darling? don't you want to feel the touch of another human? feel yourself get lost in the pleasure. i know you want me and i can provide that for you.”

“what…?” you stare at him in disbelief. he smirks.

“isn't this what you want?” he takes your hand, slowly guiding it down his body to his crotch. your head spins as you feel his cock through the layers of fabric.

he's hard.

“fuck no!” you stammer. you feel heat on your cheeks. you try to pull your hand away but he's strong. you can feel him grow; feel him throb.

“lets make a bet.” you look up at him. a glint of mischief in his eyes as he looks down at you.

“what kind of bet?” you don't know where this is going. judging by the look on his face, it can only end in disaster but oddly enough, you don't hate it? in fact, you're more inclined and drawn into him.

“if i can make you cum with just my mouth, you have to be my pet. obey my every command.”

“and if you lose?”

“you can do whatever you want to me. i'll be at your beck and call. your pet, so to speak.” you chew your lip as you think it over. “or i can leave you alone.”

“excuse me?”

“i know you hate me yn. you told me that before. if you win this bet, i will leave you alone and we shall act as though nothing happened. a simple caught up in the moment kinda thing.”

“i don't hate you, felix.” you whisper.

“you don't?”

“of course not. but why propose this? why me? why not all those people that confessed and bought you stuff?”

“because i’m not interested in them. i’m interested in you! i have been from day one. as soon as i saw you, i was smitten. you're attractive yn and slowly, i became more and more smitten and interested in you.”

felix's cheeks are bright red. he avoids your gaze and rubs the back of his neck shyly. you look at him in shock. lee felix has a school girl crush on you and it makes you feel strangely giddy and excited.

“ok.” you grin. felix looks at you before letting out a sudden groan due to the fact that you squeezed his groin. “lets play. i’ve always wanted a pet.”

felix scoffs before removing your hand from his groin. he leans in close, his breath fanning against the shell of your ear. “just to let you know, i've been told i do great things with my mouth.”

his voice is deep and sensual. purring and rippling along your skin. your core throbs with excitement, heart rate speeding up. you press your lips together in a thin line before scoffing and rolling your eyes.

“prove it, lee felix.” you challenge. he scoffs before pressing his lips against yours unexpectedly. your eyes widen in shock, mind failing to register what's happening. you don't move, not because you don't want to, but because you can't.

you feel felix smirking against your lips. his lips are unusually soft but that's to be expected with the amount of times you see him apply lip balm. felix nibbles on your bottom lip gently which is when your mind finally registers.

you hold onto his broad shoulders. eyes fluttering close as you reciprocate the kiss. you tilt your head to the side to allow more room, the kiss heating up and becoming more needy as time goes on.

it's soft but sensual. it feels natural, like you've both been wanting this for so long. felix's hands cup your cheeks. his palms feel so soft and tender. his skin is hot on your face. he slips his tongue between your lips unexpectedly which causes you to shiver and groan a little.

he tastes the inside of your mouth, tongues battling for dominance. all the while, his hands are gliding down your body and cupping your breasts through your work shirt. there, he squeezes and massages your soft breasts, kneading them as if they're bread dough.

he's not even doing much. just kissing and fondling your breasts but you feel like your body is on fire. you feel electrified. your core throbs with anticipation. the pit of your stomach tightening and butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

felix detaches from your lips to kiss your neck. he starts off tenderly before sucking the skin. you tilt your head to the side some more to allow access which allows felix to easily plant kisses on your neck as well as leave a trail of purple bruises behind.

“felix.” you sigh out his name softly. he hums against your neck as a form of acknowledgement before unbuttoning the remainder of the buttons of your work shirt. he's back to squeezing and massaging your breasts through your bra. his lips never leaving your neck.

you're burning. it hurts. you're aching with so much lust and need that it makes you feel uncomfortable. his touch is doing something to you. it feels magical in a way as you can slowly feel yourself melting right into the palm of his hands.

you reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair and tug gently. you whisper his name softly which causes him to shiver.

“my name sounds so sweet yet so dirty on your tongue.” he growls against your neck.

“it does?” felix simply hums in response, too caught up in taking your shirt off and unclasping your bra from the back.

“i’ve heard my name many times but it sounds so sinful when it comes from you.” you blush, shocked and feeling bashful at the sudden confession. felix laughs softly and kisses your cheek gently before taking your shirt and bra off and throwing it beside you.

he swallows thickly. his adams apple bobbing in time with the swallows as he stares at your chest. your soft round breasts and perky nipples that are inviting him to touch, to lick and devour. he removes his own shirt, discarding it with your clothing.

you watch him dive in-between your breasts. your breath hitches in your throat as he caresses them softly in the palm of his hands, slowly getting rougher with each passing second. his mouth latches onto your nipples, sucking and licking them sloppily and getting your skin coated in his saliva.

the hot, humid air paired with his saliva hardens your nipples further. the tip of his tongue flicks on them, fingers rolling the buds. your shakily tug his hair gently, head kicking back and moaning his name softly. he peppers kisses on your skin, traveling up to your neck before kissing the valley between your breasts to then instantly attach himself to a nipple.

your underwear is feeling uncomfortable at this point. you don't know what to say or do. your head is foggy and you're moving on your own. it feels like it's not your body. you never thought you'd take your worst enemy on with a bet let alone this type of bet.

you know you're going to lose. the way his mouth is working on your breasts makes you ache with excitement and is a clear indication that what he said is true; he can do great things with his mouth.

“felix. need you.” you pant. he looks up at you through his lashes, a nipple still in his mouth as he sucks. “please..”

he smirks and lets go of your nipple with a pop. “so shameless.” your cheeks and the back of your neck feel hot. you watch felix strip you of your work clothing, leaving you in just your panties.

he licks his lips hungrily, palming his erection through his trousers. he eyes your body, taking in every detail like a lion eyeing up its prey. you feel small and submissive. your core aching to be touched and throbbing with desire and need. you're sure by now that your panties are soaked with an embarrassing amount of arousal.

you feel his fingers gently brush up your inner thigh, tickling the skin and leaving goosebumps behind. you watch, breath hitching in your throat as he hooks his finger under the waistband and gently tugging.

“cute panties. all for me?” you scoff and roll your eyes.

“not everything i do is for you, felix. i’m not your pet.”

“not yet.”

“what makes you think you will win?” you raise a brow as you watch him lean down and plant kisses on the lower half of your stomach just above the waistband of your panties. “clearly you don't know me that well.”

“clearly you seemed to have forgotten what i said before.” he peers at you through his lashes. “do i have to remind you again, mhm?”

you swallow and scoff, determined to keep up this tough facade, but you can feel it slowly crumbling. with each touch, each kiss and each word, your resolve is slowly crumbling away resulting in you becoming nothing but a hot mess in the palm of his hands, ready and waiting.

“i can do great things with my mouth, yn.” he smirks as he repeats himself once again. your bottom lip becomes caught between your teeth as you watch felix grab the waistband of your panties with his teeth and slowly pull them down.

he pulls them down your legs, unhooking one side and letting them rest on one ankle. you part your legs slowly for him to which he raises his brow at.

“already behaving like a pet i see. i didn't even have to give you a command and you're already spreading your legs for me.”

“stop.. it's embarrassing.” you mumble shyly.

“no.” he mumbles back before resting on his stomach between your legs. he starts by planting soft kisses on your inner thigh, leaving behind bruises. “it’s hot.”

you whimper as you watch him. his lips are so soft against your scorching hot skin. every kiss and suck he does, leaves you wanting more. your skin burns and reacts accordingly to his touch. his hair tickles your thigh, his nimble fingers caressing and squeezing the other.

he reaches your core, looking at you as a way of saying “can i?” you simply nod and watch him lick his lips before eyeing your core.

your skin is glistening with arousal. your clit swollen and folds slightly puffy. your core noticeably throbs. felix licks two fingers before rubbing them between your folds slowly. you press your lips together in a thin line as your slick coats his fingers up nicely. he uses your arousal to gently tap on your sensitive clit.

it's just a few gentle taps but it's enough to make your thighs shake a little and electric like pleasure to shoot up your spine. felix gives a low chuckle, amused by your reaction. he applies a bit more pressure to the taps, adding in a few small and slow circles.

“you’re cheating!” you moan out softly. felix hums and tilts his head to the side in a questioning manner.

“am i?”

“you said mouth.. this isn't your mouth. you didn't mention anything about fingers.”

“oh? did i not?” felix blinks a few times before shrugging. “oh well.” his fingers pick up in pace, rubbing quick circles on your swollen bud of nerves. your back arches slightly, words stuck in your throat as you watch him lean down and bury his face between your legs.

your thighs instantly shake and jerk. the feeling of his wet tongue pressing flat against your clit to replace his fingers sends a whole new feeling up and down your spine. his eyes flutter shut as he teases and sucks on your clit. the tip of his tongue feeling pointy as he flicks it along the bud.

you bite your lip hard, refusing to let out any sounds. but it builds and builds in the back of your throat. you feel yourself slowly melt and succumb to him and you're in awe of it. all he is doing is licking your clit like a cat licking milk but it feels amazing. you can't describe it but the way your body is feeling and responding to felix is embarrassing.

the built up moan is let free as you feel two of his fingers circle and tease your sopping hole. your arousal gathers on his fingers as he licks and sucks on your clit like a starved man. he teases your entrance before removing his fingers and moving his head lower down.

you watch him with beady eyes. his hands plant on your inner thighs, keeping them stretched wide apart as he licks a long, wet strip from your entrance to clit. your arousal gathers on his tongue, heightening his senses and satisfying his taste buds. he doesn't want to admit it but he can't deny that he loves the way you taste. his body is reacting on its own, his own mind slowly fogging over and becoming hazy.

he's teetering on the edge of becoming feral and it's only a matter of time.

he didn't think it was possible. felix has tasted many before and no one has made me respond, think or feel the way you do. is it because of the weird ‘i hate you’ type relationship that's making it even more exciting for him.

watching someone hold themselves proudly and sneer at everyone with jealousy that pines of him, slowly crumble and succumb to him in a matter of seconds. he loves it more than he likes to admit.

“f-felix..” his ears perk up as he looks at you. he swallows thickly at the sight of your glowing skin and your flushed cheeks. he groans deeply, a groan that ripples through your body and causes you to throb.

“fuck.” he mumbles repeatedly to himself. his tongue laps at your entrance, lapping up any arousal that spills. it coats his tongue and fills him with greed. the more he tastes, the more he wants.

his cock throbs and twitches in his trousers. he wants relief – sweet sweet relief but he has to wait until the bet is fulfilled.

his tongue dives in and out of your pussy. his fingers digging into the skin of your thighs, leaving bruises. you reach down to tangle your hand into his hair. you tug at the strands, removing the headband from before.

you moan his name like a symphony. you dont hide how much you want and need him, at this point it's pointless. the air around you both is so thick with lust and want, that it's suffocating and clear sign of the desire you both share for one another.

one hand on your thigh disappears and you feel fingers around your entrance again. felix is back on your clit, his face buried deep between your legs. he sucks, licks and spits on your cunt. his saliva and your arousal coating his chin and lips nicely.

as he caresses and plays with your clit, he slowly pushes one finger inside your tight entrance. you gasp at first, toes curling a little at the feeling of something foreign entering you; but you soon relax once his finger slowly pushes in and pulls out.

“relax.” he purrs. you do as instructed, allowing yourself to be completely consumed in the feeling. this makes it a tad bit easier for felix to finger you, your entrance slowly loosening and becoming wetter for him. “there we go. nice to know my pet can behave.”

“i’m not your p-pet.” you stutter.

“not yet.” he smirks between gently nibbling on your well stimulated clit. he slowly and gently inserts a second finger, hooking them against your walls and moving them slowly.

the whole stimulation is enough to make you cum. he's not moving at a pace you'd enjoy but it's making you feel foggy, like he has a spell on you.

you watch felix close his eyes and turn his attention on pleasuring you. his fingers pick up the pace and your body tingles with pleasure. your stomach dips and your hands are quick to pull his hair harshly. thighs shake, body feeling electrified and skin feeling like hot molten lava. your orgasm is fast approaching.

it burns in the pit of your stomach. you feel dizzy with all the intense lust. you tighten around felix's fingers as well as throb. your cunt sounds wet and sloppy and is mixed in with the sounds of the many moans and groans from you and felix.

felix smirks against your cunt. hot breathy moans fan against your skin as he drives his fingers in and out of you fast, driving you closer and closer to your orgasm.

at first, you decided to act tough and see how long you could last. you didn't want to crumble and give felix the satisfaction of knowing he'd win. however, all rationality flew out of the window the moment you felt his mouth on you.

“felix. i-i can't!” you pant, desperately. he knows by the way you have a vice grip around his fingers. how your hips are bucking against his face and your walls fluttering around his fingers.

felix just gives a simple and satisfying hum. he watches your eyes flutter shut. he feels his hair being tugged harshly at the roots. in one long breathy moan, your orgasm hits you.

you moan, shake and whimper. felix fingers you and sucks your clit throughout the process, helping to drive your orgasm out a little more. your walls flutter and pulse around his fingers as your thighs shake and threaten to close around his head. his digits get soaked in your arousal and you gently push him away by placing your hand on his forehead due to the sensitivity of your clit.

felix pulls away slowly with a smug look on his face. he kneels between your legs as he makes eye contact with you and sucks on his two fingers. he moans at the taste of your arousal and you feel your body burning up at the embarrassing, yet sexy, gesture.

“seems like i've won.” you roll your eyes.

“whatever.” you mumble. felix dislikes your tone and he grabs your face roughly and growls.

“that’s no way to speak to your master, pet.” you struggle to look away. your cheeks being smushed together for a second before he lets go and travels his hand down to your neck.

your breath hitches in your throat as he squeezes the sides slowly before tightening his grip slowly. your eyelids flutter, oxygen slowly depleting and making you feel dizzy and hazy.

with his free hand, he pulls down his trousers and underwear. he wraps his hand around his hot and throbbing cock and pumps himself a few times, letting out a few grunts.

he lets go of your neck and you feel the oxygen returning back to your lungs. felix swallows a little, his hand pumping him at an uncontrollable fast pace.

“fuck..” his head dips and he swallows as he looks at your glistening cunt. he wants to fuck you so badly, the want and need making him feral. he squeezes your thigh as well as squeezing his cock at the base. his skin is hot against the palm of his hand, tip wet and leaking pre-cum. he throbs several times in his hand and his hips buck.

maybe it's the sight in front of you that drives you to do it but you lean back a little, legs spread wide as you use two fingers to part your labia. felix's eyes widen as he watches your entrance pulsate and throb; it looks so fucking welcoming.

“it’s ok.” you purr. “you can use me. i am your pet after all.”

“i don't… i don't have condoms.” he stutters.

“i'm on birth control. it's ok.” felix's rationality and common sense snaps. he grabs the base of his dick and gives your swollen and sensitive clit a few slaps with his length. your body jolts with each slap before feeling him rub his length up and down between your puffy folds.

felix hisses as his tip enters you, his thickness stretching you which causes you to hiss at the burn. he pushes half his length in slowly before stopping to give you time to adjust.

as he waits, he shakes. the tightness of your cunt grips around him makes it hard for him to maintain his composure (not like he had any left.) your walls feel gummy and hot with added wetness that coats and hugs his penis so deliciously.

you look up at him with doe eyes and nod. “please move.” you stutter.

felix also nods before slowly moving his hips. his shaft strokes your walls slowly and gently. your brows scrunch up a little due to you not being completely used to the stretch. felix reaches down and toys with your clit with the pad of his thumb slowly. he rubs slow circles on the swollen bud and the added stimulation helps as the pain subsides and pleasure takes over your body.

“f-fuck!” you moan out. you rest on your back, head tilted to the side. felix picks up the speed slowly, his head kicking back as deep and long moans erupt from the back of his throat. his mind slowly turns foggy, his body tingling with pleasure.

you feel so warm and snug around his cock. he dares push all his length in, bottoming out in you. your eyes widen a little but are quick to flutter close. felix is thrusting roughly and fast. the sounds of skin on skin and your arousal mixing together with the moans and groans.

the background becomes a distance and fuzzy sound. the sound of cars passing by and pedestrians humming in your ears. you're hyper aware of your body and how good you feel alongside felix's touch. his hands caressing your hips and thighs. fingers on your clit to toy with.

“god i never knew you could feel this good around me.” he groans. you simply hum, your words drying up in the back of your throat.

felix holds onto your waist tightly to steady your body as he thrusts harder. your breast bounce with each thrust. your body screaming at you from pleasure.

“ah ah! fuck, felix!” you babble. felix grins and leans over you, his forearms planting firmly by the side of your head.

“are you enjoying yourself, pet?” you look up at him and nod.

“yes. you feel good. mhm, so good. more, want more. i want to be your pet forever.” you shamelessly admit. felix swallows thickly before letting out a shaky and hot breath. he leans down and buries his face into the crook of your sweaty neck.

“be careful yn. your words are dangerous to me right now.”

you pant heavily and reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair. your walls flutter around felix's length as his cock twitches a few times in you. his movements are sloppy and slow. the pit of his stomach tightening with each thrust.

felix feels so deep inside of you that he is stroking untouched territory. it's driving you insane and with your earlier orgasm, you're sensitive and your second orgasm is quickly approaching.

you tighten around felix, your stomach dipping and thighs shaking. you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. felix kneels back up, hands back on your hips as he resumes the fast and hard thrusts to help drive both of you closer to orgasm.

“cum!’ you choke out. your walls flutter around felix, thighs shaking as you moan loudly. it hits you hard, knocking the air out of your lungs and for you to hear a faint buzz in your ears. felix rubs your clit through your orgasm to help you, your arousal soaking the skin of his shaft.

you push away his hand gently as you come down. your body feels heavy, exhausted and sweaty. you lean up and rest your hands behind you to support your weight as you watch felix chase his orgasm.

his brows scrunch together. sweat drips down his temples as his hair sticks to his forehead and back of his neck. his grip on you is tight, leaving bruises behind. he opens his eyes slowly and groans, quickly pulling out and ejaculating on your breasts and stomach.

his hips bucks with each shot, hand around his penis as he pumps himself. his head flops to the side as he pants and moans. once calm, he opens his eyes and bites his lip.

“before you say anything, yes i know you said you're on birth control, but still. the appeal of seeing my pet cover in my cum is just hotter than i imagined.”

you look to the side to avoid his gaze as you slowly feel embarrassed and shy. right now, you want to go home, take a shower and go to bed.

as if on qué, the lights in the office light up and the sound of the air conditioning buzzing away is a relief. you and felix look at each other triumphantly.

you can finally go home!

“hey, uhm–” you look up at felix as he fixes himself. he looks at you, his cheeks red and stroking the back of his neck.

“yes?”

“uhm.. do you perhaps want to come back to my place?” you raise your brow.

“why? want to go for round two?” you smirk as you watch his cheeks go even redder.

“n-no! i mean, well, maybe but that's not why i suggested it. you're probably sore and well, i did y’know–” he gestures at your breasts and stomach “i do feel a little responsible for you, so please come back to mine. you can use my shower and wash up. i can cook up something to eat and you can borrow some of my clothing for the night.”

“and where will i sleep?”

“in my bed. i’ll sleep on the sofa.” your eyes widen a little. maybe you've had felix all wrong this whole time. something seems different about him right now, whether that be the adrenaline and hormones slowly calming down but he seems so gentleman-like.

“sure.” you shrug. “might as well take you up on that offer.” felix grins before helping you dress and stand back on your feet.

“please take good care of me, felix.”

“don’t worry yn. i always take good care of my pets.”

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