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acid-ixx · 5 months ago

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ch.2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

*"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 13.

i hate everything. i hate my family. i hate my father, i hate my brothers, i hate my classmates, i hate alfred, i hate this place, i hate my mom, i hate everyone.

why can't i ever get what i wanted? what do i have to do? i tried so hard to be everything for them, but why do i only amount to nothing? it's been a year, or two, i don't know. it hurts trying to remember when was the last time i saw him. saw, not talk, because he never talks to me, bruce never even looks at me. and i hate myself for trying to get him to look at me.

is he disgusted at me? does he see my mother in me? does he hate me that much? i don't know, i don't want to know, it hurts to know. i don't know why i'm trying anymore, i don't know how longer i can last in this hell. i can feel it, the longer i stay here, the more i lose a part of myself. i don't want to be here.

i don't want to pray anymore.

so if there's any god out there watching over me, then i wish for you to burn, to suffer, to go through the same thing i have been experiencing for years— all for putting me in this place. i would've been fine living in the streets with my mother. i would've been alright providing for our small family, i would've known to never get my hopes high, but you took her away from me!—

i hate you."

"master (name), are you awake? dinner is ready."

you had to shut your diary at the sound of the knock and alfred's voice.

"alfr-"

a cough, hoarse and croaky, cuts you out from calling his name. it was accompanied by uncontrollable sniffles, mucus blocking your nose from breathing properly. your room was dark, save for the lamp that lights up your bedside, where you currently were seated on your bed to write another entry, grip on your pen unknowingly harsh. you didn't even have to look at your reflection from your phone laying beside the diary to know that hiding your tears were fruitless.

salty were the crystalline droplets that streaks your face, but bitter were the emotions that had your heart ache.

you hear a sigh from the other room. before he could muster a reply, you beat him to it.

"i'm not eating dinner, alfred," you hate hearing your voice, sounding so obviously scrathy from the hours of wailing. "at least not with them. i don't want to get out at all."

"then may i at least bring them over to you, master (name)?"

his answer was final, you have no choice on retaliating and starving yourself like you did for the past few days. but it wasn't your fault that you had forgotten your body's needs. it wasn't your fault that your mind blanks itself out on the dinner table. it wasn't your fault that bile quickly crawls up your throat at hearing their voices.

you simply lost your appetite seeing them happy without you.

alfred pennyworth would never play favorite.

it was drilled into his head ever since he had sworn to serve the wayne family and its extended members— he is to serve anyone and everyone, regardless if they respect him or they do not; as long as they do not pose any danger within the manor, then he is to attend to them.

you'd think that in his decades of service for the wayne's - with all the contrasting personalities he had to deal with - he would maintain professional standards and tell everybody in the world, "i, of course, do not favor anyone within the family, i live to serve and that is truth." when in fact, he wouldn't hesistate to admit that he does, in actuality, have a favorite.

and no, it wouldn't be the eldest child, dick grayson, as much as he is alfred's pride and joy, nor would it be the youngest, damian wayne, who had been slowly correcting his mistakes. it wouldn't even be the head of the house, master bruce.

it would be you, (name) wayne, the infamous, yet forgetten child of the wayne family.

it wouldn't be a far fetch for alfred to admit that you weren't like the others. in all of the years that he served the wayne's, you were a contrast of the family.

the first few hours that he had picked you up from the police department upon the news of bruce's secret child, he knew you were more than just a child raised by the brutal streets of gotham.

you pose secrets that speak of the underground.

he remembers your seated form on the stiff chair of the interrogation room, pose unnervingly straight, as if you had solidified yourself against the metal seat. your fingers were the only signs that showed life, twiddling with each other as if it's some form of distraction.

you stared at nothing.

not even at the police as your name was called for pick up.

it took merely a signature of confirmation to dictate the future years of your life.

what's left of your belongings were given to alfred. the police officer, a woman with a kind smile then had to walk across the interrogation table to pat your back, gesturing for you to stand up and follow her and alfred on the way outside of the station, where the car was parked.

you hadn't uttered a word nor snapped out of your dreamlike gaze. not even when you were greeted with a thousand clicks of the cameras, the buzzing crowd that drowns the police station, or the hundreds of voices that yell at you to look at them.

(name) (last name), now formally adopted by bruce wayne, would be (name) wayne. it wouldn't be a shock that your sudden appearance as the child of a scandalous relationship between a prostitute and a billionaire would cause immense reactions. news would be spreading left and right, most of which were negative on your side.

he had to shield you from the crowd of photographers and journalists itching their way to the crowd to get a glance on you.

yet you didn't display any discomfort. you had only sat on the car obediently, fastening your seatbelts robotically and ignoring the lenses that unsettlingly tried to poke through the car windows to take pictures of you.

you were more like batman than you were bruce.

alfred had tried to get you communicate with questions like, "how are you over there, master (name)?" yet you would only mumble unintelligible responses to his questions without any ounce of emotion. he had to look at the rear view mirror to take in your stiff form. again, your eyes were set on nothing, even if they were casted down on the carpeted floorboards of the car.

when he had first met bruce, that child was overflowing with anger and vengeance for his parent's killer, yet you, who refused to explain your mother's disappearance, are devoid of anything.

the silence was defeaning throughout the ride. the only comfort that was provided was the rain that began to patter against the glass windows.

alfred throught you would retain the same behavior the entire day.

yet it was only when you first walked up the steps of the manor did your demeanor change, fingers immediately reaching up to hold the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling it as if you were hesitant to step in.

the first emotion you had shown him was concern, like a switch had flickered you out of your trance. it was the first time in a while that alfred had to do a double take to check if what was happening was real.

"can you... hold my hand?" and it was the first time he had heard you speak, voice unnaturally scratchy from the lack of water. you stared at him with wide, doe eyes that refused to blink, waiting for answers. alfred had to gaze at your entire body to finally notice that you were covered head to toe in sloppy bandages with blood seeping through the grime-filled gauze. your shoes were worn, your clothes were ripped, and other uncovered scars littered your body.

the most conspicuous color on your shirt was crimson red.

yet you do not display pain.

a child, five years of age, had been through more than enough anguish to know how to block their pain out.

you were unlike the rest, truly, you were unwavering of the world's cruelty.

the world does not deserve someone like you.

alfred takes it in himself to always hold your hand after that.

through the mansion doors, inside the kitchen, on your way to school; whenever and wherever, as long as he had time.

even if it were filled with scars and bruises, dirt and grime, he will always hold your hand if it meant guiding you through the darkness of the manor.

you may not consider yourself bruce's child, but you will always be alfred's.

another knock on your door had you snapping out of your trance. time passed by so quickly in the manor. well, it does when you have nothing to do but stare at your diary, draw on your sketchbook or scroll through your phone. yet time would always be the quickest whenever you drown in your own misery.

"come in," you croak out, aware that it would only be alfred who would come by your room. it was long ago since you had given up on awaiting for dick's visits.

a turn of the knob, then the door swings quietly; the hinges creak, you need them oiled sooner. alfred walks in, you notice he holds a tray that contains two cupcakes and a plate of your favorite dish, but you don't notice the small box with a bow hidden skillfully from the back of the tray. from over your seat, you could already smell the aromatic herbs that flutter in the room and see the colorful frosting from both cupcakes; an already lit candle sticking in from one.

the candle at least provides just a split second of light inside your dim room; the moonlight just like your family, absent.

alfred graciously places the tray on your nightstand, on the left of your diary. your room was still too silent.

you could only hear yourself.

"master (name), are you simply going to sit there and stare? or would you rather i spoonfeed you like i had when you had broken your wrist?"

you blink it out again, oblivious to your very own hyperawareness. alfred's still here. you hope that, in the presence of darkness, he wouldn't see just how much of a mess you are. how your hands could barely grip onto anything, hair unwashed, face stained with tears, difficulty breathing through the buildup of mucus, foot tapping up and down erratically— you wished he would pretend to be blind about your suffering for just this once.

"no—" came your sudden reply, "i can- yeah, i can eat by myself."

it's harder to lie to yourself than it is to others.

he looks at you with doubt, it makes you shiver.

despite you wishing for company inside the manor, you could never be used to attention. it would never be normal for someone like you. though, you wish it was. you wish you never hesitated when someone gives you attention.

you hear your mattress creak, there's a dip on your bed. alfred sits beside you, only then did you realize just how quickly you lean into his side, craving for warmth in the solace of your empty room.

everything hurts, it truly does.

you wish you were strong enough to cease the sudden burst of tears when his one hand circles your shoulder and the other holds the cupcake with a candle near your face. and you wish that you weren't so weak in the presence of another, trying to find a semblance of your worth in their attention.

you at least try to stifle your sobs—

"happy birthday, master (name)."

— but you were always weak, yet alfred never seems to mind, patting your back to console you from your wailing.

you blow the fire out with a single promise to yourself, crying a bit more when alfred had given you a gift box, laced with a ribbon of your favorite color.

it was one of the few gifts you would cherish, fondness seeping into the cracks of your heart.

though it wouldn't erase the bitterness that fills your being either way, knowing your family is still downstairs, unaware of the anguish the torment that they have put you through— it's still enough to let you hate alfred a little less.

"alfred?"

it was your meek voice, one that was always drowned out by the sound of the dishes clanking.

"yes, master (name)?" yet alfred could always strain out the sound of anything just to hear your talk. after all, you were a silent kid throughout your childhood.

"—if i move out of this place; would promise you wouldn't forget about me?"

... (name) wayne was full of surpises.

even at the ripe age of seventeen, and in the near fourteen years of raising you, alfred could never predict your words nor your actions.

you had always said things spontaneously, carrying an aura of awkwardness in your tone, reminiscent of someone who had their personal growth (moreover their social life) stunted.

but now, with the way you had said your resolve so confidently, it felt like he was looking at a different version of you; all the more confident and resilient.

except... you were behind him when you had said that - so he wasn't really looking at you - eating the first batch of his cookies whilst he was polishing the dishes with a cloth.

when he had turned around to look at you, though, you were still the socially inept child he knows and love, sitting on the breakfast bar and twirling around the stool as you attempt to not get crumbs everywhere. you were still so young in his eyes.

it's just, the way you had looked at him expectedly like you needed his approval that shocked him. it was always your eyes that had expressed the most emotions, glazing with anticipation for his response.

he knows it when you lie, and right now, you were dead serious in your resolve.

alfred had to relax the crease on his brows before he ages faster than he already is.

"well, master (name)," he continues, turning back to wiping the dishes clean before he could fully face you. "i would fully support you in your... journey, but what warranted you to be suddenly motivated on moving out?"

alfred had finished setting aside the dishes, but he still doesn't look back.

"i mean, i thought i already told you? i have a scholarship for college but it's on the other side of gotham and...

— i kind of don't want to be chauffeured by a limo around the campus everyday, you know? so the next best thing is to get a dorm."

alfred knows it when you lie. and right now, your hesitance tells him everything he needs to know.

you may have proved a point, but that point was an entire lie. with a person name wayne flaunting across a city whilst riding a limousine, you might find yourself into more trouble than anything else.

but he had always been the one to pick you up and drop you off from elementary and halfway through your highschool life— and you never seemed to mind until now.

it doesn't take a genius to know that you had already deviced a full plan of moving out and taken it into action; all you had to do was confront the only man in the manor who had cared about you enough to raise you about your worries.

it wasn't enough to convince him to let you go, though, especially not right after an incident that had occured prior to you highschool life. if he allows you to gain independence in gotham, he wouldn't know how long you would last.

but when he looks back at you again, he couldn't bring it in himself to oppose to your whims. you need a new environment; one that provides you a way to gain independence and, most preferably, social skills. staying cooped up in a manor with barely anybody talking to you does more harm than good.

and being ignored by your own family for almost fourteen years wouldn't be a great way to celebrate your already nearing eighteenth birthday.

alfred doesn't want to admit it, but if he keeps you here any longer, you would never grow up. one person could only do so much.

he whips out a sigh, looking at you with resignation in his eyes. but you know it in yourself that he swears his life on the promise.

"master (name)," he walks over to you, eyes darting at the cookie crumbs that litter around your mouth making a note to scold you on your manner later. he sits directly in front of you, hand patting your head as you merely stare at him expectedly.

"i have raised you for almost fourteen years, it's like you are my very own child. i would never forget you." he takes your hands in his. "but you have to also promise me to stay safe out there, master (name). call me once you're there."

alfred would find a way to get you to come back eventually, even if it meant utilizing your family's neglect, which was primarily the reason why you had moved out on the first place.

he just hopes you wouldn't connect the dots and pin the blame on him once you're back and safe in the manor.

and now, it had only been months since you had gotten away from the manor. he was proud of your development, of your choice and overall, you, but he wouldn't lie and say he doesn't miss you.

he misses hearing your voice directly, the line on the phone being too blotchy to properly hear you. he misses it when he would sit on your bed as your only audience whilst he watches you paint on your canvases, drawling on and on about highschool's latest drama. he misses it when you would always be the first to taste his dishes, face lighting up whenever the food was seasoned up; now he has to constantly remind you to eat a nutritious diet, even offering to send you money whenever you mention you were short on it.

in the good of your heart, you would always decline, even going as far to deny him of any liberty to track you down and bring you a meal himself.

alfred misses you.

does he regret allowing you your freedom? not really, no. but he knows it in himself that a greedy part of him prefers it if you were would visit the manor occasionally during your vacations, at least to bond with him. but you simply chose not to, even going as far to legally change your name once you had become eighteen so you wouldn't be associated with your father's last name.

but that wouldn't erase the past you had tried to meticulously cover.

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid leaving a police station and entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

and most importantly, you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, could only be described as this palace overflowing his its abundant history and fame.

it was a castle that houses a boy who had lost his parents and became gotham's very own vigilante who stalks through the night to lessen the very evil that devours its citizens. it was the training grounds where the robins, sidekicks dressed in colorful attire, opposite to batman, were raised to be worthy enough to stand by the dark knight's side. but most importantly, it was a home for troubled children who were in their journey of their very own personal struggles.

yet even in its exterior splendour, it would always be innately overcome with loneliness.

for someone like bruce wayne, he embraces this desolation just as he embraces his alter-ego, batman, who wears a suit of black and dons an aura that demanded fear.

even if he carries the persona of 'brucie wayne' a ditsy, playboy who enjoys galas and sleeping with women every other night, he prefers solitude over the sea of interviewers who throng around him like he was a piece of meat.

it would be the only time he could focus on his countless of stacked paperworks to sign and his plans to ransack another criminal's master plan.

before winter could cover gotham in its sheet of pure, white coldness, rain would always terrorize the skies. he finds this the perfect atmosphere; dark grey clouds prevent the sun from peaking through, droplets of rain would pelt against the vast windows that surrounds his study, and there was enough background noise to block out any sounds that would pass through the door.

bruce wayne was focused on his work, and that meant disturbance wasn't allowed inside the manor. thankfully, it was a quiet, uneventful afternoon today.

in fact, it was all too abnormally quiet.

his scarred hands work through signing papers effiently and effortlessly, practiced fingers signing papers after he would meticulously scan over the paragraphs of texts that scale from business deals to partnerships to buying a piece of land. then later, once the moon rises, he would have to patrol with damian and disrupt another drug trade that had been recently dealing with children on the alleys of gotham.

that means he has to sign or reject at least half of the papers before evening falls through, so he could have alfred send them over through the post office tomorrow morning.

he was at least a quarter way through his work, though, when his flow was disrupted by a courteous knock by the mahogany doors.

he didn't have to look up or ask who it was, knowing it was alfred, his butler.

"master bruce, i have your tea ready, along with news to bare," bruce could hear the tone of urgency and a tinge of sullenness in alfred's voice. it was rare for alfred to be emotionally distressed, as he was typically the most composed out of everyone in the family.

"come on in, alfred," bruce's vocal chords were gruff, raspy whenever he's too engrossed in whatever he was doing.

but he was piqued at the news alfred was eager to share, the butler expertly turning the knob and entering with a tray that holds a hot serving of tea.

bruce stopped signing the papers, putting down his pen as he watches alfred, composed as always, place the tray down on his desk, not a single clank that was produced from the metal sheets. he watches as alfred reflexively pours him a cup of tea.

it was only after that action that the two share eye contact, alfred stationing himself to the right of bruce's desk.

if he wasn't a detective, he wouldn't have noticed the furrow of alfred's brows, which was uncharacteristic of the composed butler.

he reckons he should address the elephant in the room.

"what is it that you want to tell me, alfred?" bruce swivels his chair to face alfred, fingers tapping the mahogany desk rhythmically.

"master bruce, i figured you should have known this for quite a long time ago, but your third child had moved out on their own and now lives at the opposite side of gotham. right now, they may have been struggling to make ends meet."

huh?

"what do you mean, alfred? you're aware that tim is currently living in the manor—"

"no, master, i am talking about your third, not fourth child; master (name)."

... (name)?

ah, his... other child.

alfred looks at his seated form, expecting the befuddled reaction from bruce.

it doesn't take long for bruce to recover from his thoughts, eyebrows furrowed the same way as alfred as he leans against his chair.

"and what of (name)? why was i not updated about them?"

alfred had to stifle a groan as he then glares at bruce with what he could suppose was exasperation.

"i had already told you about their leave months ago, master bruce. you had simply waved me off whenever the topic is of master (name)." the butler's glare hardened, reminiscent of the times where bruce was scolded as a child. and like a child, he doesn't know what he had done wrong.

"i feel it is time for you to take it into your hands to deal with master (name)'s situation right now. i do not have access to their location and just like you, they are stubborn and refuse to accept any financial aid that comes to them in any form—"

to make matters worse, alfred had the gall to stop midway into his explanation, sighing and blinking unnervingly which catches more than bruce's attention.

"they would rather not admit it, but if they were to fail to pay for this month's rent of their apartment, they would get evicted from their very own living space."

at pretty much the last sentence, bruce's gaze hardened. not at alfred, no, but at the thought of you; his... forgotten child. if it was money that you need, why had you not ask for any allowance in the first place? bruce would admit that, well, it had been too long since he had last seen your face, nor even... remember it—

but you were still a child of his and he wouldn't deny you of an allowance if it meant persuing your... highschool or college dreams...?

shit, what grade are you in?

why didn't he know you moved out in the first place? wait—

"alfred, how long has it been since they had last moved out?"

"roughly six or seven months ago, master."

"ah, but having a place of your own as a minor would be prohibited by law."

"master bruce, they're eighteen. they're old enough to live in their own apartment."

eighteen years old...? how long had it been since he had last seen or heard of you? if what alfred had said was true, that the butler had attempted to reach out to him about you, then why had he not remember in the first place? you were a quiet kid, sure, but for someone like bruce, people would always not be overlooked.

it wasn't in him to easily forget, but he hates how he couldn't muster up a single memory of your face— not even your hair color nor your eyes. did you even... exist in his eyes? there was not a single memory of you that he could come up in his head.

his child was eighteen now, how could he not have known in the first place? how could he not recollect a single birthday of yours? or any celebration or gala that had you in it?

alfred's sigh snapped him out of his trance once more.

bruce looked up, seeing resignation upon alfred's face. he simply stood there, posture straight as always, but bruce couldn't wash away the shame that cages his heart when there was not a single image of you that pops up in his mind— alfred's disappointment merely worsened

the tea in his desk had long since gone untouched, but bruce couldn't bring it in himself to drink a single drop of it, even if his lips were dried and his throat was begging for even a single droplet of water.

he denies himself of any relief.

"i figure i should leave you in your own, master bruce, to at least compose yourself before nightfall. please do take your child into consideration, though, enough time has passed since you have last seen them." alfred states, as if it was a matter of fact. and it was, bruce should've known about your leave, as your father and as the man who took you in, he should've.

so before the butler could even take a step, bruce hastily stands up from his seat, pen long since discarded on his desk and a quarter of the papers are now messily stacked upon each other, but bruce pays them no mind.

"take me to (name)'s room right now, i need to see things for myself."

if bruce couldn't even remember a single instance of you, then maybe a trip to your room would be enough for him to remember.

but if that doesn't work then... bruce would a find a way, he always would.

and as your father, he needs to at least support you, even financial no matter your stubbornness? even if the shame he feels right now is so immensely disturbing, and the migraine is quickly finding its way into his head— he needs to know more about you, his actual third child.

bruce wayne needs to see your face just once.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 5k+ words. no beta, we die like jason todd with a crowbar. my least favorite part of writing the chapter is literally starting it. i had at least 5 drafts all lined up and it took me an hour in the bed to think about how should i start it. i literally hope you guys enjoy the chapter hehe, and start to yk, notice the patterns and the parallels between your perspective and bruce's perspective bec ur literally his child, u guys share some habits even if u never once talked to him lmao. the most emotionally draining scene was writing the birthday scene, i had to take breaks from typing it out hehe. bruce's descent to yandere-ism isn't as quick as dick's but it would be worst in the next chapter.

also, i hope you guys are able to notice the bad habits that the reader eventually collects because it's important for the next chapters. it would be better if anyone of u could... point them out in my asks or comments, i love rambling about it yk, and a lot of you are absolutely brilliant in making theories that are absolutely right. anyways, i hope u enjoy this chapter because this was one hell of a ride for me and i appreciate all the reblogs and comments despite me not replying to a lot of yall but u guys truly are my motivation so thank u lots :(((<33!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa, @maicenitas, @ilovvmyhusband, @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony, @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts, @darling006, @starringyau, @rosecentury, @jaythes1mp, @pi1nkl0ver, @i-thirsty-boi, @sharks-r-cool-l, @silverklaus, @samanthathanes, @traumaramacenter, @maddimoon, @anxrq, @thedarknesslord, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @lazy-idate, @googeecat44, @simpingfor-wakasa, @zvghfgn, @0patito0 (if i had forgotten to put any of u in a taglist please forgive me, it's hard to keep track !!)

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rafey-baby · 3 months ago

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outlaw!rafe holding pogue!reader hostage in her own house after banging his fist on her door in the middle of a stormy night, demanding to be let in with a gun in hand and wild waves in the sea of his eyes…

cw: outlaw!rafe being mean and manipulative, mentions of murder, violence & other dark themes, he’s also weirdly soft in the end?

wc: 2k

he's been stuck in my head for a while so hope u enjoy xx

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There’s still sleep dust lingering in her lashes when she hesitantly cracks open the oak door at 3am, revealing a tall, scary man with scarlet stains on his big hands, white button up saturated in maroon and a scowl painted over his unsettling countenance.

She stands there like a deer in headlights, unmoving as he stares down at her with arctic eyes as chilling as the frigid waters surrounding an iceberg.

At first, she thinks she’s still asleep, tired brain conjuring up some creepy murderer scenario where she’s the idiot who does everything the audience in the movie theater is screaming at her not to. But as she properly blinks her sleepy eyes open, she comes to the realization that this is not a horror film and this intimidating stranger (with oddly appealing features) who’s definitely just killed someone is very much real.

She’s about to open her mouth and she’s not sure whether she was going to scream for help or simply stare at him with her mouth hung open in shock but she doesn’t get the chance to find out before he’s pasting a massive palm over her mouth.

“Don’t make a sound,” his low mutter makes a shiver run down her spine.

And she doesn’t, instead she just blinks, too out of it to even move a muscle; the reek of the dried blood on his hand hitting her nose, making her face scrunch up. And she doesn’t know why she’s not putting up any sort of a fight, blaming it on the fact that half of her brain is still swimming in the lake of her dreamland; soaking up the glittering sunbeams that never dull and dipping its toes in the grass that consists of misty nebula and twinkling stars.

And he’s just so mean, ordering her around with a gun to her head, manhandling her around to his liking, grumbling about needing to stay at her house for a bit since he needs a hiding place from the cops after dumping a body somewhere in the ocean and getting caught. Apparently, his temper really just got the best of him at times.

“I didn’t even mean to kill the guy, alright. He just kept pissing me off on purpose and I was provoked, what was I supposed to do?” He offers as an explanation that seems to do very little to soothe her overstrung heart that’s thudding in her ribcage. It’s loud enough for him to hear; almost as if she’s a terrified rabbit and he’s a big bad wolf, hunting down his prey.

“I’m taking a shower now, and you’re not gonna move an inch, you understand? Cause if you do, I’m gonna have to hurt you, and I really don’t wanna do that, okay?”

She nods her head, unable to form any coherent sentences.

He takes note of the way her inhale gets caught in her throat when he steps closer to her, inquiring whether she lives alone or not, to which she just nods her head again.

“Dumb girl”, he tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “When someone’s knocking on your door in the middle of the night you don’t fucking open, alright?”

She’s making it entirely too easy for him.

The second he’s in her bathroom, she forces her exhausted brain to think; quickly coming up with a rickety plan as she listens to the water streaming down from behind the door. She waits for a moment, making sure the coast is clear before she bolts towards her bedroom, trembling fingers grabbing her phone from her nightstand and trying to dial 911.

However, her shaky hands don’t help her one bit when they drop the phone; the clattering sound of it hitting the floor echoing in the quietness of the room.

She can’t breathe, her brain short-circuits as she bends down, reaching for the wretched device that has somehow tumbled under her bed. However, when she finally catches it in an unsteady grip, she hears the shower turn off; an eerie stillness following. In her state of panic, she fruitlessly tries to turn it back on and call for help but it’s proving to be harder than she thought when her lungs decide to stop working, her respiration shallow and her heartbeat ringing in her ears.

“Boo,” a low whisper right behind her makes her blood run cold; a shiver traveling down her spine as she slightly jumps, a faint gasp leaving her.

“Why did you just do that, huh? Told you, didn’t wanna fucking hurt you and then you go and pull this shit,” a strong hand is gripping her by her throat as he turns her around to face him.

“I’m sorry, I...I don’t—” she’s paralyzed, unable to move.

“You don’t what, huh?” He stares into her horror-stricken eyes with an almost bored look, seemingly entirely indifferent to her torment.

“Can’t…can’t breathe,” her voice is nearly inaudible, making a grim chuckle bubble out of his chest.

“Can’t breathe? Maybe you should’ve thought about that before, yeah?” He scoffs, cruel words mocking her.

“You’re so fucking stupid, want me to kill you, is that what you want?” He grits out as he squeezes at her neck, making her feel dizzy; gasping for air.

“No! No, please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Won’t— won’t do it again, promise, I’ll do anything—” she manages to force out as he’s nearly crushing her windpipe in his unrelenting grip.

“Anything, huh? That’s real tempting and all but what I need you to do is not pull stupid shit like this, you understand?”

“I won’t, I promise. You can...stay here for as long as you want and I’ll help, okay?” she thinks she’s gonna pass out soon, stars peppering behind her fluttering lids and her weakened limbs starting to feel heavy. His coarse panting fills her eardrums as he seems to contemplate her offer for a moment.

“If you even think about running to the cops tonight, I’m gonna fucking find you, you understand?”

She’s frantically nodding her head and at last, his hold begins to loosen around her trachea, allowing for her greedy lungs to finally suck in air as she takes a step back, trying to even out her respiration.

He doesn’t say anything, silently observing her as she clears her throat, swallowing a few times as she tries to pacify her racing heart and calm the thoughts running around her head; trying to reassure herself that she’s still alive and she will stay that way if she just doesn’t rile him up anymore.

He notices how her rounded eyes look up at him as he stands before her, smelling like her honey-scented body wash and orange blossom shampoo, nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, leaving very little to her imagination as the room grows quiet.

“What’s— um…what’s your name?” Her voice is creaky when she tries a different approach once she feels the flat floorboards under her wobbly feet again, a nervous hesitation overlaying her precarious question.

“Don’t worry about it,” he simply dismisses her, but a small pout molds her mouth as she stares at him and he lets out a discontented sigh, rolling his eyes.

“Rafe,” he finally responds, not bothering to ask for hers, seemingly not caring enough for it. She tells him, nonetheless and he laughs at her priorities. A literal criminal has broken into her home and she cares about fucking introductions.

“So…have you— have you killed anyone else?” She doesn’t know why she’s trying to make small talk with him but she supposes if she gets him to talk about something, choking her to death won’t be at the forefront of his mind anymore.

“You seriously wanna know?” He raises his brows.

She thinks about it for a moment and then settles on shaking her head, followed by a harsh chuckle rumbling out from his sturdy chest.

“So, uh— what is it that you do? Like besides…killing people and stuff?” She tries once more.

“Look, the less you know, the better, alright?” He simply states, making her let out a soft sigh in defeat.

All of a sudden, a vigorous thunder crackles behind her windows, an ablaze lightning illuminating her dimly lit bedroom soon after.

She flinches at the sound and the sinister way it momentarily lights up his face.

“You scared of a little storm?” He feigns concern as he peers down at her.

“N— no,” she lies, forcing her face to stay neutral, hesitant about him finding out her weaknesses.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe, yeah?” The mocking grin on his face causes a shudder to travel through her as she swallows, wishing this was all just a nightmare she could wake up from.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

After that little incident, he thinks that she’s just as sweet as sugar, offering to make him tea and asking if he wants a blanket or an extra pillow so he’d be more comfortable sleeping on the couch.

He can tell that she’s merely doing it because she’s terrified of him, which she should be. Nonetheless, he thinks it feels nice to be pampered, doted on; to have a pretty girl following his orders like a trained puppy. Makes him figure he's gonna enjoy his stay just fine.

The following morning though, he’s woken up by her shaky figure standing next to his own tired form, pointing his gun at him.

His softened bones feel mellow from the sleep and he lets out a sigh, rubbing at his sleepy eyes and shifts to sit on the couch cushions; teasingly lifting his hands up in surrender.

“Puppy’s got a gun, huh? Trying to be all tough now, are we?” There’s a lazy smile on his face.

“I— I want you to…leave,” she says, voice rickety and words unsure.

And he’s trying to take her serious, he really is, but it’s proving to be a little difficult since she resembles a scared little kitten more than someone who knows what they’re doing.

“You want me to leave? Maybe you should work on your pitch, I’m not very convinced, you know?” The exasperating smirk plastered on his face makes her brows crease.

“Rafe, this is not a joke,” a scowl shades her face and he thinks she looks rather adorable.

“Come on, Puppy. You’re not gonna shoot me. You don’t even know how to use that thing, do you?” His voice is even; she hesitates.

“Well, it can’t be that…complicated?” It’s more of a question than a statement and he really can’t keep the chuckle from bubbling out of his throat. Her frown deepens.

“Why don’t you give it to me, yeah? You don’t want death on your conscience. Would break you, you’re too soft for that shit.”

“You don’t— know me.”

“I know you enough,” he says, finally standing on his feet. He takes a slow step towards her and she squeezes the gun tighter in her trembling fingers.

“If I give it to you, you’re gonna— you’re gonna…kill me. I don’t wanna die,” her words are hysterical, rushed.

“Now who said anything about killing you? Look, if you give me the gun right now, I’m not gonna do anything. I give you my word, alright?” He’s towering over her, solid chest nearly grazing the barrel.

“I don’t trust you,” her voice is a whisper.

“I know, Pup. But I also know that you’re not gonna use that,” his steady hands are a contrast to her own precarious ones when he grabs for the firearm, slipping it from her weak fingers with ease.

“There we go, no need to be so fucking theatrical, yeah?” He lowers his head in order to lock his eyes with her frenzied ones.

“See? Not hurting you, am I?”

She manages out a hum of agreement and then her waterline is brimming with water, salty droplets trickling down her cheeks as she chokes out a sob. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”

“Hey, hey it’s all good. Mistakes happen, yeah?” He says and then his strong arms are wrapping around her trembling form because he’s not a complete monster and for some reason that makes her weep harder.

Her crocodile tears wet his shirt but he doesn’t seem to mind, big paw rubbing against her back. And it’s almost…comforting, she thinks as he starts to sway her from side to side, like he’s trying to calm down a crying child.

“There you go, just let it all out and maybe you can chill out a bit, yeah? You Pogues can be so fucking dramatic sometimes,” he pats at her back, rolling his eyes as she takes in shaky inhale after shaky inhale until she’s feeling slightly more placid.

“Shit, if I’d known you were such a crybaby I would’ve picked another house,” he grumbles, pulling away from her weakened form, pushing her back to stumble on her feet; setting the gun back on the coffee table with a clank.

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6esiree · 5 months ago

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Accidentally Sending Them Your Nudes

Imagine sending Alastor, Lucifer, Husk, Adam, and Vox your nudes on accident?

Warnings: NSFW, AFAB reader, Swearing, They all make poor choices and take matters into their own hands, literally—they jack off to you. Lucifer’s and Adam’s parts mention videos instead of nudes. There’s some angst in there + I decided to do a quick reaction before the actual details.

Alastor:

Why did technology have to be so complicated? That’s what Alastor wondered as he pulled his phone out of his breast pocket, the wretched thing interrupting his dinner with Rosie with all the vibrating it was doing. Unfortunately, he never figured out how to silence it, and he didn’t plan to do anything about it out of sheer stubbornness.

“Is it alright if I take this?” Alastor asked Rosie, an apologetic smile on his face.

“Oh, no! It’s no problem with me, darling” Rosie said, putting her fork down and waving him off. “Go on, now—it may be somethin’ important!”

Alastor chuckled, getting up from his seat and pushing it back into the table before making his way to a more private area: the restroom. What a wise choice he had made, especially as he opened what you’d sent him, whatever irritation he previously felt vanishing almost instantaneously. Alastor hardly ever spoke to you, so he was definitely taken aback.

“Hope u like them, daddy Xx.”

——————

Knock, knock, knock!—a hushed curse seeped through Alastor’s lips, his forehead plastered against the cold bathroom tile as his fist eagerly stroked his weeping cock. The man couldn’t answer the rapping at the door, not with his belt unbuckled and his pants unfastened, the series of lewd photos you had mistakenly sent driving him to do something so…uncharacteristic of himself. But, fuck, you had such a pretty cunt.

“Is everything alright with you, Alastor?” Rosie’s voice penetrated the thin, wooden barrier, the only thing preserving his dignity. “You’ve been in there for quite a while.”

You had warned Alastor just a minute too late, your missed calls stacking up in his notifications as he stared at a photo of you in a compromising position. What a whorish thing you had done, but how could he have resisted the sight of your glistening, wet cunt spread apart by your dainty fingers, practically begging whomever you had meant that for to breed your hole?

“I believe there was…something in our food that made me fall ill,” Alastor responded weakly, his fist coming to a halt, making his cock throb in disappointment. “Feel free to leave if you’d like—I’m afraid I’ll be stuck here for a little bit longer.”

The silence Alastor was met with was nerve-wracking, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to stifle his labored breaths while he waited for Rosie to say something—anything. Eventually, she did, a disappointed ‘Oh, alright’ gracing his ears, the sound of her heels clicking down the hallway his cue to continue with his ministrations. Alastor felt so relieved, but also utterly weak over his lack of self-restraint.

“Hey, uh, if you’re listening to this, call me back,” A voicemail suddenly played from his phone, but all he could focus on was the desperation in your voice, his knees buckling as he neared the edge. “Please, Al. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Cum spilled through the gaps between his fingers at the sound of your plea, dripping down and staining the tips of his recently-polished shoes. Alastor did not let up on his cock, however, bracing himself on the wall. A strangled groan escaped his throat as he stroked himself to overstimulation. In his twisted mind, that’s what he deserved for abandoning Rosie to jack off in a public restroom to lewd pictures of you.

Lucifer:

With an annoyed sigh, Lucifer pulled his phone from his back pocket, wondering who could be contacting him late at night. Downing whatever was left of his drink, he spotted your name in his notifications as his lock screen lit up, blinking in confusion. Out of all the residents in his daughter’s hotel, he interacted with you the least.

“Want anotha one?” Husk asked him as he grabbed his empty glass, cleaning it.

“Uhh, hold on for just a sec,” Lucifer said, unlocking his phone to see what you possibly needed from him.

Husk merely grunted in response, turning away from him to tend to somebody else. And oh, was Lucifer grateful for that, a blush creeping up his neck as he was met by the sight of something so…filthy. Underneath several short, boring texts that consisted of pleasantries, you sent him a video and the first interesting thing you’d ever told him.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about u <3.”

——————

God, did Lucifer feel depraved as he pressed the replay button on the video you had mistakenly sent him for the fifth time that night. While the true essence of your breathy moans and your squelching cunt were muffled by the putrid static his phone emanated, they were still audible enough to have Lucifer scrambling to his room, freeing himself from the confines of his pants with a gratified sigh as he lay in bed.

“Fuck, I know you didn’t mean to send this to me,” Lucifer whispered, slowly smearing his precum down the expanse of his cock as he shakily held his phone. “But I just couldn’t help myself—please forgive me.”

But what use was Lucifer’s plea for forgiveness when he was locked away in his room? He bit his lip, guilt enveloping his heart as your texts poured in, obscuring the part where you teasingly circled your clit through the thin lace of your panties. Still, instead of responding to you, Lucifer put his phone on airplane mode, the video already saved in his gallery. How wicked of him.

“Yes, show me that pretty little pussy,” Lucifer panted, his cock excitedly jumping in his hand as you tucked the fabric into the inside of your thigh, revealing your wet cunt. “Good girl—fuuuck.”

He thrusted up into his hand, imagining it was his cock pushing past your folds when you plunged two fingers inside of your hole. Lucifer had never thought about you that way before—well, until now of course. He wouldn’t be able to look at you the same, and that’s exactly what you must have feared, he thought as he picked up the pace, tossing his head back into his pillow.

“Lucifer, are you there?” He suddenly heard your voice penetrate the door, but how could he answer it when he was so close to finishing? “Husk told me you were here—come on, I just need to make sure you didn’t receive—it’s about something important.”

By placing his phone against his ear, Lucifer managed to drown out the sound of your knuckles desperately rapping at the door, your virtual cries of ecstasy sending him over the edge. Oh, how he wished he could have watched your cunt flutter around your fingers, or the way your cum dripped down your ass as you pulled them out. But Lucifer would have to do that after he dealt with the real you…including his newfound shame.

Husk:

Before Husk headed out to the bar, he emphasized that he wanted to be left alone, only taking his phone in case of an emergency. Husk wasn’t an asshole, he just wanted to spend what little free time Alastor spared him to do the things he enjoyed, especially without feeling suffocated. But, of course, someone had to disrupt his peace.

“Gotta be fuckin’ shittin me,” Husk sighed as his phone vibrated on the table, the contents of his drink moving along with it.

“Better be somethin’ important,” He mumbled.

Turning over his phone, Husk lifted a brow as he saw a few texts from you sitting in his notifications. None of them communicated any sort of urgency, but he liked you, so he decided to see what was it that you wanted. Husk blinked, the blush on his face accentuated by the alcohol in his system as he stared at something unexpected.

“Look at what u do to me...”

——————

Slumped against the furthest booth of a dimly-lit bar, Husk palmed himself through his pants. ‘Nobody’s looking at you,’ he told himself, yet his eyes continued to dart to nearby patrons as he held his phone below the table. The sleazy tendencies he thought he had abandoned long ago were awoken by a mere picture of your cunt, and with the whiskey clouding his judgment, Husk couldn’t help but indulge himself.

“Christ, is this what ya been hidin’ underneath those baggy clothes?” Husk groaned, taking in the sight of you sprawled on your bed, legs parted and cunt on full display. “So fuckin’ gorgeous.”

In his drunken haze, Husk couldn’t believe that you’d mistakenly sent him these photos, not even as your texts poured in, his thumb casting all of them aside except for one. The phrase ‘I made a mistake,’ stared back at him, and the longer Husk held the notification as he unzipped his pants, the sleazier he felt. In his defense—no, nothing could justify his actions. Nothing at all.

“No wonder I was damned for eternity,” Husk sighed, releasing the notification and freeing his cock in the cold, musty environment that was this shitty rundown bar he had chosen. “Ah, fuck.”

With his eyes glued to your wet, puffy cunt, the inside of your thighs glistening with your juices, Husk surrendered himself to the sight of you as he slowly pumped his cock. How many times had you made yourself cum? He wondered, scrolling to the next photo—oh, your breasts were in this one, and they were so pretty. Husk let out a grunt, feeling one of his suspenders slip off his shoulder as he picked up the pace.

“You’re probably busy drinking right now, but when you see this, give me a call,” It was another text of yours, a curse seeping past his lips as he read it. “Please, Husk…it’s important.”

Yeah, Husk wouldn’t be calling you back, at least not until he was sober. He feared that if he responded to you right now, he’d admit to jacking off to you, or worse, he’d admit to envying whomever was supposed to have seen you in such a crude display in the first place. Husk’s mouth fell open with a long groan, grateful for the music blaring in the background as cum cascaded down his fist. And despite his guilt, he kept your photos.

Adam:

Even though you worked with Adam five days a week, you kept contact to a minimal with him, especially when he started expressing interest in you. That’s why when you realized you accidentally texted him, you were absolutely horrified. But Adam? Oh, he was delighted to see your name in his notifications as he pulled out his phone.

“Hey, Lute, look after the girls while I take this!” Adam said, stepping away from the training grounds.

“Got it, sir,” Lute simply said, her obedience something Adam admired.

You had taken the day off, so Adam wondered what is it that you needed. Maybe you missed him? Yeah, probably, because you never contacted him outside of work. He opened your texts, his breath hitching in his throat as he realized you had sent him a video, referring to him with a pet name instead of ‘Adam.’

“Hi baby, sorry I kept u waiting for so long.”

——————

In a flurry of feathers, Adam left the training grounds, locking himself away in his office with his phone clutched tightly against his chest. There was no way you had mistakenly sent him a video of your nude body, right? You were Adam’s assistant, and he swore there was some tension simmering between the two of you, this supposed accident being your silly little way of admitting your attraction to him.

“So that’s why you took the day off, huh?” Adam huffed, practically tossing himself onto his swivel chair as he hastily undid his robes. “Sick my fucking ass.”

How many times had you rejected Adam? One, two, three—far too many times for him to think that you were playing hard to get, but his ego was just that big. That and his cock, which pulsated at the sight of your hand slowly dipping underneath the waistband of your panties, the outline of your dainty fingers running through your folds. God, you were such a tease.

“That should be me touching you,” Adam muttered, squeezing the base of his cock, precum dripping down the head. “Fuck, maybe tomorrow…”

You tried to call Adam, but all you did was interrupt the moment you lowered your panties, your contact popping up on his screen an utter inconvenience. Decline—his thumb didn’t even hesitate, putting his phone on Do Not Disturb as he resumed the video. Adam stroked his weeping cock with a renewed fervor when he finally saw your glistening cunt, so, so eager to be filled.

“Oh, you’re really gonna get it, baby,” Adam panted, his brows knitted in concentration as he watched you plunge your fingers into your slick hole. “What a greedy fucking pussy.”

You wanted him, you actually wanted him—that’s what Adam tried to convince himself as he finally came, even after you moaned out somebody else’s name at the end of the video. ‘Fuck, what have I done?’ He sighed, trying to ignore the feeling of rejection that threatened to envelop him during his post-nut clarity. As Adam reached for a tissue to clean himself, he secretly hoped that you had done this strictly for monetary reasons.

Vox:

When it came to Vox’s love life, it was virtually nonexistent, filled with possessive sex and mind-numbing arguments. So what did he do? He sought you out, a private escort who had a reputation for filling the emptiness in sinners hearts. Yeah, you dealt in the carnal stuff too, but that’s not what Vox hired you for.

“Hey, baby, my eyes are up here,” Valentino said, placing his elbows on the table, leaning in as Vox pulled out his phone.

“Yeah, I’m well aware of that, Val,” Vox replied dryly, his interest piqued as he saw several of your texts sitting in his notifications.

While Vox paid you the most out of all your clients, he still couldn’t take up most of your schedule, either. There were two days out of the week that you spent elsewhere, and you just happened to be contacting him during one of them. Vox’s heart jumped at that, but then he saw what you’d sent him, inspiring some hope in him.

“Maybe it’s time for something more Xx.”

——————

Thump!—Vox cursed, spilling his drink all over himself as his knee hit up into the table. What a goddamn inconvenience that was, but not for him, no. He used it as an excuse to escape the long overdue, monthly date Valentino had forced him to attend, anxious to deal with the issue in his pants…including the photos you had mistakenly sent him just a second earlier, paying no attention to the ‘Oops’ underneath them.

“Fuck, doll. You finally came to your senses, huh?” Vox groaned, locking himself away in the furthest stall, his fingers shakily unbuckling his belt. “About time…”

While you were a private escort, the attention you provided Vox was just too good for it to be strictly professional; and he clung onto it like a lifeline, abandoning Valentino for you even when he was in the mood for sex. Goosebumps littered his skin as he recalled your fleeting touches, even though they had never dared to visit the area between his legs.

“Ah, fuck,” Vox sighed as he freed his cock, precum dripping down into the crevices between his fingers as he stared at your wet, puffy cunt. “Can’t believe I’ve been missing this all along.”

Vox imagined that it was your dainty hands wrapped around his cock, your chest pressed against his back instead of the cold steel door of the restroom stall as you slowly pumped him. If Vox simply paid you, he wouldn’t have to use his imagination. However, he wanted you to pleasure him without the promise of money, because then that would mean that you wanted him.

“Hey, baby, I know you saw what I sent you,” A voicemail of yours suddenly played out loud, his heart jumping at the sound of your voice. “You know they weren’t for you, right? It was an accident.”

‘An accident? No, it couldn’t be,’ Vox thought, a groan escaping his throat as he finally came, his cum staining the tile between his feet. While he felt relieved, it was only for a bit, the disappointment quickly settling in his stomach soon after. But it wasn’t until Vox cleaned himself up and replayed your voicemail that he accepted he was just another one of your clients. Valentino was the best he’d get when it came to love.

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pastryfication · 2 months ago

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Can you pls do an Oscar x reader fic where the reader has pots or just faints a lot and she was with lando when she fainted and he gets rlly concerned xx 🩷

a helping hand

pairings: oscar piastri x reader, platonic!lando norris x reader. content warnings: mentions of fainting, reason why not specified. note: i feel like lando is a really good friend and i hope this mirrors that!! i wrote this while watching the f3 race and i feel so bad for gabriele :(

you knew the exact feeling that entered your body when you were just about to faint. it was as if you lost control of your body, as if a thick blanket laid itself over all your senses. everything blurred and small dots appeared in your vision.

and because you knew exactly when something about to happen, you also managed to always alert the people around you.

your friends and family knew exactly what to do when you pulled their sleeve and told them you were feeling dizzy. they would help you sit down immediately and let you lean on them as the world disappeared, and would hold you until you again came to your senses. it was a foolproof routine you had created, and it had worked for years, making sure nothing bad had the opportunity to happen.

but sometimes, the routine was ruined. that happened when you weren’t around any of the people who usually helped you.

and that was exactly what happened when you in that moment reached for lando’s arm.

the two of you were standing in the mclaren hospitality, chatting away about your summers as you waited for oscar to come back from some media duties.

you felt the feeling enter your body while lando was in the middle of an enthusiastic retelling of a party he had attended, and at first, you ignored it. a lot of times, it was a false alarm, and you didn’t want to worry the older mclaren driver if nothing was happening.

but when the feeling wasn’t going away, when it only intensified, you reached out to hold onto his shoulder, trying to steady yourself.

“lan,” you interrupted him, and he immediately frowned, a concerned look filling his eyes.

“whoa, shit, are you alright?” his arms came around to support you.

you opened your mouth to answer him, to warn him about what was about to happen, but you didn’t have time before the entire world went black and your body went slack, crumbling to the floor like marionette who’s strings had all been cut.

lando immediately caught you in his arms, gently lowering your still body to lay on the floor as he looked around for help. some people had stopped in their tracks to look at the scene but no one came closer.

“why are you just staring?! someone get oscar!” his voice came out an octave higher than usual, and people immediately stating scrambling away, some in the direction of oscar, some just as far away as they could get.

panic was still gripping at lando, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. his fast-beating heart came back to a normal pace, and as he slowly came back to a feeling of levelheadedness, he started looking around for a place move you, somewhere you wouldn’t get ogled at by all the people rushing around you.

he thought for only a moment before he felt something shifting in his arms and he looked down to find you blinking up at him.

“lan?” your voice was shaky as a lingering fatigue started to envelope you.

you blinked a couple of times to try to steady yourself, slowly feeling your senses coming back. “can you— can we go to oscar’s room?” your voice still felt small, like it wasn’t exactly your own, and you felt vulnerable sitting in the middle of the hospitality. you wanted to get away.

“yeah, of course!” lando was immediately on his feet, eager to do something to help you. “can you walk? or do you want me to carry you?”

you smiled at his words but shook your head slightly. “i think i can walk.”

he nodded in reply, helping you to your feet and placing an arm around your shoulder as you started walking towards the room oscar had been designated for the weekend.

the two of you were nearly halfway there when a deeply frowning oscar came into view.

“love, hey.” he was at your side immediately, replacing lando in holding you up. “are you alright?”

you nodded. “yeah, i think i’m alright now. lando helped.”

oscar sighed in relief, leaning down to press a kiss to your head before sending a grateful look to lando who was still lingering next to you, clearly still shaken up and filled with a protective feeling towards his teammates girlfriend. a person who had grown to become one of his great friends.

“thank you.”

lando only smiled in reply, nodding his head as he slowly started retreating. “anytime. hope you’re alright now.” his eyes lingered and he leaned down give you a half hug, searching your face for any discomfort before finally taking a deep breath. you were alright and he had helped you reach that point.

a small feeling of proudness bloomed in his chest as he watched oscar lead you the last way into his driver’s room. he had helped you.

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lowkeyren · 6 months ago

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reverse dating tropes w hsr men! (pt. 2)

in which — what the title suggests / those classic fanfic tropes but with a twist

featuring — gepard, aventurine, sunday (separately) x gn!reader

✧.* — wc: total 2.1k, downbad gepard + flirty aven + sunday is js fluff overload, wrecked my brain out for this, serval robin cameo xx, anyway pls enjoy!! reblogs r appreciated <3

boothill jing yuan blade vers here!

gepard ♡‧₊˚

"blind date" but gepard is just too shy to ask you out himself so serval does him a favour —setting you up on a date with him.

gepard clutches the bouquet of ball peonies tightly behind his back; he catches sight of you sitting on a bench, patiently waiting for him. to ease his nerves, he takes a deep breath, reassuring himself, it’s going to be alright gepard, just go over there, give them the flowers, and ask them out! surely it’s not that hard…

upon spotting him, you rise from your seat and wave eagerly in his direction. he hastens his steps, closing the distance between you. as he stands in front of you, you can see a faint blush tinting his cheeks, the rosy hue contrasting with his fair skin. he clears his throat, “ahem…sorry to keep you waiting.” revealing the bouquet behind his back, he averts his gaze downwards, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

you accept the flowers graciously, smiling warmly at him. “and would you please—” in that moment, his gaze flickers up to meet yours, it's the worst thing he could have done.

oh aeons… you look so beautiful. his heart races, threatening to leap out of his chest, and he finds himself at a loss for words, his mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions. “hm?” you tilt your head with a soft smile, the sound of your voice washes over him like a gentle breeze, leaving him tongue-tied. he’s sure you can see the redness spreading to his ears now.

panicking, he blurts out “—pass the flowers to my sister.” (re: go on a date with me)

his eyes widened at his own words, wait no he meant to ask you out on a date!

“ah… okay, no problem!” you reply, masking your surprise with a polite smile, quickly dismissing any lingering curiosity. though you do find it a bit odd that he would arrange a meeting just to pass on flowers to his sister, but hey perhaps as the captain of silvermane guards, he's simply too busy to visit serval himself. in any case, you admire his thoughtfulness towards his sibling.

“now tell me brother dearest, to what do i owe the pleasure of receiving ball peonies from you?” serval crosses her arm across her chest, learning against her workbench, her face deadpan, oh she’s definitely aware of what happened.

sensing her brother’s nervousness, she shakes her head teasingly. "oh, nevermind! please, spare me the explanation… you totally fumbled, and told them to give the flowers to me? really, geppie? and how long do you plan to drag this out for?"

gepard sighs as he realises there's no use in trying to deflect her sharp observation. he can only resort to his last-ditch effort now: asking serval to set you up on a date with him.

so now, you find yourself sitting at a cozy diner, waiting for your so-called “blind date” that serval has set you up on.

(“i guarantee you won’t regret it!” serval throws a playful wink at you; you give up trying to figure her underlying intentions)

suddenly, a man walks over to you, you assume that he is your date— “gepard? what are you doing here..?” gepard's cheeks flush with embarrassment as he stands before you, a sheepish smile playing at the corners of his lips. "i, uh... i’m your blind date." he admits, swallowing nervously.

you let out a soft laugh, “oh i was hoping it would be you.” you admit, your voice tinged with a hint of bashfulness.

hoping it was him? so that means you feel the same right?

needless to say, your date went well. before you part ways, you press a soft kiss to his already-burning cheeks (don’t do that again, you’re gonna break him), and you disappear into the distance, leaving behind a trail of butterflies in his stomach; he presses his hand against the spot you pecked, he thinks he might not be able to sleep for the next few nights, what you have done to the poor guy.

oh gepard, he is so deeply, utterly, in love with you.

aventurine ୨୧｡˚ ⋆

CEO playboy aventurine takes an interest in you, but you unintentionally lead him on, so he ends up falling heads over heels for you.

“meet me in my office in 5 minutes.” you immediately pause at what you’re doing, and read the message from your boss over and over again. oh gosh you’re really done for now! what did you do wrong?! your mind races as you try to recall any mistakes you’ve made recently, but nothing comes to mind…

you nervously knock on the door to aventurine’s office, feeling your palms grow clammy with sweat. a voice rings out, “ah, yes please come in.”

you step into the room, not daring to meet your boss’ gaze. “i’m here sir, as you requested. is there anything you need from me?” you suddenly find the marble floor very interesting, opting to stare at it as you anxiously wait for his reply.

aww, are they really that shy to see me? that’s cute.

aventurine’s next sentence catches you completely off guard, “so, what do you think about my new tie, hm?” he walks over to you, a smirk forming on his lips.

is this one of his stupid schemes again? aeons, this won’t work on you.

“...it's crooked. let me fix it for you.” you reach out and adjust his tie, being careful as to not accidentally choke him (even if you really want to, just because he scared the shit out of you by calling you into his office for something like this), lest you get fired.

aventurine is pleasantly taken aback by your boldness. usually those who fall victim to his flirtatious ways are quick to shower him with compliments, but your reaction is refreshingly unexpected. or perhaps you are challenging him? oh well, a little gamble never hurts, right?

it's obvious he’s taken a liking to you; for the next few weeks, he's been calling you to his office more and more frequently, to the point where you're no longer nervous to enter, as you know it’s probably nothing serious. plus, you’ve gotten used to the “strange” reasons he requests for your presence.

including the times where he made you do your work in his office, claiming that he feels lonely and needs your (it can only be you, no one else) company. or the many-times that you told him to manage his money wisely because he CANNOT be spending thousands on you.

“just a small gift for my favourite employee!” (and it's a whole ass car that costs way above your pay grade)

at this point, you're beginning to think he should hire a secretary. you subconsciously bring the idea up during one of your visits, what you didn’t expect was for him to eagerly agree with you. his eyes twinkle with amusement, “no wonder you’re my favourite, of course you’re interested in being my secretary, well lucky you! your new position begins tomorrow.”

so instead of hiring a secretary like any normal person would, he makes YOU his secretary. and hey, when did you ever express that you would like to be his secretary? this scumbag…

“oh don’t be so nervous sweetheart, just sort these out for me—” he hands you a folder of documents, his fingers deliberately brushing against yours, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “and stay here while you work on them.. want to see your pretty face.”

you think your boss is insufferable, even more so now that you’ve fallen for his charms. it's as if he enjoys playing this game of cat and mouse, keeping you on your toes with his teasing remarks and lingering touches. yet beneath the facade of annoyance, there’s something undeniably alluring about the way he looks at you, as if you're the only person in the room. well you’re not far off; you are the sole focus of his attention.

like right now, while you attempt to maintain your composure under his unmistakably, shameless, lovesick gaze; his lips curl into a mischievous smirk, “oh by the way, dinner's on me tonight. choose whatever you like." with a coy smile, you decide to tease him, “what? can’t even ask me out properly?” you quip, raising an eyebrow in faux innocence.

and later that night you find your boss on one knee, waiting at your front porch, in his hands are freshly bought flowers. his eyes immediately light up the moment you open the door, a horrified look on your face. “will you go on a date with me?” oh how he delights in your flustered expression.

“i said ask me out! not get down on one knee and propose!”

“...so will you?”

don’t worry, he knows you'll look forward to the day he proposes (you’re not even dating, yet) but for now he’ll spoil you with the most lavish meal known to mankind, not that you’re complaining about it either.

sunday ༊*·˚

not-so-accidental confession with sunday who intentionally leads you to overhear him talking about his feelings for you.

you raise your hand, ready to knock on the door, but a voice from inside halts your movement. you hesitate, your knuckles hovering just inches away from the wood, as the unexpected sound piques your curiosity.

“brother, why didn’t you tell me this before?” it’s no doubt that the soft-spoken voice belongs to robin, her tone carrying a tinge of surprise; and by the way she addresses the other person, it can't be anyone but sunday himself.

their conversation sounds tense, you think it's inappropriate to eavesdrop, but just as you were about to leave, sunday's voice catches your attention, and you freeze at the sound of your name slipping past his lips.

“—their infectious laugh, how their eyes light up with pure innocence, their unwavering passion and selflessness that knows no bounds; always putting others before themselves. how can i possibly not love them?”

your face flushes with warmth upon hearing his words, and you're unable to suppress a cough that escapes; you bring your hands to your mouth, hoping to stifle any further embarrassment.

robin chuckles, “oh brother, i understand exactly what you mean”, a genuine smile spreads across her face. “...seems like you’re expecting a guest” she raises an eyebrow knowingly, “i’ll take my leave now." with that, she gives sunday a reassuring pat on the shoulder and gracefully exits the room, shooting you a playful wink as she walks by.

uh oh… you’re totally busted

you immediately turn on your heels, trying to slip away before sunday realises you're there. but just before you can make your escape, someone grabs your wrist, holding you firmly in place. you turn around to see sunday looking down at you, his eyes flickering with emotions swirling within him.

"i swear i didn't hear anything!" you exclaim, waving your hand in front of you defensively.

“really…nothing?”

“yup! nothing at all.” you lie through your teeth, cringing at yourself.

“nothing? ...but i made sure you were there to hear everything.” a hint of disappointment evident in his voice.

“huh..?” your expression twists with confusion, a faint blush creeping up from your neck. you were meant to hear that? he just poured his heart out to his sister…about you!

sunday smiles, oh there’s no point in lying now, he knows you heard him. (as expected)

he steps closer to you, his arms caging you between the wall and himself. “you know i meant everything i said right?” a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, leaving you momentarily speechless, unsure of how to respond; you can feel your chest swelling with warmth, his wings flutter subconsciously as he awaits your response.

“y-yes…” you avert your gaze, too shy to stare into his eyes. “please, look at me…” he gently tilts your chin up, his eyes boring into yours. “i wanted to tell you that i love you, for so long” he looks vulnerable at that moment, a side he only ever shows to you; a side of him only you get to see.

“i love y—” sunday gently places his finger on your lips, silencing you. you tilt your head at his gesture, your mouth still agape. “don’t say it back yet…” moving his hand to hold your face, “allow me to take you out on a date, then tell me how you feel.” you interlace your fingers with the his that rest against your face, nodding your head in acceptance.

though sunday longs for you to utter those 3 words to him, he wants to make that moment perfect, just as you are to him. despite sunday’s intention for you to overhear him, he regrets not being able to catch your reaction to his words, so next time (re: on the date), he vows to repeat it as many times as necessary; he will do anything to fulfill your every wish.

and should you desire for him to put a ring on your finger, he will do it in a heartbeat.

✧.*

masterlist boothill jing yuan blade vers here!

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luveline · 2 months ago

Note

Can you write where the reader walks into James room and he's crying and its the first time shes seen him cry so she comforts him pls xx

thank you for your request! fem, 1.2k

James’ house is a sanctuary to everyone he’s ever met. There are scratches on the wall by the door where Sirius has thrown it open, long deep welts of ruin under a drunken hand, two best friends laughing to the bedroom where they share a bed. You’re used to Sirius by now, an extension of James you love and make room for, but waking up to the heir of the most noble family in London sleeping off a hangover with his face buried in your boyfriend's shoulder still surprises you. His snores never change.

Then there’s Remus, the sweetheart, tracking dirt into the living room because he so often forgets he’s wearing shoes, distracted by a book or a thought he shares in half smiles knowing James will listen.

You’re everywhere. In photos like the rest of them, in your coat on the hook, your clean washing on the stairs, your shoes in the bedroom cupboard. There’s a red smudge of your lipstick on the wall at the top of the stairs where James wiped your bottom lip and then used the wall to hang over you, kissing. He keeps meaning to paint over it, you know. He says the same thing every time you bring it up, a laughing, “I’ll get to it, you thing!”

You’re used to smiles and sounds here. You aren’t acquainted with this. Sniffles from the bedroom, long, stringing gulps of air and the answering sob. It makes your chest flip. James hasn’t cried in front of you in a year of dating and two years of knowing him. James doesn’t even get pissed off unless it’s for somebody else. Something awful must’ve happened. You rush to find out what.

In the bedroom, James is just sitting there falling apart. Just, sat on the bed, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking like an awful jagged up and down, like he’s hurting; the shock of it is in every inch of movement. James is beautiful in everything, skin and hands and dark, dark hair, but he’s hurting now as he drags fingers wet with tears through frizzing curls. He must have heard you coming up but he can’t stop, lifting his chin, an apology twisted in his mouth that he doesn’t say aloud.

“Lovely, what happened?” you ask, sure you’re gonna fall through the floor. “What happened? What–”

You aren’t giving him time to answer. You need to know.

“No, it’s alright–”

“It’s not alright,” you say, standing in front of him with stiff arms. “What happened, James?”

“It’s okay.” He cries a little, sniffs, looking up at you with swimming eyes. “It’s alright, I’m just– it’s just– well, it’s just everything, I suppose, but it’s…” He looks down, his mouth twisting again in an apology you don’t want to take. He shakes himself.

“James, what’s everything?”

“Silly stuff.” James takes your hand. Telling, that a boy who’s spent his entire life looking after the people he loves would attempt to comfort you with tears still hot on his cheeks.

You look down at his long fingers.

James plays piano. He learned your favourite song for you before he’d ever asked you out, and when he’d played it for you, he’d played so beautifully you felt sick for days, felt sick every time you thought of him, but in the moment he’d laughed at your teary eyes and pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. Lovely girl, he’d said, laughing, I won’t play it again if you’re gonna cry like that.

You figure he must want comfort as he gives it, wrapping your arms around him to steer him toward a soft kiss, his hair like strands of satin under your lips. “Nothing that upsets you like this could ever be silly.”

He pushes you away. Not without love, but pushing away regardless. He stands in the space you leave and wipes his cheeks with the backs of his hands. It’s nearly like he’s dancing. Just the way his arms move. But then he drops them and turns away from you, your heart plummeting to your stomach.

“James.”

“It’s not like that. I was hoping I’d be done before you got home. Should we go out for dinner or something?”

“James–”

“What?” he asks, smiling, at odds with his sad eyes. “Love, it’s really fine, I’m fine.” Love. You let out a long breath, chest a cold ache slowly warmed by his gaze. There’s care for you in every eyelash, but it still shocks you when he hugs you. “It’s okay. Sorry I scared you.”

James. “Fucking hell, Jamie, I’m not scared, I want you to tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it for you.”

He chokes on breath. “I’m fine,” he says. He doesn’t believe it himself, a crack running straight through his words. “Sorry,” he says, sickly, kissing the top of your head as you’d kissed his.

Clearly he’s not going to let you be the one domineering the situation, but that’s okay. He can kiss your head and hold you on the edge of too tight. You slip a hand under the edge of his T-shirt to stroke his back, until your hand is numb to it, and he’s sagging against you heavily.

“You’re really not fine, I can see that much.”

He’s quiet, but you can tell there’s something he wants to say.

“But that’s okay,” you say, hand clasping his back . You pat a steady rhythm there as he sighs. “It really is. I don’t know why you think you have to be finished crying before I get home, but that’s not true. You can cry. You can cry buckets. Please don’t pretend you’re not upset because of me, I’d feel so bad.”

Something hot and wet touches your forehead. “M’sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” You pull back to pat his cheek.

James stares at you. Tears well in usually warm eyes and get caught in the wet hedge of his lashes. You try to wipe them away before they can fall —you don’t wanna see your sweetheart crying.

“Don’t frown,” he says softly.

“I’m trying not to. Here, let me,” —you wipe his cheeks with your sleeve, voice a muttering thing as his skin pinks beneath your touch— “just get that there for you. Your eyes are red, Jamie, I hope you haven’t been upset for too long.”

“No, uh. No, not too long.”

“Can you please tell me what’s wrong? I’d like to know.”

James’ face presses to your neck in seconds. He pauses, and then he sobs. That’s more like it. You stand there in the bedroom until your legs are stiff, and then you only move to lay him down in bed to be your little spoon. “It's not fine,” you say, your arm around him, the other playing in the swirl of his parting, “but it will be. You’re really too handsome for all these tears.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

He sounds sweet when he’s trying to make you laugh. You reach over him to kiss his hot cheek.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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candescentkpop · 2 years ago

Text

So I prove that I’m just myself

&Team: Under the skin

&Team Part 17 / ?

#&team #andteam #&team under the skin #requested #EJ #fuma #maki #thought i would end off this mv with the members who barely got any screentime #(at least from what i could tell)#hope i did alright anon #thanks for the request xx

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rosyblooom · 7 months ago

Text

all u need is a platform x | ln4 smau

PAIRING: lando norris x fem love island contestant!reader SUMMARY: y/n makes a one-off comment about lando norris being her type in a confessional, and the internet rolls with it all the way to lando norris' twitch stream. A/N: just bc i love me some love island 😌

Love Island UK

Twittter

Twitch

Twitter

Instagram

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, landonorris, yourfriend and 105,830 others

yourusername alright guys, public voting is open! go, go, go!! make sure to vote for the person you want off your screens, so don't vote for y/n!!! tell your friends, family, everyone! we don't wanna see our girl go home anytime soon!! thanks u guys 🥰🥰

#LoveIsland

view all 2,956 comments

username she's one of my favourite islanders🫶 stunning girl

landonorris so if we vote for her she comes OUT you say?👀

yourusername don't you dare🤣 username LMAOO LANDO U BETTER NOT SABOTAGE💀💀

username ugh she's so annoying she needs to stfu🙄 hope she goes home on friday

username he's in the likes👀 ohhh the show's just getting started I see🍿

username I've voted babes! (not y/n of course)

(liked by author)

username I'm sry but I'm gonna have to vote for my girl y/n BUT HEAR ME OUT it's bc there's a better man by the name of lando out here for her I think 😃

username sooo valid (I'm doing the same lmao) landonorris 😊 yourusername uhm- you guys😭😭

Twitter

Love Island UK

Twitter

Instagram

loveisland

liked by yourbestfriend, _jackfowler_, landonorris and 176,488 others

loveisland The public has voted, and that means goodbye to this firecracker! 🧨👋 By the looks of it, it seems Y/N might not need to do much searching for fish in the sea though... 👀

view all 3,582 comments

username ok lando pack it up, jack fowler is in the likes😩

username ugh jack is so fine🫦 username LMAO NOT TOO MUCH ON MY BBY LANDO NOW😭

landonorris 🐠

username lmaooo ENOUGH username help he's so real😭

username finally the bitch is gone

username uhm... chile anyways so

username ppl need to stop putting her up there with maura, amber and the lot cause she's absolutely nowhere close bffr. I rlly don't see the hype🙄

username she's literally the first to break 1 million followers lmao the hype is very much alive even if u don't wanna see it😌 username yeah and how many of those are lando fans hm? exactly username oooh u sound bitter babe xx

username lando and y/n better freaking date soon tho cause if I find out this was all in vain I'm literally gonna flip😭

Twitter

Instagram

thesun

liked by username, username, username and 46,037 others

tagged: landonorris, yourusername

thesun Popular ex-Love Island contestant, Y/N L/N, has arrived in the UK to a warm welcome at Heathrow Airport, where she was greeted by family, friends, and a horde of fans.

Speculation about a potential romance between her and the famous F1 driver, Lando Norris, has been rife on the internet for the past few weeks. Many believe this could be the reason for her sudden dumping from the island, as fans allegedly orchestrated her exit in hopes of pairing the two together.

view all 1,028 comments

username lando can do so much better than some trashy reality tv star 😑

username i got a pic with her!! she was such a sweetheart❤️

username im so excitedddd omg

username let's see what happens now then...😁

username 👀👀

username omg why are ppl still talking about her smh

username i voted for her so it better pay off🙏 i'm looking at u lando

username me and you both 🤝

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: i'm backkk ] [ caption 2: cake bc there's 1.5 million of u guys here😭 AHHH TYSM 🫶🫶 ]

[ tagged: yourbestfriend, yourfriend + more ]

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, landonorris, _jackfowler_ and 220,748 others

yourusername back in essex and straight to catching up with my lovelies xxx

view all 3,001 comments

username lando norris dating announcement when 😃

username lmaooo her bed in the villa ain't even cold yet😭😭 username real! he should've picked her up from the airport smh chivalry is so dead😞

username telling you all about lando i hope

username and the fact that it's all lando's fault that you were voted off 😋 username LOL DON'T PIN THIS ON HIM NOW

landonorris welcome back y/n!

username loool what happened to ur free shoulders 🤣🤣

username JACK FOWLER STAY TF BACK 🤺🤺🤺 we're team lando + y/n here!!!

username IKTR😌

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: don't need ur shoulders, just ur arms and car 😌 ]

[ tagged: landonorris ]

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username and 14,026 others

f1gossipofficial Lando Norris has been spotted once again in the company of ex-Love Island contestant Y/N L/N, marking the fourth time in the past month the pair has been seen together in London. This time, fans observed them enjoying dinner together, appearing particularly close as they laughed and had their arms around each other.

view all 382 comments

username real ones know y/n from the first ep of love island😌🫶

username I've been summoned🫡

username love island is bottom of the barrel trash smh anyone who enters that show is a dumbass

username lol okay.... anyway they look cute together🥰

username ahh u guys remember when y/n was in the villa and we'd all wait for lando's tweets during love island🥹 those were the times

username i wanted them together but now it's like when you watch a film in the cinema and then reach its end like what now?🧍‍♀️ username fanpage babe. u make a fan page trust me x

username ew keep her away from lando🤢

Twitter

Instagram

yourusername

liked by ellathomas_, landonorris, whitbrownxs and 587,442 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername thank u love island 🤭

view all 6,935 comments

username AHHH FINALLY IVE BEEN PRAYING FOR THIS🤩

username what do u wanna bet she only has 2 gcses🙄

username well that's a whole lot better than lando's 0 🤣

username @/yourusername i need ur game card RIGHT NOW cause i want mason mount 😩

yourusername all u need is a platform x username brb gonna apply for love island now🏃‍♀️💨

landonorris I think you missed a few spots baby

yourusername lol xxx username oh he's whipped lmaooo

username WHO VOTED Y/N OUT?? WE FUCKING DID ITTTT

username present🫡 username the way we had a vision and look at us now😌 we love to see it username cheers to us masterminds 🍻

whitbrownxs love you guys ❤️

yourusername ly bby xxx

1:06 ──ㅇ────────── 4:11

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goodeapple · 4 months ago

Text

words on the page (aemond t. sex pollen pwp o.s.)

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : PWP, dubcon- this is sex pollen (obvi) they are technically not fully consenting. might be hatesex but it also might not, uncle/niece incest, a ridiculous amount of orgasms, squirting, restraint, spanking & slapping, and a slighttt breeding kink (srry i couldn't help myself)

word count : 10,000+

note : hope everyone enjoys. ty for all the love, always. likes, reblogs, comments, anything is gas in my tank xx

“This library is big enough for the both of us, Uncle. You stay on your side, and I, on mine.” Ysilla offers, already working on tuning out the One-Eyed Prince’s mutterings as she gets lost in the sprawling shelves.

“What if I want a book that’s on your side?” Aemond’s voice echoes up to the grand ceilings from where he must be several rows over, his annoyance clearer than the windows in the Sept.

Ysilla rolls her eyes so hard she fears they might stick. “Do you not understand the concept of my side and your side?”

“These are all my sides. I grew up in between these stacks- I’m sure the texts at Dragonstone are missing you terribly. Why don't you go back and see if I’m right.”

That retort stabs at her, the mourning for her home still living on in the thick ball of grief that resides heavily in her heart. It’s been a year since her mother took her rightful place on the Iron Throne, a year since the King had passed, and a year where all members of the Targaryen family had to learn how to live amongst one another once more. Nobody was enjoying it. And there were more days than not that the Princess fantasized of stealing borrowing a boat and sailing back to her beloved pile of rocks.

“Shouldn’t you be out, oh, I don’t know, swinging a sword or ducking under one? You know, what men do.” It’s childish but Ysilla doesn’t mind stooping lower than her years. Her brothers keep her young and nimble, each one bringing with him a fresh battle of wits and stubbornness.

He goes silent, blessedly, and she resumes her stroll, picking and plucking titles off the shelves that join the burgeoning pile cradled tight in her arms. Her mind wanders, the endless catalogues of writings whispering their words, lulling her further and further into the scriptural maze.

Ysilla spots a peculiar text on a shelf taller than her, the aphotic ruby binding and woven gold stitching calling her name. She reaches up, tiptoeing until her feet creak and attempts to hook her finger under the edge of the spine. The old book sticks in place, judging her with a faceless scowl. She grunts, wobbling slightly, pushing forward again and gives it a good strong tug. Too strong, as it flies freely through the air and Ysilla yelps, jumping to the side to dodge it. Everything goes topsy turvy, her balance lost to her and the rest of her assembled collection clatters to the ground.

She curses, deaf to the sound of approaching footsteps as she drops to her knees and starts to gather the fallen books. She’s considerate of the older ones, stacking them carefully off to the side of the walkway. The causer of the chaos had landed face down, the text split open as if the ground itself was interested in its contents. Ysilla grasps it gently and turns it over, causing a plume of dust to shift off the pages and billow directly into her face.

She coughs, sputtering for a breath that isn’t made up of ancient soot. She scrubs at her nose, sniffling and groaning in discomfort as her sinuses burn and her throat grows parched. Her eyelids wrench shut, tears already hot and clumping in her lashes.

A vice grip in the form of strong fingers finds her arm, and she latches onto them desperately. She’s pulled to her feet, and a downy cloth is pressed tightly into her hand. She pats her face with it, drying her tears and spittle, its perfume of oranges and smoke chasing away the moldered stink clinging to every sense she has.

“You alright?” Aemond asks cautiously, still holding her elbow steady. Ysilla blinks blearily at him, her nose red at the tip. She nods after a pause, coughing softly into his handkerchief.

“Couldn’t breathe there for a moment.” She croaks, chuckling weakly before she gently pulls her elbow away. Aemond drops his hold, clasping his arms behind him and taking a step backwards.

“The library is all yours- I’m going to go lie down.”

She offers his hanky back, feeling a bit dumb as she does and more than a little embarrassed. Her uncle waves her off, and she skirts around him, careful not to intrude into his space.

“Niece,” Ysilla turns. Concern is not a look she’s accustomed to seeing on his face, and certainly not when it’s directed at her, but the sight of it sends little tingles through her tummy. “Do you need me to escort you to your room?”

She smiles dimly, self-conscious in all the ways that turn her cheeks peachy.

“I think I can manage… thank you, Aemond.” Ysilla curtsies in a silly show of thanks, but he can tell her sentiment is genuine.

Aemond swallows thickly, bowing his head in acknowledgment, watching her keenly as she shuffles out the doors that lead to the rest of the castle. She never calls him by his name. Always Uncle, and even sometimes My Prince, but the mocking lilt of that one is not lost on him. Aemond though… it’s like he’s hearing a brand new word.

Shrugging off his worriment, he sighs, squatting down to collect the strewn about books. He inspects them as he does, less so judging and more so learning about his niece’s interests through her chosen reading materials. There’s a collection of songs- one for Drowned Men and one for Northmen that he’s read before. Another about the Lion King, Tommen II Lannister and his adventures in Volantis and, most provocatively, the remaining charred pages of Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History. Aemond holds onto it for longer than the others; she must’ve searched long and hard for it, he’s never even once stumbled across it in here. He tucks it carefully onto a shelf he’ll remember, and thinks of letting Ysilla know where she can find it later.

Lastly, he comes to the one that sent her into a coughing fit and he regards it carefully. It isn’t smart, but even so, Aemond draws his dagger and nudges at it, angling up the flap so that he can read the title: Potions of Old Valyria. He lifts it too high, trying to see better in the dreary light of dusk and loses his leverage, the cover falling closed and puffing out a small cloud of dust in his direction. He snaps backwards but he’s not fast enough, the grit already coating the slick press of his lips. Aemond spits, growling, scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. He winces as his nose stings, the watering in his eye blurring his vision.

He shoots to his feet, gathering up the massive stack of books and tossing them onto an empty writing desk, kicking away the potion book in juvenile anger. He stalks out of the library, cursing blindly as he retreats to his room.

The Prince does not read the page of which the dust had danced off of. But if he had, mayhaps he would have rethought the course of his actions that night.

“Pollen of the flower Turnera diffusa- a specimen of which is contained in this very page- has a curious effect on the indulger. Found growing along the creeks of Honeyholt, symptoms noted are as follows: fever, delirium, lightheadedness, and most notably, a heightened state of arousal. The affected should take caution to whom they keep in their company while under the spell of this love plant.”

Aemond shucks off his jerkin, sending it flying across the room carelessly.

It's still there- the rabid itch under his collar. He stalks to his mirror, tearing up his shirt to check his skin, looking for a bite, a scratch, anything to explain the scorching sting engulfing him in full. Nothing, not even a blemish, mars his pale chest.

He curses, spinning on his heel and going for his table, seizing the wine pitcher so roughly the lit candles nearby shudder from his haste. He pours a full goblet, the deep burgundy trickle causing his mouth to flood with anticipation. He downs it in several gulps, gasping as he rips the cup away and lets it teeter on the table until it spins out, toppling over emptily. He might as well’ve drank from the Great Sand Sea, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He clutches at his stomach, a sharp shooting pain ripping up his insides. He groans, taking a knee as his legs wobble beneath his weight.

Fuck, he wonders if it was the book, the dust he breathed in. If Ysilla is as bad off as he is.

Ysilla. Worry spears through him, bringing with it a healthy dose of clarity. She breathed in more than he did, he’s sure of it. He needs to get her to a maester, lest she’s already staggered out of her own room in search of aid.

He stumbles to his wall, finding the familiar crease in the stone and pushing. The path into the tunnels is one he knows well and he’s lucky he does, his mind fogging over and his pulse thumping in his temples. He’s never entered her chamber this way of course, so he can’t be sure when he comes to an unknown stone archway that he’s where he needs to be.

He pushes until he feels the door give way, a slice of light pouring out through the crack. He edges it forward a little more, until he can see enough of the room to confirm it’s not a servant’s quarters.

“Niece?” Aemond coughs, his tone gruffer than what he’s used to. His throat is arid, greedy for a nectar to soothe it. No one answers, but as he strains his hearing, shuffling feet and rustling bottles comes forth, confirming that someone is inside.

“Ysilla?” He calls out. Another jolt of agony flares through him and he gasps, startling forward, catching himself on the door and accidentally making it swing open. Aemond stumbles through, colliding with an overstuffed armchair and making it screech terribly across the floor. His head shoots up, and he catches sight of his niece across the room.

Ysilla wouldn’tve noticed if Vhagar herself trampled through the door.

She’s… much more undone than she was before. Her curly raven locks, once pinned up and out of her face, spring madly from her head, cloaking her face in a dark flowing curtain. She scurries around the room, mouselike, pressing a wet rag to her throat and then to her forehead, and back again. Twenty or so books are open and strewn about on the long table, looking as if they were caught in a sweeping wind. Long gone are her slippers, and the sleeved pink gown she donned before is abandoned in a silky puddle by the door.

Her chemise, a pale yellow thing with capped sleeves, has gone transparent from the perspiration that has broken out all over her body. It clings to every dip, every curve, shadowing her in a gauzy golden haze. Her bronze nipples tent through the delicate fabric and the thatch of hair over her womanhood matches in color-

Aemond snaps his gaze away, cheeks flaming.

“Ysilla.” He nearly shouts, stare finding his boots and staying there.

The woman in question spins around, catching sight of her uncle in the corner of her room, the hidden door she had never had enough courage to use ajar behind him.

“Aemond… you need to leave.” Her words rumble out of her, like there’s a beast in her belly, roaring through her skin and rattling her bones. “Leave!”

He doesn’t move and Ysilla hurls the rag in his direction.

“Did you not hear me? I said go!”

Annoyance chips away at Aemond’s embarrassment. He’s trying to help her, insufferable brat. “You don’t command me, Niece.” He responds, still refusing to look at her.

She scoffs, happy to channel her discomfort into a much more satisfying emotion. “You sneak into my room, catch me in the middle of undress, and still, you act put out.” Ysilla spits, her temper raising with her temperature.

Gods, she’s miserable. The moment she stepped foot in her bedchamber, her dressings were off, and she drank down water until she felt the urge to spew. It’s as if she can’t catch her breath- she’s so dizzy and her uncle’s sudden company has somehow made it worse. Her belly cramps, and she crosses her legs tightly in search of relief. She cries out, the budding sultriness in her flower springing to life, and wetness coats her thighs in a rush. Gasping, she nearly trips as she collides with her bed’s edge.

“Ysilla, breathe.” Aemond commands harshly.

His voice is so nice. Has it always been that nice? That soothing? Her snatch gives a happy thrum, her clit fluttering at the memory of his strong grip upon her arm. How he had held her steady in her dizziness, how he had towered over her, so imposing, so encapsulating, making sure she was well. Ysilla gasps, stunned at her body’s wanton reaction.

“You don’t understand. Please, go.” He’s her uncle- her uncle that doesn’t even like her. This cannot- will not happen.

“I need to get you to a maester. If you’re feeling what I’m feeling, if you’re feeling it worse, fuck, Ysilla, I need to get you help.”

He needs to stop saying her name like that, in that breathy, strained tone of his. He sounds exerted. He sounds exhausted. He sounds like he’s on the cusp of falling apart. It stokes the fire in her blood.

“The things I want to do to you… the things I want you to do to me.” She whines quietly, terrified that he’ll hear her.

A subtle knock-knock at her chamber door quiets them both, and they hold their breath. Again, a knock-knock echoes through, and Ysilla curses the diligence of her ladies. Aemond goes for it, stalking across the room in his usual strutting gait.

Ysilla panics and rushes forward, latching onto his arm and pulling him to a stop.

“Aemond, Uncle, please, send them away. I don’t want them to see me like this.” She begs, pleading with him through a glistening gaze.

Aemond readies his denial, sharp and bitter on his tongue but he loses his voice as he looks at her. He keeps his eye on her face, hyper aware of the press of her nearly naked figure against his side. Her heart shaped face is drawn in a frantic frown, terror rich and vast in her eyes. She smells of the Essos oils in her hair and the coconut oil on her skin, and it all makes his head go a bit fuzzy.

She squeezes his arm, again, a final silent plea. He nods his assent. Ysilla dashes behind him, slipping deeper into the room, blowing out candles until the bedchamber dims into darkness. She voices a small, urging hum, and Aemond takes his cue and yanks the door open. The visitor, a girl no older than three-and-ten, blinks at him in surprise.

“My Prince,” she curtsies hurriedly and Aemond nods his acceptance, but his face must spell out his impatience because she speaks so fast, her words stumble over one another. “I thought I heard the Princess in distress. I was coming to check on her, to make sure she’s alright.”

Her eyes dart over his shoulder, her head bobbing to the side as if she were trying to peek in. Aemond moves with her, raising his arm so that it rests above him in the doorway, pulling the door nearly closed behind him. The maid swallows, dropping her eyes in apology.

“The Princess isn’t well- very sick. Keep the other maids away, guards too. She wishes for solitude.” He’s a pushover and he hates it. One look of Ysilla’s beseeching gaze and Aemond gave like a straw bridge.

“Should I send a maester?” The maid asks worriedly, making to exit down the hall and find help.

“No!” The young girl jolts to a stop, her eyes wide with alarm. Aemond curses himself, and he speaks softer through gritted teeth. “No, she just needs rest. I’ll see to her, since I’ve already been exposed. I’ll call upon you if I change my mind.”

The maid eyes him cautiously, but she finally relents, dropping into a curtsy before hurrying down the wall.

On the other side of the door, Ysilla feels as if she’s going fucking mental.

She’s balled up her bedsheet, and wedged it between her quivering thighs. The fabric pressed so intimately against her cunt is unforgiving, soaking up her syrupy slick and giving little in return. But the friction along her clit makes her gasp, and it urges on her rutting in dreams of a release so sweet, she could cry.

The low droll of Aemond’s voice slithers into her ears from across the room, her mind warping the words until he’s whispering to her. What a good girl she is, how desperate she is to find her pleasure, how angry he is that she’s fucking her bed and not him. Ysilla’s eyes shoot open as she hears the squeak of her door, her hopes crashing as she realizes he’s pulling it shut while he’s behind it, not in front of it.

She collapses forward onto all fours, fisting the furs blanketing her duvet, smothering a broken moan into the softness. Her eyes peel open, her glassy gaze landing on her bedside table. Aemond’s handkerchief is still there- right where she’d left it- the emerald hue of it glowing midnight green in the candlelight. Suddenly, it’s in her grasp, even though she cannot recall moving for it. She presses it to her nose and draws in a shaky breath.

Oh, oh, it smells of him. Citrus and smoke and she’s drooling for it, mouth watering so quickly she has to swallow it down so she doesn’t slobber. She swings her hips forward before rolling backwards, dredging the sodden sheet through her sex. It’s so wet now, the smoothness almost feels like skin. And that’s too much for Ysilla- she can hear him, smell him, but the thought of Aemond in between her legs?- it sends her plummeting off the cliff of desire, her core pulsing vibrantly, pleasure buzzing through her whole body.

A phantom hand finds the same spot where Aemond had handled her earlier, and rips her upwards. She’s pulled to her knees, still atop the bed, as someone presses up behind her. Ysilla peers over her shoulder, the handsome face of her uncle a welcome sight. He is an apparition appearing from her thoughts alone. He doesn’t even seem real.

Her thoughts are askew with an edge of delirium, her insides purring at his sudden return. Ghoul or not, she will not squander such a golden opportunity. She fists the front of his shirt and drags him in, their mouths joining together harshly. Aemond would be lying if he said he didn’t kiss her back at once. It gets intense. Fast.

Ysilla melts into his chest, whimpering into his mouth while his grip goes from her elbow to sliding around her, dragging her in closer by her waist. His tongue finds her teeth and she opens up slowly, letting him feel the threat of them, as he slithers in and their tongues touch-

Aemond tears himself away, stumbling backwards, heaving for air and looking at her with a wide eye. Ysilla whimpers, her fantasy failing her, and she slips off the side of the bed to settle on wobbly legs. Her palm goes to press at her abdomen, hoping that the pressure will relieve the burrowing ache.

They stare at one another, wild animals on alert, a standoff that neither Prince nor Princess can bear to lose.

Ysilla’s gaze falls to his lips, and Aemond’s to hers. She bites her lip, sucking the meat into her wet, warm mouth before releasing it with a lurid pop. Aemond groans, an audible surrender.

To Hell with it all.

They crash into each other like lightning, hands mapping anywhere they can reach. Her body blooms for him, like a flower under the summer sky. He steers them back towards her bed, Ysilla blindly clamoring atop to sit while he stands tall. His touch on her skin has her thighs spreading, opening up and offering herself for his taking.

“I can’t stop, I can't stop.” He presses kiss after kiss to her mouth, her closeness doing nothing to extinguish the burning in his blood. If anything, she makes it worse, the inferno raging deeper and into his very soul.

“I don’t want you to stop.” She whines, snaking their legs together and threading her fingers through that beautiful hair of his.

She’ll enjoy this- him. Every inch of Aemond belongs to her tonight. She thinks of drawing the blade from his hip, and carving her name into his chest. Mark him up nice and neat, streak his pale powdery skin red with her desire. Whatever is happening to her- to them- summons something animalistic, something primitive out of the dark parts of their hearts. All tender fantasies of her future husband treating her with such a tame touch are cleaved in half and fed to the hounds. In their place, filthy, feral desires fester and warp her mind until one lone ambition remains: him inside of her, for the rest of their days.

“We don’t even like each other.” Aemond growls between their parting lips. Ysilla slides her way into his mouth, flirting with the sharpness of his teeth, suckling the sweetness out of his tongue.

“We can’t stand each other.” She affirms, breaking their lips apart, her hands already under his tunic, letting her palms drink in the ridges and rises of his impressive physique. She kisses along the strong edge of his jaw, curling her fingers into clenched claws and rips her way down his chest. Not a blade, but he bloodys all the same. Aemond snarls, catching her by the throat so brutally her teeth clack. His eye pierces through her like a blade, and Ysilla relishes in the pain, his touch upon her skin soothing away her ache.

“Bitch.” He hisses, what little familial respect they harbor for each other crushed under lust and loathing.

“Prick.” She bites back, grazing at his lip to send her point home. Gods, he’s so close but not close enough.

Ysilla pulls his hand between her legs- the one not choking her out- and Aemond cups her sex readily. Her heat damn near blisters him, and he grinds his palm into her slick folds, coating his hand in her arousal.

“Yessss…” She hisses in sated victory, her blood pumping thick as her body finally gets a taste of what it's been craving. Even one finger of his is nearly too much as he slips it in, the stretch a tepid burn that only gives way as her body adjusts.

“You need to be able to take more than that if you want to take my cock, Princess.” He whispers at her lips, already imagining how tight she’ll be around him. He won’t insult her by asking- he knows he’ll be her first. And the thought of that… of taking her maidenhead for his own, being the first man to be inside of her, searing himself into her memory that even time won’t take away… Aemond has to fucking focus.

“I can take it.” She assures him, head nodding wildly, her thighs splitting open even further. His grip has loosened around her throat, and he strokes where it’s sure to bruise, trying to not grow hot at the vision of his mark marring her body. He hums his approval, letting his middle finger glide forward, her essence enough to ease the way into her hole.

He scissors them, back and forth, working her pure channel open gently, basking in the silky tensing of her walls. The pained scrunch in her brow has disappeared, giving way to the pleasured furrow of her forehead, her hips beginning to roll up and meet his digits. She grabs ahold of his wrist, stopping his motions, and she pins him in place with a lavender leer.

“Take off your clothes.” It’s a command, no matter if it is spoken in her soft honeyed voice.

Aemond loses his shirt and unlatches his belt, tossing it and his sword onto the bench at the foot of her bed. His breeches slide off with Ysilla’s help, her eager fingers untying his laces. He kicks off his boots, not realizing how confined he felt with so many layers hindering him until his skin is bared. She moves backwards, further up her bed and he crawls after her, prowling like a wildcat, covetous sight trained on her.

The little minx yanks on his elbow, and he crashes into the mattress and suddenly, he’s the one on his back. Aemond lets Ysilla pin his wrists on either side of him, her victorious smile just as comely as the rest of her. Her breasts pillow against his chest, and dammit, she needs to hover above him so he can catch one in his mouth. But she denies him that treat, squeezing his wrists to focus his attention.

“Don’t move. That’s an order.” His cock twitches from where it’s pressed to her thigh and her lips twitch at his reaction. She kisses his throat, right at the base where his collar bones meet, and her whisper vibrates through to his heart. “Good boy.”

Ysilla takes her time, voyaging down his body, a traveler on a sought after journey. Her tongue flicks out over each of his nipples, teasing the perked flesh with little swipes of her slick pink muscle. She traces her nose over the jutting contour of his rib cage, counts his muscled abdominals until there’s numbers on both hands, and kisses the scar on his hip, long healed from a tumble off of Vhagar’s saddle when he was just a boy. The fine silver hair trailing down his groin is wispy and it tickles her chin.

Aemond’s cock is intimidating, even more so as she takes a lick from root to tip. The journey is longer than first guessed, and she thinks he grows even bigger after the swipe of her tongue, the jut of him swaying in the air as more blood thickens him out. The fact that all of that will be stuffed inside of her makes Ysilla shiver, her cunt yearning for the press of his long fingers.

Fervently, she swallows him down until he greets the back of her throat. The salt of him is jarring but not unwelcome- nothing can be unwelcome about this as Aemond sucks in a ragged breath and fists the sheets. The muscles in his arms strain and bulge, a sight that only incentivises her to keep sucking.

He’s a thick, velvety weight on her tongue, her mouth full even with inches still to spare. Her drool dribbles down his staff, and her hand wraps around what she cannot swallow. She glides her lips over his length rhythmically, jacking her fist over the rest of him, retreating with a pop to spit on his tip for more lubrication.

Ysilla has always been one for sweets but this? This is a taste she can find herself hankering for. She suckles on the head, dipping her tongue into his slit, shivering at the sharp burst of his spunk on her taste buds. She dives forward again, gagging around him, the intrusion into her throat a strange feeling she forces herself to adjust to.

Aemond keeps her hair pushed behind her ears, his thumbs stroking her temples as he fights to not thrust down her throat until she chokes. A familiar tightening in his sack has him voicing the exact opposite of what he wants her to do.

“Silla, pull off.” She’s on her fucking knees for him, he doesn’t need to defile her like this. Doesn’t need to treat her like a common whore and make her stomach his load.

She ignores him and he says her name again, more firmly, but she’s such a rebel, swallowing around him once more, letting him feel the constricting vice of her throat. He can’t take it- he gives her what she wishes.

“Silla, qrugh.” Cursing, he keeps her head still as he empties his balls and fills her belly. He hooks his thumb into her mouth, breathless, breaking the suction and pulls out of her throat. Ysilla coughs, gulping down air and saliva before she gifts him a shiny smile. Aemond scoffs. Unbelievable.

“You’re a nasty little thing.” He pants out, a compliment he means wholeheartedly.

She chuckles hoarsely, and her lips are still gooey with his seed.

“You love it.”

The urge to fuck her returns tenfold and he sits up, hand at the back of her neck to wrench her up to his mouth. She whimpers, swapping his cum between their tongues. It’s sticky and vulgar and overwhelmingly erotic.

Ysilla stumbles to her feet, pulling Aemond with her, leading him to the lounge area in front of her hearth. Their mouths remain intertwined, unwilling to part even for a moment. She pushes him into an armchair, the old velvet soft beneath him before following him down, and settling swiftly in his lap.

“Off.” He demands but he can’t help but be an active partner in his niece’s undressing. Her hands dash to the hem of her shift, gathering up the skirt hurriedly. His hands glide up her body, caressing the naked skin that is revealed to him as she pulls it up and over her head. She’s so sleek with sweat she looks polished- an apple ready to eat, something to be devoured.

“What do you want me to do?” Aemond asks, not for lack of knowledge but to see how far she wishes to take this.

Ysilla grins, ducking down and drawing him into an eager kiss. “Whatever you want to do. Just make me feel good.”

Loyal as a hound, Aemond’s mouth goes to her breast, her posture perfectly presenting her chest to him. He takes in as much as he can, greedily sucking and licking until her tender flesh blushes a bright sticky red. He rolls her pert nipple between his teeth, tugging just enough to make Ysilla gasp. She makes pretty sounds- he can’t wait to hear what she’ll sound like as he fucks her stupid. He switches to her other breast, feasting on her supple bosom like he’ll never eat again. His cock bobs upright, his body needing no time to rest, ready and racing to experience the delicacy of her cunt.

The Princess whines, combing through his tousled hair, tugging on it like she would horse reins. Such a commanding queen she’ll be.

“Need it, need you.” She whines, swinging her hips lower, searching for the weeping start of his prick.

“Easy, Ysilla.” He warns, even as his thoughts scream to grip her hips and teach her how to ride him, but she’s such a stubborn little dragon and her thoughts may be just as commanding as his. She leans back, reaching between her thighs until she brushes at the head of his cock and steadies him. Lining herself up, she sinks torturously slow, downdowndown every inch until she sits upon his thighs.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Oh… my.”

They both breathe out, blinking away black stars that dance in their vision, the pollen tapping every nerve ending in each of them until they sputter and fizz uncontrollably.

The discomfort fades for her faster than she’d thought, transforming into a pleasant fullness that she can feel heavily behind her stomach. Ysilla searches for what feels the best, moving faster and faster on Aemond’s lap as each new shift in position guides her further towards the liquid heat in her loins. She settles on swiveling up before dropping back down onto him, riding him like she’s saddled. Hot streaks of exhilaration engulf her insides, every pass of his cock adding to the ecstasy swirling inside of her. The stretch of him, not just from length but from width as well, itches the scratch left behind after the library disaster. Even as she tried to bring herself to pleasure earlier, there was something missing from her peak. Something that’s building, stacking, soaring fast in her belly. That final crest of a wave, ready to crash and drown anything that’s not pure, hot ecstasy-

Before it collapses back into a tidepool. The pitted feeling of falling through the air as you miss a step in the dark settles over her lust, and she jerks. Ysilla’s eyes snap open, her pupils blown so wide Aemond can barely see a ring of amethyst around them. She whines, bouncing on his cock faster, chasing a release she’s not sure she can find.

“Qybor, kostilus. I can’t cum like this.” Almost to make her point, she circles her hips up, leaving only the head of him kissed by her tight hole before dropping down and taking every inch of him at once. Aemond holds strong to his stamina, refusing to empty inside of his niece so quickly.

A shame though, he was so enjoying the view. He winds his arms around her hips, keeping her nice and close as he slips them off of the chair and onto the floor. Several furs keep them cushioned from the chilly stones below and he drags a pillow off the loveseat to ease her up on.

“Turn for me, sweetling.” He maneuvers her onto her belly, his grip finding her hips and shepherding her into position onto her hands and knees.

Aemond stands corrected- this view is nice. The burnished copper of Ysilla’s coloring clashes deliciously with his own pale complexion. Her backside is plush and hefty, budding from her shape in a way that invites his attention.

Whatever you want to do. Aemond slaps her right cheek, reveling in her sharp gasp, and the way a perfect red welt appears on the smooth skin. He lands another, on the opposite globe, hypnotized by the jiggle of the flesh. He strikes her again because he can, not ignorant to the way his rough treatment has her absolutely dripping down her thighs. Another for good measure, satisfied in the brilliant bruising he’s left behind.

Just make me feel good. He strokes his cock, still slick from her spit and her honey, and lines his head up at her opening. She arches up, dipping down onto her arms, raising her bottom to prop against him. The angle is too good not to take advantage of. Aemond spits, his foamy white saliva dripping viscously into her tight hole and he pushes it inside of her as he strokes forward.

Ysilla voices her approval of the new position, wiggling back against him as he goes as deep as she’ll take him. He builds a tempo, in out in out, finding a pace that makes her clench impossibly tighter. His sack slaps intensely at her clit, drawing punchy little gasps out of her that he wants to devour. He digs his fingertips into her hips, thumbs fanning out to stroke the luscious bounce of her bottom. He goes to pause, planning on switching his angle so that some strain can be relieved from her spine.

“No! Aemond, stay there, right there, yessss.” Ysilla flails her hand behind her blindly, not stopping her begging until she smacks into his naked torso. Aemond stares down at his niece in confusion, catching sight of her profile, her eyes trained intently on something that is certainly not him.

He looks up, and catches his reflection staring back at him from across the room. The giant wardrobe mirror is tucked into the corner, and the Gods are good because they're directly in its path, their coupling on display for their viewing pleasure.

Aemond drops down, blanketing Ysilla with his body, watching his Other do the same. “Oh, I see.” He chuckles, driving into her slowly.

It’s almost as if they’re watching someone else- surely the couple in the reflection cannot be them. No poise, no manners, not even an ounce of trepidation to be seen. In place, disheveled, howling, rutting animals grind against each other, naked and insouciant in search of their gratification. Aemond enjoys the portrait they make, admiring it so much that he stalls in his thrusting and stills completely inside of Ysilla.

“Aemond, come on.” She whines, moving impatiently against him. “Nākostōbā taoba, making me do all the work.” She mewls, riding down and humping his cock.

Aemond’s trance snaps, and he secures a fistful of her hair, forcing his niece into a backbend. He ignores her yelp, smacking her thigh to halt her gyrations. His lips go to her ear, and this close to her throat, he can hear the lifeblood rushing through her arteries.

“What was that?”

“I just thought, unhhh… just thought you would be a bit more… involved in this.” She giggles, fucking laughs even as her bones creak for mercy. It’s harder to breathe this way, and the lightheadedness spurs on her mouth. “Thought you wanted this as badly as I did.”

Little fucking brat. He laughs too, because it’s funny. Funny because of how right she is- he should be more involved in this, a bit more committed. Ysilla stills at the sound, the audible swallow of her gulping nervously has his cock jumping in interest. Her fear is just as tasty as her willingness.

He crosses both arms over her chest, his forearms thick bars over her throat and he forces her up, so he can fuck his cock into her belly and watch her tits bounce as he does so. Ysilla’s face contorts into a euphoric mask, her eyes rolling back into her head and her pouty mouth hanging open in slack-jawed pleasure as he pounds her ruthlessly.

“Something on your mind, Princess?” She doesn’t respond, her brain being fucked straight out of her head.

Aemond slaps her face, the sharp crack bringing her back to the present, and back to Aemond fucking her like he owns her. She moans again, her pussy spouting a wash of arousal around his bullying cock. He catches her by the jaw, digging his thumb into the bone and rubbing at the struck flesh of her cheek. His lips are wet at her ear, and she watches him through glossy eyes as he smirks, and bites down on her ear lobe.

“Answer me, Ysilla.” His niece shouts but Aemond has no sympathy for her. If she can dish it out, she can take it. “You did want this? Or you do want this?”

He’s searching for the willpower to pull out of her, and put her over his knee to send home his message when she babbles out her acquiescence.

“I want this! Bisa, bisa, bisa, fuck, gaoman gaoman. I want you, Gods, nyke jaelagon ao!” Valyrian braids through her words without forethought, her focus aimed on Aemond’s cockhead tapping at her womb.

“Sȳz riña.” She preens at the endearment, throwing her hips back against him frantically. A beautiful toothy smile has broken brightly over her face, Aemond catching sight of it in the mirror before he shatters the grin, nailing a spongy spot inside of her that makes her eyes cross.

“Sooo good, so fucking big, feel you right here.” She tries to gesture to her throat but she ends up digging her nails into the arms caging her in, hanging off of him desperately. Her poor battered cunny is still somehow famished for more, the squelch of his cock moving in and out of her a licentious lyric that lulls both lover’s into a trance. Aemond pulls her even tighter to his front, however possible that may be, and plunges repeatedly into her snug cunt, beating the walls of her swollen so she won’t be able to walk without thinking of him first.

As if they miss each other, Aemond’s and Ysilla’s eyes meet in the mirror, violent violet and silver steel clashing and melding into one harmonious color.

Their stares fall lower, where they meet over and over and over again so brutally. Her thighs glisten in the candlelight, her flesh rippling with every thwack of Aemond’s hips. It’s so dirty, so primal, so right. He’s going so deep, he could put a babe in her belly. Just a whisper of that fantasy, of her giving him a child, letting him have such a claim on her breaks her apart.

She screams, Aemond’s palm smacking over her mouth as her thighs give out, and she sags to the floor. He follows her down, draping himself over her back, still fucking her in earnest, chasing his own blissful breaking point. He finds it, after three more punishing thrusts. But even as his balls release and he feels Ysilla grow slicker as his seed coats her insides until it leaks a white ring from where they’re joined, his cock is still hard and heaving from his body.

He pulls out and Ysilla sobs at the loss, scrambling on the furs, but her cries disintegrate as she’s flipped onto her back. Aemond slings both of her legs into the crooks of his elbows, yanking her forward so he’s flush to her thighs, her pussy a pretty little jewel winking up at him. His seed oozes a pearl stream from her fluttering hole and he swipes it up with his cock, and it’s as slippery as oil as he bottoms out inside of her.

Fucking Seven, she’s unreal. “Taking every inch of me… like you were made for this, ñuha pretty līve.”

“Made for you, I think.” Ysilla gasps, ripping at the furs, trying to anchor herself down so she doesn’t burst apart.

Aemond nips at her chin, doing nothing to quell the smug smile on his niece’s lips. “Careful.”

Careful for what? She wants to question so badly. Careful on what she voices aloud, even as they speak it in both of their minds? Careful on implying that her cunt will not weep for him anytime he passes by her? Careful to claim that the only place he should be after tonight is right where he is now?

But it is not the time for words of the heart, so she digs her nails into Aemond’s broad shoulders in a gnaw and throws her head back.

“I’m right there. Yes, Aemond, yes!”

Oh, is she now? Aemond grins, slowing his thrusts to purposefully watch her eyes shoot open incredulously.

“Don’t stop! Fuck, why are you stopping?” Ysilla growls, circling her hips up against him, doing her best to fuck him herself. So desperate, so full of unadulterated desire, she cannot find it within herself to be appalled at her own salaciousness.

“I thought you couldn’t cum like this?” Aemond mocks and oh, it’s fun to play with her.

Her decorum deserting her, Ysilla lets anger lead her movements and her hand flies at his face to strike him. He catches her easily, still smiling that infuriatingly sexy smirk, and drops a modest kiss on the heel of her palm. She melts, her love bitten lips pouting dramatically.

“Aemond, ñuha zaldrīzes, please.” He likes when she begs- she can see it in the way his jaw ticks, how his skin flushes, as if his body alights in her prayers to him. Aemond won’t acknowledge it, but somewhere deep in his chest, she’s already wormed her way in. He splits her in half, leaning over her until he can rest his palms by her shoulders, her legs still draped over each of his arms.

He drags himself out, inch after inch, agonizingly slow before he lurches forward, making her pussy swallow his entire cock. He groans, finding himself burrowed in the valley of her breasts, letting his hips pummel her in an amorous hammering.

“Scream for me, love.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice- her lungs finding the air to blurt out,

“Aemond, fucking hell!”

Ysilla goes limp, her thighs butterflying open, giving him full reign to dictate her pleasure. She squirts, a wet spray soaking his abdomen that puddles beneath them. Her whole body heaves, appearing almost pained in euphoria. She’s a holy vision.

Fuck, he’s losing his mind. “Do that again.” He demands.

He cups the back of her neck, propping her up until they’re eye to eye. Ysilla’s are lidded, exhaustion heavy weights upon them, but she manages a tiny nod and curves herself upwards for his continued onslaught.

Completely at his mercy, his to control, Aemond takes full advantage. Dragging her down by the back of her neck, he plunges himself brutally inside of her cunt over and over, again and again. She lies there and takes it like a good girl, witnessing her uncle destroy her in the name of desire until he grants her mercy, and he strokes her pearl with the sharp edge of his thumbnail and she blacks out.

He chokes, sparks shimmering in and out of his vision as she convulses around his cock. He pulls out of her, spurting striping streaks of white onto her belly. He cums so hard, it splashes over her tits and even pools in the hollow of her throat.

Ysilla moans, coming to, rubbing her fingers over the soiled skin of her stomach, blending their releases together in a filthy film that coats her fingers. She pops one in her mouth, and relishes in the blossoming light brightening once more in Aemond’s lone eye.

And just as quickly as their relief had come, the satisfaction fizzles out and ravenous blood boiling need takes root once more.

They groan, barely taking time to catch their breath before they’re on each other again. Their mouths are sloppy, leaving trails of saliva down to their chins and along their throats. Ysilla finds a spot she likes over his pulse point and suckles, her left leg wound tight over his hip, rubbing herself off along the unyielding ridge of the bone. Aemond kneads her arse, an apology for his abuse, rolling the voluptuous flesh in his calloused grip all the while dipping his fingertips in and out of her weeping slit.

They tangle in each other’s webs, so caught up in salt and sin that they don’t realize they’re off the rugs and across the floor until the frigid chill rushes through them.

It’s uncomfortable- their knees will be bruised by the morrow, scrapes along their backs will sting while in the bath, and a crick won’t leave Ysilla’s neck for half a moon. But the stone cools their overheated skin and together is where they still want to be, so all else falls to the wayside.

Their mouths have drawn back to each other, Ysilla’s tongue dancing over his back teeth and the roof of his mouth, mapping a place she can only dream of revisiting after tonight. Aemond pulls away and Ysilla’s teeth in his bottom lip scold him for his interruption. He smirks, giving her a departing peck to soothe her sour mood.

“I need to meet her properly, Princess.” He says with an uncharacteristic amount of mirth, leaning her back as he dips down to her lower body.

Ysilla is bone-weary and dehydrated, but even she knows that doesn’t make any sense. She cocks her head in confusion, watching him as he settles on his front, his face so close to her center, the hot damp of his breath makes her quiver.

“Who is her- oh! Oh, Seven Hells, Aemond, fucking please-”

Aemond eats her with a fervor she’s never known, a man starved before being offered the bounty between her legs. Shrill gasps and pitched moans are sounds she thought herself incapable of making, but they sing aloud, her walls stowing them in their stones.

Her thighs are tight around his head, but the cushioned flesh does nothing to block out her calls of ecstasy. Music to his fucking ears, he slurps, undignified and ravenous, the parched dryness in his throat at last quenched as he swallows down Ysilla’s honey. No wine, no water could ever satisfy him like she does.

She thrashes about on the unforgiving stone, her nails clawing at the ground so harshly that they chip. He’s sending her into madness, unrelenting in his licking even as she kicks at his sides. She’s too sensitive, it’s too much.

And then, the realization that he is not only lapping up her arousal but his as well, zings up her spine and has her gushing all over his tongue.

She can’t control herself anymore. Her worries have faded into nothingness as the night has gone on, as she had bounced on Aemond’s cock and came into his mouth and he into hers, and they’ve drank down one another’s spit and sweat and sex. She’s whimpering and whining, squeaky sounds with no words, only what her voice is capable of making. The pathetic, needy gasps draw Aemond’s attention immediately. He rises, hovering over her, pulling up her knees to frame his hips. He slides himself home, not being able to breathe until he bottoms out, fully planted inside of her.

She whimpers louder as he faces her, the effects of the potion hitting their last peak.

“Let me see you. Let me see you.” Ysilla begs, distraught that there’s still something keeping them apart. They should be bare- exposed and raw and free. They’ve already come this far- it’s all or nothing.

Even with her few words, Aemond understands her completely. He doesn’t give himself time to think, time to let self-consciousness tear and twist him up as he rips off his eyepatch.

Ysilla sees him- truly sees him- his scar, the jagged split of his brow, the brilliant blue sapphire twinkling a wink at her as it glitters in the low light.

“You’re so handsome.” And then she cries- big, fat, bulbous tears that spill from the corner of her eyes and streak over her cheeks.

Aemond wants to comfort her, shush her and stroke her hair. Do all the things he should do with a lover that’s not only a lover, but his kin as well. A sweet girl he remembers always drawing for him on his nameday, sketching pictures of fearsome dragons. And as the years dragged on, they continued to evolve, growing fiercer and more detailed and she would always say the same thing when she gifted it to him: “this year, Uncle, this year you’ll find your match, I know it.” And here he is now, the Queen of the Skies his dragon, as if Ysilla herself had manifested it to life.

But that was so long ago now that it seems a different lifetime, and Aemond realizes he doesn’t really know his niece. He doesn’t know what she likes and what she doesn’t, and that worries him more than he’s comfortable with.

“Can’t... take… much… more.” She gulps down a breath after each word. Aemond’s thrusts push so deeply into her guts, that there now seems to be no room for her lungs. He hums, the vibration tickling where they’re pressed chest-to-chest.

“Yes you can, jorrāelagon. You’ve done so well, taken everything I’ve given you. You’ve made me so proud, sweet girl.” He may not know how to soothe her, but Aemond has a knack for telling someone just what they need to hear. Only with Ysilla, he speaks no falsehoods. He whispers his admiration in her ear, keeping her close by a hand cupping her jaw, forcing her to listen to all of his praises, all the while snaking his hand down between them to pinch at her pearl.

Small hiccuping gasps couple with her agonized moans; the pride, the pleasure, the pain, all of it an elixir he drinks down his throat as she connects their lips once more, a soft tremble in hers that he soothes with his tongue. They cum together, less intense than their lasts, but still just as satisfying. Aemond spills inside of her, her silken walls milking him for every drop in his fucked out cock. He moans, long and loud into her neck and she peppers his cheek with kisses, her breathing heavy. He collapses, further down on her body so he doesn’t constrict her chest.

The evening tempo of her breathing beneath his cheek has Aemond focusing on his own, and the two spent lovers take a much needed break to collect themselves.

Tremors still shake her thighs, the creamy fawn flesh jumping from overstimulation. Aemond presses a kiss to the inside of her knee, a sweet assurance of relief hopefully not far behind their releases. She pets his hair, no energy left to even raise her head. He rises back up to look upon her face, wiping away a stray tear from her lash. She nuzzles into his hand and it all finally feels like enough.

Until it isn’t. Until the lust fills them up once more, water in a pail, and it overflows and sloshes thickly in their bellies until they’re sick with it.

Ysilla sobs brokenly, exhausted and at her wits end. Aemond shudders for breath, the pain in his stones throbbing incessantly for relief. They’ll lose their minds if they keep going- chasing an endgame that is unattainable.

Aemond digs deep, attempting to collect himself and become the man Ysilla needs him to be. He tucks her legs around his hips, crossing her ankles behind him, and rises up to his feet with her draped around him.

He carries them both on shaky legs, drifting along the wall for support until he rounds the corner to her privy. The golden casted tub is filled halfway with what was once steaming, boiled water but has now grown cool. He swings a leg over the edge, trying not to collapse, Ysilla still wrapped around him like a second skin and settles them both into the pool.

The Princess crumbles, falling to pieces as they’re engulfed by the water. Her heartbeat still thrums from between her legs, her nipples scraping at Aemond’s chest for attention, as if he had not lauded them with his tongue until they were bruised and sore. The undying urge to mate is at her throat, its teeth gnashing at her veins and claws piercing her hips, ushering her to fucklicksuckfuck again and again and again until her brain would be lost to the lust.

But her body is done- every muscle expended, every limb weighted, every bone crushed to nothing but dust. All she can manage to do is whimper softly from where she’s pressed into her lover’s chest.

Aemond cups her face, raising her up so that he can look upon her. She’s a sculpture of desire: lips puffy and rubbed red, cheeks flushed, eyes teared and heavy. He did this to her.

“One more, love. One more and then we’ll stop.” He promises, the need too heavy in his cock, thickening his member until it lies straight up against her stomach.

She nods stiffly, spreading her thighs until they mirror his hips. He taps the head of himself at her entrance, a gentleman waiting for the lady to make the first move. He doesn’t have to wait long, Ysilla pushing forward and taking his cock in full until their bellies rest flat against each other. She’s as tight as the first time, and the stretch is not lost on her either, her groan equal parts pained and pleased.

Aemond’s hands are worshiping as he trails down the elegant column of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, the bloom of her breast, until he finds the small of her back and hugs her tight. They just dance, slow and steady, rolling their hips together, the water shifting with their union. They rest their foreheads against one another, eyes closed and noses brushing.

Aemond isn’t sure who leans in first- he thinks it may have been him but Ysilla will say the opposite. Their mouths slot together, innocent and vestal and it’s so much less eager than the times before, but it makes it all the more intimate. He moans weakly and she coos, her hands coming to cradle his face, the breaths they share one in the same. Somehow, it’s as if this exposes them more to each other than being joined so sensuously. A simple press of their lips, doing more for them than a thousand slippery tongues or nimble fingers.

A gentle wash of pleasure, one that raises goosebumps along their arms and makes their breaths hitch is all that they get and then suddenly, finally, the call for gratification quiets and all prince and princess are left with is the drip of water off the edge of the tub. Ysilla sighs heavily, sounding every bit thankful and spent. Aemond takes a breath that feels like his first, and he sags against the resistance at his back.

Everything is still, weariness seeping into them like ink to parchment. Aemond thinks he could doze off right here, Ysilla a comforting weight atop of him, his manhood still nestled in her center.

Her palm is gentle on his cheek, her thumb rubbing back and forth in a tender sweep that stirs his eyelid to open. She’s beautiful, even in her enervation and he lets himself savor this moment. The world has paused for them, and it will not go on unless they will it to.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” She whispers, afraid to shatter the silence. A final brush of her thumb over his bottom lip, softer than a feather, is her parting gift. She unseats herself from him, and even if she’s the one who wants to leave, her cunt does not agree. Her walls grasp at every ridge and vein of his prick, a caress goodbye until at last they part. Ysilla floats backwards, away from him, and the fact that he has an urge to catch her wrist and pull her back until she’s closer than skin terrifies him.

She curls into a ball at the other side of the tub, an ocean away, and brings her knees to tuck under her chin. She stares at him unflinchingly and he stares back, tiredness glazing over them both.

Aemond sighs deeply. One of them has to be the first to depart and since his quarters are on the other side of the castle, he begrudges that it is him who will have to make an exit.

“I should go.”

Ysilla’s face is serene, every drop of willpower left in her battling the urge to slip beneath the water and fade away. She nods, a wooden lift and fall of her head.

“I think that’s best… I’m sure the whole castle knows what we’ve been up to.”

Why her response stings, he won’t let himself dwell over. Nothing’s changed (everything has changed), they will soon return to their routines and carry on with their lives (neither one of them will be able to think of anything else but each other for the better part of a year). He rises from the water, stepping out and over the tub, reaching for a linen to at least try and make himself decent.

It is she who catches his wrist in reality, her thin fingers looping over the bones until she surrounds him like shackles.

“But… maybe…” Her eyes traverse their way down his body, revisiting the spots she had tasted, had bitten, had sucked. Her tongue snakes out, wetting her swollen flesh and he has to think of the night he lost his eye, the stench of manure, anything to keep the blood from rushing to his spent cock.

“Gods, Aemond, what’s one more bad decision tonight?” She’s not looking for an answer, not out loud, looking deep into his eye instead. Searching for an understanding she’s not sure is there.

“Stay? With me?” Even after all the carnal ways they’ve explored each other, it’s those three pleading words that send Ysilla’s heart galloping in her chest as she voices them.

He stares at her, unanswering and still, and dread creeps up her neck in a cold chill.

“Your chamber is a mess. We both need to eat and drink something other than wine. Not to mention sleep.” Aemond states stonily. Ysilla swallows passed the knot in her throat, sinking deeper into the water. Her fingers release him and she drifts away, in both body and mind.

Aemond catches her fingers, and he threads his through hers like they’re meant to be there. He rubs small, soothing circles about her knuckles, and he brings them to his mouth on pure instinct, and presses a chaste kiss to the bones.

“So I best bring you to my room then, to make sure all of that happens, no?”

Aemond smiles first before Ysilla returns it widely. Hers is the sun appearing from behind a cloud, warmth bathing him, and welcoming him home.

qrugh . shit

Qybor, kostilus . Uncle, please

Nākostōbā taoba . Weak boy

(I want this!) Bisa, bisa, bisa, fuck, gaoman gaoman. I want you, Gods, nyke jaelagon ao! . This, this, this, fuck, I do I do. I want you, Gods, I want you!

Sȳz riña . Good girl

ñuha pretty līve . my pretty whore

ñuha zaldrīzes . my dragon

Jorrāelagon . love

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond one eye #ysilla targaryen #hotd sex pollen #hotd kink #hotd pwp

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maybank5 · 14 days ago

Text

𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭

pairing ⤜ yn x jj / yn x rafe cameron

request ⤜ "something where JJ flirts with Topper’s sister, who’s super sweet with everyone and really fun to hang out with, not knowing she’s Rafe’s girl"

a/n ⤜ aww thank you babe for the lovely message and my first ever request!! it kinda took on a life of it's own, and i hope that's alright!!! also i cannot write rafe and jj without rafe being The Bad Guy so i hope you don't mind! i hope it turned out good for you and that you enjoy it a lot! sending hugs and love to you xx

song inspo ⤜ whiskey don't cheat, jay webb

"One whiskey please."

"On the rocks?"

"Excuse me?"

The man behind the bar squints at you, "You sure you're old enough to be here?"

"Of course," you flick your long hair over one shoulder, sit up straighter, hope you blend in well enough. It's just this isn't your usual place, and you know you must stand out like a sore thumb. From the look he's giving you, it's clear you don't belong. You reach into your purse and slap your ID down on the sticky wooden bar counter.

"Mm," he glances at the date, slides it back to you, "Have you ever even had whiskey before, princess?"

You frown, "No. But I'd like one whiskey please. To start."

"To start," his brows shoot up and he lets out a little bemused chuckle, "Alright. One whiskey, coming up. Never did determine if you'd like that on the rocks or not."

"On the rocks," you confirm, "And...can I get a couple maraschino cherries in that."

An amused smile crosses the bartender's face as he turns to prepare your drink. "Sure thing."

You put your elbows up on the bar, twist the gold ring around your thumb, before lowering your arms and crossing your hands in your lap. You feel awkward and out of place. Everyone else here is dressed so casually, and here you sit in your white sundress and heeled sandals. This isn't your usual side of the island, but you needed to get away, find some place to go where Rafe and your brother can't track you down; somewhere where no one will report back to either of them that they saw you throwing drinks back at a bar.

Sometimes it feels like there's no escape. Why you ever got with your brother's best friend is beyond you. The two of them report back to each other and discuss you like you're some sort of specimen. It still makes you queasy knowing that right after your first time, Rafe had texted Topper. Sometimes you just wanted to run away and leave them both in the dust.

So you'd come here, to this side of the island, to The Cut. You'd been here a few times before. You knew a few people that lived on this side. Had met a girl named Kiara at a Beach Clean-Up Weekend awhile ago, and she'd been really sweet. Then there was Sarah Cameron, infamous in the gossip among the Country Club. Rafe's sister who'd left, who'd gotten out. You would never admit it to anyone, but sometimes hearing the ladies gossip about her over their long island iced teas and games of bridge made you jealous. What would that be like...to run away from it all and leave it all behind?

You jolt as a glass is set down in front of you, three maraschino cherries speared with a plastic sword floating on the top.

"Thank you." You take a sip and immediately cough. It tastes like cough syrup and you can't help but wince.

"Need something lighter, princess?"

You look up at the bartender with a scowl. "No," you say, determinedly, "This is fine." And as if to prove something to him, you take another sip. It burns, but you don't cough this time.

"So you wanna tell me what's got a girl like you in a place like this, drinking a drink like that?" The bartender wipes his hands on a rag hanging from his pocket, leans his elbows on the bar in front of you. A little bit too close for comfort. You raise your eyes and get lost in the blueness of his. He's looking at you so intently. Rafe used to look at you like that, once upon a time. Now, you feel like you're barely even a blip on his radar. It makes you squirm to be under someone's attention like that.

"No," you say, "It's none of your business."

"Point taken," he raises his hands in surrender, backs off, and leaves you to your drink.

You felt like an idiot. You'd known you and Rafe weren't exclusive. Still though, you didn't realize that he was out running around sleeping with a bunch of other girls from Figure Eight, right under your nose, until that night. You felt cheap. Like a joke. Like everyone was laughing at a joke behind your back at your expense. And worse...Topper had known and hadn't said anything. Because why would he? When it came to "the boys" you knew you were not even a priority.

You finish off your whiskey, and another bartender comes over. "Another one, miss?" He asks.

"No thank you," you say, feeling already a little floaty from the first, "I think I'm ready for my bill."

"Sure thing." He disappears to the register and you put your forehead against your hand. You always were a lightweight when it came to drinking, and the hardest thing you'd ever had was champagne at New Year's. You pay your tab and head out. You spot the first bartender on his smoke break, sitting up on the wooden patio balcony. Something in your stirs, and before you can stop yourself, you make your way over to him. You jump up on the balcony, sitting on the other side of the column from him.

"Hey," he turns to face you, brows pulled together.

"Just...don't say anything," you say, "I need someone to talk to and if you're willing to listen...well, I guess you're as good as anyone."

A scoff. "You sure do know how to make a guy feel flattered."

"Shut up," you fight back a smile. You are not in the mood to smile tonight. Why is he making you smile? "You wanna know why I was here tonight drinking?"

"If you wanna tell me."

"It's stupid. I don't even know if it can count as cheating if I knew we weren't exclusive. I just...I didn't expect that."

"What happened?" The smoke of his cigarette drifts to you, making you feel floaty again, and you realize it's not tobacco he's smoking. You lean your head back against the wooden pillar.

"I found out my boyfriend has been seeing other girls. And not just seeing them either, but like, sleeping with them. Lots of them. And I know we weren't exclusive, and I probably have no right to be upset by this, but I just...I feel sick. And the worst of it is he's my brother's best friend, and he knew and didn't tell me. Because clearly I'm not the one his loyalty lies with."

"Fuck," he passes you the rolled paper between his finger, "Sounds complicated."

You aren't a big smoker, but you put it to your lips anyway and take a hit.

"Thanks," you say, passing it back to him.

"What are you gonna do?"

"No idea," you say, running a hand through your hair, "Part of me tells me to just break up with him, end it. Walk away and let him just do whatever he wants like he's gonna do anyway."

"And the other part?"

"It's complicated. We've been together for so long. He's all I know."

"Sounds like you need to get to know some new things."

"Probably," you say.

"For what it's worth," he says, taking another hit and passing it back to you, "I think it's bullshit what he's doing to you, and you deserve better than that."

"I've already closed my tab," you say, "You don't need to gun for a tip."

He tosses his head back and laughs, "Damn," he says after a moment, "Your boyfriend really doesn't know what he's missin' out on, does he?"

You blush, bring your thumbnail to your lip to bite.

"You want some unsolicited advice? It's kinda my specialty, bein' a bartender an' all..."

"Sure," you say; what could it hurt. Besides, who else have you got to talk to about this?

"I think you should dump his ass. Kick him to the curb. It's not even about being exclusive, it's about taking your feelings into consideration; about respecting you."

You feel your stomach tighten. "That's exactly how I've been trying to explain my feelings to myself," you say in disbelief, "You just put it perfectly into words! I feel disrespected, like how I feel about it just doesn't matter. To him or to my brother or anyone from that fucking place."

"You know, princess, The Cut isn't a closed club. If you're ever needing to get away from Fig Eight, you know where to go."

"Thank you," you can't help but smile, "That's sweet of you."

"Gettin' called sweet from the girl who can't order a drink without maraschino cherries," he chuckles softly. A familiar rumble pulls you from your thoughts. The black Range Rover has pulled up in front of the bar and you feel sick as you see Rafe slam the door shut and hop out. Topper's behind the wheel.

"Y/N!" Rafe calls. You feel sick as he marches over to the patio.

"Rafe Cameron is your boyfriend?" The bartender raises his brows in disbelief.

You wince. Of course he knows who Rafe is. Rafe has a reputation across the entire island.

"Yes," you admit.

"Good," he says to your surprise, dropping the joint and hopping up from the balcony, cracking his neck, "Rafe and I have history."

"What's that mean?" You ask.

"Maybank!" Rafe hollers as he storms over.

"Look what the tides dragged in. Lost, Cameron?"

"Fuck off, Maybank. I'm here for one reason only and that's to get Y/N. She's the one that's lost here. C'mon, Y/N. You don't belong here. I still can't believe you just took off like that! Thank God for Find My Iphone because Topper and I'd never have been able to track you down. Get in the car, we're going."

"The hell we are," you stand your ground, suddenly feeling brave with "Maybank" standing at your side.

"Pardon?" Rafe raises a brow, "C'mon, Y/N. Let's go."

Topper rolls down the window of the Rover, leans his head out, "C'mon, Y/N. Stop throwin' a tantrum and get in the damn car."

"No," you say, crossing your arms, "I don't have to go anywhere with you, Rafe Cameron. In fact, we're done. As of this moment. You are free, go fuck whoever you want, do whatever you want, but just know that I'm done. This is over."

"This is your doing," he turns on the bartender at your side, "I know you've got into her head somehow, JJ."

"JJ" just shrugs, "Maybe. Or maybe your ex is smart enough to come to her own decisions and that decision is that she's better than whatever it is you've got to offer. Which trust me," JJ raises a brow and smirks, "From what I hear from the ladies, isn't much."

Rafe takes a step forward. So does JJ.

"You don't want to do this," Rafe says.

"Oh, but you see I do. You forget, Cameron. It's you who doesn't want to do this. How many reminders do you need, that every time you cross me, it's you who loses. Runs back to Fig Eight with his tail between his legs."

"Fuck you, Maybank."

"You've got twenty seconds to march back to that Rover and for you and your lap dog to get the fuck out of here."

You stare in shock as Rafe's fist clenches at his side, but he does as JJ's said.

"This isn't over, Maybank," Rafe calls over his shoulder.

"Always a pleasure, Cammy," JJ says, giving a little wave as Rafe climbs back into the Range Rover.

"Whoa," you turn to him.

"Yeah," JJ runs a hand through his hair sheepishly, "Sorry about that. I probably shouldn't have stepped in like that without your signal, I just...I cant stand that guy. Either of them."

"Yeah, me either," you say with a little chuckle, "That was pretty impressive though. How did you do that though? How did you get him to back down like that? Rafe doesn't back down from a fight. Ever."

JJ smirks, "Let's just say it's not our first rodeo. He knows better than to mess with me, or any of my friends."

"And does that include me?" You raise a brow.

A smile crosses his face as he holds out his hand for you to take, "What do you think?"

You join him back inside for the remainder of his shift. Instead of whiskey, he and the other bartender, whom you come to learn is named Pope, keep you spoiled in Shirley Temples. The three of you chat, and as the night carries on, you feel a comfort settle over you that you've never experienced before.

After their shift ends, JJ invites you over to come hang out at their place with some of their friends.

"Yeah," you say, taking the hand he offers you, "Like you said, it's high time I get to know some new things. Introduce me to your world, Maybank."

You spend the night hanging out with him and his friends, Pope, John B, and come to find Sarah Cameron and Kiara are also very good friends with JJ. You spend the night laughing and playing board games with them, drinking PBR (which you realize you can handle much better than whiskey; even if JJ teases you and asks if you're sure you can drink beer without cherries in it).

It's almost three in the morning when Kiara puts some music on the porch speakers. JJ reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you out to the grass to dance with you under the moonlight.

You know tomorrow you're going to have to face the consequences of this night. You're going to have to go home and have a proper conversation with Rafe Cameron. At the end of the day, he's still important to you, and you want to end things the right way. You're going to have to face Topper too, and deal with his comments. And you know the ladies at the Country Club are fixing to have some new gossip to add to their rosters. It's worth it though. It'll all be worth it, for more nights like these, with friends like those, and dancing with a boy like this under the moonlight.

#jj maybank fic #jj maybank x yn #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #rafe cameron #obx fic #outer banks fic #obx imagine

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scarlet-star-witch · 5 months ago

Text

The moon and his sun (Part II)

Aemond Targaryen x Female Reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 8.2 K

Warnings: Aegon takes minors to a brothel (but nothing sexual happens), characters get aged up, male masturbation, mutual pining, smut

AN: I am so blown away by the love you all showed for the first chapter, thank you all so much! Hope you enjoy xx

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Her cheeks hurt from smiling so wide.

Aemond had been twirling her around the room practically the entire night. She knew he didn’t particularly enjoy dancing, but when she had asked him, he loathed to deny her.

“Are you having a good name day?”

“It’s my best one yet.” He smiled. He had woken that morning to her barging into his chambers, demanding her gift be the first one he received that day. Nothing could ruin such an incredible start to the day.

He raised her hand over their heads and twirled her under his arm again, his own grin beaming at the sound of her delighted laughter.

She tilted her head back as she spun and Aemond was struck by how happy she looked. She was happy with him, she was carefree with him.

Despite how his feet began to hurt, or that he knew many pairs of eyes were staring at him, the desire to let go and sit back down was nowhere to be found. He wanted to stay with her. He wanted to continue to make her smile all night long

As she twirled again, her eyes found the head table, smiling to Helaena who was watching the dancers wistfully while her betrothed sat next to her downing another cup of wine.

She flinched suddenly as she met the hard stare of the Hand of the King. Otto Hightower’s stare was enough to make her feel as though she was burning under such a disdainful look.

Her shoulders tensed slightly before she found herself being spun again, back into Aemond’s arms. His smile faltered when he noticed her own smile dimmed.

“Are you alright?”

She forced a mask upon her face, not quite understanding the contempt coming her way from his grandsire, and brought a smile back to her face.

“I’m fine, just getting a little tired.”

“Come on, we’ll take a break.” He took her hand in his and guided her back to the table.

Her father smiled at the two of them as they approached.

“You two look like you’ve been having fun.”

“We are.” She smiled, taking her seat next to him. Aemond moved to take the empty seat next to her when his mother called out to him. She beckoned him forward with a pointed look and he sighed, promising to find her later as he left her side to make his way back to the head table.

She watched him go with sorrowful eyes, her gaze moving over to Otto and suppressing a shiver at the cold look she received.

She seemed to shrink in her seat, catching her father’s attention. He followed her gaze, his face hardening, his posture becoming rigid as he noticed the cold glare the Hand of the King was sending his daughter.

He had never liked Hightower, he didn’t trust the man. He somehow always seemed to take control of the council meetings, proclaiming he knew what the King’s best interests were. He was a snake of a man and he would not let him drag his daughter into his games.

He placed his arm over her shoulder, portraying a united front, a warning to anyone that would seek to bring her harm that he would deal with them swiftly. He may be the Lord of a peaceful house but that did not mean he did not know how to fight or that he wouldn’t commit whatever violence was needed to protect his family.

She stayed by her father’s side for the rest of the night, sharing looks of mourning with Aemond as he was sequestered to his mother’s side, unable to escape the politicking unfolding at the head table of Royals.

As the celebration was winding down, most taking their leave for the night, she bid her father goodnight and sulked out of the large hall.

She knew whatever reservations Aemond’s grandsire had of her would keep him from her, that there was no use in hoping for another moment with him.

She shouldn’t have been so upset, she had practically the entire day with him and all her previous days, but that somehow didn’t stop the twisting of her insides as the thought of his own family disliking her, of there being some kind of plot to keep her away from him.

The sound of her name being called made her raise her head, a smile growing instantly at the sight of Aemond waving her over.

“Where are you going?”

“I was headed to my chambers. I thought the celebration was over.”

Aemond took her hand and pulled her along with him. “Not yet.”

She smiled along with him, happily following him. As he guided her out of the Keep, her smile began to falter slightly in confusion.

“Where are we going?”

“Aegon said he had a surprise.”

An uneasy feeling began to fester within her. She didn’t particularly like any time she had spent with his older brother. She didn’t trust a single thing about him. Thoughts of the pink dread came to mind and she quickly held back the bitterness that grew. She didn’t want to doubt Aemond, but she had little hope this surprise would be a showing of brotherly love.

As the two of them snuck passed the gates, a hooded figure waited for them.

Aegon’s smirk dropped the moment he spotted the two of them hand in hand.

“What the bloody hell is she doing here?”

“Aegon.” Aemond admonished.

“I didn’t invite her, I invited you.”

“She’s my friend. She has every right to join us.”

The disdain on his face faltered slightly and soon morphed into a devious smirk, a laugh leaving his curled lips, one that made her stiffen.

“I do hope you enjoy the surprise, My Lady.” He drawled, the sickly sweet tone of his voice making her want to squirm and head back to the safety of her chambers.

But Aemond’s hand in hers kept her in place, her stride matching his as they followed Aegon.

The further they ventured from the familiarity of the Red Keep, the tighter Aemond’s grip on her hand became, his suspicions rising as they continued their trek deeper into the streets of Flea Bottom.

He pulled her into his side as they passed a tavern, the rowdy sounds inside and the groups of drunken men they passed making his body stiffen.

“Aegon, what are we doing down here?” He called to his older brother.

No response was given and Aemond grit his teeth in annoyance. He should’ve known better than to trust his brother.

They came to a nondescript door and Aegon turned to face them, that smug smirk still on his face that made her hand twitch, longing to smack it right off his face.

“Well, brother, you’re almost a man grown. I think it’s time you get it wet.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, confusion twisting his features as a pit of dread began to grow within him. Aegon opened the door and motioned them inside.

When the two of them stood still in their spot, Aegon rolled his eyes and gripped onto the front of Aemond’s shirt, yanking him forward, his hand still clasped tightly in hers pulling her along with him, the two of them stumbling through the door ungracefully.

The scantily clad women that filled the room made Aemond’s lone eye widen. He turned to his brother, his face red with both shame and anger.

“Aegon, why are we here?”

“Don’t be so uptight, Aemond.” His brother waved him off, brushing past them to be welcomed into the arms of a whore he frequented.

He was quickly guided off to a room, leaving the two of them to remain standing at the door stiffly, their shocked eyes taking in the room before them.

A group of women soon surrounded them, pulling Aemond away from her.

He tensed as hands ran down his arms and he shook them off, his head craning to catch a glimpse of his friend. He called out her name, but if she gave any response it was drowned out by the tittering laughter of the women in front of him.

“Is she your betrothed?”

“We can help you, teach you how to please her.”

“We’ll make you a God, My Prince.”

Aemond’s face twisted in disgust at the filth they began to spout, shrugging off their wandering hands, flinching as a hand landed on his thigh, slowly beginning to creep upwards.

“Don’t touch me.” He snapped, his heart beginning to race as a dreadful feeling overcame him.

He remembered it well, what it was like to not be in control. He remembered what happened the last time he had felt this helpless, wanting to scream but knowing no one was listening, no one caring about his discomfort. His scar flared with pain at the memory and he winced, pushing the woman who was trying to crawl into his lap away from him.

He called out her name again, panic seeping through his tone.

He stumbled over his own feet in his haste to escape the gaggle of whores that tried to tempt him. He pushed them out of his way, one goal in his mind, one face he desperately needed to see.

Across the room, he spotted her, his chest tightening as he saw the discomfort on her face as many pairs of hands tangled through her hair and pulled at her dress.

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

“Just imagine when your tits come in, you’ll put all of us out of work. The men will be lining up to take a turn with you.”

“Don’t worry, Honey. We can prepare you so it won’t hurt too much when your old husband beds you.”

The whores’ words made her stomach clench and she squirmed under their hands that attempted to get her out of her clothes.

The feeling of lips caressing her neck made her flinch, a small squeak of surprise escaping her before she could even fully realize what was happening.

“Get off her.” A stern voice spoke.

She let out a stunted breath as she realized it was Aemond. She reached out and within a second, he hauled her up and wrapped her under his arm as he pushed their way out of the brothel.

A ragged breath left him as the stench of perfume finally lifted, the debauched sounds of the pleasure house muffled and distant as the door closed behind them. He looked down at the girl under his arm and a bolt of worry shot through him at the sight of her blank stare.

A low hum rang in her ears, her body trembling slightly as it tried to make sense of what had just happened, of what could have happened.

“Hey, look at me, please.” His pleading voice came through and she slowly raised her head, her gaze meeting his worried eye.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what he was planning. I never should have trusted him.” He rambled, his own voice wavering slightly, his trembling hands moving to cup her cheeks. “I swear to you, I never would have come if I had known.”

“It’s ok.” She breathed out quietly.

He sighed, the fear on her face still evident.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded wordlessly and he winced, the gesture so unconvincing he quickly wrapped her in a tight hug.

“I’ll take you back to the Keep.”

She looked down the darkened alley fearfully, the thought of making her way through the streets of Flea Bottom so late had dread settling in her stomach.

“It’s ok.” Aemond assured her, taking her hand in his, noting the unease in her eyes. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

They began to walk, the silence between them stifling, something so unfamiliar to the inseparable pair.

“I’m sorry.” She began quietly. “You don’t need to- you can stay if you wish. I don’t want to ruin your night.”

Aemond stopped in his tracks, his lone eye wide with horror as he looked at her in complete shock.

“I don’t- no! I didn’t want- this wasn’t-” He was at a loss for words. He blew out a long breath, cursing Aegon profusely in his head. “I don’t want to… do what Aegon does.” He explained vaguely, unable to bring himself to speak of his brother’s depravity in front of her.

The insinuation of him acting like Aegon, of sullying himself with the same debauchery that brought his family shame made his stomach twist. He never wanted her to see him like that, he never wanted her to think he would ever act like his brother.

Aemond ran a hand through his hair. “Fucking twat.” He mumbled under his breath. He wanted to throttle Aegon

A small giggle met his ears and he looked at her, slightly bewildered by the small upturning of her lips he saw, so unlike the fear he had seen etched in her eyes just seconds before.

“I’ve never heard you swear.”

He let out a small noise of surprise, unsure if she was truly smiling or if it was a ruse to placate him.

“So unbecoming of a Prince.” She jested and he let himself laugh, her sarcasm, her humor so like the girl he knew that it was enough to ease his worry.

He liked his arm through hers, holding her closely to his side as they began to walk again.

“Did this ruin your name day?” She asked after a few moments of silence.

He looked over at her thoughtfully. His day began with her, her excited smile beaming as she demanded he open her present, her at his side loyally all day. No one had ever been so attentive to him, not even on past name days.

“No.” He answered honestly. Nothing could ruin the content she gave him, the feeling of being wanted and needed that surrounded him when she was around was stronger than any blow of shame Aegon could deliver.

Neither of them spoke of that night, the both of them too embarrassed by what they had seen and heard to say anything about it.

Though the seeds of lust were planted.

As the years passed and they grew older, their childhood innocence dissipating into adult desires and longing, it became harder to deny what was between them. The looks that passed between them were no longer the shared smiles of childhood friends, they were the looks of longing that stirred the shared hunger that grew steadily with each passing day.

After that night, she loathed to think of her friend, her Aemond, venturing back there with Aegon, indulging those whores, laying with them, letting them touch him, his own hands greedily touching every inch of their bodies. The thought of him laying with another was like a lance to the heart.

The same dread plagued Aemond.

He made himself sick thinking of his friend, the girl he always simply considered to be his, indulging one of the many suitors that ogled her.

Aemond thought of what those whores had told her, that she would have to lay with a husband leagues older than her and endure the lackluster and, most likely violent, attempts to produce an heir.

The thought had his insides twisting. The thought of any man with their hands on her sent fury racing through him.

As they grew, he couldn’t help but find his thoughts of her drifting to ones that would be considered less than innocent, not thoughts one should be having of a dear friend.

He couldn’t help but admire her curves, the dip of her cleavage she had no trouble showing in the low cut gowns she wore around the Keep. It drove him crazy.

It was becoming more and more common that he would wake, his thoughts racing of images of her lingering from his dreams. He would roll over, imagining she was laying next to him in his bed, tangled within his sheets, her sweet smile his first sight of the day.

He had no time to feel guilty as his hand ventured below his sheets, as he found his hard length that was more often than not standing at attention to the thought of her.

He would let his eye close, imagining her hand taking his place, of her sweet mouth taking him in, of the praises she would give him as he took her over and over, the sound of her delectable moans and pleas for him.

His mouth would part with panting breaths as he thought of the pleasure he could give her, of the pleasure he longed to give her and the pleasure she would bestow upon him.

His hand would speed as he neared his end, his body writhing among his silken sheets, his head fallen back against his pillow as he pictured her face, what it would look like as he brought her to climax.

The thought, as always, was his undoing.

His lips parted with a long groan, the raspy call of her name becoming familiar to the walls around him. He panted as he expelled the last spurts of spend on his stomach, his limbs feeling weak as he let his fantasy dissipate.

He didn’t know how much longer he could continue without having her in his arms. He didn’t know how he could endure meeting her gaze with such filthy thoughts of her in his mind.

Later that day, as he caught her eye as she sat with the ladies of the court, he felt his face flush, the images of her he conjured in the privacy of his chambers rushing back to him.

The warm smile and small wave she sent him only incensed him further, leaving him to contemplate for a few long moments whether he should neglect his training with Ser Criston to return to his chambers and deal with the heat she had unknowingly spread throughout his body that was undoubtedly weak for her.

He was doomed to her.

The longer he repressed his growing feelings for his best friend, the more he couldn’t get her off his mind.

He woke early one morning to avoid passing her by, knowing with one mere look at her he would be a distracted, bumbling mess for the rest of the day. He was determined to get through at least one training session without his thoughts drifting to her.

He had been successful for a short time, managing to best Ser Criston time and time again, his focus purely on the weapon he wielded with precision.

Until he heard that familiar laugh, a sound so purely wonderful, it almost knocked him off his feet.

His gaze wandered around the training yard before they found her, as he always would, her arm linked through Helaena’s their smiles wide as they watched the training commence.

As if sensing his gaze on her, she turned her head, her eyes meeting his. She smiled, the sight blindingly beautiful. He sent her a wave, hoping the blush on his cheeks wasn’t as severe as it felt.

The sound of a throat clearing beside him broke him out of his daze and he turned sharply to meet the knowing smirk of Ser Criston.

“Shall we continue or are you done for the day?”

The knight’s tone implied he knew exactly what thoughts had been running through the Prince’s mind the moment he saw his dear friend. Anyone with eyes and half a working brain could see the affection the Prince and the Ixtal girl held for each other.

Aemond grit his teeth, sending a glare the knight’s way as he spun his sword effortlessly, a flagrant display of his prowess with his beloved blade.

“I am more than ready to continue, but if you require a break I will gladly find another opponent to knock into the dirt.”

Criston snorted and raised his sword, giving the young Prince he had valiantly trained a pointed look.

With one last gaze up to the woman on the balcony, the sly wink she sent him giving him all the drive needed, he raised his sword and struck a deadly swing towards his mentor who scrambled to block it.

His heart raced with adrenaline. The wink she had sent him igniting the fire in his blood, only incenting him to display his power to her, determined to win, determined to show her his strength.

He wasn’t a boastful man, he left those frivolities to his older brother, but when it came to her he suddenly didn’t recognize the feelings within him, the desires that had taken root that seemed to unravel him to his most basic senses.

Up on the balcony she repressed a shiver as she watched Aemond fight with an ease that made her body heat and caused her mind to conjure things her Septa would’ve slapped her for ever thinking as an unmarried woman.

“He’s very good.” Helaena commented, not noticing the desire now lingering in her friend’s eyes.

“Yes, he is.” She murmured, attempting to shake herself from thoughts of him handling her in the delicate yet deliberate way he did his sword.

Later that night, as she and her father joined the Targaryen family for dinner, she couldn’t get her mind off of what she had seen in the training yard. She couldn’t help the nervous flutters that erupted within her as she took her seat in between Helaena and Aemond.

It was her usual seat, she had spent too many dinners to count by his side, but for reasons she couldn’t quite understand - or refused to - she suddenly felt bashful in her friend’s presence.

The smile he sent her in greeting made her stomach flip.

She could barely concentrate on anything besides his presence beside her. She was sure she was about to crumble into a puddle as his fingers brushed against hers as he passed her the jug of wine.

She took greedy swallows of the drink, hoping it would dull her sense enough to withstand the looks he sent her every now and again, his smile warm, his gentle affection subtle but enough to undo her completely.

As Helaena engaged her in conversation, telling her one of the many stories of her beloved twins, she let her thoughts of Aemond dissipate, smiling softly to her dear friend who glowed with her love of her children.

She listened intently, allowing her nerves to retreat to the shadows of her mind.

As conversations around the table continued, she let her eyes wander curiously. She turned her head, catching Aemond’s gaze already on hers. He straightened and abruptly tore his eye back to the plate in front of him, though the blush that grew on his cheeks was undeniable.

A shock of excitement rushed through her at his reaction, suddenly realizing she wasn’t as hopeless as she had thought. She thought back to all the times she had caught Aemond looking at her, all the times he sought her out before anyone else, all the times he had abandoned whatever it was he was doing just to see her and spend a mere moment together.

She suddenly wondered if it meant as much to him as it did to her.

She wondered if her dear friend was caught in the same haze of longing she found herself drowning in.

The slamming of the door made her flinch, the book she was reading slipping from her hands. She sat up straighter when she noticed Aemond standing rigid, his chest heaving with heavy breaths as he tried to rein in his anger.

“What happened?”

“My fucking grandsire.” He seethed.

She remained seated and silent, allowing Aemond to vent out his anger.

“They want to betrothe me to some Baratheon girl.” He explained as he began to pace erratically. “They’re bringing her to court for the Summer Feast. They expect me to do my duty with that plain-” He stopped himself abruptly before any insults could pass his lips.

She frowned, setting her book aside.

“Tell them you don’t wish to marry her.”

Aemond hummed, the sound more bitter than she had ever heard it. “My grandsire isn’t as agreeable as your father.”

He knew the Lord of Ixtal had vetoed a number of requests for his daughter’s hand at her request. He didn’t want his daughter shackled to a man she did not desire.

He wished his family was as caring to his needs as hers was.

“Well, I guess you need to find the love of your life before the Baratheon girl arrives.”

Aemond looked over at her plainly, clearly not in the joking mood.

“This is not funny.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t see what the issue is. Tell your family this isn’t what you want.”

“They don’t care about what any of us want. If they did, Helaena wouldn’t be forced at Aegon’s side.”

She frowned at the mention of her dear friend and what she had to endure with her drunken leech of a husband.

“I’m running out of time.” Aemond sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’ve been able to keep them at bay the past few years, but they’re becoming more incessant, I can’t stall any longer.”

The thought of being forced to marry some girl he didn’t know, a girl who would never compare to the woman in front of him, the woman he longed for, desired before he even knew what it meant to desire a woman, left him feeling hollow.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could solve this for you, but I don’t think your mother would take too kindly to my meddling.”

Aemond huffed out a laugh at the thought. He looked at his friend curiously, noting how cavalier she found the idea of marriage.

“Isn’t your father putting pressure on you to marry?”

“Not exactly. He’s hinting at the time coming for me to go back home, but no plans have been made just yet.”

Her words made his stomach twist. The thought of her leaving King’s Landing, of not seeing her everyday, was unfathomable.

“They don’t have a courtship lined up for you?”

“No. Who I marry is my decision.”

“Is it that easy?”

She breathed out a small laugh at his disbelieving tone.

“Ixtal isn’t as conservative as King’s Landing. We don’t force people to be together, we don’t expect women to wait to find pleasure until marriage. We don’t expect a fruitful marriage to come from sexual disappointment.”

Aemond blushed at her words, his eyes darting to the wall behind her, unable to keep her gaze as she spoke of things his mother would’ve slapped their wrists for.

“My mother said marriage is for the sake of duty. To unite strong houses.”

She scoffed, sending her friend a pointed look of disappointment.

“You’re forced to marry for every reason other than your own happiness. It’s barbaric.”

“It is duty.”

“So you just accept it? Being tied to someone you don’t love for the rest of your life?”

“Some grow to love each other.” He said quietly, though he couldn’t deny how undesirable the customs, one he had known his entire life, sounded to his own ears.

“So if you’re betrothed to a Baratheon daughter, you’ll accept it?”

“No, of course not.” He answered immediately, his tone sharper than he intended.

“Why? You’ll have to marry someday. Soon I’ll need to go home and find myself a nice man to settle with.”

The reminder of his time with her coming to an end made it feel as though his heart was turning to stone. Her previous words about Ixtal’s customs suddenly came screaming back to him and his hands tightened into fists, fury rising within him at the thought of men touching her, kissing her, making love to her.

“Aemond.”

The sound of that beautiful voice saying his name made him look up, the anger inside him washing away at the knowing look on her face. She stood from her seat and took slow steps towards him until she was only inches away, making his throat tighten at the closeness he was constantly longing for.

The unspoken things between them bubbled to the surface, reaching a boiling point as they looked at each other in the dim light, the topic of conversation causing tensions to run high, threatening to reveal true emotions that were kept hidden for so long.

“Eventually, you’ll have to marry, and so will I. We’ll have to do our duty, as you say.”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes unable to hold her gaze any longer, falling onto his hands that clenched and unclenched as waves of anxiety passed through him.

She sighed heavily and stepped past him, moving towards the door. She loved so many things about Aemond, but his refusal to feel anything but anger, his stubborn nature to speak his true thoughts, angered her.

“I don’t want you to go back to Ixtal.” He admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. But she heard him. She would always hear him.

“Why?”

“Because you belong here.” He told her, his gaze rising to pierce into hers, his tone becoming sharp once more. “Because the thought of you going home, marrying some man that doesn’t deserve you, makes me furious. The thought of you-” He stopped abruptly, looking away from her, his hands clenched tightly.

“Would you be jealous knowing another man has touched me?”

Aemond’s jaw clenched as he turned on his heel and moved towards her so they were now chest to chest. He had to fight hard to keep his composure, to not close his eyes in bliss at the feeling of her body against his.

“I would kill every man that dared to touch you.”

A devious smirk grew on her lips, one he wanted to kiss away desperately.

“Would you feel jealous if-”

“Yes.” She answered immediately, shamelessly. She smirked at the way his breath hitched, as the hunger in his eye grew tenfold. “I don’t share.”

Aemond almost choked on his breath at her insinuation.

Her arms slithered over his shoulders, pulling him in closer to her, close enough they could feel the other’s heart racing wildly.

“You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.” She whispered and Aemond could’ve sworn he would melt into the floor into a puddle of nothing.

Her lips crashed onto his and he was powerless against her touch. He kissed her back with a furious desperation, revealing every ounce of desire he held for her. He needed her like the air he breathed and it was never more evident in the way his lips molded against hers, in the way his tongue tangled with hers, how his hands held to her hips tightly, ensuring she couldn’t part from his side.

Her nails scratched against the leather of his doublet as she kissed him fiercely, hoping he would understand, hoping the hunger in her kiss and touch was enough to make him realize she didn’t want anyone but him.

His mind was blank save for thoughts of her.

The duty he had adhered to his entire life, the duty that had been instilled in him since his birth, didn’t exist. His duty to his mother, to his grandfather, didn’t exist as he kissed her.

He knew then and there that he was going to marry her, his only friend, the beautiful girl that had his young heart racing, or he wouldn’t marry at all.

They pulled away from the kiss, the both of them breathing heavily, neither parting too far from the other. Aemond smiled softly and let his forehead rest against hers.

“I won’t marry her.” He breathed out in promise, his chest tightening pleasurably as he saw the smile that grew on her kiss swollen lips.

“Iksā ñuhon, issa prūmia.” He whispered and placed a soft, slow kiss to her lips once more.

Her mind was racing. She knew few Valyrian words but none sounded familiar.

“What does that mean?”

Aemond just smiled and kissed her again, content to stay in that moment for the rest of his life.

The gravity of their actions, the realization that anyone could have walked into the library and saw them, could have told his mother or his grandfather, didn’t catch up to him until he had parted from her side and settled into bed for the night.

He lay rigid, his mind racing, his heart heavy with guilt.

If anyone had seen them it would have ruined her reputation. She’d be painted as a whore. The court would speculate what other Lord she’d kissed or opened her legs to.

Aemond couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t ruin her.

The next morning, every ounce of bliss he had felt with her lips against his was tainted with worry. He found her in the gardens, his cold stare softening as he spotted her sitting with Helaena and the twins.

The sight of her with little Jaeheara in her arms made his heart stop for a moment. He swallowed thickly, desperately moving past the emotions, the longing, the sight stirred within him.

“Good morning, brother.” Helaena greeted him brightly.

He just nodded briefly in greeting, his posture stiff as his gaze landed on her.

“Can we talk?”

Her smile faltered slightly and she placed the babe in her arms back to her mother before taking his offered arm, Aemond guiding them away from prying ears.

“Is everything alright?”

“What happened yesterday-”

“Do you regret it?” She asked stiffly, her worry evident as her grip on his arm became lax, as if she suddenly wanted to be anywhere but by his side.

“No! Never.” He responded frantically, his eyes leaving hers to take in their surroundings, making sure no one would hear them. “Yesterday was… it was long overdue.”

“Then why are you so tense?”

“No one can know.”

She sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging.

“The rumors that would spread if people saw us together would ruin you.”

“I think you’re giving the court too much credit.” She responded flippantly, her annoyance growing at Aemond’s worry. “Are you going to let me have a say in this or are we going to let the court decide our future for us?”

He spoke her name softly in exasperation, sparking her anger. She wrenched her arm out of his and walked a few paces to gain distance from him. She couldn’t think clearly so close to him.

“If you weren’t being truthful yesterday then tell me. Spare me the lies and tell me how you truly feel.”

“I wasn’t lying.” He assured her, his heart beginning to race in fear for where this conversation was headed. He loathed to hear the doubt in her voice. “I refuse to marry the Baratheon girl, I only want you.” He told her, his voice much quieter than before.

The fire in her eyes dissipated, her fears subsiding and she stayed still in her spot as he stepped towards her, closing the distance between them.

“We must keep this between us for now, at least until my father is more lucid and I can take our betrothal to him. I cannot let my grandfather know of this. He will only find a way to speed up a wedding to the Baratheon girl or any other Lady in the Keep.”

She looked up at him with a smirk, her heart jumping at his words.

“Betrothal?”

Aemond flushed and cleared his throat, as if the words were tightening his throat.

“Well, yes… is that not what-”

“I wouldn’t be opposed.” She spoke in an overly saturated tone, interrupting his nervous words. He looked at her fiercely, his lone eye betraying every ounce of lust, longing, and annoyance he held for her games.

“You will never stop vexing me, will you?”

“I am certain you love it.” She teased, his swiftly pink turning cheeks all the answer she needed from him. She straightened, clearing her throat, as she moved back to the matter at hand. “So we must sneak around?”

He looked regretful, his hands gently taking hers.

“I know it’s not ideal.”

She shrugged. “If that is the only way I can have you now, then I can live with it.”

Aemond smiled, a breath of relief leaving his lips, the heavy weight on his chest dissipating quickly.

A smirk grew on her lips, one he knew signaled mischief.

“So, that means we’d have to remain as friends in public.” She surmised, stepping closer to him, much too close, as their chests brushed against each other. “But behind closed doors…”

Aemond swallowed, his eyes fluttering closed as she leaned in, his lips brushing against his ear as she spoke.

“...I can do what I want with you.”

Aemond cleared his throat, desperately trying to keep a hold of what little control he had left.

“When we are behind closed doors, which we are not.” He reminded her, sounding exasperated, making her laugh softly.

She loved the effect she had on him.

“Meet me in my chambers tonight.” She whispered and placed a soft, barely there, kiss to his cheek, before leaving his side and making her way back to Helaena, leaving him with pink cheeks and a racing heart.

Night couldn’t have come fast enough. He spent the day training vigorously, Ser Criston taking the brunt of his pent up anticipation with round after round of sparring. His knee bounced impatiently throughout dinner, paying no mind to his mother’s attempts to bring him into the conversations he couldn’t bother to focus on.

He waited, long, torturous hours, until the sun had finally set and night descended on the Keep, the halls clearing as Lords, Ladies and their servants alike settled in for the night.

He paced in his room for longer than he would ever admit, his nerves bubbling low in his stomach, his hands twitching as he longed to reach for a goblet of wine to ease his worries.

He knew if his mother were to ever discover he had entered a lady’s chambers in the dead of night, let alone a Lady he was undeniably close to, she would slap him until he found his sense once again.

Though no amount of worry, no guilt over his allegiance to his duty could ever be enough to overtake what he felt for her, what he had unknowingly felt for so long.

With only his desire to see her, he purposefully strode across his room and pushed at the stone wall, silently thanking his brother for drunkenly revealing to him the secret passageways years ago.

It only took a few minutes until he found her door. With a deep breath, he stepped in slowly, his eyes immediately finding her as she sat at her vanity, brushing her hair. His breath caught in his throat when he noticed the sheer slip she wore as she readied herself for bed.

He cleared his throat, feeling a blush quickly and involuntarily growing on his cheeks as her eyes rose to meet his.

“You came.” She smiled.

“Of course I did.”

She got to her feet, taking slow steps towards him, as if he were a wild animal that would spook if she got too close too quickly. She knew he had a strong sense of duty, of what behavior was becoming of a princely man, it had been instilled in him by his family since he was born.

She knew he was breaking every single one of those lessons by being in her room so late at night.

“You know we do not have to sneak around. You can wait to court me as is proper.” She reminded him, hoping to ease his discomfort.

“I can’t take that risk.” He spoke smoothly, as if it didn’t even require a second thought. “I can’t take the chance that we will be denied. I can’t lose you before I’ve even had you.”

She smiled, her heart jumping in anticipation.

“So take me while you can.”

Barely a second later Aemond had crossed the room, his hands cradling her face gently as he crashed his lips to her, kissing her passionately, revealing every ounce of his desire for her.

She moaned happily against his lips, the noise forcing his body to tighten, every shred of control he thought he possessed gone in an instant.

They kissed as if they had been lovers for years, as if he had been gone for so long and they couldn’t wait to reunite as only lovers could.

His hands greedily roamed the curves he had admired for years. Her hands wove into his silken hair she had braided many times as children. The innocence was gone between them, no childlike wonderment left, leaving only their loving, lustful desires.

They pulled away after a few minutes, the both of them breathing heavily, their swollen lips turning upwards into a shared smile as their eyes met, the pure bliss in his lone eye matching hers.

He moved in again, desperate to get her lips back on his, but her hands on his chest stopped him. His brows furrowed, a strike of worry lashing him as he gazed at her in concern.

“I want to see all of you.” Her quiet voice spoke, her delicate touch framing his face, her fingers slowly canting upwards to trace the edge of his scar.

He flinched instinctively, having never felt the touch of another there, but almost instantly calmed as he stared into her eyes that reflected nothing but love and trust.

She had been there for him through everything, she had been the only one to see him for more than his title, to respect him as he was, simply a boy trying to find his place in the world.

He let out a shuddering breath, allowing his forehead to rest against hers as he built up the courage he needed to reveal his eye to her.

“Every part of you is beautiful, Aemond. I have known that for years and I certainly won’t think differently tomorrow.” She reassured him, her velvet voice melting the hardened resentment within him.

He swallowed against the tightness in his throat and reached up slowly, willing his hands not to tremble as he grasped the patch over his eye. Slowly, he pulled it off, revealing the sparkling sapphire in place of his eye.

A small laugh left her, scaring him momentarily until he saw the delight in her gaze rather than mocking cruelty as he had suddenly feared.

“I can’t believe you really listened to me.”

He smiled bashfully, remembering a conversation years ago, when she had suggested he put a ruby in place of his eye to resemble that of a dragon eye. He never told her when he took her suggestion, feeling too silly to divulge such a thing.

“Well, I’m sorry it’s not a ruby.”

She shook her head, her smile never faltering. “Why did you pick a sapphire?”

“It reminded me of the sea.” He stated simply, watching with bashful satisfaction as her smile smoothed out, her expression one of touched devotion.

He always told her she reminded him of the calming and luxurious blue waves that crashed on the shores of Ixtal, the waves he had become mesmerized by the day he met her.

“It’s beautiful.” She breathed out, feeling unable to take her eyes off the shining gem that made the man in front of her look even more ethereal than he already did.

Her eyes found the gem between every breathless and fiery kiss, somehow lingering as he pulled his clothes off, remaining, as if for comfort, as she bared herself to him for the first time.

It was a beacon to her, the guiding light in the ferocity of a storm, calming every one of her nerves as she was reminded he was hers just as she was his, as they always had been.

She felt as though there were sparks igniting under her skin as he touched her. She felt herself melt under his delicate fingers that curiously roamed her body. She felt beautiful under his awed gaze as he eagerly took in every inch of her, as if she were a divine entity he would soon bow to.

The second a gasp escaped her as his fingers found the wetness between her thighs, Aemond’s eye snapped to hers. He watched with wonderment as she vocalized her pleasure, pleasure that was because of him.

She smiled against his lips as he suddenly kissed her with a might she had never felt before. She was powerless against his hungry lips.

He let out a stunted breath at the sound of the whine that fell past her lips as he curled his finger, seeking out her pleasure, eager for it as if it were his own

The two of them never let their eyes wander too far from each other. He watched with a wide, amazed gaze as he brought her to her peak with his fingers, delighting in the pain he felt as her nails dug into his shoulder as her hips grinded against his hand.

The sounds of her soft moans echoed in his ears, alighting his body with furious desire.

As he settled between her legs, he looked down at her, his eyes posing his silent question, the devotion she saw from the beauty of his lone eye, that she felt from the gentle touch of the tips of his fingers that traced lines up and down her thighs, was enough to have her nodding immediately, fiery want washing over her.

He never dared to look away from the depth of her eyes as he delved inside her for the first time.

He watched her carefully, whispering apologies as she gasped, the foreign feeling making her tense slightly. His gentle caresses, his soft kisses down the length of her neck, the words of praise he gave her, were enough to soothe her, her body relaxing, the pain fading.

He began to thrust slowly, the pleasure soon becoming too much and his eye fell closed as he shuddered from the delirious pleasure of being inside of her, but he forced himself to bring his gaze back to her, taking in the starry eyed look in her own.

Their hands never left each other, Aemond gripped her hips as if he feared she would soon be forced away from him, her hands gripping onto his shoulders to ground herself in the wake of the unexpected pleasure he brought her.

His nose brushed against hers as he kissed her softly, his hips finding a rhythm that made them both sigh in delight. He felt his limbs tremble, his resolve slipping the longer he stayed inside her, quickly realizing nothing in his entire existence would ever compare to this, to being with her, the woman he loved more than life itself.

“Aemond.” She breathed out, pleading for him, pleading for this never to end, to never lose each other.

He squeezed his eye shut briefly, his movements becoming more controlled as he let his body adjust to the ecstasy he was feeling.

“You’re mine.” He panted, his hand moving to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing her soft skin affectionately. “You will always be mine.”

She nodded frantically, a moan falling past her lips as he found the spot inside her that made stars explode before her.

The noise had Aemond gritting his teeth, a desperate growl sounding and he knew this would be ending soon.

He quickened his movements, his hips rolling rapidly against hers. He choked out a surprised sounding moan as her legs wove around his waist, pulling him in deeper.

“Oh, Gods, I can’t-”

“Give it to me, Aemond. I want it. I want all of you.” She replied frantically, the growl in his voice causing goosebumps to rise on her skin.

She watched, entirely raptured by the sight before her as Aemond’s jaw dropped, his eye widening before slamming shut, his body trembling as a loud, desperate sounding groan fell from his lips. His hips became erratic, his movements becoming sloppy as he came hard, untethered from his control.

She gasped at the feeling, the tingling in her spine spreading until it burst, a cry of his name sounding in the room as she fell off the edge just a moment behind him.

Aemond slumped against her, his chest heaving alongside her own, his shuddering breaths cooling the skin at her shoulder where his head rested.

She ran her hands over his muscled shoulders and found their way into his hair and she began to run her fingers through his mussed strands gently as she found her way back to her body.

After a moment of quiet as their breathing relaxed, Aemond raised his head, his eye finding hers, her gaze locking onto the gem once more, their shared smiles bashful.

A soft giggle sounded from her and Aemond wanted to melt into her all over again. He rested his head against hers, placing a soft kiss to her lips.

“I love you.” He whispered in the quiet room.

“I love you.” She told him with just as much honesty and devotion as had sounded in his voice.

ENJOY! XX

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon fic

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viennakarma · 8 months ago

Text

My dearest friend and enemy

Part 1 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.8k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. Obviously we don't have all the facts with whatever happened to Lewis and Nico, but I have my own theories, that I tossed around this story here and there. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was getting way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

[If you have never listened to Tamino, or never heard this song, please do a favor to your brain and heart, and listen!]

Find me on Twitter!

PART 2 (END)

You wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry.

You repeated those words to yourself as you stared at your fucked up kart, it wasn’t even starting. You didn’t have any more money to repair it, and if you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be able to keep going in the competition.

“Hey, are you alright kid?” Someone stopped you, and your tears fell down. You used the sleeve of your overalls to wipe your face.

“I won’t make it to the final round of the competition,” you pointed to your kart.

The boy knelt down beside you, taking a look at your kart. It was the first time you really looked at him. He was a bit older than you, probably two or three years, since you had seen him in the next category, and you knew he was one of the best from what you could see.

He walked away suddenly, but came back a minute later with a tool box. He knelt down and started tinkering with your kart.

“What- what are you doing?” You asked crouching beside him. He only hummed, seemingly concentrating on his work.

After a few minutes of silence, he asked you to test to see if it would work, and you started your kart, and it did work.

“Oh my god!” You smiled, leaving the kart, “how- how much does it cost?”

“Don’t worry, I wanted to help,” he shrugged, putting back his tools.

“Are you sure?” You asked again.

“Yes,” he stood up, and as his eyes found yours, shining under the sunlight, you smiled at each other.

“Thank you so much!” You said, offering a hand for him to shake.

“I’m Fernando,” he said, and as you said your name back, he smiled a little shyly and just said, “I know.”

“You know?” You whispered.

“Yeah. I’ve seen you in your kart. You’re good.”

You bashed under his praise, cheeks warming and stomach full of butterflies.

From then on, you and Fernando became friends, always meeting up in karting competitions, despite being usually in different categories, since he was a bit older than you. But you’d always be seen together on those occasions, or either of you on the stands, cheering for the other. Your parents knew you were close friends, and after a while, your parents would take turns at taking you two for competitions, usually going together.

You met again when you got to the Spanish Junior Championship, it was your first time at that competition and it would be Fernando’s third. Your rivalry was mostly playful in that competition, you were still the best of friends, even when you got close to his score, you still managed to leave the rivalry on the track. When it ended and you stared up at Fernando from the second place podium, you felt proud of him, happy even. You understood that he had more experience than you, winning that competition three times in a row, and you always would have next year to catch up to him.

That day when he took your hand to walk back to his dad, he held your hand tight. And when they dropped you off at home, you winked at him.

“I’ll catch you next year.” You walked to the door hearing him and José Luis laughing back in the car.

You didn’t manage to catch him next year. Fernando reached new heights as he moved up to world championships. Life took you apart, and without your greatest opponent in the championship, you took it home for three years in a row.

The next few years, you and Fernando were mostly apart. The distance was eating you thin, even when you two managed to talk for a couple of hours on the phone, or whenever he sent you letters talking about his biggest achievements. You still saw each other over summer and winter, which was what mostly kept your bond strong. You also managed to kart for fun sometimes, or go for ice cream, or just sit on the porch of your house, talking about life. You two always shared an ice cream on your birthdays, a tradition that was born ever since you were 13, and you and Fernando gathered together every coin you had to be able to buy one ice cream cone that you happily shared sitting on a sidewalk.

“We’ll make it to Formula 1 one day, Nena.”

You laughed. Despite being the greatest dream of them all, by that time, it had been twenty years since the last woman had been in a Formula 1 car, really competing. You wanted to, so bad, but you didn’t want to get any hope for it to be crushed later on.

“You, most likely, Nano. You’re brilliant, I’m sure you’re going to be a world champion one day,” you said, playful, “just don’t forget us peasants when you’re rich and famous.”

“You have too much faith in me, Nena,” he shook his head.

“No, I just know stuff. When you get your world championship, I hope you will hear my voice in your head telling you I told you so.”

He laughed it off.

Fernando extended you a bottle of cheap wine, it was his way of celebrating your 18th birthday, now you were of age. The wine warmed you up, leaving a pretty stain in both of your lips.

“What about that girl you liked? Are you dating her yet?” You asked to break the silence.

“No…” he shrugged then took the bottle from you to take a chug straight from it, “she’s not for me.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, even though he didn’t look particularly unhappy about it.

“Don’t be. It was just a silly crush,” his lips turned down, “The girls don’t find me attractive enough,” he shook his head, feeling shy for having this conversation with you, “and I don’t know, I’ve always been a little shy, I guess. I don’t have much experience in romance. None, if I’m being honest.”

“None?!” You sounded shocked at his lack of romance. He just shook his head.

At eighteen you had your fair share of teen love, having crushes here and there, sometimes even sharing kisses under the bleachers at school. Fernando was your best friend and you knew him like no one, and you could see that he was lonely and feeling embarrassed, up until that point, his life had been school, karting and work to fund his karting.

“Would you like to?” You asked, suddenly turning to him after drinking a sip of courage from the wine bottle.

“Like to what?” He frowned.

“To be kissed?” You whispered, and looked behind you, inside your house, where your parents were inside.

Your heart raced faster than you ever did, his pretty eyes looking for your face, trying to find any sign of joking, like you were just being silly. But you were serious, looking at his face intently. You were about to back pedal when he nodded softly.

“What-” his voice failed, and he gulped nervously, “what should I do?”

“Just follow my lead, and you will feel what to do,” you said, extending a hand and holding his face, “close your eyes.”

He did, and you just closed the distance quietly, but when you had barely touched his lips with yours, he bursted out laughing, leaning back. You also laughed at the strangeness of the situation.

“It’s ok, we don’t have to, Nano” you recovered, but he shook his head, giggling.

“No, sorry, sorry! You’re my favorite person, I trust you,” he sighed, closing his eyes again.

You held his face, trying to get closer again, and this time he let you. With a soft press, you pecked his lips for a couple of seconds. You felt butterflies in your stomach, and they pushed you to push into his lips, mouth opening a little and him following your lead. One of his hands found your face, and you deepened the kiss. He was inexperienced but surprisingly patient, letting you lead and slowly picking your pace and moves. Your kiss turned into an almost make out session, lasting long minutes, with Fernando getting the hang of it with every passing second. When you parted, his cheeks and lips were red, and you two smiled nervously at each other.

“Was that ok?” You asked, suddenly insecure.

“More than ok,” he whispered back, “I think we-”

A loud noise from inside your house made you two jump away from each other, and a second later, your mom’s voice boomed through the door, reminding you of your curfew, and checking your watch, you noticed it was almost eleven.

“Sorry, Nano. I have to go,” you stood up and he followed you.

“See you Saturday to go karting?” He asked just to confirm the plans you had made earlier.

“See you,” you waved awkwardly before sprinting inside your house.

Skipping to your room, you locked the door behind you and pressed a hand to your lips, still warm from kissing your best friend. Going to your window, you pulled on the curtains and watched through the gap as Fernando left, calmly walking down the street.

You never talked about it. And when you met again at the end of the week, none of you mentioned the kiss, things quickly went back to normal as you two pretended it never happened. Over a few months, your heart never let you forget about the kiss you shared with your best friend, and whenever you laid in bed to sleep, your mind would wander back to that specific night. You spent months building up the courage to confess you had feelings for him, and you wanted to be more than friends. Your choice was to tell him on his birthday, when you usually would go for a birthday ice cream.

“I need to tell you something-” You said at the same time he muttered, “Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to you, but at that point, your bravery quickly faded.

“No, you first. You’re the birthday boy!”

“Uh, I’m dating a girl. I’m going to introduce her to you and my family at the birthday party tonight.”

That moment, with a smile frozen on your face, a small part of you was ripped forever. The excitement and fear of a young love turned into stone at the pit of your stomach. To this day, you don’t know how you managed to not burst into tears that very moment. Instead, you kept smiling, asking Fernando for more details so he could get distracted and not notice the pain in your eyes.

Managing to bury what you decided to call a silly teen infatuation after a few months, your friendship with Fernando became even stronger everyday that passed.

You made it to the international and European competitions, winning the former twice in a row, and the latter once. You were in the Euro Open when Fernando made it to Formula 1.

He told you personally, when he signed with Minardi, and you were so happy you jumped on his arms, hugging him tight and screaming.

“I told you! I told you!” You shouted, as he carried your feet from the floor, “My best friend is in Formula 1! Oh my god, Nano!” You let go of him, your smile barely fitting your face, “I’m gonna be insufferable! I’m claiming bragging rights right now!”

He only laughed at your happy ramble.

You balanced your competitions with working double shifts for almost two months, so you could afford to go to the Spanish Grand Prix the year of his Formula One debut. He didn’t win anything that year, but he still had your immense support every step of the way. When waves of self doubt came and left him shaken, you’d hug him and whisper softly how he was just a rookie, how he would still have time to prove himself.

“You’re gonna be one of the best there is, Nano.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

He also would show you support whenever your schedule at the Euro Open didn’t coincide with his at Formula 1. It was one of the best feelings to get to the podium and see your best friend as you held the trophy. When you finally found him after the podium, he hugged you for a moment, commenting on his favorite moments from your race. As you stood, he gestured to someone, and a beautiful girl came closer.

“Nena, this is my girlfriend, Lucia,” he pointed. Your smile froze for a second. Another one, since the girl from last year couldn’t handle the distance of dating someone who was constantly traveling the world.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You shook her hand, suddenly self conscious of your frizzy hair and sweat damp overalls. She was so pretty. So much prettier than you.

Lucia was pretty and kind, a little bit clingy, but she treated you very well, and wasn’t jealous of your friendship with Fernando, different from the last one. All your flings never went as far as becoming boyfriend or girlfriend, so you decided to focus more on racing and trying to make a name for yourself.

“Fernando,” you called one of the rare days you two were both free and could laze around, this time, sitting on the ground of the garden, staring at the clear sky and sharing a pint of ice cream.

“Hm?”

“I talked to your dad, and you’re going to be free the day of the last race of the Euro Open, so I was wondering if you will come to see me become the champion?” You turned to him, a smile adorning your face.

“Confident, are you?” He teased your certainty that you would win the competition.

“Not confident, just focused,” you corrected him, and started explaining the date of the race, but as you talked, his smile quickly faded and you stopped.

“I’m sorry, Nena. It’s Lucia’s graduation that day, I can’t miss it.”

You swallowed, thinking it would matter so much to you that he’d be there, but at the same time, you didn’t want to be selfish or make it seem like you’re competing with the girl he loved. You tried to disguise the disappointment in your face, but he noticed. At that point he knew you for half of your lives, he knew very well when you tried to mask your sadness. And unfortunately, he had been on the receiving end of that sad face one too many times.

“Oh,” you nodded, “Don’t worry, I totally understand.”

Fernando pressed his lips thin, your meek voice doing nothing to soothe the squeezing in his heart.

The day you won the Euro Open, you could barely contain your happiness as you stood on the podium, showing your trophy to your parents, who were watching you all emotional. As the podium ceremony finished, you walked back to your parents, your mom wiping her tears and your dad the happiest. Then, you finally noticed Fernando was with them.

“Nano!” You hugged him.

“Congratulations, champion!” He said. Your heart was so full you thought it would explode, so all you managed to say were two words.

“You came.”

“You called.”

Later you found out through your mom, who found out through Fernando’s mom, who found out from Fernando’s dad, that Fernando and Lucia had broken up. They said it was because of the distance and the relationship didn’t last more than seven months. You couldn’t blame her, you as his best friend barely saw him that year either.

You became a reserve driver for Renault in 2003, meeting Flavio Briatore yourself after you won the Formula 3000 two years in a row. You knew that, by that time, Fernando had ties with Flavio, but the man assured you it had nothing to do with Fernando, and everything to do with you being extremely talented.

Still, that same week you found Fernando, to inquire if he had anything to do with Flavio’s invitation, but he assured you that you’d achieved that with your own merit. The unexpected chance to race came when by the end of the following year, Fernando’s teammate was fired by the end of the season. So you had to replace him for the remaining three races of the season, the team fighting for P2 in the constructors championship. The first two races you went alright placing P7 and P5, but still not where you wanted to place.

“Hey, you’re doing great, Nena,” Fernando told you right before the race started. He knew you were upset, frustration practically emanating from your body.

“Not as great as I can do,” you shook your head.

“Just do your best, ignore everything else.”

You nodded, before closing your overalls and gettin ready to get in the car. That race, you and Fernando managed to race just like in your karting days, with a silent partnership never seen before coming from Fernando. You placed a 2-3 podium, him ahead of you.

When you got out of the car, you jumped straight into his arms, screaming and celebrating. Your first ever podium in Formula 1.

During post race interviews you accidentally let out to the media that you and Fernando were childhood best friends, which they took as a personal reason to go digging into your lives.

Next season, Flavio signed you with the team. But before anything, he sat you down for a talk. He explained how Fernando would be top priority this year, you were a rookie, and they would offer you all the support but you had to help Fernando first.

“You will gain experience, work together with your best friend, and we can achieve great things this year. And depending on how good of a performance you show this year, next year you will be able to race for the championship, yes?” Flavio explained.

And you were fine with that, Fernando would be the main priority while you took the year to get used to the car, to being in an entirely new category, while helping your best friend reach his peak. It was the dream, finally. It was the thing both of you had daydreamed together, nothing could get in the way of that.

So you did just that. You kept your head down, fighting fiercely against your rivals, and keeping yourself out of the way whenever you and Fernando were close in a race. Your time would come, as Flavio had promised. That season you managed good results in the points, and even got five podium finishes, which landed you fourth in the drivers’ championship and managed Renault to win the constructors.

That day in Interlagos, during the Brazilian Grand Prix, you woke up knowing Fernando would become world champion. You didn’t tell him to not put any more pressure on him. He only needed a podium to mathematically become the champion of the world.

He finished P3, and you finished P7. Seeing Fernando radiantly happy, dancing, shouting and jumping was etched forever in your brain as one of your happiest memories. The way he eventually found you, holding you firmly against him, the both of you crying happy tears became headlines all around the world.

“I told you, didn’t I?” You broke the hug so you could stare into his red rimmed eyes.

“You did. You’re right more often than not, I’ve come to realize.” He whispered. When someone tried to put a mic in your faces, Fernando pushed it away.

“This is your moment, go.” You gestured to the other side, where he had to go before the podium.

Looking up from the ground to Fernando, you were so happy you thought your heart would burst open. And you couldn’t wait for it to be your turn, to feel this happiness the other way around.

That night, you, Fernando and the entire team got ready to party, to celebrate his championship. You dressed up to the nines, putting makeup and spending a good half an hour styling your hair. When you left the elevator, meeting the whole team at the lobby, they shouted and whistled saying you were pretty. It made you a bit shy but you liked the attention.

You and Fernando danced and drank like crazy that night, going strong all the way into the morning. When the party ended and you two sat on your suite balcony, watching the sun rise, you bought out an ice cream pint you had kept in the room minibar.

“How do you feel, Mr. World Champion?” You sat cross legged in front of him.

“Like a dream come true, sometimes I don’t even believe it’s real,” he said, staring into the horizon.

“Remember when we would talk about this moment?” You took his hand in yours, as he nodded, “Wow. This is great. I’m so happy for you, and happy for fifteen year-old Nano, the bright eyed boy that fixed my kart charge free.”

It’s barely a second after you finished speaking that Fernando leaned into your space and just kissed your lips. It took you a second to understand what was going on, but when his hand found your hair, you reciprocated. His lips, that had been cold from the ice cream quickly became warm under your ministrations. You held his shoulders and let him pull you closer, until you were straddling his lap. The kiss was messy, all over the place, clanking lips, teeth and tongue. You moaned softly as he squeezed your ass, and you pulled his hair at the nape, grinding down on his lap, making him groan too.

“We should not,” he said, breaking the kiss. You nodded, panting.

“Yeah, totally, we-” you tried to speak but he nipped at your neck and you lost all train of thought.

“No, we won’t ruin-” he tried again but you pulled his hair, forcing his head up so you could kiss him.

“You’re right-” you muttered against his lips, right before smashing it when you kissed him again. You stayed there, kissing, making out like you were teenagers again, too scared to reach for each other's clothes and take the next step.

When the sun was fully up in the sky, and whatever was left of the ice cream had melted, your alarm rang, and you and Fernando parted. You were about to invite him to sleep with you for a few hours when he paused, his face worried. Fernando took one of your hands.

“This is a one time- thing, right?” He frowned, and you swallowed before nodding.

“Yes, of course.” You don’t correct him with memories of your eighteenth birthday.

“I just, I don’t want anything to ruin our friendship,” he stared at you, visibly scared for your friendship, and you didn’t have the heart to ask for more.

“It won’t ruin, I promise. If you want, we can forget it ever happened,” you said, hoping and praying he would change his mind. But he looked relieved at your words.

After he left, you sat down on the bed, disheartened, knowing that these scraps of affection would have to be stored in a safe spot inside your heart, and would be nothing more than memories, and what-ifs you’d only dare to look at late in your sleepless nights. You wondered how many times he would have to undervalue your romantic affections for you to understand he didn’t want you and never would. That was the second time you shared a moment, and the second time he had dismissed it. It’s not meant to be, you whispered to yourself.

When the new season started, you had gotten a grip over your feelings for him, focused on moving on. Being in love with your best friend for around a decade was pathetic enough.

Fernando was great during the start of the season, scoring two wins within the first three races. And despite not being the results you wanted, you placed top ten in all of them, even managing one podium finish.

When the fourth race came, though, it was when you and Fernando started to collapse. It was a very carefully plotted race for you and your team, and after managing your tyres with care, you didn’t have to pit twice. And you won, for the first time ever, you stood on the top of the podium. Unfortunately, Fernando didn’t get a podium. Holding your trophy, you looked down from the podium looking to your team, and searching for Fernando.

He wasn’t there, and your heart shattered a bit with his absence.

Maybe he had a problem and couldn’t be there for you. Maybe he was busy.

You went down to speak to the press, happily talking about strategies, how you and your team masterminded it, how you managed to preserve your tyres for longer than expected.

“How do you and Fernando manage to balance your friendship out of the track with the rivalry happening inside the track?” Someone asked. You were caught by surprise, taking a few seconds to actually compute the words he said.

“Well, I haven’t seen Fernando yet, but I believe he’d be happy for my good result as much as I’d be happy for him,” you told him, but immediately regretted it as the reporter had a gotcha expression on his face.

“Well, actually, this is what Fernando said a few minutes ago when he gave an interview-”

The man gave you a tape recorder attached to a pair of headphones, and your stomach filled with dread as he pressed rewind and play.

“Fernando, today’s win puts your best friend as a contender for the championship, what do you say?”

“Well, I believe she is talented, but too young and not yet ready to face me and actually compete for the championship.”

His voice was bitter, like he didn’t see you as nothing but a bug under his shoes. Instead of making you sad, it only left you seething in anger, but as you removed the headphones, you controlled the urge to smash the headphones on the nearest wall and smirked coldly to the camera that was waiting for your reaction.

“What do you think about Fernando saying you’re still not ready to become world champion?” The reporter urged, waiting for a beef that he would successfully get.

“Well, I guess he feels threatened by me, so I’ll take that as a compliment,” you shrugged, not caring about adding more fuel to the fire. If Fernando thought he could go running his mouth and you’d be fine or not jab him back, he was in for a surprise.

After wrapping up the interviews, you finally managed to go to your room and take a shower. You were getting ready to leave when Fernando found you again, walking into your room without bothering to knock. You didn’t even look at him, just kept packing your bag.

“Nena…”

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” you shook your head, holding on to the anger instead of allowing yourself to be sad. How he was able to ruin your first ever win in Formula 1, you couldn’t know.

“Nena, please, just-” He tried again, blocking your path to the door.

“No! Fuck you, Fernando!” You took a step back, letting your bag fall to the floor, an accusatory finger pointing to his face, “How dare you do this to me? You know how many times I cheered for you? How many times I wasn’t even on the podium and still, I was happy for you? Huh? I was there for you every step of the way, and you can’t be there for me once? Now you go out there and disregard my win in front of the whole world? What did I ever do to you for you to say that shit about me?” Your voice trembled, but you refused to cry in front of him, “I’d never do that to you, you selfish asshole.”

“I shouldn’t have said that, but I was pole and didn’t even manage to turn it into a podium? I was upset, the strategy fucked me up! I know I should not have said that! You’re right! I was selfish and an asshole-”

“Damn right you were!” You shouted, then picked up your bag, “I don’t want to see you right now.”

You walked past him, leaving at once.

That night, you went to celebrate with the team and without your teammate, you got pretty wasted, dancing and drinking like you had never done before. You refused to let yourself feel down because of Fernando’s big mouth. Dancing the night away, you didn’t stop even when people on the team asked you to, since you were getting out of hand. You were grinding on a stranger, dancing to reggaeton when you felt a hand on your arm.

“Let’s go,” the voice said and you turned, seeing Fernando in front of you. He looked like he was dressed in pajamas and hair all disheveled.

He was asleep when someone on the team called him because they wanted to leave and you were being difficult, so they hoped that your best friend could come pick you up and convince you to leave.

“Excuse me?!” You pulled your arm from him.

“We’re leaving!” Fernando said, pointing to where your team was, seeing it empty, “you’re not going to stay here alone.”

Begrudgingly, you let him lead you outside, one hand in your arm, and the other one on your back. You stumbled in your heels, and Fernando pressed you against the wall, kneeling to remove your shoes and help you walk better outside. Silently, he drove you back to the hotel, while you were with your arms crossed and sulking.

He walked you to your room, helping you change into pajamas, then tucked you into the bed. He stood there for a second, pushing your hair away from your face as you closed your eyes, letting his knuckles run over your cheek softly.

“I wish-” you mumbled, sleepy, “I wish you were happy for me.”

His eyes filled with tears, seeing just how awful he had been to you. A dream was coming true and all he could think of was himself.

“I am, Nena. I’m so happy for you,” He said, but you didn’t answer, already asleep, due to being tired from the race and heavily drunk.

You woke up with a pounding headache and a stomach churning hangover. Still, you showered, drank tea and got ready to go home. When Fernando knocked on the door of your hotel room later that day to apologize, you were already on a flight to Spain. Your birthday would be later that week and your family wanted to throw you a dinner party.

Your birthday was nice, despite obviously feeling Fernando’s absence.

You were sitting alone on the porch, after the party, when he showed up, late in the night. You didn’t say anything as he walked up to you.

“Peace offering?” Fernando showed you a small ice cream pint “I’m so sorry. I never meant to undermine you. I was a jerk, and you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so, so sorry.”

You hesitated for a second, but his eyes were so gentle, remorseful, that you couldn’t help but give in. You jumped into his arms so suddenly he almost dropped the ice cream, but he managed to balance it and hug you back with the other arm.

“Happy birthday, Nena,” he whispered,

“Thank you,” you said, without letting him go, “I’m sorry too. I apologize for implying you felt threatened by me.”

“You should have called me worse things,” he whispered.

You ended up sharing the ice cream once again, talking about life.

Deep down, you hoped things would go back to normal, but a part of you knew that things would never be the same. You two were too much alike for anything to work. Too proud. Too stubborn. Too competitive. When you were good, it was great, but when you were mad, your words were daggers.

The both of you tried to stay normal the next couple of races, but it was strained, forced, especially when you were racing each other. You supposed Fernando was used to you backing down for him, since it was all you had done the year before when you were a rookie. But now you were used to the car, to explore all the possibilities while pushing your tyres to their maximum, while trying insane strategies and making it work. You were a risky driver, just like him, often seen as reckless.

All the while, the media started catching up to it. They went digging to find pictures of you and Fernando when you were kids, in karting and junior competitions, finding out people to interview, old classmates, people you two had met over the years, telling everyone about your close friendship, about you growing up together. Despite you both refusing to comment on your past, the journalists would always find a way to learn more and more about you.

Eventually, it got to your nerves, harsh words were often said whenever questions were thrown at you. You were in a press conference, where Fernando was also there along with a few other drivers.

“It is noticeable that you and Alonso’s driving style is very similar, would you say that he taught you everything you know?”

You didn’t like his tone, you hated whatever he was implying, not because of Fernando, but because it meant to reduce your efforts and abilities.

“No, Alonso has no part in my racing,” your tone was firm against the mic, and you could feel Fernando’s eyes on you, two chairs away on your left.

“But you grew up together?” The man insisted, and you loudly sighed, exhausted from everyone trying to make you talk about it all the time.

“And that doesn’t mean anything!” You said with gritted teeth.

There was a moment of silence right after your outburst, and you didn’t dare to look anywhere besides ahead. When the questions moved on to other drivers, you breathed again. Finally sparing a glance to Fernando, he only looked at you for a fleeting moment, but you knew him so well, you could recognize his teary eyes. Only then it dawned on you how badly you fucked up by insinuating he didn’t mean anything to you.

When the conference ended, you watched as Fernando left really quickly, not even looking in your direction. You ran, trying to find him, going to his room that was right beside yours.

“Fernando-” You walked inside, not even bothering to knock.

“So, our friendship means nothing!” He shook his head, looking disappointed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Nano!”

“Now I’m Nano again?” He scoffed.

You wanted to cry and plead, to explain that you never meant it this way. You were just tired of people trying to attribute your success to others. You were tired of people comparing the two of you, and saying everything you were came from him, just because he joined the category five years before you.

“Fernando, please-”

“Leave.” His eyes were cold, almost detached when he pointed to the door.

“Please, Nano…” You whispered, feeling your own eyes welling up with tears. He just shook his head ‘no’ again.

You walked out quietly, not allowing your tears to fall down as you got into your room, inhaling and puffing your chest. You didn’t let up, trying to talk to him again, because it was just a misunderstanding.

Three days later, you tried to find him again, after the race ended, hoping he would have calmed down after a good result, a P2 in that race. You knocked on his door and entered. He was changing clothes as you walked in, he finished dressing a shirt.

“What?” He said, barely looking at you, as he sat down on the sofa, brushing his hair.

“I wanted to talk about what I said during-” your words were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Fernando said, and soon, two pretty girls walked in, wearing pretty dresses, one blonde and the other brunette, “pretty girls!”

You recognized they were grid girls, and they looked familiar from this weekend.

“Can we talk?” You said, trying to make him at least send the girls away for a moment.

“I’m listening,” he smirked, and you gulped as the blonde ran a hand up and down his chest. The brunette leaned into his ear with a seductive smile, whispering something.

“Fernando, please…” You asked again and he didn’t even look at you, laughing at something the girls whispered to him, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, before turning in your heels and leaving his room.

Shame and jealousy burned inside you.

He started giving you a silent treatment from then on and three races later, your silent strain came to a head, once again.

You were right behind him at the race, you P3 and him right ahead, but you had enough speed to outpace him soon, maybe a couple more laps and you’d equal him enough to try and overtake, you rode turn 2 smoothly, but as you two kept going, Fernando half a second in front of you, he suddenly hit the brakes, making you hit his rear.

“What the fuck? He brake tested me!” You shouted into the radio, reassessing, you gulped, noticing the damage to your front right tyre, “I’ve got damage!”

You called into the box to change your tyre, which fucked up your entire strategy, and made you go from the P3 to P9 in the grid. You managed to recover a little bit, but still ended P5 and out of the podium.

The rage was burning your chest as you went to the garage absolutely fuming. After all the podium proceedings and celebrations, you waited for Fernando, but he just walked past you without a care in the world. That made you even more pissed, and nobody managed to hold you when you tossed your helmet aside and marched up to him.

“That was really fucked up, Fernando!” You cut his path, making him stop short. Suddenly a bunch of people started gathering around you two, everyone ready for a show.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He shrugged, but you knew him like the palm of your own hand, and you knew that condescending smile he showed you.

“You are a fucking coward if you have to brake test me just to get a podium,” you said, venomous, feeling your dad trying to pull you away and dissipate the commotion. But you weren’t done, “you’re pathetic, Fernando.”

“That’s enough!” Your dad said, pulling you back.

“Or maybe you’re just not good enough, have you thought about that?” Fernando said back, and you jumped on him, trying to get close enough for violence, but your dad held your waist, removing your feet from the ground and pulling you back.

“Man up, Fernando! You fucking asshole!” You shouted as your dad dragged you back into the garage.

Your dad placed you inside your room, grabbing water so you could drink and calm down. When he turned back, a sob broke from your throat, and you covered your mouth with a hand, trying to muffle the sounds of your crying. You shook as you cried again, your dad hugging you close and murmuring to you to let it all out.

You never thought your friendship with Fernando would ever come to this. You weren’t even sure of how the buildup happened that led to this.

“I don’t recognize him anymore, Papá. I don’t recognize my best friend anymore,” you shook your head, your voice breaking in hiccups. You pressed the plant of your hand to your eyes to try and stop the tears falling down, but it was useless.

“It’s ok, bebé. You’re both hotheaded, you need to talk calmly, try and fix it.”

You didn’t try to talk to him. He was wrong when he brake tested you, and if he couldn’t apologize for that, and for the hurtful words he said, then it was better to stay that way.

It only got worse as the season went on, the team tried to force you to give him advantages, but you refused many times, making the competition for the World Drivers Championship be between the two of you.

“We need to talk,” Flavio called you a day after another one of your wins, one that Fernando placed third, one that he didn’t even look at your face when you were up there.

“What happened?” You sat down in front of him by the table.

“You have to follow team orders. When we say you have to switch places with Fernando, you switch. You are deliberately going against orders, what is going on? You and Fernando are now in a cold war, the media caught up, the other drivers caught up too, why-”

“Am I the only one getting lectured?” You crossed your arms, seeing Flavio getting red in the face, angry.

“No. I want answers from both of you, and the way you’re being aggressive with each other, we believe it’s better to talk to you separately,” Flavio sighed, “What is happening? Before it was interesting, a beautiful rivalry, but now you way past that. You’re harming your own races and the team.”

“You talk to Fernando. He thinks because I won’t back down he needs to use every dirty trick in the book to damage my race. If he can’t handle competition like an adult, then he shouldn’t be here.”

Suddenly, the door opened, which made you jump. Fernando walked inside, fuming.

“So that’s what you think of me?” He raised his voice.

“Yes, you have been acting like a fucking kid,” you stood up.

“Me? You told the whole world our friendship means nothing to you! Have you any idea how that made me feel?!” Fernando got closer.

“Do you know how many times people disdain my career to pin it to someone else? To attribute my successes to you, or to Flavio, or even my dad?! You’ve got no idea what it's like being a woman here!”

“Power got to your head! You think you have to walk all over everyone to get what you want!”

“Power?! Literally every man here does that! You do that too, Fernando!”

“Funny you say that since you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me!” He shouted, pointing a finger to the ground.

“Fernando, stop.” Flavio muttered, coming closer to where you were face to face with Fernando.

You frowned, your anger completely dissipated and what was left was dread. And a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” You hated how your voice was nothing more than a vulnerable whisper.

“Fernando, enough!” Flavio commanded out loud, gesturing with a hand.

“What do you mean, Fernando?!” You asked again, ignoring Flavio trying to pacify the fight.

“I was the one to ask Flavio to sponsor you. I asked him to take a shot and invest in your career!” Fernando’s words were poison and in his eyes you couldn’t see anything left of your former best friend.

“Is it true, Flavio?” You asked but your eyes never left Fernando’s.

“Yes, but if we calm down, we can talk like adults.”

You couldn’t even come up with words, speechless not only from what Fernando told you, but from the tone he used. It was like he had punched you straight in the gut. You couldn’t contain your tears anymore, the lump in your throat threatening to suffocate you. You wanted to jump on him, to push him to the ground and punch his face. You wanted to scream in his face and call him all the dirty names you could think of. You tried to hold onto the anger but your limbs were still, and the pain expanded inside you like wildfire. He had lied to you, in the biggest step of your career he had lied to you. Even when you pressed for answers, he lied straight to your face.

You stared into his eyes one last time. It was the first time he had seen you really cry. He had seen you teary eyed or even emotional before, but it was the first time he had seen you truly cry.

“You’re dead to me, Fernando.”

Was all you managed to rasp, fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Flavio called your name as you walked away, but you never looked back and didn’t stop until you were inside your car, wailing like a baby. You sobbed all the way back to the hotel. You cried as you packed your bags, and tried but failed to contain your tears all the way back home, until you were at your parents’ door, sobbing on their sofa.

They didn’t ask anything until a couple of hours later when you managed to stop crying.

“I hate Fernando, so much, Mamá,” you whispered.

“Honey, don’t say that. Don’t do or say something you might regret later on,” She told you. You shook your head.

“I’m done with him. Done.” You bit back a sob, “he was so cruel, you had to see it.”

“He’s your best friend, dear. I’m sure it will be alright later on.”

“You should’ve seen the hate in his eyes, I don’t know him anymore. That’s not my Nano.”

So, your racing career was a lie. You didn’t make it because of your talent or your efforts. You were in Formula 1 because of Fernando. That was the cruelest thing someone ever said to you, not only because he was mean in the way he said it, but because with a few words he diminished your entire career. And what could you come up with to contest? He was right. You would never be there without him.

You wanted to give up so badly at that moment. You wanted to stay home and never come back, but you knew you couldn’t, your sense of duty was loud and you had to make it work. You had to prove that you deserved your spot in Formula 1, that all of Flavio’s forced investment on you was worth it.

You had to prove to Fernando you were more than a friend he pitied, more than a charity case he took so he could throw it at your face later.

It was one of the hardest things to realize and accept, the fact that he wasn’t your friend anymore. Maybe he never was. Despite all the disagreements the past couple of years, and all the beautiful history you had before the pinnacle of motorsport, maybe he never saw you as a friend. You thought you’d never treat a friend the way he treated you.

So you had to prove Fernando wrong.

NOTE: If you want to be tagged on part 2, please let me know in the comments!

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 #formula one #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #brocedes #Spotify

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