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cheftsunoda · 13 days ago

Note

someone stop me, i’ve got too many ideas

max x reader x kelly

reader is also the kid of a former f1 driver (maybe Senna or Schumacher) i have absolutely no ideas for a plot, maybe the relationship is exposed while max is streaming idk, love ya

hearts don’t always break in two — mv1 + kelly piquet

smau+blurbs

max verstappen x !schumacher reader x kelly piquet

yn and max have known each other since age 5. they had been there for each others ups and downs and even fell in love. max and yn dated from age 15 to 17 and then the world became too much. yn got busy with her modeling career and max busy with racing. but feelings like theirs don’t just fade. max never stopped loving yn, not even when he fell for kelly. and yn—despite the string of men she tried to lose herself in—never stopped loving max either. as for kelly? she always knew. she saw the way max looked at yn, felt the electricity in the room when they were near. and oddly enough… she didn’t mind. the schumacher girl had a pull of her own—one kelly found impossible to resist.

fc : annie.shr on ig

(a/n) : omg baby you have the best ideas. i literally was so excited to write this one that i dropped everything else i was doing. love you dearly and i am working on your alexandra request as we speak. and highkey i think this is some of my best writing like to date. so i hope you enjoy. put my whole pu$$y into this.

also ik ppl have mixed feelings about kelly but please no hate. she is the mother of max’s child and you do not know her personally. she is a beauty and max is clearly very in love with her so all that matters is he is happy! thank uuu:)

—

gossiproomx

3,090,201 likes.

gossiproomx : in honor of yn schumacher making her return to the paddock this weekend— i am reliving my maxyn phase because they are my faves and will never be forgotten. (i have nothing against kelly— these two were just endgame for me) (still are) (max pls kiss her when you see her. i need it)

—

view 287,090 other comments.

username00 : if max doesn’t spiral the second he sees her, what’s the point.

username0 : these pics raised a whole generation of delusional wattpad girls and i stand by that.

username1 : max looking at yn the way he used to would cure 85% of my problems. the other 15% would be solved if she looked back.

username5 : mick walking around this weekend knowing everyone is watching his sister and max like 👨‍🦯👨‍🦯👨‍🦯

username7 : maxyn was my roman empire and it still is. i think about that pic of them on the floor every single day.

username10 : if max doesn’t fold the second he hears her voice i’m boycotting red bull.

username11 : @/lando film updates pls.

↳ lando : no. fuck you guys. you are never appreciative for what i give. always bitching that its too shaky or not in focus. im doing the lords work just shut up and be grateful

liked by username11 and gossiproomx

↳ gossiproomx : pleaseeee lan. we will be nice.

↳ lando : doubt it. im only filming for myself so i can rewatch it and cry.

liked by username11 and gossiproomx

—

f1gossipgirls

5,100,203 likes.

f1gossipgirls : YN Schumacher has officially made her paddock comeback, arriving alongside her brother Mick. So far, she’s been spotted catching up with Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton in the Ferrari garage, and even seen chatting with Lando Norris and his dad. Notably absent from her rounds? Any proximity to the RedBull garage… Max, blink twice if you’re suffering. We’ll keep you updated as the drama unfolds.

—

view 750,072 other comments.

username00 : “notably absent from the red bull garage” no because my heart hurts.

username0 : kelly better be gripping that man’s hand for dear life rn.

username1 : she looks so beautiful 😭 every time i see her, mick or gina i just want to hug them and pinch their cheeks

username5 : no but like. imagine being max and seeing her laugh with lando. i’d crash the car immediately.

username7 : mick showing up with yn like a protective german golden retriever we love to see it.

redbullracing : i have sent out like 5 brand reps to try and collect her but no one has reported back to me. i love them as much as you do.

liked by f1gossipgirls

↳ username00 : admin you’re so funny pls don’t go bald or lose your job

↳ redbullracing : trying my best💔

liked by username00 and f1gossipgirls

username10 : the way he’s probably just watching her from behind the screen like 😐🧍‍♂️ baby come back

username11 : @/lando wtf are you doing?? you’re supposed to be playing wingman not charming her.

↳ lando : can’t help that the ladies love me 😎

liked by username11 & f1gossipgirls

↳ username11 : if you don’t do something i am hiring an etsy witch. say goodbye to that wdc

↳ lando : OKAY OKAY. ILL FIGURE IT OUT JEEZ.

liked by username11 and f1gossipgirls

—

It felt like every step I took was echoing in my chest. The paddock hadn’t changed much—still buzzing with energy, still filled with the scent of fuel, sunscreen, and over-priced espresso. But somehow, it all felt different this time. Maybe because I wasn’t seventeen anymore, trailing behind Max like his shadow. Maybe because the ghosts of who I used to be were waiting for me around every corner.

Mick walked beside me, hands in his pockets, silent but steady—like he always was. I could feel the tension in his shoulders though. Protective older brother mode had been activated. He’d barely let me breathe since I stepped off the plane yesterday.

“You good?” he asked under his breath as we passed the Haas hospitality unit.

I gave him a small nod. “Yeah. It’s just… weird.”

He looked down at me. “We don’t have to stay long.”

I shook my head. “No. I need to do this.”

And I did. For myself. For the girl who used to dream about these paddock walks and race weekends. For the version of me who had fallen in love here, and the one who had left with a broken heart still beating for someone who wasn’t mine anymore.

The Ferrari garage was the first familiar refuge. Charles spotted us before we even reached the entrance and immediately pulled me into the kind of hug that squeezed the air out of my lungs.

“Finally,” he muttered into my hair. “We missed you.”

“You mean you missed me,” I teased, pulling back.

“No, Lewis did too,” he said, smirking.

Right on cue, Lewis appeared like a vision in head-to-toe Ferrari gear, sunglasses on, arms open.

“Long time, Schumi,” he said warmly, enveloping me in a hug that made me feel eight years old again, watching him battle my dad on the track.

“You two are being nice. Suspiciously nice,” I said with a raised eyebrow as Charles handed me a coffee.

“Because you look like you haven’t slept in a week and we’re trying not to scare you off,” Lewis said softly, his tone shifting. “You okay?”

I wanted to lie. I always did. But something about standing there, surrounded by two people who knew, made it impossible.

“I’m here. That’s… something.”

Charles reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’re stronger than you think.”

I wasn’t so sure. Because every time someone looked over my shoulder, I felt my body brace—hoping, dreading, needing to see him. But he wasn’t there. And that was worse.

After an hour or so, Mick and I wandered toward the McLaren garage, where we nearly bumped into Lando and his father, Adam.

“YN?” Lando grinned, eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas. “Holy shit, you’re really here.”

I smiled. “In the flesh.”

He pulled me into a quick hug and stepped back, looking me up and down like he was trying to process it.

“Jesus, Max is gonna—” He stopped himself, glancing at Mick. “Never mind.”

I forced a laugh, but my chest tightened.

Lando’s dad, Adam, stepped forward, all charm and warmth. “You look so much like your mother,” he said with a soft smile. ��It’s good to see you again.”

“You too,” I replied, surprised by how sincere I felt.

We chatted for a few minutes—Lando throwing in a few ridiculous jokes, Mick side-eyeing everyone like he was five seconds away from tackling anyone who so much as mentioned Max’s or my Father’s name.

But even with all the friendly faces, the familiar laughter… there was still a hollow ache. Because I hadn’t seen him. Because I wasn’t sure I could handle it when I did. Max Verstappen had always been gravity to me. Even when I tried to fly away. I glanced across the paddock for the hundredth time, my eyes lingering on the empty stretch between the McLaren and Red Bull garages. He wasn’t there. Not yet. But he would be. And when that moment came… I honestly didn’t know whether I’d fall apart—or fall back into him.

—

I thought I’d escaped for the day. Lando and Mick had been playing their roles as protective older brothers- keeping me as far away from Max as possible. I stopped when I noticed a small girl appear next to me.

“Miss Schumacher?”

I turned, instinctively straightening my shoulders. The rep looked young. Nervous. Holding a tablet like a shield.

“I… uh, sorry to bother you,” she stammered. “But… Max asked if you could… come by. Just for a few minutes.”

My heart fell into my stomach.

“Now?” I asked, voice tight.

She nodded. “He said just… you. He didn’t want to cause a scene.”

Lando’s eyes narrowed instantly. “She doesn’t owe him anything—”

“It’s fine,” I cut in, my voice quiet. “I’ll go.”

Lando looked ready to argue, but I gave him a look. One I hoped said—Please don’t make this harder than it already is.

So I followed the Red Bull rep through the maze of motorhomes and hospitality tents, every step heavier than the last. My mind raced with possibilities. What would I say? What would he say? Would Kelly be there? Did he want to apologize? Or worse—say goodbye? We stopped in front of a nondescript meeting room. The rep gestured to the door, then backed away. I hesitated. And then I opened it. It was silent inside. Cool. Dim. Just one chair pulled out at the table. A water bottle. And him. Max. He was standing with his back to me, facing the far wall, like he was afraid if he looked at me too soon, he’d break.

“Max?” I said, voice barely above a whisper.

He turned slowly. And the second our eyes met, it felt like everything inside me cracked open. He looked tired. Not physically—but in that way you only get when you’ve been carrying something for too long. His eyes—still impossibly blue—held something I wasn’t ready for. Relief. Pain. Love.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said softly.

“I wasn’t sure I should,” I replied.

Silence settled between us like a storm cloud.

“I didn’t know how to do this,” he admitted, stepping closer. “I thought maybe if I just… saw you. If I could look at you again and remember how to breathe—maybe I could finally say everything I never did.”

My hands curled into fists at my sides. “Then say it.”

He swallowed hard, eyes never leaving mine. “I’m sorry. For letting you go. For not fighting harder. For pretending I could ever love someone else the same way.”

My chest tightened. “You didn’t pretend very well.”

Max’s eyes closed for a second, like the truth physically hurt.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said. “You were modeling in Milan, Paris, New York. You were becoming you, and I didn’t want to be the reason you held back. And then Kelly came into my life, and—”

“You fell in love with her,” I whispered.

“I did,” he said honestly. “But I never stopped loving you.”

A single tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. Max stepped forward instinctively, but paused like he didn’t know if he still had the right.

“You were everywhere,” I said. “Every man I dated. Every time I stood in front of a camera and tried to smile. You were always in the room, even when you weren’t. And she knew, didn’t she?”

He nodded. “Kelly’s smarter than I’ll ever be. She never asked me to stop loving you. She just… hoped I could figure it out.”

“And did you?”

“I did the second I saw you again,” he whispered. “I never really stopped being yours, YN.”

The silence between us stretched. Painful. Beautiful. I took a step forward.

“You broke my heart,” I said.

“I know.”

“And I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“But I still love you.”

He breathed in sharply. Like he’d been holding his breath for years and finally exhaled.

“Then let me try,” he said. “Not to erase the past. Just… to prove I’m worth a future.”

I didn’t answer. But I didn’t leave. And when he finally reached for my hand, I let him. Because maybe love didn’t need to be perfect. Maybe it just needed to survive long enough to come home.

—

I left before he could say anything else. Before I could change my mind. Before my heart betrayed me more than it already had. My fingers trembled as I opened the door and stepped into the sunlight, everything suddenly too loud—too sharp. The weight of Max’s words still clung to my skin like smoke. My chest was tight, lungs refusing to work properly as I wove through the paddock. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have let him say all those things. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have let myself believe, even for a second, that we could rewrite a story already written in ink. Because Kelly still existed. And she wasn’t a footnote. She was a chapter he chose. Even if he claimed he never stopped loving me—he didn’t stop loving her either. And I couldn’t live with being the person who cracked something that hadn’t even shattered yet. A sob escaped my throat as I ducked behind one of the trailers, pressing my hand to my mouth. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. Especially not here. Not in this place, where strength was currency and weakness became headlines.

“YN?”

I froze.

And then a beat later—

“YN.”

Mick.

I wiped at my face furiously, turning just as he rounded the corner, worry etched deep into every line of his expression. His gaze swept over me—red eyes, trembling hands, broken posture—and something in him snapped.

“Who do I need to kill?”

I laughed. It was wet, bitter, short-lived.

“No one,” I croaked. “Not yet, anyway.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “What happened? Did someone say something to you? Was it Max?”

I looked away, which told him everything he needed to know.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, jaw locking. “I told Lando to keep him away. I told him—”

“It wasn’t Lando’s fault. Max asked for me. I thought I could handle it,” I said quietly. “But I was wrong.”

Mick’s expression softened just slightly, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. He was vibrating with fury—protective, sharp-edged fury that only brothers were capable of.

“He hurt you again?”

“No,” I whispered. “That’s the worst part. He told me everything I ever wanted to hear.”

Mick blinked. “So…?”

“So I can’t ruin what he has with Kelly. I won’t.”

“Are you serious?” he snapped. “You’re sobbing behind a trailer and he’s walking around with two women’s hearts in his hands. You think you’re the villain in this story?”

“I think I’m the only one trying not to be selfish.”

Mick exhaled hard, dragging a hand through his hair. “You always do that. You put everyone else’s happiness ahead of your own. Even when it kills you.”

“I’d rather break myself than break them,” I said, voice barely audible.

He stared at me for a long moment. “That’s not love, YN. That’s martyrdom.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because maybe I was the villain. Or the coward. Or maybe just the girl who never stopped loving someone she was never supposed to belong to. Mick pulled me into a hug, and for the first time all day, I let myself fall apart in someone else’s arms.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into my hair. “Even when he doesn’t.”

And I clung to that. Because right now, it was the only truth I had.

—

The house was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made your ears ring. That made your thoughts too loud. I’d been pacing the same living room floor for nearly an hour, hands twisting the hem of one of Mick’s old hoodies I’d stolen years ago. I hadn’t turned on the lights. I didn’t want brightness. I didn’t want clarity. I wanted to disappear into the dark and pretend I didn’t still feel Max’s voice in my bones.

I didn’t mean to call. My fingers just moved. Like muscle memory. The way they always did when everything got too much. The phone only rang once before he picked up.

“Liebling?” Sebastian’s voice cracked something wide open in me.

“Hi,” I said, trying to sound normal.

I failed. I always failed with him. And maybe that’s why I loved him so much.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said gently, like he was already sitting next to me with a cup of tea and that soft little crease in his brow.

“I saw Max today,” I whispered.

Silence. And then a soft, steady breath on the other end. “Ah.”

I sat on the couch, pulling my knees to my chest. “He told me he never stopped loving me.”

Sebastian didn’t speak.

“He said… he loves her too. But that he was always mine first. And part of me wanted to believe it so badly. Part of me wanted to run straight into his arms and pretend it would be enough this time. But I couldn’t. I just… couldn’t.”

“I know,” he said softly. “Of course you couldn’t.”

“I wanted to,” I admitted. “God, I wanted to. But she’s good. She’s kind. And I’m not selfish enough to shatter her life just to glue mine back together.”

“YN…” His voice was so heartbreakingly gentle. “You think loving someone that deeply is selfish?”

“I think trying to take him back when he already belongs to someone else would be.”

“You’re not trying to take anything,” he said. “You’re just trying to feel, and that’s not a crime. You’re allowed to want things, even if they hurt.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What if I’m always the one hurting?”

“You won’t be,” he promised. “Not forever. You are not someone people forget, YN. You’re someone people carry with them—like a compass. Like a melody they can’t get out of their head.”

“Even Max?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Especially Max.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks again. I didn’t even try to wipe them.

“I’m tired, Seb,” I whispered.

“I know you are, Schatz.”

There was a pause. And then, “Your dad would’ve told you to kick Max in the shins and then make him work for it.”

I laughed through the tears, chest aching with the sound. “You’re not wrong.”

“And I’m telling you,” he said firmly now, “that you don’t owe anyone anything. Not even him. You just owe yourself the grace to heal.”

I closed my eyes and let his words sink into me like sunlight on skin.

“I miss you,” I said.

“I miss you too,” he replied. “Now go drink some tea, take a long shower, and text me when you’re safely in bed. Or I will call Mick and ask him to camp out on your floor like you’re twelve again.”

I smiled for the first time in hours. “Fine. Bossy.”

“Only because I love you.”

“I love you too, Seb.”

And when we hung up, I sat in the quiet again. But this time… it didn’t feel so heavy.

—

third person pov

Kelly Piquet wasn’t blind. She had always known that YN Schumacher was more than just a chapter in Max’s life. She wasn’t even a past tense. YN was a pulse. A thread running beneath everything. And today, when Max came back from the Red Bull motorhome quieter than usual—less like a man, more like a ghost—Kelly didn’t need to ask what had happened. She just knew. He didn’t speak when she walked into the room. His shoulders were hunched, fingers interlaced tightly, jaw ticking like he was holding his breath. It was the most unsettled she’d seen him in a long time. She took a seat across from him on the couch, crossed one leg over the other, and tilted her head thoughtfully. No fire. No ice. Just the cool, unreadable stillness that came with already knowing the answer.

“You saw her,” she said softly.

Max glanced up. “Yeah.”

Kelly smiled—small, but not unkind. “And?”

“I told her I never stopped loving her.”

A beat of silence. Kelly nodded like she’d been expecting it. “And she?”

“She left. In tears. Said she didn’t want to ruin what you and I have.”

“Ah,” Kelly hummed. “Very her.”

Max’s brow furrowed. “You’re not… mad?”

Kelly’s laugh was quiet and almost amused. “No, Max. I’m not mad.”

“But I—”

“You love her,” she said plainly. “You have for a long time. You tried to bury it. I tried to ignore it. But it was always there, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Kelly leaned back into the couch, her gaze steady. “I always knew you were hers. Not because you didn’t love me, but because there was a part of you I never had. And I don’t want to be with someone who still belongs to someone else, even if they’re too scared to say it out loud.”

Max swallowed hard, throat tight. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she said with a shrug. “But love doesn’t ask for permission. It just shows up and wrecks the room.”

She stood slowly, graceful as ever, and moved to the window, looking out at the paddock. “You know what I think?” she asked.

He looked at her cautiously. “What?”

“I think you two are too damn stubborn for your own good. She’s busy trying not to hurt me, and you’re busy trying not to hurt anyone, and in the meantime, you’re both bleeding out for no reason.”

He blinked.

Kelly smiled, just a little. “Max. Be honest about what you feel. I’m not walking away over the truth.”

Max blinked, uncertain. “You’re… staying?”

“I didn’t say I’d stay forever,” she replied calmly. “But I’m not going to run just because your heart is messy. People are messy. And I’ve always known part of you belonged to her.”

She walked over and touched his arm—light, controlled, nothing desperate in the gesture.

“I didn’t fall for you expecting neat and easy,” she said. “And I’m not afraid of history, Max. I’m afraid of silence. Of pretending. So don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself.”

Max looked down at her, guilt tightening his features. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And yet you’re doing it anyway,” Kelly said softly. “Not with YN. But with how long you’ve been pretending she’s not in every room with us.”

He exhaled, almost broken. Kelly’s fingers curled gently around his. “So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to take a breath. You’re going to stop spiraling. And we’re going to figure this out together. Like grown-ups. Not like the scared kid you were when we started this.”

“You’re okay with me loving her?” Max asked, voice raw.

“Not necessarily,” Kelly said, with a dry smile. “But I’m okay with the truth. Because if there’s any chance you can close that door—with clarity, not confusion—then I want you to do it.”

“And if I can’t?” he whispered.

Kelly’s expression didn’t flicker.

“Then we’ll decide what that means. But not like this. Not in guilt. Not in chaos. We don’t end like that.”

Max stared at her, the weight of everything between them heavier than ever. And yet… her steadiness grounded him.

Kelly leaned in, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Go to her, Max. But do it with your eyes open. And come back to me with answers. Not ghosts.”

She stepped back, still looking at him like she knew exactly what this meant. Like she’d already done the math. And she wasn’t afraid of the result.

—

your pov

I wasn’t expecting anyone. The day had been long—emotionally draining in that slow, silent kind of way that made your chest ache without reason. I’d finally let myself unwind: hoodie on, hair wet, popcorn in hand, and some random Formula E replay humming in the background just loud enough to distract my brain from wandering back to Max. Always Max. So when the knock came, soft and polite but firm, I froze. No one knocked like that unless they were very sure of what they wanted. I set the popcorn down and padded barefoot to the door, a strange sense of déjà vu tightening in my stomach. I opened it—And there she was. Kelly.

Elegant, poised, unreadable. Standing at my door like she belonged there, like this wasn’t the weirdest, most emotionally charged fever dream of a moment I could imagine.

“Hi,” she said softly. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

She looked perfect, of course. Calm and expensive and untouched by the kind of spiral I’d been living in since I left Max in that room. Meanwhile, I was in yesterday’s sweats and a hoodie with a small tear in the sleeve.

Still, I stepped back. “Um… no. Do you… want to come in?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with that,” she said gently, already scanning the inside of my flat like she was taking mental notes. “I just wanted to talk.”

Something inside me said don’t, but I nodded anyway. “Sure.”

She walked in slowly, like she was floating. There was no tension in her body, no anger. That, somehow, was worse. Kelly didn’t sit. She wandered. Paused at the framed photo of Mick and me as kids. Glanced at the cluttered bookshelf. Her eyes lingered on a little trinket Max had given me when we were seventeen. I felt suddenly exposed. Like I hadn’t cleaned up enough, like I hadn’t guarded enough. Finally, she turned to face me.

“I’ve wanted to meet you properly for a long time,” she said, voice low and even.

I frowned, unsure if I should sit or stand or melt into the floor. “Why now?”

Her smile was small, soft, and far too knowing. “Because now I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

My stomach dropped.

“I’d rather understand than pretend,” she added.

I looked down, heart thudding uncomfortably. “I never wanted to come between you and Max.”

“I believe you,” Kelly said, stepping closer, her tone kind. Not warm, exactly. But kind. “That’s part of why I’m here.”

I didn’t know what to say. I felt like I was being dissected—but politely. Elegantly.

She studied me for a moment longer. “He’s loved you for a long time. But that doesn’t scare me.”

I blinked. “It doesn’t?”

“No,” she said. “Because love isn’t a contest. It’s a conversation. And I’m not here to fight you, YN.”

She smiled then—soft, almost affectionate.

“I’m here to get to know you.”

I couldn’t stop staring at her. “Why?”

“Because if you’re going to keep holding pieces of the man I love… I’d like to know whose hands they’re in.”

Silence. Then Kelly tilted her head, calm as ever. “Dinner?”

My eyes widened. “Dinner?”

“Just the two of us,” she said, voice velvet-smooth. “Nothing dramatic. I’ll even let you pick the place.”

I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t sure I could. Because somehow, Kelly Piquet inviting me to dinner was more terrifying than if she had shown up screaming. And yet… I nodded. Because a part of me needed to understand her too. And maybe—just maybe—I wanted to see what game she was playing. If it was a game at all.

—

I thought she might cancel. Some part of me assumed the invitation would vanish like a mirage. That she’d come to her senses and realize sitting down to dinner with her boyfriend’s once upon a time—and possibly still—in love with him ex girlfriend was a terrible idea. But she didn’t cancel. She showed up exactly on time. She wore a silky black blouse and dark-wash jeans that looked like they belonged in a Vogue editorial. Her hair was up in that effortless twist. Her earrings were small but sparkling, and her perfume smelled like money, like memory, like danger. I wore something neutral. Simple. Something I wouldn’t regret.

The restaurant was quiet, tucked into a leafy corner of Monaco with candles on every table and linen napkins that made me feel like I should whisper. We got a corner booth, far from prying eyes. The hostess looked at us like she recognized both our faces, but said nothing. Kelly ordered red wine. I didn’t. We didn’t speak at first. Just sat across from each other, quietly flipping through menus that neither of us were really reading.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” I said finally, forcing my voice not to shake.

Kelly glanced up, amused. “I wasn’t sure about you, either.”

I smiled despite myself. “You’re not what I expected.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What did you expect? Cold? Cruel?”

“Maybe. Or passive-aggressive.”

She chuckled softly. “I’m sure I’ve had my moments.”

Silence again. But it wasn’t tense. Not exactly. It felt like a game of chess, where every word was a move and every glance had weight.

“I meant what I said,” she said quietly, tracing her finger along the stem of her wine glass. “I’m not here to accuse you. I’m here because I wanted to know you.”

I nodded. “And what do you think so far?”

Kelly tilted her head. “You’re beautiful. Smarter than people probably give you credit for. And guarded as hell.”

My breath caught.

She smiled like she’d won something. “Did I lie?”

“No,” I admitted. “I just didn’t expect you to be so…”

“Disarming?” she offered.

“Charming,” I said instead.

We ordered food we wouldn’t finish. We talked more than I expected. She asked about modeling, about growing up with Mick, about my father. And when she listened—really listened—it felt like standing under warm light in a room I didn’t realize had been cold.

“You miss him,” she said gently after I mentioned Michael. “Your father. How he was before.”

I blinked back the sudden sting. “Every day.”

She reached across the table then, without hesitation, and touched my hand. It was a small gesture. But it undid me.

“You don’t have to be brave with me,” she said. “I know what it’s like to lose someone and pretend you’re fine. You don’t have to do that here.”

I didn’t answer. I just let her hold my hand a moment longer than polite. And when I looked up, her expression had softened in a way that made my chest ache. There was something else in her eyes now. Not pity. Not suspicion. Curiosity. Admiration. Want. The shift was subtle—but it was there.

“I thought you hated me,” I whispered.

She laughed under her breath. “I tried. You’re incredibly hard to hate.”

I swallowed, pulse picking up. “You flirt like someone who shouldn’t be flirting.”

She leaned in slightly. “And you blush like someone who’s not sure if they want me to stop.”

My breath hitched. The air between us was suddenly electric—quiet, private, dangerous. I didn’t know what to say. Maybe there wasn’t anything to say.

She let the moment linger, then pulled back with a smile like a secret. “I’m not trying to confuse you, YN.”

“You’re doing it anyway.”

Kelly nodded, her eyes still fixed on mine. “I think I’m confusing myself, too.”

We sat in silence again, but this time it hummed. Like something new was being built from the ruins of something old. At the end of the night, when we stood from the table and the waiter brought the check, she paid without hesitation.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, half-laughing.

“I wanted to,” she replied. Then, a pause. “I want a lot of things lately.”

She didn’t elaborate. But as we stepped outside into the cool Monaco air and she walked me to my car, she touched my arm and looked at me with that calm, careful intensity again.

“This isn’t over,” she said softly. “I don’t mean you and Max. I mean… this.”

My throat tightened. “This?”

“You and me.”

Then she smiled, kissed my cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world, and turned on her heel, disappearing into the night like a storm that hadn’t hit yet. And I just stood there, hand pressed to my face, wondering if I’d just walked into a whole new kind of chaos. And if I wanted to.

—

f1gossipgirls

5,031,045 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Well… this was not on our 2025 bingo card. In a twist that no one could’ve predicted, YN Schumacher and Kelly Piquet were spotted having dinner together in Monaco tonight—yes, that Kelly (Max’s current girlfriend) and that YN (his very unforgettable ex). Sources say the two looked remarkably close—smiles, soft touches, deep conversation. No tension, no drama… just chemistry? 👀 If you somehow missed the history— YN and Max were childhood sweethearts turned teenage lovers, and Kelly is his long-term partner now. So what exactly does this dinner mean? We have so many questions. Thoughts? Theories? Prayers? Because we’re not sure the paddock is ready for whatever this is.

—

view 209,552 other comments.

username00 : i wanted drama and instead i’m lowkey shipping them?? like… do i need help?

username0 : sooo does this mean kelly and yn are… 👀 talking? getting along? plotting? falling in love? all of the above?

username1 : not kelly PIQUET joining the yn fanclub?? mother recognized mother. that’s all.

username5 : can someone PLEASE check on max. man probably dropped his Red Bull mid-sip when he saw this

↳ redbullracing : we are on it.

notlando6969 : i just KNOW max is pacing around the kitchen right now like “they’re talking?? about what?? ME???” 🧍🏻‍♂️

↳ username5 : bro stop making burner accounts and go check on your man AND WOMAN.

↳ f1gossipgirls : we know its you lando. cut the shit.

↳ lando : y’all are all so mean.

—

third person pov

Max was sitting on the couch when Kelly walked in—phone still in his hand, screen dimming from the dozens of notifications he hadn’t stopped scrolling through. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at her with that quiet, burning confusion he always got when something mattered too much.

Kelly set her purse down gently. “You saw?”

Max blinked once. “Hard to miss when the entire internet is screaming about it.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look guilty. Just… calm. Collected. Like she had expected this. Max stood slowly. “You went to dinner with her.”

“I did.”

His jaw tensed. “Without telling me.”

Kelly took a step closer. “Would you have let me go if I had?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at her like she was some puzzle he couldn’t figure out. A book in a language he used to know by heart and had forgotten somewhere along the way.

“I just—” Max ran a hand through his hair. “What was that, Kelly? What are you doing?”

She met his eyes, steady. “I’m getting to know her.”

He blinked, breath catching.

“And?” he asked, voice softer, almost a whisper.

Kelly tilted her head, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I think I like her.”

And then she walked past him—unbothered, barefoot, and humming lightly under her breath as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Leaving Max standing there, stunned and still very, very unsure of what was happening. Or what was coming next.

—

yn_schumacher

liked by kellypiquet, mickschumacher, maxverstappen1 and 9,002,007 others.

yn_schumacher : photo dump w all my faves

tagged : mickschumacher and kellypiquet

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

4 weeks later

I don’t know what I expected when Kelly invited me over. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t overanalyze the way her voice softened when she said, “Just come. I’ll cook.” I didn’t let myself spiral over the fact that Max would be there. I told myself it was just dinner. Casual. Harmless. But nothing about this situation has ever been harmless. Kelly and I had been together nonstop these last few weeks, both of us catching feelings for each other while we were both still tied to him. The elevator ride up to their apartment felt longer than it should’ve. My reflection in the mirrored walls betrayed every emotion I was trying to suppress—hope, nerves, the tight pull of guilt blooming in my chest. Kelly opened the door barefoot, her hair up in a loose bun, wearing one of those effortless silk dresses she somehow always made look regal. She smiled when she saw me—genuine, like she’d been waiting all day.

“Hi,” she said, and I swear to God, it hit me like a wave every single time.

“Hi,” I managed.

The apartment smelled like garlic and lemon and something faintly sweet. Jazz played softly in the background. There were candles on the table. And Max. He was standing by the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, drink in hand. Still, still Max. Same unreadable expression, same quiet intensity. His eyes found mine the second I stepped inside, and for a moment, it felt like we were sixteen again, hiding from the world and pretending time wasn’t running out.

“Hey,” he said, and it was soft. Almost unsure.

I nodded. “Hey.”

We sat. We ate. The food was good—of course it was, Kelly was good at everything. She carried the conversation with grace, like she knew we were both choking on everything we weren’t saying. Max barely looked at me. I tried to ignore the way it stung. The night wore on like slow honey. Heavy. Sticky. And then, somewhere between wine and dessert, Kelly stood up. She rested a hand on my shoulder, light and lingering, and turned to Max with that careful, pointed look I was learning meant more than she ever let on.

“I’m going to step out for a bit,” she said. “Max…”

She waited. Waited for him to meet her eyes. Then she glanced at me, smiled almost bittersweet, and said, “I know my feelings for her. You tell her yours.”

And just like that, she walked out. Left me alone with the boy I loved before I even knew what love was. Max stared at the table for a long time. He didn’t speak. Neither did I. The silence between us was loud enough to drown out the music still playing from the speakers. I could feel my pulse in my throat. Finally, he looked up.

“Do you ever think,” he started, voice hoarse, “that maybe we weren’t supposed to end?”

It was a whisper. A fracture in time.

I blinked. “All the time.”

He swallowed hard. “When I saw you again… in the paddock… it felt like I was breathing for the first time in years.”

I could feel tears rising, but I refused to let them fall.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I thought I didn’t deserve to. I have Kelly. I had you. And somehow I lost both.”

He stood slowly, walked around the table, and stopped just short of me. I didn’t move.

“Kelly knows how I feel,” he said, voice low. “She always has. But this… you and her… it’s real, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “I didn’t mean for it to be. I didn’t plan it. But it’s… safe. And warm. And she sees me.”

He stepped closer, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. My breath hitched.

“So did I,” he whispered.

I looked up at him, and for the first time in years, I let myself truly see him. Not the world champion. Not the headlines. Just Max. Just my Max.

“I still do,” he said, eyes searching mine.

And before I could speak, before I could stop it or brace for it—he leaned in. And kissed me. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t cautious. It was everything we had buried. Everything we had swallowed for the sake of time and timing and other people. His hands came up to cradle my face like he was terrified I’d disappear. Like he’d waited years for this one breath, this one second, this one sliver of a chance to rewrite history. I kissed him back. Because I’d never stopped loving him. Because the ache had never left. Because nothing in the world had ever felt more right—or more wrong—and I couldn’t bring myself to care.

When we finally pulled apart, our foreheads rested together, breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync.

“I never stopped,” he whispered. “Not once.”

And neither did I. But I couldn’t say it. Not yet. Because I had feelings for Kelly too.

—

The kiss still lingered on my lips like a bruise. Max hadn’t moved, and neither had I. We stood there, pressed together by years of longing and guilt, by feelings we’d never buried deep enough. Our foreheads still touched, our breathing still uneven, our hands still unsure of what came next. I didn’t know how long we stood there. But the sound of the front door opening was like a needle to a bubble. Max pulled back just enough to look at me—eyes wide, like he’d just remembered Kelly existed. Like we’d both forgotten. And then she walked in.

Her feet padded gently against the floor, the scent of her perfume curling through the air before she even appeared fully in the doorway. Calm, composed, radiant. She looked between us, one hand still on the doorknob, expression unreadable. Max took a step back. My stomach dropped. My mouth opened.

“Kelly—”

She tilted her head, eyes flicking to me. “So… I’m assuming you kissed.”

Neither of us responded. She smiled like it wasn’t a surprise.

“Good.”

That caught me off guard. I blinked. “You’re not mad?”

She walked toward us slowly, like this was all happening exactly as she’d expected. Her coat slid off her shoulders and onto a chair. She crossed the room, graceful and unbothered, until she was standing just a breath away.

“No,” she said simply. “Why would I be?”

I swallowed, heat crawling up my neck. “Because I kissed your boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend,” she repeated gently, “has been in love with you since we met. I was never going to compete with that.”

She turned to Max. “And you…” her voice softened, “you’ve loved her longer than you’ve known what love even was.”

Max didn’t deny it. And I couldn’t breathe.

“But you love him,” I said, voice cracking. “You love him and I—” I hesitated, my chest tightening. “I love him too. But I also think I… I might be falling for you. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

There. It was out. Everything. Kelly stared at me for a long moment. The kind of moment where time felt suspended. Then she laughed. Soft and real. Her whole face lit up.

“Darling,” she said, stepping closer and brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, “that was my plan all along.”

I froze. “What?”

“I invited you to dinner that first night knowing what would happen. I knew Max would see you and remember everything he tried to bury. And I knew I would see you and…” She paused, her fingers lingering on my jaw now, eyes impossibly gentle. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”

I stared at her. “But why?”

She smiled. “Because loving one of you was never enough.”

Max was silent behind me, but I felt his presence like a pulse.

Kelly looked between us. “I love him. And I’m in love with you. And you two—God, the way you look at each other…” She shook her head, her voice a whisper now. “You’re everything I want. Both of you.”

My breath hitched. I looked at Max. He was watching Kelly like she’d just rearranged his entire world. Then his eyes met mine again—so full of emotion it made my knees weak.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted, voice shaking. “But I don’t want to lose either of you.”

Kelly stepped forward, wrapping her arms around me. I melted into her like it was second nature. Max joined us a moment later, one arm around my waist, the other slipping around Kelly’s back. The three of us stood there, tangled together, no longer pretending. Kelly’s voice was the last thing I heard before the tears finally slipped free.

“Then we don’t have to choose. Not anymore.”

—

yn_schumacher

liked by kellypiquet, maxverstappen1, lando & 10,001,203 others.

yn_schumacher : when in mexico or whatever they say.

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

maxverstappen1 has added two posts to his story!

seen by yn_schumacher, kellypiquet, mickschumacher and 7,920,115 others.

{caption 1 : beautiful views} {caption 2 : angel}

lando : ?? answer your phone.

↳ maxverstappen1 : no.

↳ lando : oh but you can answer that.

↳ maxverstappen1 : you are lucky i am so blinded by love bc normally i would just threaten to snap you in half.

liked by lando

↳ lando : awwwww have fun maxie

mickschumacher : i have so many words to say and all of them would land me in prison.

↳ maxverstappen1 : you can threaten me when we get back. you can yell all you want.

↳ mickschumacher : looking forward to it.

—

It was early. Not racing weekend early. Just Mexico early. The kind where the sunlight peeked through the gauzy curtains like it was shy, and the only sound was the ocean humming in the distance and the ceiling fan ticking lazily overhead.I was the first one to wake up. Or at least I thought I was, until I shifted and felt Max’s arm tighten around my waist, pulling me back into him with a sleepy groan.

“You’re not allowed to move yet,” he murmured into the back of my neck. “Vacation rule.”

I laughed softly. “What if I have to pee?”

“Hold it,” Kelly’s voice came from the other side of the bed, muffled by a pillow. “Or take me with you.”

I twisted around just enough to look between them. Max’s hair was a mess, falling into his eyes. Kelly had one leg slung dramatically over both of us, her silk sleep shirt barely hanging onto one shoulder. We looked like a tangle of limbs and tangled hearts.

“Okay,” I whispered, smiling, “new rule...no one moves unless it’s for coffee or kisses.”

Kelly rolled over to face me, eyes still half-lidded. “Mmm. I’ll take a kiss.”

I leaned in, pressing a soft one to the corner of her mouth. She smiled lazily, caught my jaw with her hand, and pulled me in for another—longer, warmer. Familiar now, but never dull. Max made a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh behind me.

“Not fair.”

“Then come here, Verstappen,” Kelly said, still grinning, reaching past me to grab at his face.

He kissed her over my shoulder, then kissed me. We were all laughing through it—quiet and content and stupidly in love. Later, we finally rolled out of bed—only because Kelly threatened to starve if we didn’t. Max cooked breakfast shirtless in the outdoor kitchen, and I swear the man did it just to show off. He burned the eggs slightly, but I didn’t care. He looked happy. So did she. We ate on the patio with our feet propped up on each other’s chairs. I took a picture of Max feeding Kelly a bite of fruit, her sunglasses perched on her head, her mouth open in a fake gasp like she was being spoiled.

“I’m posting this,” I warned.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Kelly teased.

“I absolutely would.”

Later that afternoon, we took a boat out. Max drove it like he was qualifying. Kelly kept yelling at him in a mix of Portuguese and English, her arms flailing wildly, laughing too hard to be mad. I held on for dear life, screaming until Max slowed down just to shut us up with kisses and apologies.

There was a moment—just one—when the sun was setting, and the three of us sat in silence at the front of the boat. Max had his arm draped over my shoulders, Kelly’s head rested on my lap. The sky was painted in impossible shades of gold and coral. And all I could think was:

This is the kind of love you never plan for. The kind that breaks every rule, but fits anyway. The kind you fight for. The kind you stay for.

Kelly looked up at me then, eyes glowing in the sun, and whispered, “You look happy.”

I smiled, fingers brushing through her hair. “I am.”

Max kissed the top of my head. “We all are.”

And for once, it wasn’t complicated. It was just us. Exactly where we were supposed to be.

—

maxverstappen1

liked by yn_schumacher, kellypiquet, lando and 14,754,992 others.

maxverstappen1 : hard launch..? or whatever it's called.

yn, my first love, my angel. i do not deserve your forgiveness or love but somehow you found a way to give me both. i will love you forever.

kelly, i don’t think you’ll ever know what you’ve done for me. you loved me when i didn’t have the words, this — all of this — only exists because of your heart. you gave me space to love her, without ever asking me to stop loving you. and now? i get to love both of you, because you believed in something bigger than fear. thank you for being my home.

tagged : yn_schumacher and kellypiquet

—

view 992,547 other comments.

username00 : “my first love, my angel” I am SOBBING in a grocery store rn someone come get me 😭😭😭

username0 : yn and kelly are so hot together. im gay as hell.

username1 : shoutout to kelly piquet for being the most emotionally mature, quietly powerful woman alive.

liked by yn_schumacher

danielricciardo : poly verstappen era was not on my 2025 bingo card but i respect it deeply

liked by maxverstappen1, yn_schumacher and kellypiquet

lando : Never seen Verstappen this soft. I don’t know whether to hug you or roast you.

liked by maxverstappen1, yn_schumacher and kellypiquet

mickschumacher : Still watching you. But… I’m proud of you. Treat her right. Both of them. Always. 🫡

liked by maxverstappen1, yn_schumacher and kellypiquet

yn_schumacher : love you both forever and always. my angels.

liked by maxverstappen1 and kellypiquet

—

yn_schumacher

liked by kellypiquet, maxverstappen1, mickschumacher and 14,090,020 others.

yn_schumacher : since max decided we are hard launching...

i’ve spent a long time trying to outrun the past. trying to forget the way it felt to lose something that once felt like everything. but then max came back into my life…and kelly walked right in like she’d always been meant to stay. i never thought i’d find peace in something so complicated, but loving both of you has been the easiest thing i’ve ever done. max — you were my first love, and somehow still the one who makes me feel safest. kelly — you saw me, truly saw me, and chose me with such softness i didn’t know what to do with it. thank you for giving me space to come home. thank you for making room for love that doesn’t fit inside the lines. this isn’t traditional. it isn’t simple. but it’s ours. and that makes it everything.

tagged : kellypiquet and maxverstappen1

—

user has limited comment access on this post.

maxverstappen1 : you are my heart, always. thank you for loving me again. thank you for choosing both of us. forever.

liked by yn_schumacher and kellypiquet

kellypiquet : and i’ll never stop loving either of you. you are everything, yn. always have been. always will be. 🤍

liked by yn_schumacher and maxverstappen1

mickschumacher : i always knew max would be a schumacher somehow. sigh. happy for you, sis:)

liked by yn_schumacher and maxverstappen1

lando : can someone PLEASE write this into a Netflix special. i’ll fund it.

liked by yn_schumacher and maxverstappen1

↳ yn_schumacher : ily but i am going to block you.

liked by maxverstappen1 and kellypiquet

—

663 notes · View notes

juletheghoul · 8 months ago

Text

primus

a/n: Something a little different, I am obsessed with General Marcus and the idea of him becoming a gladiator. Hope you enjoy this other world I want to live in lol, no beta and barely proofread!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, body / breast worship-Marcus gives it so right🤤, hand-stuff - female rec'g, taking of virginity, (reader is a slave so there is a power imbalance but so is Marcus), gladiatorial violence, nothing graphic- let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 3.4k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

The crowd roars loud enough to deafen, the sound of it like a great wave threatening to wash you out to sea but it's nothing new, you’re used to it. The house you serve, have served since birth, has done well for itself in recent years, all thanks to one Gladiator.

Marcus Acacius, the champion of the house of Romulus.

You’d seen him come in years ago and although you had been little more than a child, even then you could see what he had been reduced to, disgraced and defeated and practically at death's door. He had fought though, Gods knew he had fought. And just as you grew and flowered into a woman, he honed his skills anew, won matches throughout the city and had transformed from the disgraced General of Rome, to a true champion of the people.

You could see it even now, watching him make quick work of the paltry opponents sent to fight him in the arena. He swatted them away like troublesome flies, and the crowd loved him for it. The cup was held out to you, just as the man in the sand raised his sword.

“He really is of a form.” One of the hosts of the games remarked about the man fighting below, and your Domina smiled proudly.

“My husband has taken him and honed him, I dare say none in Rome are his equal.”

“We shall have to see about that.” The guest chuckled, not quite convinced but your Dominus laughed, unperturbed and unconvinced.

“My wife speaks truth, my Ludus has shaped him into a God of the arena.”

They continued their friendly bickering, while you watched the man below, you couldn’t deny his allure despite being more than a few years older than you. He looked up to the pulvanis and saluted to his Dominus, to his Domina, and for a heartbeat it felt as though his eyes locked with yours.

Lightning struck in your belly, the intensity of his gaze, even so briefly made your heart race. Ghostly fingers squeezed at your heart when the opponents fell on him, cornering him until he was surrounded. Attention locked on him despite your station, the laughs and doubts of his victory wreathing through the guests you served turned your stomach.

Deaths in the arena were a guarantee, that was to be sure. Every time your Dominus secured spots for his gladiators in the games it was expected that not all would return, this felt different though. He had to survive, why, you could not be sure.

“Aha! There we are. The legend of him is proved. He is victorious, and my wife’s words are true, as always.” Your Dominus smiles, kissing his wife’s hand as the doubters grumble about luck and ill-trained opponents.

The words flow over you, the only thing that draws your attention is the man standing below you, victorious and whole.

–

“The good wine, fetch it for me girl.” The sun shines through the balcony as your Dominus congratulates the gladiators who returned to the villa victorious. His wife, your Domina, sends you for the wine while he speaks at length of their virtues, stoking the fire of survival and vanity in them.

In truth the games hold no interest for you, never had you particularly enjoyed watching men fight to the death, it was a waste and had you the choice, you would never attend another.

They cheer louder than before when you return with the heavy jug, narrowly avoiding dropping it when he turns and catches your eye once more. Marcus has been invited out of the ludus below, and up into the main house.

He is much bigger than you expect. Tall and broad enough to intimidate anyone but the most surprising thing are his eyes, they are the softest thing about him.

“I would reward you, for your victory, for the honour and wealth you have brought to this house. Name your desire and I shall see it done.”

You pour for your Domina, ears straining to hear his voice.

“You honour me Dominus.” It’s so rich, deep and full of smoke. Your main focus is on not spilling the wine.

“I confess, I have felt a desire of late.” Your ears perk up, eyes following suit and when they meet his, they’re already set upon your face.

“You want her?” Your Dominus looks to you now as well, and you feel like a piece upon someone else’s board, to be moved around at their will.

“Only if she desires me as well.” He bows his head, and despite the tiny bloom of gratitude in your chest, your Dominus laughs.

“If she is what you desire, take her. The guards will lead you to the private quarters below and you may keep her there until the morning. I will have wine and a meal brought for the both of you.” Your Dominus waves a hand and it is done. Your virtue has been gifted to a Gladiator.

Your Domina frowns, but says nothing. She merely watches as you are led away, to spend the night with the former General of Rome.

The quarters are indeed private, but meagre. A lumpy bed, a small table with two chairs, an even smaller table with a large basin full of fresh water and clean linen, and a window. The door closes and your heart jumps into your throat.

“Shall I disrobe and lay on the bed?” You reach for the hem of the tunic, silently praying that he would not be too rough. The prudent thing to do, is to get it over with.

“No, wait-“ his hand engulfed yours, stopping you from reaching down and pulling off the fabric that hides your nakedness from him.

“I would speak a while, come.” He gestures to the table and you frown.

“Do you not desire my virtue? Is that not why you asked for me?”

“Yes, well, in truth I desire your company, as well as your body. I have noticed you of late, you have grown into a beautiful woman and I find my thoughts drifting to you often. Of your voice and of your touch. I dream about you.”

Your eyes widen, shocked into silence by his confession.

“I would have you enjoy our coupling, rather than simply enduring it.” His eyes dart away from your form when the guards bring a platter laden with food and drink, and when he gestures again, you finally sit.

He takes his time cleansing himself of the grit and grime of the arena, scrubbing away until a handsome, lined face appears underneath. Once clean, and armor free he sits with you, and urges you to eat.

It is a silent, slightly tense meal. Your fraying nerves had you mostly picking at the fruit and cured meats. The flutter in your belly kept you from overfilling it.

“How long have you served in this house?” His eyes are bright, curious.

“All my life. I was born in this house.” Your fingers fiddle with the edge of your tunic.

“Are you treated well?”

“I mostly tend to the Domina, she is very kind.” Your eyes drift to the bed, and the bottom of your belly falls again to imagine what he’ll ask of you once his own belly is full.

“You spoke of your virtue, you are as of yet untouched?” His voice lowers, almost apologetic.

“Yes. Well, untouched by anyone, except myself. There have been covert kisses here and there, friendly ones with others of my station.” He says nothing, but his gaze travels the expanse of your body. The slide of them is heavy from your breasts down to the slit in your tunic. His food sits forgotten on the small plate in front of him, and now there is hunger of a different kind on his handsome face.

“Do you find me desirable?” He leans back in his chair, broad and golden from the sun. Heat blooms in your chest, filling the corners of you.

“You are kind upon the eyes, I will not lie.” He smiles at this, and the heat spreads to the place between your legs, the place he will fill soon and a shudder travels along your spine.

“Have you enjoyed my victories in the arena?”

“I confess, I do not favour the games. Watching men kill each other holds no interest for me.” He laughs, surprised yet delighted.

“And yet you live and serve in a ludus, watching gladiators come and go your whole life.”

“The Gods have their reasons, I do not presume to question my place.” You shrug, unable to stop the corners of your lips from pulling up into a shy smile.

“Perhaps it is I who is blessed to end up here, in your company.” He muses and for a moment you cannot face his direct stare. “Come, lovely one. Let us to bed.” He rises, holding out his hand for you, It engulfs yours when you accept and join him.

Butterflies swarm as he guides you to the edge of the bed, the fine hairs all over your arms and legs standing on end when those rough, calloused palms skate softly over the curve of your shoulders. His breath fans over your face as he reaches the bottom of your tunic, pulling it up and off. The urge to bring your arms up over your breasts, to reach down and cup your sex makes your hands shake.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” His hands settle on your hips, squeezing at the flesh for a moment before removing his own layers. The sight of him, naked as you, with his heavy sex hardening before your eyes makes you shiver, part nervous, part exhilarated.

When he lays you down, you part your thighs to make space for him, once again praying the pain won’t be unbearable. The confusion paints your face in a frown as he lays beside you, and not directly on you.

“I would have you wet for me before I slip inside.” His tone, his words send another shiver down your spine before he presses his mouth to yours.

You have kissed before, a soft press of your lips to another, the barest taste of their tongue between rebellious giggles in the dark. Marcus’ kiss is nothing like that. He pulls you close, turning your body to press it to his, the stiff peaks of your breasts meeting the solid wall of his chest as his tongue slips past your open mouth and tangles with your own. For a moment, it is a little awkward but he guides you, pulling away before pressing forward again, leading you in his rhythm.

Your heart races, a curious excitement pooling low in your gut, in the yet untouched place between your thighs. You press them together while he claims your mouth.

When he pulls away, his breath comes out in pants and his sex presses hot and heavy against your belly.

“Lay on your back my sweet.” He kisses your shoulder, and you obey. Now, you think, now he will shove that thing inside me and rip me in half. You swallow thickly at the thought, it is so much thicker now, too big, surely.

He presses kisses to your shoulder, trailing them down to your arm, then the side of your breast before he pulls your nipple into his mouth. The steady suck of his mouth at the hardened peak forms a direct line to your cunt, the ache in it pulling a whimper from your mouth and a huff of self-satisfied laughter from him. Your skin is shiny with his spit when he lets it go.

“Does that feel good?” His hand holds the plump of your breast, tongue flicking against the peak while you nod, mouth-open in a silent stare. “What do you feel?” He sucks at it again, harder this time and a gasp leaves your mouth.

“I feel, hot. Warm all over, and an ache–” You pull in a sharp breath when his teeth pull teasingly at the bud. He soothes with his tongue, pink-cheeked and focused.

“Where do you ache?” He lets go, smoothing his palm in the valley between before holding the other one, and worshiping it just the same.

“I ache–oh, I ache–” It’s hard to focus when he sucks at the other nipple, your thighs pressing together without your permission. He stops, eyes flitting about your face.

“Where do you ache, tell me.”

“I ache here.” He follows your hand as it cups your cunt, the soft, fine hair there soaked in arousal like you have never known. He groans to see it, and then his hand pushes yours away, slipping between your thighs to pull them apart. He leans on his elbow, muscles glinting in the soft candle light as his fingers spread open the lips of your sex, exposing your dark pink insides to his gaze.

“Your pretty little cunt is so much better than I dreamed, spread your legs for me my sweet, I would work her open to take my cock.” Your heart races, your cunt clenches and then his fingers find the crux of you. They swirl slowly around the pert, sensitive pearl of your clit. Your mouth drops open in a silent ‘O’ at the way he manipulates you.

“So wet already.” He lowers his head, lips wrapping around a nipple again as he keeps his slow, maddening circuit. Your hands grip the threadbare linen beneath you, whole body clenching as he shoves you closer and closer to a shattering climax with his slow, delicious circles.

“Doesn’t that feel good? Doesn’t that feel so good, my sweet?” He presses his lips to your neck, whispering into your ear and you nod, frantically, clenching around nothing while the edges of everything blur with the threat of pleasure. Around, and around, and around he swirls, consistent, devastating until you can almost taste it.

Your mouth forms a steady chant of yes, yes, yes, as he continues his gentle exploration between your legs, fat pearly drops of his own arousal slipping against your hip but he is in no hurry.

The ache intensifies, the slick pools at the mouth of your cunt, and it's with a final, wet swirl that your climax washes over you. Your legs clamp shut around his hand, your body folds in on itself with the strength of it but it does not stop him, two thick fingers spear into your fluttering entrance, stretching and drawing out the pleasure of it while you gasp into his kiss.

“Gods above.” You whisper to yourself as the blood pounds in your ears, the warmth of his skin, the slick, rhythmic sound of his fingers working away between your legs stoking the fire once more.

“I could spill just watching you.” He pulls his fingers out, dripping in your lust and shoves them into his mouth. “Sweet as summer wine.” He licks them clean, vulgar and sweet all at once.

Again he reaches between your legs, slipping his fingers inside once more but with his thumb swirling around the crux of you.

He brings you to climax again, more intense with his fingers inside, petting at a divine spot you’ve never touched, and again, he doesn’t stop. He repeats his movements, his tongue flicking at your nipple, or licking into your mouth, until it’s too much and you push his hand away.

“Please, no more–I cannot.” You gasp for breath, skin shiny with sweat, the spot beneath you wet where your arousal has dripped down and soaked through the linen.

He laughs softly, proud and cocky at how many times he made you fall apart under his hand.

“If you would let me, I would do that for days.” He presses another kiss to your shoulder before moving up and settling between your thighs. The nervous flutter intensifies as his cock slips between the mess he’s made of your sex.

“I think you are open enough to take me now, I will try to go slow.” He kneels back on his haunches, lifting one leg up to hold. His fingers curl around the top of your knee, your calf resting on his shoulder as he grips his cock in the other hand.

Your belly trembles, part embarrassed, part excited to be so exposed to his gaze. The blunt end of it slides through your swollen folds, coated in your slick before he notches it and it’s with a slight burn that he slips it in. Inch by inch he presses forward, molding you to accept him, shaping you to fit him like a glove.

“Gods above.” He curses low as he bottoms out, so deep you feel him in your lungs.

Your hands ache from how tightly they grip at the fabric beneath you.

With a shuddering breath he holds himself still, allowing you a moment to get used to the intrusion of him, only a moment.

A sharp thrust pulls a gasp from your lips. His grip on your leg tightens, the other hand slides up and holds onto your hip, steadying you to accept the snapping of his hips.

The flex in his arms, the strong, firm muscles of his thighs pressed up against yours, the sheen of sweat glinting on his face and on his chest, all of it only makes it better, his beauty and his obvious desire for you serve to make you leak around him. You can feel it, dripping down your ass to add to the damp spot beneath you, it collects at the base of him too, drenching the curls there.

Your pants, his heavy breathing, and the vulgar sound of his skin slapping against yours is the song of your coupling. The burn is replaced with a pleasant feeling of fullness. It is not as good as his fingers at your clit but his obvious pleasure adds to your own.

“I’m going to come, going to fuck it deep inside of you.” Sweat drips down his nose and the vision of him, so like when he’s in the arena might push you closer to another climax.

“Here it comes–” He presses your legs up, opening them wider, folding you in half while he fucks into you hard enough to make the bed shake. With a low groan, and a thrust deep enough to hurt, he swells impossibly thicker for a moment before emptying himself inside you.

He shudders, grinding himself deeper as you wince, milking himself inside your body before pulling out and falling onto the bed beside you.

You catch your breath for a moment. Surprised, and grateful that despite there being the edge of violence to his taking you, it wasn’t the brutal, awful experience you were afraid it would be. Considering your station in life, it was quite nice.

“Give me a little while, and I will be ready to take you again.” He turns and presses his lips to your shoulder again.

“Again…? You wish to take me again?” There is clear confusion threaded through your voice, but he laughs, goodnaturedly.

“Oh yes, I have you for this one night, I plan on taking advantage. Did you not enjoy it?” He rests on his elbow, head held in his palm while his other hand skates over your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake as it palms one breast, then the other.

“I enjoyed your fingers, you brought me to climax more than I ever have on my own in a single night.” You curl onto your side towards him, soaking up the warmth of his skin.

“But you did not enjoy my cock?” His hand lands on your hip, holding you there and it’s curiously exciting how much skin he can touch at once.

“It was… a lot.” He laughs, nodding for you to continue. “I liked the fullness of it, but you were very deep. I could feel you in my belly and when you spilled it was intense.” He lets out a groan before pressing forward and stealing another kiss.

“It will feel better, we have to find which position you like best. Which angle you enjoy more.” He pulls you closer, tilting your chin up for another kiss, softer this time.

“What position do you enjoy most of all?” Your hands gravitate to his chest, pressing against it to feel his heart thumping against your palm.

“I am partial to being ridden.” He smiles, lip caught between teeth and heat floods your body to know he is imagining it.

“Why do you favour it?”

“Because I like when a woman takes her pleasure from me, It pleases me, to please her.” You could see it then, his soft eyes staring up in devotion as some faceless woman rides his cock. The longer you think on it, the more that faceless woman starts to resemble you.

“I would have you like that next.” He smiles, and you smile back, nodding.

By the time the sun rises, he has taken you every way you can imagine and your sex is so sore you don’t think you’ll be able to walk without wincing.

When the guards come to take you both back to your respective places, they have to physically pull him away from you, his lips pressed against yours in a goodbye kiss.

“You are the only prize I will ever ask for.” He calls over his shoulder as you smile at him.

For the first time in your life, you are excited about the next games.

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iydiamartinx · 2 months ago

Text

THIS MEANS WAR VII

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 4.8k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: Ngl I struggled slightly this chapter, but I hope y'all enjoyed!

GOTHAM’S CHARITY GALA

You had no idea why you’d agreed to the charity gala in the first place.

You hated galas.

They were suffocating affairs filled with overly expensive champagne, smug smiles, and people who pretended their bank accounts made them saints. Everyone there wanted to be seen—wanted to appear generous, compassionate, noble. But it was all just a show. A glossy, expensive performance for a cause they barely understood and would forget by morning.

The rest of your week had been a blur. You’d been summoned back to the research center on short notice after whispers of a possible breakthrough with the experimental antidote for Joker venom. The work demanded everything—your mind, your focus, your hours. You buried yourself in it so completely that you forgot to text Dick back.

Every day bled into the next. You’d wake up, lecture, research, eat whatever you could find, then collapse into bed just to do it all over again. You hadn’t even remembered the gala until Anthony brought it up casually over coffee, asking if you’d found a dress yet.

Of course you hadn’t.

That was quickly remedied. You found a gown the next day—a royal blue silk piece that clung in all the right places, elegant without being excessive, alluring without trying too hard. Thankfully, you’d already written your speech weeks ago. All that was left was to show up, smile, speak, and survive.

Crowds were never your thing. But years of standing at the front of lecture halls and commanding the attention of restless students had toughened you. You gave the speech. You even got applause. And then?

Then it was just a matter of making it through the next hour before executing a flawless Irish goodbye.

Champagne helped. You snagged a flute from a passing waiter with a practiced ease, the cold glass soothing against your fingers as you weaved toward the buffet. If there was one redeeming quality about rich people—it was their taste in food.

You’d just finished fixing your plate when you turned, nearly colliding with someone.

Your heart jumped as you caught the edge of your dish just in time, the food threatening to topple. “Oh my god! I’m so so—”

You looked up.

Ocean blue eyes met yours.

“Dick!” you breathed, startled. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

His gaze swept down before he could stop it, drawn to the way the deep royal blue hugged your frame. You caught the subtle shift in his expression—the quick darkening of his eyes when they landed on the dress. It was like the universe had chosen that shade with him in mind.

“Wow,” he murmured. “You look… beautiful. That blue, it suits you.”

You felt the heat crawl up your neck and fought the urge to blush. “Thank you.”

“You never texted me back,” he said, his voice softer now, more intimate over the clinking of glasses and hum of chatter.

You gave a small sigh. “I meant to. I really did. But the lab thinks we might be close to something with the antidote. I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone check my phone.”

It wasn’t a lie. You had been buried in work. Buried in pressure.

But still, the guilt gnawed at you.

Because the truth was—while your phone sat forgotten under a pile of lab reports and takeout containers—you’d also been quietly freaking out over the fact that you might be accidentally dating two men at once.

You’d meant to text Dick back. You just… got busy.

And maybe, a little, you panicked.

A slow breath escaped him—relief, not frustration. “Thank God. I thought I’d blown it.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Not yet.”

That crooked, boyish grin spread across his face. “Lucky for me.”

You turned back toward the buffet, needing a break from how he sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach with just a smile. “You hungry?” you asked, more to distract yourself than him. “Because I’m staking claim on that last crab puff.”

“I’m more of a visual feast kind of guy tonight,” he said, still looking at you.

You shot him a look over your shoulder, feigning annoyance. “You’re laying it on a little thick, Grayson.”

“Am I?” he asked, following you to a quieter corner of the ballroom with two drinks in hand. “Maybe. But you disappeared on me for a week. I thought I had to make it count.”

You paused, that twinge of guilt returning. “I really didn’t mean to ghost you. The team’s been on edge—we might finally have something, and I just got swept up in it.”

“I know,” he said, and there was no bitterness in his voice. Only quiet understanding. “It’s one of the things I like about you. When you care, you commit.”

His gaze dipped again, lingering on your dress—on the way the silk hugged your frame and shimmered under the soft lights. His voice dropped, lower now, rough around the edges. “But I’m glad I ran into you tonight. I almost didn’t come… but seeing you in that? Definitely made this night worth it.”

You raised a brow, amused. “What—the dress?”

There was a slight pause. A flicker in his expression. His jaw tightened just a touch before he said, “The dress looks amazing on you. But I like see you in that colour.”

You tilted your head. “Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not saying?”

His smile returned, this time with a more wolfish edge—pleased, like he was enjoying a secret you weren’t in on. “Maybe I just have a thing for blue.”

You bit your lip, a playful glint in your eye. “Noted.”

Something shifted in his eyes then. Just slightly. The playfulness remained, but softened at the edges by something more grounded. “You know I meant what I said earlier. I know you’ve got a million things demanding your time. But I don’t mind waiting. I just want to be in the running.”

You looked at him carefully, studying the softness in his eyes, the quiet steadiness in the way he held himself. Your heart beat a little too fast now.

He wasn’t pushing for more than you could give. He wasn’t asking you to slow down or shrink yourself. Wasn’t trying to change your pace or compromise who you were. He just… wanted to show up.

To be present. To try.

And that only made the guilt twist deeper in your chest.

Because he was just so damn sweet. Kind in that quiet, consistent way that crept up on you when you weren’t looking.

And even if the two of you hadn’t talked about exclusivity—even if this thing between you was still unnamed—it felt like you were sneaking around behind his back. Like you were keeping a secret from someone who didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark.

You weren’t doing anything wrong, not technically.

But it didn’t feel right, either.

Not when he looked at you like that.

But before you could find the words to answer or worse spill your guts, he pivoted.

“How long do you usually last at these things?” he asked, a curious edge returning to his tone.

You pushed the fluttery feeling away to give him a dry look over the rim of your glass. “Depends. Long enough to make the speech, shake a few hands, charm a donor or two… and stick around just long enough to sneak a second helping of whatever dessert they’re hoarding at the buffet.”

His mouth curved. “Strategic.”

“Survival,” you corrected.

He leaned a little closer, playful but genuinely interested. “And tonight?”

You glanced at the glittering ballroom, the swirl of tuxedos and designer gowns, and sighed. “About the same plan. I was getting ready to dine and dash within the next ten minutes.”

He let out a low, amused breath. “Guess I intercepted your escape.”

You quirked a brow. “Is that what this is? A rescue mission?”

“Depends,” he said, swirling the amber in his glass. “You want to be rescued?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you let your eyes scan the room once more—the same painted smiles, the same tired performances. And then you looked back at him, at the ease in his expression, the sincerity beneath the teasing.

A slow smile curled at your lips. “I might be open to it.”

“So then…” he said, his voice dipping again, mischief returning to his eyes. “What do you say we get out of here?”

You raised a brow, wary but amused. “What did you have in mind?”

He leaned in just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “How about we go on that second date of ours?”

You took a second, letting the offer hang there, watching him—how easily the flirtation sat beside the sincerity. And how hard it was not to fall a little deeper into both.

You reached for your clutch, sliding it under your arm. “Lead the way.”

You had no idea what to expect as you slid into Dick’s car and let him pull out onto the dim Gotham streets, the city a blur of gold and shadow through the windshield. Streetlights flickered overhead in slow pulses, casting moving patterns across the interior as you settled into the passenger seat.

“I really hope you were telling the truth and you’re not actually a kidnapper,” you teased, shooting him a sidelong glance.

He smirked without missing a beat, eyes still on the road. “Well, if I were, this would be the smoothest abduction in Gotham history.”

You snorted. “Great. That’s reassuring.”

He glanced at you then, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You don’t seem too worried.”

You bite your lip and give him a gentle grin, “Maybe I’m beginning to not mind if the kidnapper is you.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence where your own words hung in the air—long enough for the both of you to register just how ridiculous they sounded.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face with your hand as a laugh bubbled out. “That was so bad.”

Dick burst out laughing, shaking his head. “That was terrible. You really tried to make that smooth.”

“Well, not everyone is as smooth as you, Casanova,” you shot back, grinning as you dropped your hand.

He glanced over, mock offended. “Casanova? That’s slander. I’m at least a few degrees more charming than that guy.”

You rolled your eyes, still smiling. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, eyes flicking over to meet yours, “here you are. In my car. Laughing at my jokes. Questioning your life choices.”

You smirked. “I’ve made a lot of questionable life choices. You, however, are definitely not one of them.”

That earned you a curious look. “Oh yeah? What was the worst?”

You leaned your head back against the seat, sighing. “My ex was pretty bad. And… so was my family.”

That made his eyebrows tick up, but his voice stayed easy. “Oh yeah? Me and my old man used to go at it all the time when I was younger. We were like lit matches and gasoline.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Brother, for me. We lost our parents when I was still a kid. It just… unraveled after that.”

His smile faded. “I’m sorry,” he said, quieter now. “I know how that feels. I was adopted after losing both of mine.”

Your eyes met his, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between you. Grief, loss, understanding.

“I’m so sorry,” you said softly.

Dick offered a small smile. “Yeah. Me too. Me and my adoptive dad… we got better with time. And I gained some brothers along the way that I wouldn’t trade for anything—even if they drive me up the wall half the time.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Brothers are the bane of any existence.”

But the smile didn’t last. It slipped, just slightly, before you looked away. “Yeah, me and my brother never got to that point. But… I met Milo and Anthony. They’re practically my family now. Best friends a girl could ask for.”

Dick caught the shift in your tone—the careful way you redirected, the weight tucked behind your words. He didn’t push. He could tell you were still trying, still deciding how much of yourself to share. And he didn’t want to scare that trust away, even if you had information he needed.

“Well,” he said gently, “I hope I get to meet them one day. And properly thank them—for pushing you into going on that date with me.”

You snorted. “You say that now, but they’re nuts. Be prepared to be shamelessly objectified by Milo, who is already talking about rating your ass. Meanwhile, Anthony will be pouring drinks before you sit down and somehow get you blackout drunk on fruity cocktails.”

Dick grinned, completely unbothered. “My ass is out of this world. I welcome the judgment.”

You stared at him. “You want to be objectified?”

“I’m just saying—if Milo’s going to rate me, I want that five-star Yelp review.” He leaned back, smug as hell. “Bonus points if he uses the word phenomenal, juicy, perfect—”

“Oh my God, I get it!” you laughed, lightly smacking his shoulder.

He shot you a bright, unrepentant grin.

“Don’t worry,” he added smoothly, “he can admire it all he wants. You’re the only one who gets to touch it.”

Your laugh caught in your throat for half a second—equal parts flustered and amused.

“Oh my god,” you muttered again, this time under your breath, as heat crept up your neck.

Dick just wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m just setting expectations.”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” you said, rolling your eyes—though the corner of your mouth tugged upward, betraying your smile. “You’re just lucky you’re not bad company, Grayson.”

He shot you a lazy grin. “Careful—keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”

You smiled to yourself as you looked out the window for a moment, watching Gotham slip past—familiar, but somehow quieter tonight. It was easy with him. Too easy.

The car rolled to a stoplight, and for a moment the only sound was the soft hum of jazz on the radio. You glanced out the window, but curiosity tugged your gaze back to him.

“So…” you started, lips curving. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or are you just hoping I’ll keep playing along out of sheer boredom?”

He tapped the steering wheel idly with one hand. “Where’s the fun in giving it away?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You realize this is how horror movies start, right?”

He chuckled. “Relax. No horror. No creepy cabin in the woods. No surprises in the trunk. Just a solid Plan B for people who hate galas.”

You raised a brow, intrigued despite yourself. “Plan B, huh?”

He shot you a quick grin as the light turned green. “Trust me. You’ll like it.”

And oddly… you did.

You didn’t question him as he parked, or when he came around to open your door with a conspiratorial smile. You didn’t pull away when he gently reached for your hand, guiding you across a quiet rooftop entrance, the night air brushing your skin. Instead, you found yourself smiling—giddy, uncharacteristically so—when he stepped behind you and carefully covered your eyes with his palms.

“You’re really committing to this,” you murmured.

“That’s how surprises work,” he said, his breath warm near your ear.

Surprisingly, you weren’t nervous. He held you steady, each step guided with care, and you knew—instinctively—that he wouldn’t let you fall. There was something grounding in the way he moved with you.

“Alright,” he murmured beside you, his voice low. “Ready?”

You nodded.

His hands slipped away.

It took a second for your eyes to adjust. But when they did, your breath caught.

A full trapeze rig stood before you, framed by a canopy of soft, golden fairy lights that glittered overhead like suspended stars. A soft projector spun slow, dreamy patterns of light across the floor—muted swirls of color like something out of a dream.

In the dim glow, a faded wooden sign came into view.

Haley’s Circus.

The space smelled faintly of chalk, clean rope, and wood polished with time. High ceilings arched above, draped in shadow, and at the center of it all—your very own private circus act.

You turned toward him, wide-eyed. “What is this?”

He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching your reaction like he was trying to memorize it.

“Just a place I come to,” he said quietly. “When I need time for myself.”

You looked back at the trapeze. At the soft glow of lights. The hush of the space. The quiet magic that lived in the bones of the building.

“This is…” you breathed, eyes wide as you took it all in. “It’s beautiful.”

Dick smiled—but it wasn’t the usual flirtatious grin he’d given you. This one was quieter. Softer. More earnest.

“You want to go up?” he asked.

Your head snapped toward him. “Wait—seriously?”

He nodded once, casually. “Why not?”

“I mean, I’ve never even touched one of those before,” you said, eyes darting to the trapeze rig. “Is that… safe?”

He stepped closer, voice low and easy. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you.”

You blinked, his words settling into your chest like a promise with weight behind it. He wasn’t teasing. Wasn’t just showing off.

You studied him for a moment longer, then bit your lip—half-uncertain, half-thrilled. “Promise?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Promise.”

And somehow, you believed him.

He guided you to the ladder, steadying you as you climbed. At the platform, he helped you position your hands on the trapeze bar, giving you a few quick instructions—his voice calm, confident, just enough to settle your nerves. Then he offered a wink and climbed down, making his way to the opposite swing.

You watched him move with fluid ease, like the rig was an extension of him. As he began to swing back and forth, his body weight shifting effortlessly, you let out a nervous laugh.

“Who knew you were a circus kid.”

He grinned mid-swing, his legs pumping effortlessly. “My secret talent. Now are you gonna keep stalling, or are you gonna swing?”

Your hands gripped the bar tighter. “You’re gonna catch me, right?”

“I’ve got you,” he said without hesitation.

You took a breath—deep and sharp—and jumped.

Air rushed past you as you swung forward. Across from you, Dick leaned back on his bar, flipping upside down like it was second nature.

“Let go!” he called.

With a small yell and your heart in your throat, you did.

For a split second, there was nothing—no ground, no sense of direction, just gravity yanking you down and adrenaline surging up. Then—

Strong hands caught your arms midair.

He caught you.

You dangled there, breathless, eyes wide, your weight suspended only by his grip. The two of you swung together for a moment, the motion smooth and steady.

Then he looked at you and smiled. “Ready?”

“For what?” you asked, still catching your breath.

He winked.

Before you could respond, he let go of the bar.

You shrieked, the sound breaking out of you in a wild, startled laugh as the two of you dropped in a freefall, crashing into the net below. Your body bounced high, weightless for one giddy moment before settling. Another laugh—pure delight this time—escaped you.

As the movement calmed, you rolled to the side just as he rolled toward you. Your arm found its way across his chest, anchoring you in the quiet aftermath. Breath mingled. Laughter faded. His body was warm beneath your arm, his pulse steady beneath your fingers.

You met his gaze, heart still racing for a very different reason now. You bit your lip—less out of nerves, more to keep yourself from smiling too much.

“Hi.”

His grin widened. “Hi.”

Your body leaned in before you could stop it, and he met you halfway, your lips met—softly at first, testing the waters. Dick’s kiss was gentle, teasing and curious. His hand slid behind your head, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened it, his body shifting closer until you felt the warmth of him press against you.

Then, with the kind of grace that should’ve been impossible on a net, he rolled the two of you over without breaking the kiss, settling above you. He smiled playfully into the kiss.

A quiet moan escaped your lips as his hands skimmed down your sides, slow and sure. You arched into him, your own hands exploring—chest, back, the lines of lean muscle beneath his shirt. Your fingers drifted toward his waistband, hungry for more—

But then his kiss faltered.

Just for a breath.

He shifted, pulling back slightly, just enough for you to notice. You froze, blinking up at him wondering if you did something wrong.

He sighed as if he was physically pained, forehead lowering until it rested against yours.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said quietly, his voice rough with restraint. “Because, trust me, I really want to. It’s just…” He exhaled slowly. “These last few years, I haven’t really dated anyone. It’s always just been quick,, sleep with them and move on. And I don’t want that with you.”

You stayed quiet, watching the emotion flicker across his face as he spoke.

“I like you,” he said, softer now. “And I want to do this right. Not some quick romp in public on a trapeze net—tempting as that is.”

Your expression softened. A slow smile formed as you leaned up and kissed him—gentle, grateful, warm. “That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s said to me.”

He smiled, a little bashful, a little relieved.

“I can wait,” you added with a wicked glint in your eye. “But just saying—fucking on a trapeze net could be fun. It’s pretty bouncy.”

Dick groaned and dropped his face into the crook of your neck. “You are an evil woman.”

You laughed, threading your fingers through his hair. “And yet, here you are.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, lips brushing your skin. “Here I am. Completely doomed.”

WAYNE MANSION

Dick was still riding the high from the night before when he strolled into the manor the next morning, hoodie half-zipped, grin practically glued to his face. He hadn’t slept much—and he didn’t care. Not after that date.

He was passing the kitchen when he spotted Duke slouched at the counter in pajamas, sleepily shoveling cereal into his mouth. The newest member of the family, still adjusting to life under a roof full of vigilantes. After what Joker did to his parents, no one blamed him for being guarded—but Dick liked him. He was smart, grounded, and had a good heart.

“Morning, Duke,” Dick greeted, casually reaching for the coffee pot.

“Hey, Dick. Cute date from last night,” Duke replied through a mouthful of cereal.

Dick froze mid-pour.

Slowly, very slowly, he turned toward the younger boy. “What?”

Duke blinked up at him confused, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Huh? Oh—Jason and Tim were watching your back. Y’know. Surveillance. Can never be too careful with people in Gotham.”

There was a pause. One heartbeat. Two.

Duke paused, frowning. “Everything okay?”

Dick forced a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. “Everything’s fine. And… yeah. She’s cute.”

Duke gave him a cautious nod, clearly sensing the shift but not quite sure why.

There was a beat of silence before Dick spoke again—sounding way too casual.

“Hey, are those two still around?” he asked, sipping his coffee. “Jason and Tim? Just wanna make sure they didn’t catch anything… concerning on surveillance.”

Duke hesitated. “Uh… yeah. Pretty sure they’re still in the cave.”

Dick nodded once, finishing the rest of his coffee in one long, controlled sip. “Great.”

Jason and Tim.

They were dead men.

“Thanks, Duke!”

“You’re… welcome?” Duke replied slowly, brows drawing together. But Dick was already gone.

Coffee mug still in hand like the picture of composure, Dick punched in the code and descended into the cave—cool air rising to meet him, fluorescent lights flickering to life as he reached the base of the platform.

He spotted them instantly.

Jason was leaned back in a chair, boots kicked up on the console, chewing on something that looked suspiciously like leftover gala dessert. Tim sat beside him, hunched over a monitor with his usual half-dead focus, a headset slung lazily around his neck. They looked comfortable.

They wouldn’t be for long.

“Morning,” Dick said pleasantly as he stepped into view, voice smooth as glass.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Morning.”

Tim smirked faintly over the rim of his mug. “Surprised you’re even awake.”

Dick smiled.

Jason blinked, eyebrows pulling together as he sat up slightly. “Wait—why are you smiling like that?”

“I was just thinking,” Dick said, stepping closer, still maddeningly calm. “How lucky I am to have two very thoughtful, very observant little brothers who care enough to watch my back.”

Jason and Tim exchanged a glance. A silent, oh-shit glance.

The smile dropped as he levelled a glare at them. “I can’t believe you two spied on my date. We had an agreement Jason!”

“It’s a good thing I was watching because you nearly broke our deal. You kissed her!” Jason fired back defensively.

“So did you!” Dick barked. “We agreed not to sleep with her—not that we couldn’t kiss her!”

Jason huffed, crossing his arms. “You were way more into it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I not have been? Should I have called a time-out and asked for your permission?” Dick snapped, sarcasm curling sharp around every word. He huffed, shaking his head. “And what would you have done if there was some action? Called in the GCPD? Batman?”

“No!” Jason barked—but the beat of hesitation was just long enough.

Dick blinked, disbelief hitting hard. “I can’t believe you actually thought about it!”

“Maybe I’d take you out,” Jason muttered under his breath.

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Before either of them could lunge, a voice cut through the tension like a batarang.

“Dick,” Bruce said as he strode into the cave, the weight of his presence immediately dragging the cave back into order. “What did you find out from her?”

Dick straightened immediately, his mouth opening—and then freezing.

Jason, of course, noticed.

A slow, smug grin curled at his mouth as he stepped to the side, folding his arms and practically glowing with glee. “Yeah, Dick,” he echoed mockingly. “What did you find out?”

Dick glared daggers at him before turning to Bruce, carefully schooling his tone. “I need more time. I can’t just ask about her brother outright—she barely knows me. And it’s obviously a sensitive topic.”

Bruce studied him with that unreadable Bat-stare, then gave a single, measured nod. “Fine. But don’t take too long.”

Dick exhaled, barely hiding his relief.

Then—

“You know her too?” Bruce asked, turning to Jason.

Jason blinked, then nodded casually. “Yeah. I’ve talked to her.”

Dick scoffed. Rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

“Good,” Bruce said without missing a beat. “You look into it too. Better to have two people on the case.”

“B!” Dick’s voice shot up an octave as he whipped toward him, incredulous. “Are you seriously assigning him to this?!”

He’d been banking on this case as the perfect excuse—to spend time with her, to ease into trust, to keep Jason away under the neat cover of intel gathering. But now Jason had the same damn excuse.

“He’s already made contact,” Bruce said, completely unmoved. “We use the resources we have. We need to find her brother before Joker finds him first.”

Jason’s grin widened into a full-blown smirk. “Yeah, Dick,” he echoed, tone syrup-slick. “We use the resources we have.”

Dick’s jaw flexed, his gaze narrowing like he was weighing just how fast he could get away with a punch to the throat.

Jason clapped his hands together, “You got it, old man.”

Dick looked like he might actually throw something at him—batarang, chair, whatever was within reach—but Bruce was already turning away, heading back toward the elevator with the kind of finality that said discussion over.

Tim, still in his chair, popped a chip into his mouth and muttered under his breath, “This is better than HBO.”

“Don’t you dare enjoy this,” Dick hissed, his glare locked on Jason.

“Oh, I’m enjoying the hell out of this,” Jason said, practically vibrating with smug satisfaction. He leaned in just a little, voice lower, mock-conspiratorial. “Remind me what we said, Dickie? May the best man for her win, right?”

Dick’s jaw clenched.

Jason winked. Then turned on his heel and sauntered toward the bikes like he hadn’t just poured gasoline on a lit fire.

Tim didn’t look up from his screen. “You two do realize she’s probably going to kill you when she finds out about all of this… right?”

“Yup,” Jason called over his shoulder. “But its worth it.”

Dick exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen when she inevitably found out.

Right now, between him and Jason…

This meant war.

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Taglist: @mei-simp, @sept3mberchild, @a-brilliante-mariposa, @feralwolfkat, @mercuryathens, @beepboopcowboy, @lordbugs, @coffeemin, @nikkeora, @yuyuti02, @oooof-ifellforyou, @neogogori, @thatoneloser8371, @rtyuy1346, @nkryuki, @tinybrie, @smithieandy, @yuhhh03, @kazuuhali, @saturnalya, @mrbrightsides25-blog, @kimm4710, @diseasedclitoris, @nutella-hitler, @saltyelise, @justheretochillabitlowkey, @sproutytoad, @uselessnewt, @itsmekalou, @whorrorbellee, @starstruckkenobi, @corpsedogs, @yan-love-reader, @alishii, @sugugori, @gojosnutgobbler

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teletubbyinlipstick · 10 months ago

Text

Hybrid!Poly TF141 x Reader Rambles

Once again, I'm unsure what to say. I get high, I get horny for these men, and then I hallucinate scenarios with said men. Please enjoy, please feel free to send in anything about these boys! Requests are open! I really like this idea, and I might continue to add on to it. https://www.tumblr.com/teletubbyinlipstick/760241391145238528/more-hybridpoly-tf141-x-reader-pleaaasseeeee?source=share heres the second part!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OwlHybridAU!

Captain Price has big wings. When spread, they're just shy of 28 ft. A beautiful array of ash and brindle the feathers are easily the length of your arm. He keeps them tucked nicely, looking smaller than they are. On the field, if it ever comes down to it and he needs his wings, the look on enemies' faces when they spread is, in Soaps words,"so fuckin hot."

No one disagrees.

Johnny's wings are a bit smaller, around 23ft they're a deep honey brown. In the light, in-between the feathers, an indigo blue shines just slightly. His are more pointy at the end, a ripple effect used for disguising. Simon loves nothing more than to preen him.

Usually it ends with Johnny face down, high whimpers in his throat.

Speaking of Simon, he has the biggest wings in TF141 at 30ft. They're midnight black with streaks of white. When he's moving fast, they look almost like lightning across a black sky. His second layer of feathers is a dark gray. It's hard to notice the difference, but once you do, it's harder not to notice. He's intimidating. He knows.

It's his kink.

Gaz has the prettiest wings, 20.5 feet, and the sweetest cocoa color. He has dirty blonde undertones that fade into pure auburn. His feathers get ruffled a little easily, and the boys love teasing him for it.

It's a group effort to preen his wings.

Now theres you, new to the group, younger than them at early-mid twenties. Assigned as a mate for the boys by the government in hopes of reproducing strong genes. You're a sweet little thing, lithe with a pudgy tummy. Your wings are only 15ft. And very fluffy, a gorgeous cream with strawberry blonde highlights. The edges appear light tawny.

You're very beautiful. And the boys fall in love almost immediately upon receiving your file. They nest for you, soft blankets and pillows and sweatshirts placed in the rec room for a cozy habitat. They're keen to meet you, forgoing preening their feathers the night before in hopes of pack bonding tomorrow with you.

So imagine when you end up being the most reclusive, quiet church mouse they've ever met. You speak maybe 3 sentences in total at the meeting. You were quick to bat Johnny's hand away when he reached for your shoulder for a friendly pat. Feathers ruffling just slightly.

They backed off.

Simon stood quiet the whole time, eyes zeroed in on you. Assessing.

They showed you the loft to your room. Simon kept a polite distance, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. Gaz and Johnny were waiting for Price to make the first move and let you know about the nest they had secured for you in the rec area. But when you politely and quickly excused yourself and darted inside, closing the door with the resounding click. They realized you weren't going to the nest. Nor were you going to the rec room in general.

They slept in their shared king bed. The nest left cold and barren. Tears were wiped from Gaz's eyes, sweet cooing coming from the bed as the boys sought solstice for each other.

No one dried your tears, and you stayed curled in the corner of your bed. Scared. Alone. And unsure what the future will bring.

#imagines #one shot #idk how to tag this #cod x reader #cod #simon ghost riley x reader #johnny mactavish #john price x reader #john price #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #im not well #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #taskforce 141 x reader #poly 141 #poly 141 x reader

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ruinix · 2 months ago

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Can you write a smut story of Quinn Hughes and y/n having car sex right before entering Dice & Ice?

Hi, lovely anon. I apologize for just getting to your ask. I fear I have been so distracted (Quinn withdrawals are hitting me so badly). But here it is! I hope you enjoy it even though it’s late.

Cramped Space

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Semi-Public Sex (car sex), Unprotected Sex (protections, yesyes), Just Quinn…being horny, of course, and fucking you so sloppy until you're a puddle but it's just a quickie...

Count: 3036 words | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re nervous. Quinn can see that. You are fidgeting with the pendant of the necklace he gave you last night. Its matching earrings and bracelet glint on your ears and wrist. He glances at you.

Now, you’re biting your lower lip.

You shift again, so he rests his hand over your thigh, sliding into the slit of your dress, his fingers curving over your inner thigh, giving you a firm squeeze. You sigh which makes him worry more. You scoot closer, spreading your legs an inch to invite his touch, so he squeezes again.

He spots a great parking spot in the venue for Dice & Ice Gala. It’s quite a close off area that’s sandwiched by a thick square column and a wall. He likes the slightly isolated areas because some people park way too closely. He doesn’t want you to have any difficulty going out your door, rather, him getting to you when he opens it for you.

“What are you worried about?” he asks.

Another squeeze. He feels your shiver. Then he hears a slight sound which he assumes to be a small plea of discomfort. A tiny whimper that feels like a stabbing knife to his heart. How did he not see this before leaving the house? You clearly don’t want to go to the gala. He’s stupid.

He bites down his tongue to prevent him from speaking, waiting for you. He briefly lets go of your thigh, hearing another fucking sharp inhale, so he quickly slides into the spot, putting the car on park—shifting the gear and lifting the hand break. He places his hand back to your thigh as he turns to you.

You’re looking around everything except him. Your lips are slightly trembling as you twist and tug the pendant. Quinn reaches to hold your hand. Only then, you look at him with worry and…What’s that? Is that…lust?

There’s no way. Why would you be turned on when you’re anxious? Maybe he’s just projecting his need for you. Fuck, he is, isn’t he?

Mentally, he slaps his head for being an idiot.

He needs to know what you’re worried about. He has to. He must. It feels awful being clueless when something eats at you. He needs to make it right. How will he make it right if he has no idea what it is?

“They’ll be lots of cameras, Q,” your voice quivers.

He hums, urging you for more.

“I don’t want to be photographed tonight,” you say.

His lips part as he gets more and more concerned. That doesn’t explain it. At all. His head goes into a full assessment mode.

This is most likely not about being seen with him. You’ve been photographed with him in several Canucks’ events. You’ve never minded that. Even when you two have gone out, there are fans who purposely get you in their shots. In those occasions, he always convinced said fans to delete the picture when you were uncomfortable, tugging on his sleeve as a silent confirmation of what you felt.

Most of the time, you don’t really care about it, especially when you are all dressed up. Like you are now. Before you left the house, you were so proud of how you did your hair and makeup. He looks over your whole appearance. Definitely beautiful. You’re wearing a dress that looks so good on you, especially with that generous slit. It exposes your thigh so much when you’re sitting and he’s eating it up. He almost jumped you when you first showed it to him. Hell, even now, he wants to jump you. Blood rushes down his cock, unable to stop his hand to slide up your thighs, getting closer and closer to your—

‘Not the fucking time, Quinn,’he scolds himself.

He doesn’t understand the problem. Why do you not want to be photographed tonight? Do you not want to attend the gala? If you’re not comfortable going, then so be it. He can drive you back home. It doesn’t matter if he’s already running late. He’ll do it for you. You’re the most important thing in his life. He’ll do it.

“Wanna head back?” he silently asks, leaning closer, unconsciously sliding his palm up and up your thighs until he almost grazes the lace you’re wearing.

“No, I…” You bite your lip that’s painted with a perfect shade of muted red that compliments your skin. The action makes Quinn’s mouth water. You sigh, looking away. “Do you really think I want to go home? Why are you dense today?”

What are you talking about—

Then you do it, tugging his hand closer so that the side of his finger gets into contact with your drenched panties.

Oh. Oh.

He’s not projecting?

“Just don’t want them to see how horny I am. Isn’t it obvious on my face?” You continue.

No. Not at all. You’re just so pretty. Quinn shakes his head, a bit too roughly to emphasize his disagreement and to clear his head from the lust that’s griping him in a chokehold. His breath hitches when he finally notices how your blush is deeper now than a few seconds ago, how your eyes keep peering around—more of assessing the windows of his car—it’s all tinted heavily except the windshield—how you bite your lips at the isolated parking spot, how your pupils are blown out.

Then he realizes that you didn’t whimper because you’re anxious. You’re horny. That’s fucking hot.

Admittedly, he feels stupid, for having you blatantly spell it out for him. He normally doesn’t need you to. He knows you like the back of his hand. He just really thought he’s fucking horny again. He always is.

Now, his cock stirs when you keep your gaze on him, looking up him through your lashes, your lips slightly pouting, your hand still playing with your pendant. He feels your legs spread more, inviting him to touch you, so he does. The softness of the wet lace sends shivers down his spine. His dick hurts.

“Hop on the back,” Quinn murmurs, barely holding himself back from ripping your dress to shreds.

Your lips curve into a smile, but like the tease that you are, you shift, kicking your legs over his lap. You say, “Take my heels off first.”

It takes all of him not to pant as he unclasps your left heel, his palms burning from your heated skin, absently discarding them on the dashboard. He can’t focus on your heels at all when your legs are bare from the dress. Your soft and silky skin feels so divine under his touch. When he takes the heel off, he can’t help but trace his thumb on your arch, pressing. A moan escapes you, your head tipping up as he massages the particular spot along the arch that you make him rub every night.

“Oh, that feels good,” you pant, gasping as he makes quick work with your other heel, dragging his touch on your skin. “Quinn,” you say in a breathless moan.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, my Love.”

“You’re the one—oh my gosh, Quinn!” you writhe as Quinn kisses your ankles then your heels, making sure to lick for ever kiss. When he softly brings up your feet, he moves to kiss the inside arch of your left, but you pull away. “Okay. Calm down, sir.”

Sir?

How can you call him sir and expect him to calm down?

Fuck calming down.

A rumble escapes him as he tries to kiss your arch, but you basically kick him by his shoulder and crawl over the center console, leaving him all flabbergasted. Protests tease the tip of his tongue as he turns around, his hand gripping the passenger seat, but they die down at the sight of you pulling your dress up to your hips. You slide your fingers down the wet seam of your panties.

“What are you waiting for, Q?” You taunt, baring your pussy by slipping your panties to the side. “I’m already here.”

Oh, you shouldn’t have done that. Everything blurs past Quinn’s head. One moment he is undoing his seatbelt and basically lunges into the back seat, the next he is kissing you so deeply that you are whining, rubbing his erection against your sopping wet pussy.

“Your pants are getting—

He cuts you off because he doesn’t give a shit. He wants you to make a mess on him. The thrill of him wearing your arousal just makes him harder. He wants you on him. That’s not too much to ask for, is it? He doesn’t care about how wet his pants are getting. He’s also spilling pre-cum inside his briefs. Besides, he’s wearing a dark suit anyway.

He kisses you like he wants to devour you because he truly does. He hooks one of your legs over his arm, lifting and spreading you wider, his knee planting on the seat for leverage, as he humps you harder. He bets he can make you come just from this. He already did it before. For countless times. He always ends up coming in his pants. He’s used to it by now, but he prefers coming inside of you so you can be full of him during the event.

With that, he quickly undoes his belt, tugging his pants down, hissing when your hand wrap around his cock the moment it’s free. When your thumb swipe over his slit, coaxing a bead of pre-cum out him, he is already panting like a starved dog. Then you guide him to your pussy.

“Fuck,” he curses as he sinks into your cunt, doesn’t stop until he’s fully inside you. Your slick and quivering pussy feels so good. You always feel so fucking good.

“Quinn, please,” you plead, writhing and clutching his shoulders. “Kiss me.”

Your wish is his command. He kisses you. Hard. He harshly nips your lips, tasting the sweetness of you combined with your lipgloss—or whatever it is, it’s fucking shiny.

When he can’t get enough, he licks the seam of your lips, shivering at the feel of your slight tremble, at every puff of air coming from your mouth. Then he slips his tongue past your awaiting lips. He groans at how your flavor fully intensifies, drowning any sense left in him.

He just wants to kiss, fuck, and hold you.

He needs it.

One taste of you isn’t enough.

He needs you to come around him until you can’t stop. He fucking needs it. Maybe he can just drive you both home. Fuck the event—

“This gala is important,” you whisper into his lips.

‘Did he say that outloud?’ he thought, groaning,“I know.” He ruts into you faster. “I just need you.”

“You always need me,” you say so smugly.

Quinn agrees. Forever and always. He needs you. You keep him grounded when he’s getting beat up from all the game losses or all the media shitshow he experienced. You make him live for so much more than just hockey in this place so far away from his family. You give him another home with you. You made him feel loved and cherished, wanted and yearned.

As much as he does with you.

But, alas, this Canucks event is truly important. It’s a fundraiser where he, as a captain of the team, needs to attend and he’s already late. As if on cue, his phone rings, breaking the calmness of the situation. He needs to pick up the pace to satiate you. Yet both of you choose to ignore it, because there’s no reason to rush.

Before Quinn would be beating himself for not being punctual, you changed that. You taught him that things in life must be savored.

Things being you and you and you.

Just you.

Every intimate moment with you is important to him. Whether it’s in the bedroom where you both talk until you two falls in a deep slumber in each other’s arms, or in a café where you drink at least two cups of coffee—while he barely drinks his tea—and feeds the both of you small bites of cake, or in the movie where you’re basically glued against his side as you watch the film with extremely wide eyes, or the park where you two bask under the sun while you eat the picnic you either had Quinn make or order, or just you two sitting in his car as you two people-watch while rambling about how your days are. Whether it’s casual moments or sexual. Like how you two always seem to take at least five minutes in a restroom cubicle for a quickie, or a sudden hotel visit because going home will take longer than a check-in, or maybe a quick make-out session.

Every moment with you is locked safely in his head.

No one can take it away from him.

Nothing can.

Every single one is a notch in his soul. He’ll carry it until the day he dies, until he gets reborn, until he finds you in that new life, so he can collect more notches that he will carry over to another life. Then again. Over and over again.

Quinn fucks you harder, kissing you to convey all his love for you. His hand slips between you two so he can flick and toy your clit with his thumb, as he drives his cock against that spongy spot that has your back arching, has you screaming into his lips. Your whines are music to his ears. He needs you to come.

A flash of movement catches his attention. Somebody just parked in the other side of the column, but it doesn’t deter Quinn from fucking you. Not one bit. Not when he’s inside of you. If only he can live inside your pussy for every second in his fucking life, he will.

He feels amused when you part from him to breathe. You yelp when you notice the person get out of the car, barely looking over the car that’s probably moving with your tryst. Your hand comes up to his shoulder to give him a slight push, but he will never fucking stop. Sweat drips down your temple, your cheek, your jaw, and Quinn already there to lick it up. His tastebuds explode with the saltiness of it. He loves it. He needs more, so he dips his head to your neck, so he can lick up the sheen of sweat forming on your skin.

He’s just so fucking greedy over you.

He can’t help himself.

Your pussy clenches around him. Your thighs quiver around his hips, his other hand pushes one to spread you wider as he presses right over your clit with the other, teasing the small bundle of nerves, until you come. Every pulse, every clench. He feels everything as he fucks you through it.

He needs you to come at least three more times. He needs—

“I need your cum right now, Quinny,” you demand, grabbing him by his nape, making him stare straight into your beautiful eyes. “Now. I need you. Please. Please. Please.”

Oh, the chokehold you have on him.

You have him coming right there like someone’s perfectly trained to your every plea.

“Fuck, fuck,” he grunts, gritting his teeth for every thrust to take every spurt of his hot cum deep inside you, gripping your thighs so tightly that he is living hand imprints onto your flesh. The tiny moan escaping you makes him come harder as you clench around him. When he’s done, he’s spent a moment kissing your shoulder, collarbone, up your jaw and finally your lips. “So good, my Love. Maybe—”

His phone goes off, signaling that there’s another call.

While he rolls his eyes, you chuckle at him, truly pushing him off. Your voice is light as you say, “Later, Quinny.”

Quinn grumbles, getting annoyed that he needs to get off you. He needs to because he falls into the temptation of fucking you again. Still, he does it, getting absolutely hypnotized by the cum that spills out. No, actually. Maybe you two can get another round—

And his phone just fucking rings once more.

“Damn it,” he curses, quickly leaning over to center console to get the small bag you brought, getting his phone along the way. He ignores the missed calls that are piling up as he hands over the bag. He quickly types a text, “Will be there in 15-20 minutes.” Then he turns it in ‘Do not Disturb’.

He watches you start to clean up. You have this satisfied grin that makes him feel so fucking giddy. It doesn’t faze him when you playfully throw a fresh wet wipe for him to clean his dick. He absently does it to appease you, plus he doesn’t want you to be the only one fixing yourself when he’s looks as freshly fucked. However, he makes sure that he only does half-assed job before he tucks himself in. He’s not lying when he wants your cum on him.

Then he helps you with brushing your hair. Clumsily. He honestly doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he just does it, because you handed him the brush.

He’s totally mesmerized at how beautiful you look while you powder your face then while you put on your lip things—totally a balm and gloss. So utterly beautiful that he has to swallow the urge to ask for another round, because if he doesn’t, you two won’t be leaving the car for an hour or two or three.

With the way that you’re smiling, you know exactly what’s going on his head.

When your eyes dart towards his crotch, your grin turning into a smirk. “You might be the one who shouldn’t be photographed right now, Quinn.”

Then you laugh, a mix of a giggle and a chuckle.

His chest tightens as his heart pounds harder in his chest.

He wonders if he can survive the gala when he’s fucking hard and sensitive again.

He wonders how many times will you let him fuck you in the restroom when he can no longer bear it.

He wonders.

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girlsworldillusion · 4 months ago

Text

we can't be friends

Ex!Aemond - Fem!Reader

Exes to lovers

Summary: After a whole year together, he broke up with you like it was no big deal. What happens when you see each other after four months apart? In the middle of Baela's birthday party, can you control yourself enough not to cause a scene? You just need to get through the night and then you can forget again the man who broke your heart, something that becomes increasingly difficult as the hours go by.

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Word count: 9k

Dividers: @cafekitsune

Enjoy!

⚠️ English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find ⚠️

Daemon and Laena Targaryen’s luxurious mansion buzzes with polite conversation and classic music. The expensive, sophisticated decor and lavish catering service speak of the family’s high status — a grand, refined event that not even the birthday girl could refuse, even though she had vehemently expressed the entire way that would prefer something far less formal and elegant than this.

A raucous celebration at a bar somewhere in town, surrounded by loud laughter and the indiscreet company of her truly friends, if you were to guess.

A celebration that you, like any good friend would, were secretly orchestrating to throw after this seemingly endless event — a sort of surprise after-party so that she could actually enjoy her own birthday.

But the Targaryens had a reputation to uphold, and the birthday of Daemon Targaryen’s eldest daughter was a social event that could not be easily ignored. So, in a moment induced purely by her almost desperate pressure, you promised that you would be here tonight, supporting your friend during this unnecessarily ostentatious party with people that, for the most part, you didn't even know.

But that was a monumental mistake.

Well, realistically, you know why you were here and you know that it was the right thing to do. But still...no, you don't know why you thought for a second that this would be a good idea.

"Maybe you should just talk to him."

Baela, the sole reason you had subjected yourself to being among these people, comments quietly to you. Her violet gaze peeking discreetly over the rim of her glass at something - someone - behind you.

"Wait, w-what -" You ask more shrilly than you intended, almost spitting out the bubbly sip of champagne you had just poured into your mouth, narrowing your eyes at her. "Why? Why would you say something like that?"

"Um, maybe because he's been staring at you all night? Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if there were holes in the back of your head right now. He's not being the least bit discreet about it." She shrugs, giving a tight, artificially friendly smile when a lady twice your age walks by and compliments her on the elegant decor of the party. Baela rolls her eyes as she walks away, determinedly taking another generous sip of her drink, as if seeking liquid encouragement to continue enduring these interactions.

"You guys should just talk, is what I mean." She waves her hand lightly at you, as if the situation were so simple.

You don't agree out loud with her first observation, but inwardly you find yourself unable to deny it. Your skin is crawling and your senses are on high alert, feeling the weight of his attention on you like a tangled web of webs that you can't untangle.

"Don't be dramatic, I won't do such a thing. Just ignore him, he'll give in eventually." You mutter sullenly.

Baela tilts her head and arches a silver eyebrow, sending you a look that you immediately interpret as a 'you know who we're talking about, right?', but you just roll your eyes as click your tongue, determined not to let her push the subject any further.

"Anyway, don't you have anything better to do than sit here worrying unnecessarily about my life? For heaven's sake, you're the birthday girl, go entertain your countless guests and leave me alone for once."

She's about to argue, but fate seems to be on your side for once and Laena, her mother, appears at that moment.

"Baebae, sweetie, come with me, I'd like to introduce you to a great friend from the office. Oh, you're going to love her!" The elegant woman beams with excitement, sending you a mischievous wink as she basically pulls her daughter away.

"Hey, mom! W-wait, I was in the middle of an important thing and-!" Baela stumbles, both over her words and her own feet, as she is insistently dragged into the room, turning her head to you with a frustrated cry. "Don't even think this ends here, we'll talk more once I get rid of her!"

"Sure, sure, I'll be waiting right here." You shout back, pressing your lips together to suppress your smile before lifting the glass and taking another sip of champagne.

The funny scene, however, distracts you for only a few seconds and soon you find yourself alone and very out of place in the center of the main hall, surrounded by strangers and fancy music, with your ex's intense gaze burning into the back of your neck like lasers.

With a polite tilt of chin you greet a university fellow who passes by you, taking the opportunity to gracefully turn your body and face the other side of the hall. And, despite your common sense, you find yourself unable to stop from peeking over the rim of your glass in the direction of he-who-must-not-be-named.

And oh, yes, there he is.

You haven't seen him in months — at least four, since he broke up with you on the eve of the university graduation. And, unlike what you imagined for him all this time, the breakup didn't do him any apparent harm. He seems as good as ever.

You and Aemond had an unexpected but incredibly intense dating history. You both met through Baela many years ago. Neither of you hit it off right away — he openly ignored you, and you disdained even his shadow. It was a perfectly comfortable relationship for both of you that lasted for years, until everything changed during a single drunken night. You don’t remember exactly how it started, but one moment you were downing glass after glass of your fruity drink, glaring daggers at him from across the balcony, and the next you were kissing and making out in the dark upstairs hallway.

There was no awkward conversation the next day or either of you trying to pretend it never happened. You just made a mutual agreement to keep doing it, gradually sinking into a frighteningly perfect relationship that lasted a full year.

You burned brightly. You were both madly in love, and it was obvious to anyone. Within just a few weeks of dating, everyone on campus had come to associate you with each other, so great was your rapport. Baela wasn’t surprised when she found out, claiming it was obvious that all that blatant disdain and sharp glances meant a lot of pent-up sexual tension.

Together you were intense, a force to be reckoned with. Like fire and ice, but even greater — like all the light and darkness in the universe, somehow intertwined to create the perfect pair.

And then you fell.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly where things took a turn for the worse. But finals season was approaching, as were the pressures of careers and futures after graduation, and reality set in for both of you. Slowly you stopped going everywhere together, and your couple’s banter began to evolve into intense arguments that made everyone in the dorm cringe. Suddenly Aemond had no time for you anymore, divided between his studies and his internship at the family business. You were relegated to the background, like a toy that had been used for too long and was now of no use.

Until the day inevitably came when he just stopped showing up at your dorm. You sought him out some time later for some kind of explanation and he seemed so different then, and yet so identical to the Aemond you knew all those years ago; disinterested, overwhelmed, serious, unreachable. In that moment you knew it was over.

Then finals passed, graduation came, and your intense relationship melted away under the weight of adulthood.

And it didn’t matter anymore. You wanted to settle down, to get deeper into your newly started career, and the two of you were not supposed to contact each other anymore. And things were going well — you couldn’t go so far as to say you were completely over him, but you had accepted the fact that the relationship was over. Everything was fine.

Until tonight.

Aemond is casually leaning against the wall, one leg folded over the other, arms crossed in front of his broad chest. A petulant king with boredom and entitlement dripping from his posture.

He is the same, in every visible way.

The same pale, flawless skin and the same surgical eye patch hiding the severe wound over his left eye. The same long, icy white locks carefully arranged to look purposefully disheveled in the low ponytail he wears tonight, two long strands framing either side of his face. Well-defined eyebrows lowered over an intense violet gaze that watches you with unabashed interest through an aristocratic nose. The flushed lips, pressed expressionlessly together, belonging to the same mouth you’ve lost yourself in so many times before…oh…the memories come to you unbidden, leaving your skin warm in response.

Shaking your head discreetly, you try to focus on his attire for the evening. And at first glance, you could tell he would be more suited to a funeral than a birthday party. But that wasn’t anything new either.

Dressed entirely in black, from the dress pants to the blazer, to the soft silk shirt underneath and shoes that are surely worth more than the small apartment you bought for yourself, he looks like an elven king of the shadows or a seductive vampire from a romance novel. The haute couture pieces fit the length and curves of the muscles on his body as if its had tailored specifically for him - and you know its had.

Nothing has changed in his outward appearance or his personality, from what you can tell. Aemond still exudes power and dominance in the room as if it were some kind of natural substance seeping from his pores, choking your throat as you struggle to maintain an indifferent gaze, trying to remain unfazed even though you feel anything but.

He even has the same look in his eye, Aemond is almost always watching. His one eye is fixed on your skin, heated and electrifying. It hasn’t changed, especially, the way it sets you on fire. His scorching gaze on your skin.

Flustered and embarrassed by this, you tip the champagne glass to your lips in order to keep your nerves in check, only to realize that you’ve already drunk it all.

Cheeks flushing at having made such an embarrassing faux pas under Aemond’s annoyingly watchful eye, you lower the glass to the table next to you.

With a fake bored sigh, you try to pretend that none of this happened, prepared to go back to pretending that he doesn’t exist. Until, out of the corner of your eye, you see him push his body away from the wall and then your attention is painfully fixed on him again, his gaze locked on yours as he stoically marches in what is turning out to be exactly the direction you’re standing.

Your heart races in your chest, palms beginning to sweat at your sides as he intercepts a waiter in the middle of the room with an elegant wave of his hand, grabbing two glasses of champagne from the tray before continuing to walk towards you.

And you, deeply torn between the desire to run as far away as possible and to stay exactly where you are so as not to show any sign of weakness, end up deciding to do something in between. You don't run, but there's a distinctly uncomfortable swaying on your feet as you stand there and you pray that he attributes it to some kind of natural movement due to the classical music playing in the room and not some nervous reaction caused by, gods above, his presence.

"Hey," he says when he's close by, extending his right hand to offer you the glass of champagne, his lips slightly stretching into an almost compassionate expression. "Here."

His voice, all soft, lazy velvet, a little rough around the edges, still makes your head spin.

“Hey you,” you say, the red dust on your cheeks deepening, all too aware that you were just fantasizing about those same lips just a few minutes ago. You accept the drink without a second thought, needing it now more than ever. Your fingers brush against each other for a single awkward second, seemingly long enough to send a subtle shiver through your body. “Thank you.”

“Having fun?” he asks as you take a sip of the sparkling beverage.

With a shrug you lower the glass, sending him the most casually indifferent look you can muster at the moment, considering the frazzled state of your nerves. God, you’d somehow forgotten how tall he was; athletic and tall enough that even in heels you still had to look up to meet his gaze and respond.

Tonight was going to be a bigger ordeal than you’d thought.

“It’s a perfectly nice party.” He knows you well enough to know you’re lying, and it’s clear from the unsurprised raise of his eyebrow, an amused smile barely concealed by the rim of his glass as he sips his own champagne, his other hand elegantly hidden in the pocket of the pants. You pout a little, irritated that he thinks he can still read you like this.

“Hm, you look beautiful tonight,” he comments, so calm and sincere, looking straight into your eyes, and you forget your earlier irritation. “Blue looks really good on you.”

You glance shyly down at the light blue dress you’re wearing; the satin straps held together by a delicate bow on each shoulder, the top fitting tightly across your chest - soft, full skirt starting at your waist, falling gently down your hips and thighs, to just below your knees. On your feet are a delicate pair of high-heeled sandals, thin straps wrapped around your ankle. Your hair slides over shoulders in soft waves. And on your face the lightest of makeup. You looked passable, in your opinion. Elegant, but understated compared to the others in the room.

“I—huh, thank you. You look good too.” You mumble, cheeks warm, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “B-but what about you? I didn’t think you were the type to attend birthday parties so easily, even those of your relatives. I thought you couldn't stand that kind of thing.”

You rush to change the subject, a sympathetic smile on your lips as remember how uncomfortable he felt when he was asked to attend such events — avoiding most of them whenever possible.

Aemond shrugs, unfazed by your abrupt change of subject, but blessedly going along with it.

“I knew you’d be here.”

For the second time that night, you nearly choke on your drink.

Your eyes wide and surprised stare at him, unsure of what to make of this information thrown out so naturally.

So what if you were here? You’re done, aren’t you? Why should Aemond care where you are or what you’re doing?

“Aemond, what are you—”

“Can we talk?”

He cuts you off in a lower voice, taking a step closer, close enough for you to smell his woody, masculine scent, the smoky notes of cigarette.

"But..." You blink quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. "We're already doing that."

He breathes out in frustration, looking away subtly.

"Alone."

You look away too, noticing some attentive glances at the two of you, curious to know what the ex-lover couple was doing together again. The embarrassment grips you tighter.

"Aemond, we have nothing to talk about alone. Look, it was nice to meet you tonight, but I really should go look for Baela and..." You look back as speak, trying to locate the woman among the crowd of people, but a soft, almost imperceptible touch on the back of your hand makes you suddenly freeze, slowly turning your face to the contact. His knuckles are brushing against your skin, discreet and gentle, only drawing your attention to him again.

When you look up, lips parted and eyes uncertain, he’s staring at you with such intensity and focus that it makes your knees feel weak for a moment.

“Please.”

Unfortunately, it’s not just your knees that are weak.

Whatever he’s planning to do now is a very, very bad idea. You should refuse; any interaction with Aemond after so long apart is a slippery slope, especially after his earlier cryptic statement.

But with a stiff and mostly unconscious nod of your head, he steps away to lead you to a more private place.

You know you shouldn’t. You know.

But you do it anyway: you follow Aemond up the stairs, focusing on the silky sway of the strands that are loosely tied in the ponytail at the nape of his neck, falling down the length of his spine almost to the middle of his back. The icy white contrasts with the darkness of his blazer.

You ignore the knowing look Baela sends you when you spot her a few feet ahead - still caught up in a visibly boring conversation with her mother and that woman from the office, raising her glass to you in an encouraging and mischievous motion.

Your face burns with shame and humiliation, feeling weak for being in this situation - for having been unable to say no to him, as you should have.

"Please be direct, I don't want to linger here and give people the wrong idea." You say, awkward and nervous, as the two of you enter one of the guest rooms upstairs. Aemond closes the door with a tired sigh, and you swallow hard at the sound, adjusting your posture to appear colder than you actually feel.

"I never got over you."

His delivery is abrupt and direct, everything you had asked him to be, and yet the statement catches you off guard. It unsettles you enough to make you stagger back slightly, your lower back hitting the corner of a dresser. He continues, despite your obvious daze.

“It crossed my mind that you might come tonight, being Baela’s friend and all. But I didn’t see you at first, so I figured you had something else planned for her.” And you did, but you don’t say it, afraid that he’ll interpret the comment as an invitation and the situation will get even worse. “I was hoping to see you...the last time we spoke didn’t go well, since—”

“Since you dumped me,” you spit before realize, recovering from your daze with a speed that’s surprising even to you. Aemond shivers at the sudden, icy words. “I mean, what else is there to talk about after that?”

“Clearly there’s something I should talk about. Because I think you hate me,” he says, still calmly, but a little more frustrated - pulling his blazer down his arms to toss it on the bed in an uncharacteristically eager gesture. He pulls an expensive pack of cigarettes from his pocket along with a lighter, lighting the end to inhale slowly; everything under your watchful scrutiny. “Which you have every right to if that’s the case, but it doesn’t mean I like it.” He finishes the thought with a puff of air, the smell of nicotine and swirling smoke making you wrinkle your nose in response, your expression showing all the distaste for it. Aemond knows how much you disapprove of his little vice after all.

“Well, that’s too bad. But those are my feelings. It’s none of your business what they are or not.” You cross the arms in front of you, feeling petulant and provoked. “So don’t go around assuming I hate you or anything. That just makes you an asshole.”

He brings the cigarette held between his fingers to his mouth again, inhaling slowly as he looks at you with his nose up and narrow gaze - having clearly noticed your bratty attitude. You reinforce your defiant expression, even though feel yourself wilt considerably inside at that look.

Memories. So many memories.

In a nervous gesture, provoked by the absolute silence he maintains after that, nothing but soft drags on his cigarette and thick puffs of nicotine as he stares at you intently, you shake your hair back. The mistake is recognized immediately, but it is already too late to correct. His gaze, unwavering and dark, descends the delicate curve of your neck in a familiar movement, but quickly freezes when he notices something different there.

The mark of a particularly rude hickey left by Benjicot Blackwood - better known among students as Bloody Ben. A drunken mistake made a few nights ago. The man, also a fellow student, was not only a nerd with strange tendencies as some claimed, he was also absolutely wild in bed - which, of course, seemed like a good idea at the time. Not the next day, though.

And maybe it wasn't just the alcohol. Yes, you were drunk that night - you don't think you would have had the courage to flirt with Bloody Ben if you weren't. But it wasn’t just that, if you were being honest. There was something else there, something motivating you to make such a bold move.

Revenge, maybe. Something to rub in your ex’s face, something to hurt him. It wasn’t decent, or the adult thing to do, but hey, you didn’t say you were being coherent. And your actions couldn’t be taken seriously in the drunken state you were both in, could they? You just wanted to hurt Aemond as much as he had hurt you.

And if that was the case, so what if you let some guy with weird fetishes bite on you like a chew toy? Who cares?

Aemond, apparently.

“Who…?” He asks, lowering his cigarette slowly, his jaw clenched.

“None of your business.” You repeat your earlier argument immediately, even though your heart is fluttering in chest and cheeks burning with shame at your own actions. "It's none of your damn business who I sleep with or not, Aemond. You made it very clear four months ago that you don't care about me or our relationship. It's over."

The months may have dulled that unbearable bite of pain that burned in your throat, but you remember those last few days all too well. The tortuous stab of being slowly abandoned, of not being important enough to be worth fighting for. Why weren't you worth fighting for? What could you have done to be chosen?

And, fuck, you don't want to cry. But just being here, facing the reason for your suffering and being able, for the first time, to truly make him understand how much he hurt you, makes unwanted tears well up in your eyes. But he's not worth it. If you're not worth it, neither is he. You blink rapidly at the ceiling to ward off the urge to cry, licking your lips.

“You’re being so,” he waves his free hand at you, face still twisted in disgust at the mark on your neck, “so fucking cold about this. For a moment there I thought we were doing better.”

“Because I accepted your drink downstairs? Because I was polite enough to answer you without causing a scene in front of those people? Is that why you thought—” You let out a tearful sigh. This is not going according to plan. It’s in direct opposition to the rule of not getting involved with this man ever again in your life.

“You know what—I’m fine. Really.” You sigh, tired, soft. “I shouldn’t have come upstairs with you. We shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

“Are you too busy?” he presses, impatient and grumpy.

“I am, actually,” you say, too honest. “I better get back to Baela, like I tried to do before, I promised I wouldn’t leave her alone with all those vultures. We can continue this some other time,” you blink away and then back at him with a raw, teary glare, “in the future.”

You should leave now. Why are you still here? Why are you—

Aemond clearly wants to argue, but decides not to. He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk next to where he stands, not looking away from yours for a moment. You hold his gaze and feel nothing but aching longing and the smoldering hurt you were so sure you had managed to put behind you.

“Okay.” He murmurs with a sharp gaze, but he’s approaching you with careful steps, afraid you’ll back away.

“Okay.” You murmur back.

Except neither of you move toward the door. What you both do is Aemond stares at you and you stare back.

Alarm bells blare in the back of your mind, screaming at you to run immediately or you’ll never know peace.

Because that imposing, intense stance sounds so much like Aemond Targaryen, and that’s all well and good, except this is the Aemond you know, someone you’ve sworn never to let near you again. And he’s so close now and the room is quiet except for your anxious breathing and the distant purr of the air conditioning system — and when his thumb comes up to rub the skin just below your bottom lip, you stay there and let him pull it down.

He gives you only a second to absorb what that means before he crashes his lips to yours, end of conversation. He licks his way past your lips to swallow the agonized noises in the back of your throat. And it’s nostalgic, instinctive, a little bit needy and a lot of longing, the kind that would drive anyone crazy. And it feels good, letting go like this. Letting yourself sink into the familiarity of his mouth on yours, even if it ends in tears and ashes.

Aemond’s lips taste like cigarettes and mint, just like you dreamed. They’re also as soft as you remember, fitting perfectly against yours. It’s intoxicating, the way he kisses — with enough urgency to make anyone feel intensely wanted, but also with so much passion and care, with the softest touches that lull you into the kind of state of mind you shouldn’t be in with him.

His hand is sliding down the curve of your throat now, circling to grip there — a loose, gentle grip, just using it as leverage to pull you to him.

“Mm?” he hums — pleased with himself and almost smug in his ragged breaths. “Yeah, baby?” He’s not allowed to use that voice with you. The low, breathy voice that turns into a raspy sound. This is so fucking unfair, and you’re as angry as you are aroused right now.

“You have to go,” you gasp, lashes fluttering with every lick over your own tongue, every teasing bite to your bottom lip, “please, Aemond. We—”

“I missed you,” he whispers, returning to the wet space of your lips. The hand at your throat squeezes gently, his thumb stroking the path of a pulsing vein there, leaving tremors in its wake. “I miss you so fucking much.”

You no longer have your hands clasped together, instead they’re open at your sides, shaking, and you’re dizzy. Dizzy because something painful and tight in your chest that’s lain unacknowledged for four months has finally let go. And the knowledge that this, the two of you, might not be over after all is leaving you breathless and confused.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his ridiculous velvet voice low and sincere against your skin, “it doesn’t make up for any of the shit I’ve done, it doesn’t even come close, but I’m really sorry. I’m an asshole. Such a fucking asshole for letting you go."

When Aemond meets your eyes again, a spark of heat shoots through your belly. And while his words don't erase the pain, they do burn something in you. Whether you're fighting now or not, you crave him, and nothing about that has changed in the months you've been apart. Your mind may be full of arguments and hurt, but your body never got the memo, and it's reacting hotly to this man's presence.

You want to feel him holding you again so badly. You want to feel more of his mouth on yours, his soft hair tangled in your fingers, his warm breath on your neck. Fuck, how are you still so in love with someone who broke your heart into a million little pieces without even a decent explanation?

“Tell me you're not interested,” Aemond demands, after you've been silent for too long. You open your mouth to tell him to go away, for real this time, but the words won't come out. “Tell me you don't want me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You take a deep breath and try again.

“I want you,” is what your traitorous mouth says, but Aemond looks so relieved by this that you grab the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss. He shifts his body and places his other hand on your hip, pushing you hard against the dresser. You follow him and hold him by the back of the neck, his breath heated on your throat when he breaks the kiss. You feel Aemond bite and suck gently from your collarbone exposed by the party dress to your ear. He pinches the sensitive lobe and tugs lightly and you feel a shiver run through your entire body.

His hand on your neck pushes your head back and his mouth is on yours again and this kiss feels different. Aemond isn’t holding anything back now and he’s kissing you like he’s pouring all his love, apologies and desire into it. He’s kissing you like you’re the only thing he needs in the world, and you let yourself revel in the feeling of being wanted and loved. He pulls you back with him until you’re both at the edge of the king-sized bed, and you push him so that he falls lightly onto the soft mattress.

Aemond arches an eyebrow in curiosity and amusement, but parts his legs slightly so that you can slide between them, settling his back against the headboard as you straddle his lap - and even fully clothed you feel a thrill run through your body as press yourself against him, feeling how hard he already is.

Your hand slips into the soft silk of his shirt, undoing the first few buttons to caress the hard planes of his broad chest, nails gently scratching that expanse of pale skin. He rumbles a low growl and you capture his lips in another desperate, hurried kiss, your tongue thrusting into his open mouth, tangling with his.

His fingers tighten in your hair, using it to drag you closer to him, gasping in pleasure as your hips buck against his to feel that hard cock rubbing against your panties through his pants. He continues to pull on your hair, wrapping the strands around his fist over and over and tilting your head back as he kisses you back, chasing his tongue back into your mouth. There’s nothing careful about the way he takes your lip between his teeth, biting and sucking on it like it’s some kind of punishment, and it doesn’t take long for you to remember that you don’t mind a little pain — not when he’s the one inflicting it on you.

"Fuck, I love those cute little noises you make, baby," he breathes into your mouth, gripping your hair to tilt your face up and lick your jaw, "I love the way you let me do whatever I want to you - a pretty, precious little doll to play with, hm?"

You open your eyes, looking up at him through heavy, watery lashes. His violet eye is glazed with lust, his mouth drooping with heavy pants, the tops of his cheeks lightly tinged with the dusty pink of a blush, and you tug at the surgical eye patch he wears, the movement almost like muscle memory. Your lips kiss almost reverently over the rough outline of his scars and what's left of his mutilated eye as your fingers wrap around the elastic in his hair and tug to let the silky, silver strands fall freely down his back and front of his face - longingly welcoming the same earthy, organic scent of the amber shampoo he used when you were still together.

“Aemond,” you say, and now his mouth moves to your ear, nipping lightly with his teeth before licking, “Aemond,” your fingers curl deeper into his hair — not to push away, no. To bring him closer. “Aemond,” you keep chanting his name like it’s the only one you know, like you’ve forgotten other words exist.

“Fuck yes, I’m here, baby. I got you.” When he kisses you this time, so fucking good, like he wants this as much as you do — you can feel him wanting it. You can feel him wanting it. He growls and reaches up with both hands to grab your ass.

“Ah-!” you moan, pushing yourself back into his hold, the movement sending a line of heat and friction up and down your spine as your private parts brush harder against each other.

“I—Aem, touch me please,” you beg — and you really don’t need to tell him twice — Aemond reaches for the hem of your party dress, pushing it so the delicate fabric pools above your hips, massaging your ass with his other hand, loving the small noises of pleasure you try to suppress as you kiss him. He strokes the lace side of your panties for a few seconds before pushing them aside, and then he goes for your pussy like he’s been missing it, wanting it, dreaming about it for years.

“Wet,” he pants against your cheek, sliding his thumb along the slit of your pussy. “So wet for me, baby,” he says, and sucks kisses down your neck.

“Aem...ond,” you whine between gasps, high-pitched and whiny. The way you always do when you’re too turned on, like what your body is experiencing is too much for you to handle.

Two of his slender fingers press against your entrance and you gasp as he slowly plunges them in. Your head falls back as you lets out a low moan and you can’t help the way your thighs are already shaking. Of course he’s still really good at this.

He sets a lazy pace, fingers moving in and out of you as he focuses his mouth on your neck for the next few minutes. His fingers are so long and when he curves them, you go rigid.

“Ah, ah,” you moan. His fingertips rub against that spongy spot inside you and as he drags them out slowly while grinding against it, you sigh.

“Talk to me, baby. Does this feel good? Is this what you wanted?” You give another enthusiastic nod, mumbling a string of ‘yes, yes, it feels so fuckin good’, moaning deep in your throat as you grind your hips against his fingers. It’s intense, breathy, needy and beautiful. Aemond gives you another slow thrust in and out, brushing the soft pad of his thumb over your clit once and you nearly fall forward from him, your legs are so weak.

“You feel so beautiful when you take it like this, so good, baby, so good for me,” he murmurs against your neck, kissing your throat, your pulse point - his other hand massaging your scalp in a soft but possessive grip. “Makes me want to eat you." He pants, thrusting his fingers into your heat a fraction faster, flicking your poor clit just enough to drive you wild, slow in a way that feels more like torture, “I want to eat you so bad baby, lick that pussy until all I can taste is you. I fucking miss that.”

"God! Please, l-later...please, Aemond, later..." The noise that leaves you is not unlike a sob. "I need to feel you now, I need this so bad, please - it's too much, and it's not enough. I think I'm dying." You cry, so desperate, feeling too much. Just too much. All you want to feel is Aemond.

"Yeah?" He asks with a harsh sigh, arching his neck to look at you, flushed and just as breathless as you, but somehow still maintaining such a perfectly composed, mischievous appearance that it just makes you want to shake him and cause some chaos.

Your face burns with flames as he slowly and teasingly removes his fingers from your heat, lifting them both to his lips to clean them.

“A full fucking feast as always, love - thank you.” He hums huskily, eyelashes fluttering in pleasure as he sucks your juices from his fingers without taking his gaze from yours.

“S-shut up you pervert.” You mumble and he just chuckles, letting his back fall back against the headboard, giving you silent permission to proceed in whatever way you prefer. But even so; even beneath you, without his usual eye patch and with his hair messed up by your restless fingers, shirt askew and half open to expose his defined, pale skin, lips parted and moist with your arousal and narrowed gaze - he is anything but submissive.

Swallowing hard, you eventually pull away, sitting a little lower on his thighs, hand sliding down past his waist, searching for the evidence of his pleasure. Small fingers feel the expensive fabric of his dress pants, sliding over the thick tent of his cock in the material, feeling delicately before nudging the clasp.

He lifts his hips, aiding your efforts to push his pants down over his ass, freeing his cock for your eyes, and you moan at the sight. He’s just as gorgeous as you remember. His cock is long and thick, the tip a dark flushed color, slick with precum. You close your fist around him, biting your bottom lip when you can barely wrap your fingers completely around his thickness. Your eyes are half-lidded as watch your small hand work his shaft, reveling in the way the slow thrusts make him twitch slightly, his breathing coming harder.

“You're determined to make trouble, aren't you?” he pants raspily, and you do your best not to whimper as the rumble sends another wave of fire licking your pussy.

Deciding to stop teasing, not for his sake - or at least not just for his sake - but especially because you yourself can't go another minute without having him inside you again, you move forward.

Lifting your body higher on your knees, you use a free hand to pull the small gusset of your thong aside, revealing a perfectly shaved mound to his view. Aemond groans lowly as he looks at you again and you blush, your body tingling at the thought that you still please him so much. Holding your panties aside, lowering yourself so that your soaked pussy lips are cradling his shaft, you rock back and forth a few times, coating them with your arousal and his, both of you letting choked sounds of pleasure spill freely from your lips.

Your thighs tremble every time the ridge of his cockhead brushes against your hard clit and you rock against that throbbing shaft, your desire burning through your blood as heated as his cock sliding against your slick slit. He slides past your entrance again and you can feel your walls trembling, both wanting him to push inside and fighting against such a thick intrusion. Aemond bites his lip with each teasing thrust, his entire body shaking beneath you as he tries to maintain control. With each brush of his cock over your clit, you hear yourself moaning louder, your nails digging deep into his neck and shoulder, no doubt making this difficult for him.

Unable to take any more of this, you reach down to grip his cock so you can line it up with your entrance. You slowly bring the head inside, both of you panting, your eyes locking and you use your hips and the hand at his base to take him inside.

Your entire body tenses as you try to fight against the thick intrusion, your entrance stretching as you feel yourself being filled with his cock. It’s almost painful after so many months without it, even with a random one night stand with Ben, and you cling to him, breathing deeply as you force yourself to relax.

“You’re so good to me, aren’t you, baby?” Aemond murmurs against your loose lips, savoring your breathy intake of breath and mixing it with his own, cupping your hips in his wide palms. “Such a good, sweet girl, taking my cock so fucking good. Keep going baby, you can do it.”

You moan, feeling your walls quiver around his pulsing length, allowing you to feel every inch of his steel shaft inside them - the shape of the head, the veins, the slight curve it had as it slid a little deeper when, blessedly, your walls begin to relax a little. You swallow a little air before kissing him desperately as if he were your air now, your eyes watering with emotion. He greedily devours your mouth, as if he craves it too, savagely plunging his tongue into your throat as he holds himself perfectly still, waiting for you to adjust.

A few panting breaths later, you finally feel relaxed enough. You move both hands into his hair and the back of his neck, seeking support.

“Aemond,” a sigh, your voice shaking.

“I got you, beautiful,” he replies between kisses and ragged breaths. "But please, move. It's so fucking tempting to feel that pussy squeezing me after all this time."

Aemond, unlike his stoic and silent persona in any other social setting, has always been a dirty talker during sex. But his direct, filthy words still surprise you, evoking a mix of mortifying embarrassment and pure heat in your veins.

You bite your bottom lip, holding onto it as you awkwardly begin to move up and down on his cock. He doesn't seem to notice your rusty practice, groaning at the feel of you like this again, pulling your skirt up higher so he can watch your pussy swallow his cock as you rides it.

You blush, but buck your hips for emphasis, hissing as he slides in a little deeper than before. When you move up and down again, giving a single roll of your hips that has you seeing stars as he rubs your sweet spot before he slams back up into you, sheathing himself to the hilt. Cries fly from your lips as he repeats the movements, making sure you truly were ready for him. The suspense of those agonizingly slow thrusts had you moaning, your entire body shaking.

Aemond lets out a deep growl that has you clenching around him and you lean forward, your breast pressed against his chest. His lips latch onto your neck, sucking on your skin, leaving behind a deep hickey.

“F-fuck,” you moan, rolling your hips in his lap.

“That’s it, ride me babe,” he growls, using his hands to lift your ass. “Use me.”

You help him, sinking your knees into the softness of the mattress, moving your hips back and forth in his lap. The sound your bodies make together is obscene, all lewd licks and rough slaps of skin meeting skin as your ass slaps against his thighs. You do as he asks, taking what you need, feeling close to the edge already. Aemond throws his head back against the headboard, watching you through a half-lidded slit, his lips stretched into a lazy, lustful smile.

“There you go love,” he encourages, rocking his hips upward every time you move. “That’s it, fuck. Tell me whose cock you’re riding.”

“Y-you Aemond, your cock—” You answer immediately, your mind a little too foggy to understand the real meaning of his question.

“Oh baby, already all cute and dumb on my cock, hm?” He chuckles close to your mouth, nudging your nose with his to get your attention. “You know what I want to hear. Let's try again, come on. Who are you riding?”

And through the rhythmic slap of your skin together, the pressure of your orgasm building marginally in your belly, the confusion in your mind, and the feeling of having Aemond like this after so long - you understand what he wants.

The position you’re in, bobbing up and down on his lap, heat and sex surrounding you like a dome of ash and sin, keeping him deceptively submissive beneath you, taking what you needs…

You know what he wants to hear.

You flush bright red and mortified from your cheeks to your neck and close your eyes, straining once against his firm grip on your ass, swallowing again. You might actually be fuming, you realize in stunned amazement.

“M-my dragon. Riding my dragon.”

My dragon. A nickname you gave him a few weeks before the breakup, a representation of his abrasive, brash personality hidden beneath an indifferent, impenetrable exterior.

“Did you miss this?” he asks with a teasing, breathless grin, squeezing the soft cheeks of your ass between his fingers to help you undulate your pussy relentlessly on his cock. “Did you miss riding your dragon like this?”

"Aemond-" You blush deeply at his question, trying to look away from his, even as your body continues to roll against his in that ancient, natural dance.

"Answer." He presses, lifting a hand to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger and make you look at him, straight into that violet expanse.

"Y-yes."

"Yes what?" He pushes.

Face burning, you sigh.

"I missed riding my dragon like this. I missed it so fucking much, Aemond..."

He nodded, his eyelashes fluttering, brows furrowed.

"Yeah you do. Never again baby, you'll never go without riding that cock. I'll make sure of that."

Your pace quickened, despite the burning in your thighs, and he kissed your jaw, nibbling at your skin. He slapped your ass and you bucked against him, the sting making the pleasure sweeter.

“Come on, baby, you’re doing so good, I know you’re close. Just a little bit more, I can feel it, I can feel how tight you’re squeezing, fuck, this is going to kill me…” He babbles his dirty nonsense close to your ear, his control slipping as the grip on your flesh increases to the level of pain. “Use me for what you need. Cum hard on this cock.”

But what finally pushes you over the edge are sharp teeth sinking into your throat, paired with a skilled thumb that suddenly slithers over your clit in quick strokes. Your vision goes white and you barely have time to realize you’re coming as the cacophony of sensations floods you. Your ears ring as the pain in your neck makes the pleasure burn hotter, driving you higher and higher until you’re thrashing against the heavy pressure in your abdomen. You’ve grabbed onto everything you can - his shoulders, his hair, gripping and digging.

You float and fall and fly all at once and it’s perfect, moaning breathlessly with your head thrown back, feeling Aemond grip your hips with one hand, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull your body in front of him. With you like this, bent over and still shaking with your orgasm, he thrusts his hips upward with a hellfire vigor and you can’t help but hold on to him for dear life.

“Shit, you’re so..!” He presses you tight against him as he snaps his hips upward, holding you still for his cock, making sure he gets as deep as physically possible. “Fuck, baby,” he nearly growls as your back arches and you cry out, with the overstimulation, with the pleasure, your entire body tensing as he takes his own satisfaction from you. "Fuck, you're so fucking tight, so hot around me, it feels so fucking good around my cock. I'm gonna cum. Shit, I need to pull it out, I-"

"I-inside...please, cum inside me..." You whisper desperately and tearfully into his ear, panicking at the possibility of him pulling out, feeling him shiver and groan at your words. "It's safe, Aem. I want it inside me, - give it to me, please!"

"Fuck," he growls and tightens his grip on your waist, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he begins to lose his rhythm. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby, you're so...you're so fucking..!" He can't find the right words, eye closing and brow furrowing, thrusting his hips up with enough force to push you further up his body if he wasn't holding you so tightly.

He takes a few deep breaths, and you watch him fall almost in a trance, his handsome face flushed and lips parted, a hoarse, broken groan as he thrusts himself deep one last time before exploding, a guttural sound rolling through his clenched teeth as he comes to the feeling of your walls clenching around him, milking him for everything he has. Your hips buck with the force of it, snapping against his in slow strokes as you greedily ride out every drop.

You shudder above him, exhausted body tingling with the sensation of his heated seed spilling deep inside you, filling you until you feel like there’s no more room. “Aemond,” you whimper, your voice cracking with hypersensitivity as you struggle to roll your hips one last time before you can’t take it anymore, a shaky exhale blowing past your lips as you collapse onto him. “Fuuck.”

“Yeah,” Aemond exhales, his chest heaving rapidly beneath you. “Holy shit, that was…that was…fuck, what the fuck were you thinking when you asked me to cum inside you like that?” You lift your head as you feel his gaze on you, his words making you both flatter and shy at the same time. “Was that on purpose, baby?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” you sigh, chuckling softly when he snorts. “But it’s good to know I still have a trick or two in store.”

“Well, it worked like a charm, baby.” Smiling lazily, he cups your cheek and pulls you into a soft kiss, sighing as your chest hums contentedly. You slide your hands into his hair, kissing him back until you’re both out of breath. “Are you okay?” he asks when you break the kiss to catch your breath, a worried frown on his forehead.

“Yeah,” you tell him, a blush staining your cheeks as you realize you’re still firmly joined, neither of you showing any signs of wanting to break the intimate contact. He kisses your forehead, pushing the satin straps of your dress up to your shoulders again, caressing your skin gently.

“Aemond...what does that mean?”

You don’t want to ask him that, not really. All you want is to keep enjoying this moment, for as long as it lasts. But there’s a small part of you, the one you’ve silenced for all these months, that’s terrified at the mere thought of being abandoned once again. With the thought of it being a casual encounter for him, regardless of his words spoken in the heat of the moment.

“I-I don’t want to assume, but I can’t do this again if it’s a one-time thing for you...I can’t go through this again...” your nerves start to take over when he doesn’t answer right away, your gaze shifting from his in an anxious gesture.

He guides you to him once more with firm fingers, stroking your cheek with his thumb when he makes sure you won’t try to turn away.

“I want to fight for this. For us. I know I was an asshole before, I let myself get carried away by family pressures and I lost sight of what really mattered. So pathetic. I regretted it as soon as I left, but I didn’t know how to go back...how to fix the shit I did.” He’s serious when speaks, owning up to his mistakes with a degree of confidence that leaves you speechless. “If you don’t want to...if it’s too late...I understand, but please know that I love you. I’ve loved you the whole time we’ve been together, I’ve loved you while we’ve been apart, and I’ll continue to love you even if you don’t want me anymore.” He looks straight into your eyes and says, “I want to fight for you because you’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it. I’m sorry I made you believe otherwise.”

You feel unshed tears pooling on your lashes and you blink them away, but a few still escape. Aemond wipes them away with gentle fingers, and slowly leans you toward him, barely brushing his lips against yours.

“Always a crybaby.” He teases, but you can still hear the note of affection in his voice, how he’s laid himself bare for you — even if he’s trying to cover it up with sarcastic jokes.

You can’t manage much more than a broken noise as you bury your face in his neck, and Aemond doesn’t press you. He just holds you, for a long time, he just holds you -- until you almost feel the tendrils of sleep reaching for you. Nothing but the cozy feeling of being close again; the warmth of his body heat against yours, his breath in your ear, his heartbeat in yours -- even his cock still buried inside you. You and him, together again.

"I planned a party for Baela at the Red Keep Bar later..." You mumble into his chest after a long time of silence, fingers playing with the soft silk of his black shirt. "Would you like to go? I mean...with me, you know - like...well...together...?" You stumble over the words, blushing hard as you feel his chest tremble when he laughs at that.

"Of course I would, baby. But two parties in one night? What are you trying to do to me?" He breathes, half bored, half elated, taking your nervous hand in his to place a tender kiss on your knuckles.

"Still a social butterfly, I see." You huff, snuggling deeper into the crook of his neck, letting his woody, smoky scent completely relax you.

"Only the best for you, love." He murmurs contentedly, snaking his hand between your bodies to fish the lighter and pack of cigarettes out of his pants and light another one, inhaling slowly as he keeps you tightly tucked into his body with one arm, his cock twitching inside your walls to make you blush and look at him suspiciously. But he doesn't make any move on it, just keeps dragging on his stupid cigarette.

"I hate this thing, you know?" You mumble lazily and almost disappointedly (even though you're still completely sore from the previous session) when he turns his head to blow a cloud of smoke away from you, though the smell still makes you wrinkle your nose anyway.

"Yeah, I know. And I must say, I'm looking forward to all your long, passionate speeches about how this is detrimental to my life and the lives of others." He has his one eye closed as speaks, leaning his head against the headboard with a satisfied and sincere smile on his lips. "I've missed this so fucking much, princess."

He laughs louder when you slap his arm in offense.

-----

Aemond isn’t the kind of guy who pees on his girl to mark territory. Oh no, he’s above that.

But when Aemond spots Benjicot — the infamous Bloody Ben — later that night after finally getting the scoop on who gave you that hickey, he holds the guy’s curious, dissatisfied gaze as he shifts you more comfortably on his lap, your back against his broad chest.

He’s not marking his territory when brushes the hair away from your pretty, delicate neck, gently kissing a particularly obvious bite mark.

HIS MARK.

He’s not marking his territory when he grips your waist to pull your hips toward his, making you let out a shy, startled squeak, scolding him ever so slightly with your bright doe eyes.

He’s certainly not marking his territory when he ignores your cute warning and wraps his hand around your hair to pull your head back, sealing his lips with yours in a deep, sensual kiss, hidden by the darkness of the club — but not hidden enough that damned Bloody Ben doesn’t see you both.

Aemond isn’t marking his territory.

He’s just holding on to what’s always been his, and nothing and no one could ruin that. Not even Aemond himself.

To hell with Bloody Ben.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd #hotd season 2 #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #exes to lovers #ex aemond targaryen #oh this is not a tag #anyway #x reader #reader insert

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centrally-unplanned · 7 months ago

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youtube

I really enjoyed this video by Angela Collier as someone who is of the "Feynman Bros" generation without being a member of the thing itself. I was of course part of the "XKCD science nerd culture" of the 2000's where he was a valorized figure, but never read any of his books, and generally just wasn't a science person in general so the whole vibe didn't appeal. I certainly noticed the 2010's culture shift where people - rightly so in my opinion - noticed that many of his "anecdotes" were casually misogynistic or harassing. I know both sides of the track here decently well without having any stake in it.

So it was quite shocking to me to learn - spoilers - that Feynman never wrote a single book. Every one of those texts with his name splashed on it is by someone else, and sometimes with quite minimal involvement by him! He had this weird coterie of fans who just loved his stuff so much they collected his anecdotes, recorded lectures, and so on, and made books out of them, often well after the fact. And of course at certain point "cashing in" on the brand took over.

Which leads, inexorably, to the fact that it is a little difficult to glimpse the "real" Feynman, because half of the published stuff is just made up. Surely You're Joking is the exaggerated stories of a 50 year old man trying to impress a 20-something dude with how cool he is, telling tales decades after they happened. I had never read the book, so hearing direct quotes from it of Feynman "pretending to speak a language he didn't and being So Clever he tricked his audience" are just...obviously not true? What the fuck are you talking about??? The best part for me is that the book, of stories from the life of a physicist, never involves...other physicists. It is always random people at a bar or hotel. Because, you know, they can't contradict them? The one time he did name someone, Murray Gell-Mann, in a story, Murray objected on the grounds that it was false and they were forced to change it! You had one job and you fucked it up, person-who-isn't -Feynman-pretending-to-be-Feynman-while-writing-the-book.

This is very much a video in my wheelhouse of cultural history - Feynman is just a guy. His brand, like all brands, is manufactured, and so there is a story behind how it was manufactured & why. I think I can see Feynman's rise as part of the general rise of "nerd culture" that accelerated in the 1980's, and the very deep need to both be "pure" nerdy (something finally dropped in the late 2000's) but also cool, to fight back on the rep. A womanizing scientist deeply appealed at that time, one who can Have It All. The idea of being the Smartest Guy In The Room was admirable, not insufferable. Then times changed, and the whole edifice can be a bit cringe. With, of course, a real person behind it all that one has to sift through to see.

Also, you do sometimes look at the past and go "man, people really did act differently back then". And that is true! But part of that story is that people just felt way more comfortable bullshitting you about it. Makes it a bit hard to say how things really were.

#Youtube

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ddlydevotion · 5 months ago

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dating hamzah al-emad includes...

currently listening to: lust for life by lana del rey ft the weeknd ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Hamzah quite honestly doesn’t have too much experience when it comes to romantic relationships. He’s constantly worried that he’ll do or say something wrong, so please reassure him when the situation calls for it.

he lovelovelovess having you around him as much as possible. You honestly could never “bother” him, even if he’s editing/coming up with video ideas. One day you asked Hamzah if he’d like some alone time to get some editing done and he immediately said:

“no-what are you talking about? Here, come sit down.”

You’re one of the very few people that don’t easily overstimulate him lmao

This man has insane attachment issues when it comes to you and has no issue letting you know when he misses/wants to see you. You could be out of the apartment running errands and your phone will be filled with messages from him.

‘me and the cats miss u very much btw if u even care…’

‘when are you coming homeee ;(‘

Please don’t be shocked when he comes up to you asking for very specific things that he may need for a video involving Martin. For example, where do you think he got the skirt for his White Chicks costume? Exactly.

Even if someone is meeting him for the very first time, they’ll immediately be able to tell he has a girlfriend because he’s constantly wearing something symbolic of you. That bracelet you randomly made him one night? It’s practically glued to his wrist. Your claw clip practically has a home on his belt loop. So, these little things make it pretty easy for people to decipher the fact that he’s taken.

Recording with Martin takes up quite a bit of his time so he’s constantly putting in the effort to see you, hear your voice, and speak with you in general. You’re constantly receiving photos/videos/voice memos from Hamzah when he’s in the middle of filming.

He always makes sure to bring you something back when Martin and him visit a restaurant, or a location that’s stocked up on items he knows you enjoy.

Hamzah has been through a whole lot and has experienced his fair share of loneliness. He isn’t too good with his words/voicing just how much you and your presence mean to him but he tries soso hard. There’ll be a lot of sighs and stutters filling the pauses in his sentences but that doesn’t stop his adoration from shining through.

“I just- I love you so much, y/n. I hope I say it enough, y’know? I’m really serious about you and I know I might not be the most experienced guy when it comes to this, but I hope that doesn’t make you doubt how serious I am about you. Because I am- serious about you, I mean.”

These sorts of conversations tend to happen late at night when the warmth between your two bodies blossoms endlessly. He holds you tight as your cheek is pressed against his chest. He can’t help but hold you the same way he’d hold a knife.

In his eyes, the two of you are in this for the long run and he doesn’t hide his intentions of marrying you. He even slipped up and called you his wife in a video once.

‘Yesterday, me and my wife- well…make that my future wife.’ and then a cheesy lil smirk spreads across his face 😭

He even made the both of you in Sims and made it so that the two of you got married. Mandy and Martin couldn’t help but tease him about it.

He loves you with his entire fucking being and he wants nothing but to be good for you, good to you, be the one to make you smile, laugh, feel at ease. He adores being able to do domestic activities with you since it gives him a glimpse into how it’ll be like once the two of you eventually get married. As I said, he puts in soooo much effort into making you happy so he definitely attempts to get good at cooking so he can surprise you with breakfast in bed/homemade dinner. He stills puts in the effort to learn how to cook even if you already know how to. He wants to surprise you so bad so pls let him (╥‸╥) (even if the French toast he made is a lil burnt)

Follows you around like a lost puppy. His hand is constantly reaching for yours, his arms are instantly wrapped around you as soon as the two of you get into bed, he always makes room for you to sit in his lap.

a/n: I haven’t written in quite awhile but I had to come back since my obsession with this man has worsened this past week 😞. Feel free to send requests 💌🧸

#hamzah x reader #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #slushy noobz x reader #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah x female reader #hamzah x y/n #x female y/n #x female reader #x fem!reader #youtuber x reader

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tokkiwrites · 6 months ago

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Adstrum in ruinas. | part one.

General Marcus Acacius × F ! Reader

• summary: After your father’s sudden death, the general starts spending more time with you. At first, it feels strange, but as you come to learn, he isn't that big a brute everyone thinks he is.

• kind of slow burn ??, age gap (unspecified), forbidden love, marcus is pretty possessive and in love, and he's cute, mutual pining, mentions of death, lmk if i missed anything.

• tokkis note: This is the first part of a little fic i wanted to write. the nsfw smut part will be in part two since this part already has almost 4k words. i just wanted a little backstory, so who knows... if you guys enjoy this part, maybe i will make it into a short series. i have lots of ideas. anyways, enjoy!!!

The palace felt colder after your father’s death. Though the sun still danced across the walls, nothing could have warmed you.

He had always been a quiet man, steady in his craft and in his love for you. You had grown up watching his hands work leather as though it were clay, each stitch meticulous, each touch with purpose. He had poured his life into the emperor’s court, shaping beauty out of necessity, and yet, when his time had come, they had discarded him without hesitation.

Accused of theft, he had been taken swiftly, the charges flimsy, the judgment quick. You had not been allowed to speak on his behalf. No one had. And when his life ended on the blade of the emperor’s justice, the world moved on as though he had never existed. You had not cried when they took him. There had been no time, no space for grief within the stone walls of the palace. Instead, you swallowed it whole, the ache settling deep within your chest, cold and unforgiving. You could not cry. In a way, crying was admitting to the gods that he was no longer, so you did not dare slip one tear. Let the pain seethe.

No one spoke his name. To your face, at least. Not until General Marcus Acacius.

You had known his name long before you ever knew his face. The empire’s greatest general, a man whose victories had carved Rome’s borders, who had spilled oceans of blood in the emperor’s name. He was the kind of man you had only seen from afar—untouchable, his presence a thing of myths whispered amongst men. To you, he was just that: a man. A cruel one.

So when he first appeared in the apothecary, you almost did not believe it was him. “The town speaks of… you,” he said, voice filling the room like the low roll of thunder. You turned sharply, the pestle slipping from your grasp. He stood in the doorway, tall and broad, his figure framed by the dim light spilling in from the corridor. His tunic was torn, a gash running across his arm where blood had soaked through. “So I heard,” he continued, stepping inside, “if it is true—”

“Oh, yes, I—yes, it is true,” you stammered, fumbling for words. His presence unsettled you, though you could not say why. Perhaps it was the way his gaze lingered or faint something in his tone. It was different this time. “I understand. You have my condolences,” he said. You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Something in your heart fluttered. “Thank you, General.” He was not a monster. Not here with you, not now, at least. It seemed sincere enough. You looked him up and down. Why did the blood keep on trickling? For a moment, you thought he might say more, but he simply gestured to his arm. “May I trouble you for assistance?” No monster.

At first, you thought nothing of his visits.

They were sporadic, a few days apart—always under the pretense of some new injury. A cut from a sparring match. A dislocated shoulder. The aches and pains of a soldier’s life. He came to you because it was easier than seeking the palace’s physicians, or so you told yourself. But then the days stretched into weeks, and his appearances grew more frequent.

You noticed the small ways in which he lingered. The way his eyes followed you as you moved about the room, the way his voice softened when he addressed you. It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible, but as the days passed, you found yourself waiting for the sound of his footsteps in the hall.

For even when he was far, his touch still lingered, you were still drunken on his smell, and his eyes still loved yours.

One evening, as you prepared a salve by the fire, he spoke. “Your father was a great man.” You froze, your hands stilling over the mortar. “I remember his work,” Marcus continued, his voice low. “He made my first pair of riding boots. I was just a young man then.” You swallowed dry, willing your voice to remain steady. “He never spoke of you.”

“No, I suppose he would not have.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, “So why are you telling me this?”

“Because he deserved better,” Marcus said simply. The words struck something deep within you. You looked away, vision blurring as the firelight flickered. Better.

He was all you could think about. Each night, from the first, you would sing sweet, mournful songs to the moon. Maybe it was because you missed your father dearly, and he filled that space up almost perfectly. Or maybe because, when he was with you, he did not seem to be the seven-headed monster all saw him as. Maybe pretending was his virtue.

But you were not the last judgment.

“Why are you always here?” you asked, voice sharper than you intended. He hesitated, his gaze flicking to the floor. “Do you not want me here?” A smile played on his lips. “That is not what I said.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because I do not understand.” You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “You never cared before. Why now?” His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away. But then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “It is nothing,” he said at last.

“It is not nothing,” you pressed. “You are avoiding the truth.”

He looked at you then, his expression guarded but not unkind. “And if I told you the truth, would you thank me for it? Or curse me for what I know?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “What is it that you mean?” Marcus hesitated, the words heavy on his tongue. “Your father,” he said finally. “He did not die because of the charges. He died because they needed a scapegoat. The emperor needed to remind the court what happens when you step out of line.” The room seemed to tilt, the walls closing in around you. “You knew?”

“I tried to stop it,” he said quietly. “But there are things even I cannot change.”

You shook your head, the ache in your chest threatening to overwhelm you. “I do not need your protection, Marcus. I do not need anyone’s.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was steady, but there was something raw in his eyes. “But you have it anyway.”

You wanted to be angry with him. You wanted to scream, to push him away, but instead, you stood there, frozen, as he reached for you. His hands were rough, calloused from years of battle, but they cradled your face with a tenderness that left you breathless. You craved it. And you will crave it until the day you are no more.

“I care for you more than I have ever cared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that terrifies me.”

Whatever happened to honor and victory? It was brutal. He was brutal. Raw, bloody, and utterly inhuman. But how could he also be the quiet after the storm? The wind that travels over still waters, the sound of dawn over mountains of dead people? You had to treat him many times, but the wounds he had inside his heart came well over the ones on his skin, you think.

You didn’t want to think of him—Marcus, with his dark eyes and the way they seemed to unravel you each time they met your own. But he lingered, even when he wasn’t here. He lingered in the soft creak of the door, the faint scent of leather and iron that clung to the air after he’d gone. It wasn’t fair, how much space he took in your thoughts. How much warmth he brought into this cold, empty life. You hated him for it. You hated yourself more.

“You work too hard.” You glanced up, startled by the suddenness of his words. He was seated by the fire, his armor stripped away, leaving only the simple tunic beneath. His shoulders were broad, his posture commanding even in repose. “You say that as though there’s an alternative,” you replied, turning back to the herbs in your hands.

“You could rest,” he said simply. “And do what? Dream of better days?” The bitterness in your voice surprised even you. Marcus leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You deserve better days.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Finally, you set the pestle down and met his gaze. “Better days won’t bring my father back.”

“No,” he agreed. “But they might give you something to hope for.” You shook your head, unwilling to let yourself be drawn into his optimism. “Hope is for fools, General.”

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But sometimes, it’s all we have.”

He wanted to hold you, to let his body meld with yours, ask you to run away to far lands. Let him take care of you, make you have his babies. Love you until there's nothing left.

but he couldn't.

“What would you do with better days?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Marcus’s gaze lifted, startled by the question. He leaned back in his chair, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the dim room.

“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. he did know. he'd spend them with you. oh, silly it all felt. “I stopped imagining them a long time ago.” You paused, your fingers stilling over a jar. “You must have thought about it. When you were younger, before…” You trailed off, uncertain how to finish the sentence. “Before the blood?” he supplied, his tone sharper than you expected. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose I did. Once.” still.

“And?”

He hesitated, the tension in his shoulders palpable. “And it doesn’t matter. The man I am now... he has no place in better days.” Something in your chest ached at his words, though you couldn’t say why. You wanted to reach for him, to close the distance between you and tell him he was wrong. But you didn’t. Instead, you lowered your gaze and returned to your work, your voice quiet. “That’s a pity.”

The days stretched into weeks, and though you tried to resist, the threads of your lives intertwined in ways you couldn’t untangle. Marcus became a constant presence, his visits no longer marked by the pretense of injuries. He came for you, though neither of you dared to speak it aloud.

Each touch, each glance, was a betrayal of the barriers you had built around yourself. Yet, you let him break them piece by piece, unable to deny the pull that drew you closer.

One night, as the apothecary lay bathed in moonlight, he found you humming an old melody—a song your father had sung on quiet nights. The tune was bittersweet, a memory wrapped in longing. Marcus lingered in the doorway, his shadow stretching across the room.

“I’ve heard that before,” he said softly.

You turned, startled. “My father used to sing it.” He nodded, stepping closer. “It suits you. Beautiful and haunting.” You didn’t respond, your gaze dropping to your hands. “I don’t sing much anymore.”

“You should.”

He was close now, close enough that you could see the faint scar that ran along his jaw, the one you’d traced with your eyes so many times but never dared to touch. “Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because it’s part of you,” he said simply. “And I want to know all of you.” His words left you breathless, the weight of them settling in your chest. You wanted to pull away, to guard the fragile thing that was growing between you, but you couldn’t.

But people talk.

They talk in whispers that snake through the palace walls, slithering through cracks and beneath doors. Whispers of his visits, of his presence in the apothecary, of the time he lingers where he should not. They do not speak to you directly, but you can feel their words coiling around your throat, tightening with every passing day.

You hear them behind you when you walk through the halls: the sharp staccato of hurried footsteps, the low murmur of voices that stop the moment you turn. You catch glimpses of knowing glances, the way the maids shift their eyes when you enter a room, how the guards avert their gazes.

They all know, and yet they know nothing.

Because what is there to know? You have not touched him beyond necessity, have not dared to let your hand linger when you tend his wounds. And yet, the air between you is thick, suffused with something that neither of you has the courage to name.

“You should not come here anymore,” It was late. The apothecary was empty, save for the two of you. You stood with your back to him, arranging jars on the shelves in some vain attempt to distract yourself from the weight of his presence.

“I will decide what I should or should not do,” Marcus replied, his voice steady. You turned to face him, exasperation rising in your chest. “They talk, Marcus. Do you not see the danger in that? For you— for me?” His expression changed fast. “I cannot stop them from speaking,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “And I will not stop coming.”

“Why?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Why do you care what happens to me? Why do you risk so much just to be here?”

He did not answer immediately. His gaze flicked over your face, searching for something, though you could not say what. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy. “Because you deserve better than this,” he said. “Better than what the court has given you. Just... better." You shook your head, chest tightening. “That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one I can give you,” he said, stepping closer. “For now." But deep down, you knew better.

And you hated him for it, too.

“I see the way you look at me,” he said one night, his voice breaking the silence. You froze, your hands stilling over the poultice you were preparing. “What?”

“Do not deny it,” Marcus said, his tone softer now. “I know that look. I have seen it on too many faces not to recognize it.” You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “And what look is that?”

“The one that says you hate me as much as you try to fight it." The words struck you like a blow, and you turned to face him, your cheeks burning. “I do not—”

“You do,” he said simply, cutting you off. “And I do not blame you for it.”

His gaze was steady, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might say more, but instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. “I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I hope for it, all the same.” You did not hate him. you wish you could, because falling in love wasn't what you wanted right now.

“I think about you,” Marcus admitted, his voice raw. “More than I should. More than is safe.” Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as his words sank in. “You shouldn’t,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction. “I know.”

The silence between you stretched.

“But why?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Why do you care now, after all this time? You never gave me an answer, Marcus..."

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Because I see you,” he said finally. “And I see myself in you—the parts of me I thought were dead. The parts I’ve tried to bury.” You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “I don’tㅡ Marcus, if this is all a game to you, of things you want to rediscover within you..."

"It is not. I do not intend to play with your heart."

So why does the blood keep on trickling?

They were wildflowers, clearly gathered from the edges of the palace gardens, and they looked out of place in his calloused hands. He held them out awkwardly, his expression somewhere between defiance and vulnerability, as though he expected you to scold him for the gesture. “For you,” he said simply. You stared at them for a moment, then at him. “Why?” you couldn’t help but smile. “Do I need a reason?” His tone was defensive, but the softness in his gaze betrayed him. No monster.

Your fingers brushed against his as you took the flowers, and he flinched almost imperceptibly, as if the touch burned him. “They’re beautiful,” you said. He didn’t reply, but you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch— an almost-smile, there and gone in an instant.

“Are you trying to court me, General?” you asked, half-joking. The question caught him off guard, and he looked at you with something close to panic in his eyes. “No.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Good. You’d be terrible at it.” But the truth was, you didn’t hate the thought.

He started threatening the others after that.

The first time, you hadn’t been there to see it, but you heard about it from one of the maids who whispered to you in passing. “The general,” she said, her eyes wide. “He nearly broke Marcellus’s arm. All because he said something about you.”

He didn’t deny it. “He should not have said what he did,” he said simply, his tone calm but firm. “What did he say?”

“It does not matter.”

“Marcus—”

“It does not matter,” he repeated, his voice sharper now. “What matters is that he will not say it again.”

You wanted to argue with him, to tell him he couldn’t go around threatening people in your name. But the truth was, a part of you was glad. A part of you wanted him to protect you. He didn’t just watch over you—he hovered, his presence a constant shadow that both comforted and unnerved you. When he wasn’t by your side, you found yourself looking for him, craving his presence like air. And when he was with you, you felt safer than you had since your father’s death.

Days passed, and though you told yourself you should push him away, you could not.

He was always there, like a storm on the horizon—inevitable, impossible to ignore. You felt his presence even when he was not near, his voice echoing in your mind, his touch lingering on your skin.

You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your heart leapt when you heard his footsteps, the way your breath hitched when his fingers brushed yours. You tried to convince yourself it meant nothing, that it was a passing infatuation born of grief and the fact that he so happened to be there. You tried to convince yourself that the soft yearning in your chest was fleeting. A passing fancy, born of loneliness and the way Marcus had carved out a space in your world so effortlessly.

But as the days turned to weeks, the intensity of your feelings betrayed you. Every glance he cast your way lingered. Every word he spoke seemed to reverberate in your mind long after it had been said.

And every time his hand brushed against yours—whether by accident or intent—it felt as if the earth shifted beneath your feet.

It was one of those moments now. The two of you stood side by side in the apothecary, the late afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows. He was reaching for a jar of herbs on the shelf above, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned closer.

Your breath hitched, and you stepped back quickly, your movements too sharp, too sudden. “Am I in your way?” Marcus asked, his voice low and amused. “No,” you said hastily, turning to busy yourself with a mortar and pestle. “Not at all.” He did not move, and you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and unwavering. “You always do that,” he said after a moment, his tone thoughtful.

“Do what?”

“Step away.” You forced yourself to meet his eyes. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” he said quietly. There was no accusation in his voice, only a gentle insistence. “You step away as if the space will make it easier. But it does not, does it?” Your fingers tightened around the pestle. “Marcus—”

“I feel it too,” he said, cutting you off. The words hung between you, raw and unvarnished. You stared at him, your heart pounding. “You should not say that.”

“Why not? Because it is the truth?” He stepped closer, his hand resting on the edge of the table. “Because I look at you and I can think of nothing else? Because when I leave here, all I want is to come back?”

“Marcus, stop.” Your voice was trembling now, a plea more than a command. “I cannot stop,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I do not think you can, either.” The room seemed to shrink around you, the air charged with something that felt too big for your soul to understand. “Tell me to leave,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “If this is too much, if I have crossed a line, say the word, and I will go.” You opened your mouth, the words on the tip of your tongue. But they would not come. Because no matter how much you told yourself this was dangerous, reckless, wrong. you did not want him to go.

You did not step back this time. “I cannot,” you whispered, the words breaking free like a confession. His breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he reached for you, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “I do not know how to do this,” you said, your voice trembling. “I do not know what happens now.”

what is this pandora box you have opened?

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was raw and consuming, as though he’d been holding back a storm and now it was unleashed. His hands slid to frame your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as his lips claimed yours. There was no hesitation, no room for doubt. And, oh, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Your hands found his tunic, clutching the fabric as though it were the only thing keeping you grounded. His scent filling your lungs, his warmth, the feel of him, it was too much and not enough all at once.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t…”

“You did,” you whispered, your own voice shaky. “And I didn’t stop you.” His lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile, but his eyes remained serious. “Say the word, and I’ll walk away. I swear it.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling over you. But then you shook your head, your hand lifting to brush against his cheek. “I wil not say it.” His eyes closed briefly, as though your words had physically hit him. When he opened them again, they were softer, full of something you couldn’t name but felt in every corner of your soul.

“Then I am yours,” he murmured. “For as long as you’ll have me.” You leaned up, your lips brushing against his once more. A promise, a surrender, a beginning.

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