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fabled-fiction · 3 months

Note

Cregan Stark x Targaryen daughter of Rhaenyra

I don’t have a deep plot but I do have an idea. What if reader takes the place of Jace and flies to encourage Cregan like in the recent episode and he’s mesmerized by her beauty? 👀 Something along those lines — feel free to add or change it! ☺️ Thanks!

Snowflakes, Stolen Looks, and Beating Hearts

(Cregan Stark x Strong!Reader)

Summary: When you are sent with your brother Jacaerys to meet up with the Lord in the North, Cregan Stark, some feeling being to make the both of you light headed and forget just exactly what duty calls from the both of you.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: MAYBE POSSIBLE SPOILER ISH FOR EP 1. Yearning, possible OOC for Cregan (love does things to a man can you blame him??), Use of (Y/N)

A/N: This took…too long to write. I wanted to make this a yearning lovesick-y fic of Cregan that I have been DYING for and kept mulling over all the details. BUT ALAS it is here, I hope it filled your request and you all enjoy!!

You never thought that you would see snow.

You always wished to see it, having heard of its beauty. Ice falling from the sky in beautifully small flakes that seemed to be sewn together by the gods.

Looking at the palm of your hand, you smiled as you studied the pattern of the snowflake. Its exquisite beauty only lasting mere seconds as it began to melt into the valleys of your skin. A small frown made its way in place of your smile as you temporarily mourned the flake, before you wiped your hand on your cloak.

To think this place was blanketed in such beauty for the entire year.

Just ahead, Jace took a glance over his shoulder as he stared at the spectacle that was you. You stood next to your dragon, still as ever letting the snow collect on your hair and shoulders. You looked statue-esque as you continued to catch snowflakes, admiring them before they met their inevitable fate. Lost in your own world as you took a moment to forget about everything that had been plaguing you for the past few months.

He wished he could do the same, even for just a moment. Arriving at Winterfell, had him feeling on edge. For his whole life Jacaerys had protected you, feeling it was his duty to make sure nothing ever hurt you. The both of you, him being the first son of Queen Rhaenyra and you the first and only daughter, had grown up to know the true meaning of duty. This alone had bonded the two of you practically to the hip, it did not matter that you were older than him.

Looking back at you, he smiled as he saw how much snow had collected on your hair…people could mistake you for a “true” Targaryen…

That alone reminded him of the reason they were there.

“(Y/N)...c’mon we mustn't be even more late than we already are to meet with Lord Stark. Nightfall will be upon us yet…”

He watched as you finally looked up from the palm of your hand and sighed. Shaking the snow off of your head and shoulders, you rushed to meet his pace.

“I must say, I quite like this cold. It's much better than the humidity we face on Dragonstone.”

This earned a chuckle from Jacaerys. “Is that what you think of now? Not what to say to Lord Stark? What words to sew together to ensure he is our ally?”

“I do not need to take such action. Diplomacy comes easy to me. Besides, the Starks are known to be loyal to a fault.”

That much was true. Jace wasn’t entirely sure why he felt such anxiety with this meeting. It could have been that the simple act of ensuring allyship meant that war was truly upon your house. Or perhaps it could have simply just been that he did not wish to look a fool aside you as you expertly made your way through conversation with Lord Stark despite this being your first meeting. Since the both of you were small you had a knack for persuading people with your words. The Silver Tongued Dragon, you had been known as not long after this talent was found out.

Yes, he had nothing to fear. This would all go smoothly.

“Lord Stark, Prince Jacaeyrs Velaryon and Princess (Y/N) Velaryon of House Velaryon have arrived.”

Cregan nodded to the squire, straightening his cloak as he strapped Ice to his back.

This meeting in particular was one he was not too entirely worried about. House Stark had bent the knee to King Visery’s when he named his daughter as heir to the iron throne. This matter had been in the back of Cregan’s mind, with many more pressing matters being his top priority. He supposed that is why he often did not make the best first impressions, as his priorities were not that of the common list that many found themselves concerned with. He did not take an immediate interest in the pursuit of heirs or of ensuring that the house had a formidable reputation. Duty was his priority.

This meeting was a matter of formality to him. To ensure that he would stand behind Queen Rhanerya and support her in whatever way he could, without crippling the defenses on the Wall.

His hands reached back to tie his hair halfway up, his eyes focusing on the black ice of the steps. As his fingers struggled to snap the band around, he finally looked up to meet the faces of the two young dragons.

When his eyes met yours, everything seemed to stop.

It was as if the snows knew to freeze this moment over, so he could have the chance to meet your eye.

Cregan Stark had heard of the beauty of the old Valyria. He listened to the stories men shared of the silver haired house that brought out the darkest of temptations of man. How their men and women held a grace about them that had wives and husbands lust for just the touch of their hand on theirs.

As he looked at you, he felt that those stories were watered down backswill of a drunkard. There was not a word within the all known language of the Seven Kingdoms that could describe what he felt in this moment as he had the fortune to lay his eye upon you. He felt his grip on the banister tighten as he took in the sight of you. You, who looked up at him with the most mesmerizing beautiful eyes that only looked at him.

It wasn't until he saw the rise and fall of your own chest did he remember to breathe.

“Lord Stark, It's an honor to make your acquaintance.”

Looking over at your brother, Cregan cleared his throat as he made his way down the stairs to properly shake his hand.

“The honor is all mine, to host the both of you here. My apologies for the weather, but it is the North.”

His accent stuck out to you. On Dragonstone and even throughout the Keep, when you had stayed there once upon a time, people often shrouded themselves in uppity falsehoods. Either to seem as if they were meant to truly walk amongst you, or to be someone entirely different from whence they came. It was part of the reason why you were so glad to have fled to Dragonstone, there were not as many falsehoods there.

So to see Cregan Stark have no fear in brandishing his weaponry, and speak to you in the laced tongue of the North was refreshing. You were drawn to the way he felt as if the niceties of royalty were second thought. As if the both of you could afford to toss aside pleasantries. It made you smile.

There was something else to be said about the Northerner. Just the way he stood before the both of you alone was enough action to intrigue you.

“Lady Velaryon, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

When his hand enveloped yours, you felt your breath catch in your throat. His eyes did not leave yours, as he lifted your knuckles to his lips.

“I wish it under other circumstances, Lord Stark.”

Giving him a small smile, the two of you stood there eye in eye. He had yet to let go of your hand as the two of you held each other there. When you stood this close to him you were able to get a better look at the man they had named Wolf of the North. Cregan Stark stood before you, dressed in fur and leather, bowing as he held your hand. You couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter as he held your eye. A flurry of grey and blue looked at you, purely you, and you couldn't help but feel as if that's all he wanted to do. Just as you stood there now, feeling consumed by the eye of the storm and wanting nothing more but to throw yourself to the whims of the winds.

“Lord Stark, Is there somewhere more private we could discuss?”

Feeling the hot stare of Jacaerys gaze on you, you regrettably took your hand from Cregan’s grasp. The imprint of his warmth on your skin remained, even through the leather, making you bring your hand to your chest as you bowed your head to him quickly.

Clearing his throat, Cregan looked at Jacaerys with a nod before motioning to the large metal lift.

“ ‘Course, let us talk atop the Wall.”

Jacaery’s held your eye for a moment as the both of you followed the Wolf. His eyes held a question within them as the two of you silently spoke. He had watched that whole scene unfold, having been a bystander to the tension that grew with every second that Cregan held your gaze. You simply rolled your eyes as you shoved him before following the Northerner into the metal cage.

Closing your eyes, you froze for a moment to feel the northern winds run through your hair and cloak. Snowflakes found themselves resting on you again, drawn to the warmth that ran through your Targaryen blood. As the lift brought you higher and higher into the sky, level with where you flew your dragon, it almost felt as if the air in your lungs crystallized.

“So tell me Lord Stark, What is this that falls from the sky and shivers my bones? Is it not still summer throughout the isles of the Seven Kingdoms?”

Cregan was so lost in his jealousy of the snowflakes that rested upon your skin that he almost didn't hear you speak. It wasn't until you had opened your eyes and looked at him through your lashes did he realize you had addressed him.

“This is only a late summer snow, my princess. In the true winter it will cover all you see, any memories you hold of warmth will be forgotten.”

“Sounds..hauntingly beautiful. Whilst this is my first time seeing snow it is my understanding that this is not the first time our ancestors have met here to treat? If I am correct it was the…Conqueror and the King in the North?”

Jacaerys felt a relief fall over his shoulders as he heard you expertly laced the matter at hand into conversation. His eyes landed on Cregan as he watched the man hang onto every word you spoke. Not once had he looked at Jacaerys after the three of you stepped into the lift. His eyes never left you even before you spoke. He would like to think that it was because of the presence and attention you demanded. He had seen it many a time before, people could not look away from you whenever you entered a room, and their fates were often sealed after you had started to speak.

But, something else lay within his gaze. Jacaerys had seen that look before. The look of total awe and devotion to the other.

It was the same exact look he gave Baela.

“Surely the great Torrhen Stark would have sooner died than bent the knee. Unless of course he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms?”

Cregan looked over to Jacaerys with a sigh. This meeting was meant for diplomacy, he had to remind himself of this as he looked to the Prince. He felt a crease grow within his brow as the three of you walked throughout the icy walkways of the top of the wall.

When your hand reached to hold his arm, he felt a fire light in his chest at your touch alone. It was as if you took all his pain and worry, forbidding it from plaguing him. When he took the opportunity to look over at you, he felt the ice in his veins thaw.

“What my brother is getting at, Lord Stark, is that there is a threat upon the unity to the Seven Kingdoms. One that would tear the realm apart if the men and women who swore an oath to our grandfather do not remember who the rightful heir is. You understand our concerns do you not?”

“Starks do not forget their oaths, my princess…”

Looking at your hand placed on the crook of his elbow, he swallowed as he rested his hand atop yours.

“Can we depend on your men if the time comes that the Hightowers declare war upon our mother’s claim to the throne?”

Looking at Jacaerys, Cregan swallowed. He should not have felt torn, but he did. He needed his men here, to defend the wall from that which dared to plague Westeros. There were forces that lay in wait, that threatened the sanctity of not only the North but the South as well. He did not wish for his duty to falter in this dire time of need. But he had seen the worry in your eye. He knew that you were dependent on the power of the North if your mother’s throne, if you family was meant to remain the next in line. Another part of him wanted to promise whatever he could, whatever you needed just at the drop of the word.

“You must understand my hesitation, my Prince. Whilst I wish for nothing more than to offer you the whole of which the North has to offer, I must keep my army here to defend the Wall. Do you think my ancestors built a seven hundred foot wall to keep out snow and savages?”

As the three of you approached a divet within the wall, all of a sudden a very overwhelming dread filled your stomach. Looking over the edge, you saw nothing but a vast forest, covered in snow. But for some reason, the dragon within you faltered. Every sense you had was screaming at you to back away from the ledge that you took further steps towards.

“What does it keep out?” Jace asked, as he felt his heart fall in his chest at the sight of you taking a closer step to the edge of the Wall.

“Death.”

You took a moment to look over your shoulder at Cregan once hearing the declaration. You had heard stories about the meeting place that took place here. How when King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne stood in your very spot, their dragons refused to cross the threshold. It made your stomach drop just at the idea of there being something more beyond the wall. That was a thought for another time however.

Both Jace and Cregan watched as you stood still as a statue once more, looking over the land of the North.

“I understand your hesitation to pull your men from the Wall, Lord Stark. It is quite the responsibility you have here,” Taking a step back, you swallowed as you smoothed your hair back. Jace offered you a hand to steady yourself as you took a few steps back from the edge.

“All we ask is that you provide whatever you can when the time comes. In return I personally can promise you’ll have mine when needed.”

Cregan sighed as he looked between the Wall and you. That alone had just sealed his fate, that he truely would give you whatever you needed, especially now knowing that you felt a duty to protect what was his as well. He could see it in your eyes when you looked over that edge. You believe his tales of things that lurked in the dark, just as he believed you when it came to the vile words of treachery.

The both of you would need the other soon enough yet.

“I can offer you thousands of greybeards. They have seen far too many winters, having grown a distaste for the cold. Their skills are well honed, and they can be ready to fight at a moment's notice. They will fight hard for you, like Northerners.”

There was a visible tension that dropped from the both of your and Jace’s shoulders after his words. Your brother rested his hand on your shoulder as you clasped your hands together in front of you. Jace then reached forward to shake Cregan’s hand with both of his.

“Thank you Lord Stark. Your promises will not be forgotten.”

Finding your way beside the both of them, you clapped your hand on both their shoulders with a beaming smile.

“Lets celebrate shall we?”

He couldn't take his eyes off you.

You sat across the table, the warmth of the candle light that lit up the meeting hall suiting itself well on your cheeks. You had settled in well at the opposite head of the table, chatting with other Northern women. You were content, from as well as he could tell.

His eyes hadn’t left you since the minute you found yourself in his halls, drinking his wine and eating his food. There was something that stirred in the pits of his stomach as he…provided for you. In the ways of war and also in the niceties of comfort. You had taken well to both, and he planned to bathe in your presence for as long as he could before you took your inevitable departure.

After that he wasn’t sure he would see you again ever.

While he should have been fine with that, as he had told himself a multitude of times that courting and the ways of society were well beyond his interests, something made him sick at the idea of letting you just slip away because of some silly notions he had been telling himself. You had bewitched him at first glance, and as he had taken in more of your presence throughout the day he could rightfully say that you had taken up a space in his mind if not in its entirety.

His hand gripped his chin tighter at these thoughts alone.

“Lord Stark…”

Shaking his head, he looked over to see your brother standing beside him.

“My prince, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jace motioned to the chair besides Cregan, sitting down as the Lord motioned him. Taking one last look at you, as you laughed aloud at whatever the person holding your attention had said, he figured he could spare a moment of his attention being somewhere else.

“I just wanted to come by and thank you once again for pledging your support. I know it was not your responsibility to ease my anxieties but you did anyway, and I am grateful for it.”

He gave a curt smile to the prince, turning his body to face him to ensure that he was indeed involved in whatever conversation Jacaerys had meant to begin. However that could not be further from the truth as his mind began to wander.

“A Stark never forgets their oath. I would not be the man I am today had I intended to ever break it. “

“I figured as much. My sister said quite the same thing when we arrived, she being the more faithful one.”

Cregan smiled at the comment, taking another look over to you. You were alone in thought now, whoever you were speaking with having taken your attention for granted no doubt and departing to enjoy the festivities that were about. You were looking out the window, taking in the snow of the North like you had been earlier that day.

“She the smarter of the two of you hmm?” He quipped, smirking as he watched Jace chuckle to himself.

“She is the smartest out of all my siblings I would say. (Y/N) has always been a good judge of character, I don’t think I have ever seen her put her trust into someone who didn’t deserve it.”

His heart jumped at the words Jace bestowed upon him. Somehow knowing that you trusted him, that he was one of the few that could claim to have earned your admiration even within just a few words made him feel stronger in a sense. Is this what men talked about, when they said that the affection of a woman made them feel as if they could move the hills? If this is how he felt just at the mention of your trusting him, he couldn’t help but ponder on how he would feel from being the object of your affections.

“I think that might be one of the main reasons why she hasn’t been courted.”

Cregan froze, feeling himself look over at you once again. For some reason the thought did not run through his mind that your hand could have already been called for. It stirred something in him, knowing that your name was still Velaryon.

Your seat was empty when Cregan looked over again. He saw your silhouette turn the corner quickly, vanishing in a flurry of red and black.

“Enjoy the rest of the meal my prince.” Cregan laid his hand on Jace’s shoulder before making his exit in the same direction that you had.

Jace smiled to himself as he watched the man quickly follow your footsteps with haste, his cloak making a rather dramatic arch at the turn.

There you stood, looking into the sky. You looked as if you were infatuated by the moon herself, lit up only by her beam as snowflakes flitted around you. If it was possible for you to look anymore ethereal Cregan would become devote. You were cast in a halo of moonlight, so entranced that it almost made him guilty for interrupting such an intimate moment.

Looking over your shoulder, he swallowed whatever nerves he was feeling so he could actually have the opportunity to talk with you. But then you smiled at him, and he felt himself grow weak. Part of him wanted to fight against this foreign feeling, the other wanted to bask in it.

“Lord Stark, I hope my leaving didn’t come off as rude. I wanted to enjoy the cold for just a little longer.”

“Not at all. I’m glad you have taken such an interest in what others would consider harsh.”

This got a small hum from you as you held your gloved hand out. “How one could consider this harsh is beyond me.”

Cregan chuckled to himself as he came to stand next to you, watching as you studied the snowflake in your palm.

“Winter is not often kind. The cold and ice have a tendency to turn those away, since it takes so much and gives so little.”

“Fire does the same, yet people hold it in such a high regard. People should do the same with snow.”

Cregan hung onto every word you said, taking this private moment deep within. Hearing you speak so poetically, especially when the topic was anything other than the purpose of which you came. To get a glimpse into who you were, to know the person that was you made him think of a million other questions to ask just to fill out every step it took to understanding you.

He watched you closely as you brought your hand down, and held your arms when you looked up. The cloak you had dawned earlier was nowhere in sight, and if he could recall it had been left behind on your chair in the haste of leaving the room. Cregan was quick to remove his own fur lined cloak, and drape it across your shoulders. It swallowed you, enveloping you in the lingering warmth that was him.

“Thank you, you did not have to.”

“What type of a host would I be if I let you freeze?”

You laughed at his comment, a full laugh, and placed your hand on his bicep. It was still cold, from catching snowflakes, but it warmed him none the less.

“Plus, it looks better on you. The North suits you.”

A flash of blush rested on your cheeks at the comment, and made you tighten the grip on his cloak.

“Thank you, Lord Stark. I do have to say of all the places I’ve been I think I have enjoyed my time here the most.”

With a nod, he clasped his hands behind his back before leaning a little closer to whisper to you.

“Well I hope then that the next time you are here I can show you all that Winterfell has to offer..that is if there is a next time?”

You both had turned to face each other now, your hand still holding his arm as you looked up and only him now. He looked at you the same way the moon did, and you basked in the warmth of him in the same way.

Reaching forward, his hand came to hold a bit of your bang before wiping the snow from it and tucking it behind your ear. His hand came to rest on your cheek, holding the side of your face as the both of you were able to finally really look at each other without the wandering eye of anyone else.

He took his time committing your face to memory, just in case this was truly the last time he would see you. Cregan wanted to make sure his dreams were able to replicate the image of you.

You stood there, doing the same. You were surrounded by him entirely, in scent and sight. This entire afternoon when he wasn’t looking at you, you were looking at him. You could feel this back and forth game of cat and mouse that had played out, but there was a nagging reminder of everything that lead to this meeting and everything that waited after it.

Perhaps you could take this night to bask in something that wasn’t duty.

“I could entertain the thought, only if you could make the trip worthwhile.”

This earned a laugh from the northerner as he looked at you, and his thumb ran under your eye. The feeling off his touch had you feeling drunk off his attention. Oh you were absolutely certain if anyone had seen the two of you in this exact moment there would be many an accusation.

“Oh? And how exactly would I do that my princess?” He mused, looking at you tenderly

Reaching to hold the wrist of the hand that held you, you stroked his wrist and hummed.

“Give me a reason to come back, Cregan Stark. A reason that isn't just snow, or the cold. Something that is more than the North. More than duty.”

He stood there, just staring back into your eyes as he thought of the declaration. To give you a true and proper reason to ride all the way back here, where he was nothing but duty and sacrifice. To give you a part of him that was something else completely. You asked this of him as if it was the easiest thing he could sacrifice in order to see you again.

It should have been a hard request to fill. A question that should have left him tormented when giving the answer.

But somehow his answer was sealed the minute you stepped into view.

“Me…Come back for me.”

In the silent moment between the two of you, all that could be heard was the howl of the wind and the beating of your hearts as they became forever joined with just a touch.

#cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #cregan stark #velaryon!reader #hotd x reader #hotd season 2 #strong!reader

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rememberwren · 3 months

Text

Complicated Pleasures

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

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

((A video begins.

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

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

She looks almost exactly like you.

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

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

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

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

“No titles at Christmas, Johnny.”

“Yessir.”

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

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

Maybe his mum wrapped the gifts.

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

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

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

Wine. You needed wine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any lads?” you guess.

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

“No, no lads,” he says.

Simon’s ankle shifts again.

You reach for your glass of wine, face hot—

—and you don’t stop drinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I found your videos.”

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

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

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

“Aye.”

A pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s one.”

“You…you like it.”

“There’s two. Give us a third.”

“She likes it.”

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

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

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

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

“Then why bring it up at all?”

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wasn’t expecting anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning,” Ghost says.))

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

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

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

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

Just another hunch of Simon’s proven right.

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Work.”

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

“I told her.”

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

“Is she angry with me?”

“Embarrassed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d give me her number?”

Simon shrugs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Year’s Eve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yessir.”

“None of that.”

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

“I have Cards Against Humanity,” you offer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve got cards,” Simon mutters.

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

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

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

“Alright.”

“A warm glass of milk, perhaps?”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

Then he disappears amongst the sea of people

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

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

“Put your hands against the wall.”

“Simon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you gasp, scandalized.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You never told me.”

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

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

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

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

((It becomes a degenerate ritual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He comes back.

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

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

“May I come in?” he asks.

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

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

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

“Johnny, that’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Rules of engagement. Yessir.”

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

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

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

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

Johnny makes an offended sound.

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

“Go at yer own pace, lass,” he says.

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

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

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

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Simon asks.

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

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

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

“Discipline.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pent up?” Simon asks, voice rough.

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

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

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

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

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Since—since you brought him home.”

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

“How’s she feel, sir?” Johnny asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, slipping your mask off briefly.

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

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

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

“Johnny…”

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye. I was a goner.”

“You love him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to fuck you,” he says.

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

He shakes his head. “Not you. Him.”

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

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

“I’ll die trying, thanks very much.”

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

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

“Terribly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Johnny flinches.

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

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

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

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

Simon frowns. “I was cheering you on.”

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

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

“You solid?” Simon asks him.

“Affirm,” Johnny breathes. “Go slow.”

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head.

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

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

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

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

Johnny croaks an affirmative.

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

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

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

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

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

“Cum on my cock.”

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

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

“Close,” he groans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, he knows one thing.

Except maybe now he knows two.

He deletes the video and goes back to bed.

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

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snowsinterlude · 9 months

Text

melted snowflake.

(coriolanus x plinth!reader)

summary: coriolanus never thought he would fall into his own trap. his plan wasn't falling for you. no, it was the contrary, he was supposed to use you. but god, you were so perfect for him.

based on this ask!

c.w: snow being a bit of a jerk, manipulation, jealousy, plinth reader x coriolanus snow, snow being head over heels with you, fluff (?)

you were a district girl, of course. your parents made sure to take that out of your head, but you couldn't simply forget about everything you lived in the districts. you were a child, but it didn't mean you were dumb or blind not to caught up on the things surrounding you.

the first time you saw snow was when your father met panem's president and left you to play on the kindergarden with your brother, sejanus. of course, it didn't go as planned when you were pushed away by a random kid and he protected you and your brother.

of course, after that, he never talked to you guys. a snow is not supposed to talk nor look at poverty with kindness. that's what his grandma'am taught him.

with this being explained, neither him nor his grandma'am expected your family to get richer than the snows, but after his father's death it was only natural they would be poor.

"y/n?" he approached you, now at the academy. he was a beautiful young man, often obtained your attention because of how much praise he recoeved from teachers and others. even though you were rich now, of course you wouldn't fit in as well as he did. not when you and your brother disagreed with everything the capitol kids stood for. "i'm sorry to interrupt you, but the teacher assigned us to do our assignment together." it was a lie. you could tell right away.

but why not see where he'll go with this?

well, that's what you decided to do. every lie he told you made you want to slap him from how dumb he seemed to think you were.

everyday you would caught him staring at you, at your eyes. stealing glances, stealing everything he could from you. hearing your voice was turning out to be the best moments of his days. but you knew deep in your heart that he was taking you for stupid. you were a girl, smaller than him, more soft looking than him, and he thought it was adorable.

but snow, being a snow, had something other than that silly feelings in his body. plans that didn't go as planned when you slapped his face hard, the red print kf your hand on his white skin being visible.

"hey! what are you-?" you interrupted him.

"look, i allowed you to go as far as lie to me about everything, even what others had to say to me. but i will not allow you to say anything about feelings, snow. this isn't funny. this is sick, and twisted. to think you want to have whatever i want so much that you would go as far as say you love me makes me sick." you said, and he blinked his eyes quickly, dumbly looking at you.

"ah, c'mon. don't look at me like that. you really thought i would believe you when you said clemencia hated me? man, she doesn't even know my name!" you kept going, and he gasped a feel times, his hand touching the place you slapped. "stop coming after me."

and you were gone, just like that. everything snow had planned for you both had gone down the drain while you walked away from him.

and after that, he tried to talk to you. he truly did. but you were always so far away from him, and when you caught a glimpse of him walking your way, you would always exit whatever place you were entering.

"man, what you did to the plinth girl? she's running from you like the devil runs from a cross." festus said, watching you exit the library the moment he stood up from the desk they were in.

"i don't know," he said, but he knew what he did to you. he knew he was wrong. and god, the ache he felt on his chest when he saw you laughing at a joke some body made to you was unberable.

that's when he noticed it. that's when he noticed he liked you, more than he planned to. you were supposed to be his accessory, his pretty ornament on the shelf, used when needed to. but now? ah, you had him at your bare feet and you didn't even knew, and if you did, you didn't care.

it was his fault, of course. he didn’t need to tell you that clemencia hated your guts, or that festus was betting that he could fuck you till the end of the year when you said he was pretty, or anything before and after that.

and thinking of that, he had a white bouquet of roses on his hand, provided by his grandma'am when he said he needed to apologize to the prettiest girl he had ever seen. mentally rehearsing his apology and what he would say, he didn’t even notice when he was already at your door, nervously knocking.

you were rich. why was it you the one who answered the door? god, if you were his wife in a near future, you wouldn't even need to move your hands to eat a grape and-

slam!

you closed the door right when you saw the white bouquet on his hand and the ashamed face he had on.

"y/n!" he called you, knocking on the door and pressing the bell of your house multiple times. it was so loud, so irritating, that you opened the door again.

"god, what the hell do you want?!" you asked, angrily frowning at him.

"you," he said. "please, i'm sorry. i-i didn't took you for stupid- you're actually the smartest girl i've seen in the academy, and the prettiest too, and i'm so sorry for being a douchebag to you but i wasn't planning on-" he stopped talking, gulping down.

"planning on what? being a jerk? a liar? a manipulator? a-"

"on falling in love." he said.

"there he goes again." you said, rolling your eyes.

"y/n, i'm serious!"

"prove me." you said, crossing your arms. and he fell on his knees at your feet, placing the roses delicately on your ground. "i'm sorry. i think love is a weakness, i am not used to feeling it- nor any kind of affection towards others but- i can't stand the sight of you, the thought of you being with anyone that isn't me, please-"

ah, how cute. anyone who saw coriolanus at your feet right now would be surprised, his grandma'am would go nuts, saying that snow's are supposed to be on top and not on the bottom of some district girl's feet. but he didn’t mind. he needed to do it. if being on his knees was the only way to get back at you, fuck it. he would be.

"get up." you said, looking away. he obeyed you promptly, eyes looking at you with hope. "that's your last chance, coriolanus." he nodded, almost falling on his knees to kiss your feet.

well, within the span time of seven months, you both were dating. but it didn't change much, coriolanus was always, and i mean always ready to get on his knees for you. he was a sucker for you, even if he was all high and mighty with others, with you, he was a melted snowflake. and he was fine with it.

#coriolanus snow x reader #young coriolanus snow #young president snow #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #x reader #plinth reader

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junislqve · 4 months

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ᯓ seasons — ot7

syn i used to hate it, until i found out it was your favorite thing. (1504 words)

pairs ot7 + reader | cw petnames — mlist navi

note synopsis was actually more of a prompt but err i hope you guys enjoy anyway >< also im writing this half asleep so im sorry if there are any mistakes !! everybody thank peng cause without her this wouldn’t even be here rn

LEE HEESEUNG

“why don’t you warm me up?”

heeseung never liked winter. he hated the coldness and the gloom that came with it. ever since he was young, he’d stay cooped up in his room refusing to go out and play with the snow.

even as an adult, heeseung would be more silent during the season, chattering his teeth even though he wore about a dozen coats.

well that was until he knew you. you were the complete opposite. you loved the coldness and the festive feeling of winter. finding the beauty in the falling snowflakes.

ever since heeseung started dating you, your love for winter created a small fondness in him. he loves it when he gets to see your pretty smile and your nose red-tinted from the cold.

he loves it most when you both would take the train back after a day out and you would fall asleep on his shoulder, hands tucked on his to keep yourself warm.

PARK JONGSEONG

jay had never really been picky with anything. having being the cook back at home and even now cooking for you made him accustom to people’s likes.

one thing, however, that never had he enjoyed was caffeine. he hated the bitter aftertaste of it. the smell that always lingers.

but when you once bought him an americano back when you both were still friends, he downed the whole thing. making you laugh, he liked hearing your laugh, it was addicting. he saw how you were savoring the taste after every sip. thinking that if you liked it, it shouldn’t be that bad.

and now, every morning before you woke up, he’d add coffee-brewing to his routine. making both of you coffee before heading for work. but really, he just loved seeing you hum in delight after a sip, a small smile on your lips.

“you’re so good at this, babe” you say, complimenting his brewing skill.

“why don’t you give me a kiss for it then”

SIM JAEYUN

you loved musicals. from hamilton to phantom of the opera, you’ve always loved watching them if they played in theaters near you.

jake, however, would rather spend his time playing soccer or watching a movie at the comfort of his home. he didn’t find musicals interesting, refusing whenever his friends offered to go watch one together.

however, when you offered, he found himself sitting near front seats in a large theatre. completely invested in the story line. he took down internal notes in his head knowing you’d start talking about it the moment you both walked out the theatre, just so he could give his own perspective in case you asked.

he would listen to you talk all day if it meant having to watch musicals often. asking you to repeat things to see your smile grow. his eyes linger on you, observing the pretty smile you have and the excited glint in your eyes as you talked away.

“wait, can you explain again about what happened to her in the end?”

PARK SUNGHOON

possibly the biggest hater of mint chocolate chip ice cream, sunghoon would not get near it. if he had a choice, he’d rather choose something more simple like vanilla.

but all in all, sunghoon never really liked ice cream. he doesn’t understand the enjoyment people get whenever they’d crave it.

apparently all it took for him to finally try the flavor he most despised was for you to (barely) beg him to hang out with you. he was too flustered when you asked him what flavor he wanted and when you asked if he wanted the same order as you did, he just nodded. barely registering what you said.

he unfortunately did not realize this until he scooped up a spoonful of the ice cream and tasted the familiar, yet, unfavorable taste. however, after much thought and probably the sweet smile you were giving him, he concluded that it didn’t taste as bad as he thought it would.

after dating, sunghoon would often pick up ice cream for you two after a long week, eating it together while huddled up watching a movie in your living room.

the taste of it was always there, but he understood why you adored the flavor. it growing on him more than he’d expected, especially when you’re the one he’s eating it with.

KIM SUNOO

being alone creeps him out. he gets terrified if he was ever left home alone. that’s one of the reasons why he loved going out.

he finds it comforting being surrounded by people, chatting along with anyone and everyone, catching up with them.

before you were in his life, he felt like being alone further makes him feel unwanted. busying himself with anything if, in a case, he were to be left alone.

when you did come into his life, though, it was like you rearranged the meaning of being alone. you love the peace and quiet of being alone. the silence that seems to fill the room letting you breath for a moment.

technically, he still didn’t really like being alone. sometimes, he’d call you to his apartment to ‘be alone’ with you. none of you speaking any words to each other, just laying down and listening to each other’s breathing. so many words unsaid but the feelings able to be conveyed through gestures.

you’d taught him how to enjoy the quietness. he finds that when he’s alone he felt more calm and centered. still, as a person who loves talking, he would always prefer being with people.

but, you redefined the meaning of being alone and he loves you for it. he loves the way you look happy and at peace all the time, he loves it when you both be alone together.

YANG JUNGWON

“babe, can you get my socks pretty please?”

as a person who gets cold easily, you love bundling yourself up before sleeping. your necessities were your 2 blankets, a pillow for your side and socks.

jungwon always found it iffy to wear socks in bed. even if he were to buy new ones to wear only in his house, he still wouldn’t like the feeling of it.

that was until he was introduced to you by a mutual friend. when you two started talking, he found your many quirks adorable.

however, one that he only found out when you started dating, was that you loved wearing socks to sleep. his horror back then showed on his face when you asked him if he were okay.

overtime, you gradually convinced him. especially if it was winter and the coldness would go up by twice the usual weather. being used to your routine, he didn’t even realize he started wearing socks to bed until you pointed it out when he was sleeping over.

the realization he had was baffling, but as he accustomed to it he didn’t find it weird at all. he would start buying you both matching socks when he was out and was thinking of you.

NISHIMURA RIKI

“let’s get back to bed, love”

everyone knows riki is not a morning person. he hated waking up early more than anyone. it’s not weird to find him coming out of his room at 1 pm.

by 1pm, you’ve probably already went to a cafe, had breakfast, catches up with a friend, and had a 2-hour lecture.

when you got involved with riki, you tried your hardest to wake him up early. his friends had told you to give up many times saying they’ve tried over and over again.

but miraculously, on your 7th try, he woke up. although, grumbling, he started sitting up and asking what you were doing at his dorms.

the first time you tried you were just there to drop off some food to your big brother. but when you knocked and no one answered, you were about to leave. until one of his dorm mates opened the door to let you in.

they were all stood crowded in front of his room, shouting at him to wake up, but he never moved. still sound asleep after a whole debate session ensued in the dorms.

after your brother and his friends collectively decide to leave him alone instead of trying to wake him up, you put it upon yourself to try as well. little did you know, he’d heard all your wake up calls, just too afraid to face you, seeing his bedhead and all.

7th times the charm however, when he finally braved himself to wake up and reply to you, although his heart pounding abnormally when you smiled at him.

when you two started dating, he couldn’t not wake up before you. much more aware of his surroundings when he’s around you.

riki however is riki. if he were to wake up earlier, then you would also have to wake up later sometimes because of him. deciding to stay in for a bit longer when he asks to, surrounded by his warmth.

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mothwingwritings · 5 months

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Boyfriend To Death/The Price Of Flesh Sleeping Headcanons 🌙💤🛌

Hello everyone! In between fics I have been working on some headcanons, like this one, for your reading pleasure. :) It's some bedtime/sleeping arrangement scenarios feat. you and our favorite murderous companions. <3 It’s dedicated to all the sleepy individuals out there that just want to hit the hay and snooze the day away-I feel you and you are valid. Also there is a bonus plushie headcanon for each character because why not! If you don’t have at least stuffed creature on your bed, this is your sign to love yourself. Go acquire a friend and snuggle up with him, I demand it. ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

DUE TO THE NATURE OF THESE HEADCANONS AND THE SOURCE MATERIAL, 18+ ONLY PLEASE!

Warnings: abuse/abusive relationships, noncon/dubcon, forced cuddling, forced interaction, forced relationships, implied kidnapping, being held against your will, reader is threatened and hurt, mentions of/implied sex, very lightly edited.

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Ren/Fox🦊

· Exceptionally clingy when he sleeps. Honestly like a suction cup. Regardless of if he’s the little or big spoon, he’ll be latched to you the whole night. Wiggle and complain as much as you like, he’s not relinquishing his hold.

· Even if you two are just taking a little nap together, he always has to have some kind of skin contact with you. Holding hands, cuddling, a limb draped over you, something. He needs the reminder that you are there and that you aren’t going anywhere, he can’t sleep peacefully without it.

· He’s warm. Too warm, really. Uncomfortably warm. In winter this poses no problem, but during the summer it’s nearly unbearable. You need to crank the AC to keep yourself from melting into a puddle of sweat, but the added cold only makes him cling to you tighter, increasing the heat. He doesn’t seem to mind the warmth at all and takes offense if you try and voice your irritation, giving you an earful (if not worse) over how you need to be more grateful for the affection he douses you with, warning that if you don’t watch yourself, next time it snows you’ll be camping outside with nothing but the clothes on your back. We’ll see how much you miss his warmth then.

· He’s a night owl, but he also somehow always wakes up before you do. It’s not uncommon for you to be awoken by an eager beastkin shoving a homemade breakfast in your face, excited to start his day with his love by sharing breakfast in bed with you and watching anime. <3

· Though sometimes he gets a little too excited in the morning, and if that’s the case you’ll be waking up to a very handsy man pawing at you, kissing any and every place his lips can reach, pressing himself against you so you can feel just how excited he is. It’s a good thing you are in bed because by the time he’s done you’ll be so worn out you’ll need some more rest. ^^;

· Also, he is an avid fan of plushies. If you also collect them your bed is going to be 90% plushies and he is 100% going to use that as an excuse to be squeezed on the bed with you as close as physically possible so as you all can have room. None of them are allowed on the floor, no man is left behind, and he’ll make sure you all fit whether it is comfortable or not.

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Lawrence🌿

· Lawrence is the exact opposite of Ren when it comes to contact. Though he may fall asleep with you in his arms (or vice versa), he very quickly grows uncomfortable with the prolonged contact, his body used to being the sole person in his bed. Very shortly after he falls asleep, he will unconsciously push you away to try and create distance. No matter how much he may yearn for your contact in his waking hours, he has no control over his subconscious actions. Often times the shoving is much rougher than it needs to be, abruptly (and painfully) waking you up in the process.

· However, this does not deter him from making you sleep with him. Even if he ends up damn near shoving you off the bed, he wants you to be close to him for as long as and as much as possible.

· Lawrence is basically nocturnal, and even if you are also a night owl there are bound to be some times when your sleep schedules don’t fall in line with each other. He gets a little excited when you fall asleep when he is awake, taking pleasure in watching you as you slumber. The way you lay near him, completely unguarded and quiet, only the slow rise and fall of your chest denoting that you are alive at all… It does something for him. More than once you’ve woken up to him standing over you, face flushed and tears in his eyes as he’s pumping his dick to the sight of your passed out form. If you wake before he can finish himself, he’s gonna use you to complete the job.

· In fact, he just likes to stare at you while you sleep in general. He doesn’t have to feel anxious or worried of how you may perceive his gawking if you aren’t aware it’s happening to begin with. It’s a nice chance to really take in and appreciate your beauty without facing any backlash, and it comforts him to know you trust him enough to fall that deeply into slumber in his presence.

· Doesn’t really get the point of plushies and never really had a strong attachment to stuffed animals as a child, so he doesn’t have any of his own and has no desire to own any. He thinks it’s cute that you like them though, and won’t deny you if you want to take one or two to bed with you. If you gift him one, he’ll be flustered but thankful, hugging it when he is unable to hug you. The little friend is a perfect cuddle buddy for when your sleep schedules don’t align and he doesn’t want to disturb you once you have fallen asleep.

· Just be mindful that if he gets agitated or you piss him off, he’ll definitely destroy your beloved stuffies, tearing them to shreds with either his bare hands or any of the gardening tools he has lying around. He’ll instantly feel bad if you begin to cry over it, but at that point it’s too late. It’s best to stop the tears before he turns the assault towards you.

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Strade🔪

· Strade is all over the place when he sleeps. It doesn’t matter how big the bed is or how little space you take up in it, his presence is unavoidable. You can try and create as much distance as physically possible, scrunching yourself up in a corner in hopes that he doesn’t come in contact with you, and you’ll still end up with him sprawled all over you come morning.

· He’s also loud. Snoring, grunting, talking in his sleep, he’s so noisy it’s a wonder you can get any sleep at all. You get used to it after a while (you don’t have a choice), but each time he nudges you in his sleep or wakes you up with a particularly loud snore, it’s all just another unpleasant reminder you are stuck with him, unable to find tranquility even in your dreams.

· He has a tendency to latch on to and keep a close hold of whatever is closest to him while he sleeps. The moment he looks even slightly drowsy you try and stay away from him, not thrilled with the prospect of being smashed up against him for hours on end while he’s pleasantly off in dreamland. Were it anyone else or any other situation, you may find the clinginess endearing, but with Strade it’s just extremely uncomfortable and confusing. You spend the whole time unsure if you want him to wake up and let you go (and thus have to deal with an alert and active monster) or if you want to remain silent and just put up with it, thankful for the rare moment of peace.

· He sleeps the best after successfully finding and securing a new victim, the gusto and energy that he puts towards spending time with his new ‘friend’ leaves him completely spent by the end of the day. A tired Strade is usually a good thing for you-if he’s worn out, he’s less likely to bother or hurt you. However the opposite is also true, if he hasn’t been able to blow off steam in a while he’ll grow antsy and restless, and he’s bound to make his lack of sleep and overall disgruntlement your problem. Regardless, you won’t get much sleep either way, as you find no contentment in either situation.

· Though they aren’t really his thing, he is amused by your plushies. While he can see the appeal of them, the only real interest he takes in them is how you react to them. Which ones are your favorite, do you favor one character or animal over another, do you prefer the big and fluffy or small and squishy? Most importantly though, he wants to know how deeply your fondness for them extends and how/if he can use that as a persuasive tool against you in the future. Should they prove to be a promising means of coercion, prepare for quite a few new plush friends to keep you company in the future. :)

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Celia👩‍💼

· She’s an early riser. Not necessarily because she wants to so much as it’s engrained in her from years of putting in overtime at her corporate job. If you try and pull her back into bed she’ll gripe at you, but is secretly happy that you are willingly making yourself a scapegoat for her laziness. Though on days she absolutely has to get up early, you best be getting up right alongside her to help her get ready for the day or you will be deeply regretting it. She always takes precedence, you can sleep more when she leaves.

· She’s on edge most of the time and is overall a very light sleeper. If you snore or toss and turn too much, she’ll get pissed off and roughly shove you awake, grumbling obscenities while complaining about how annoying you are being. If she can’t sleep, she certainly isn’t going to let you sleep either.

· Even if you aren’t a noisy or restless sleeper, she’ll still find constant things to gripe about regarding your sleeping arrangement. Either you take up too much room, or you are encroaching on her personal space, or you have some other sleeping habit she finds grating that you have no control over because you are unconscious when you do it. She doesn’t ever seem overly pleased to share sleeping space with you, and you often wonder why she doesn’t just banish you to the couch or some other place to get your rest.

· And yet, she never does make you sleep elsewhere. In fact, it only makes her MORE pissed off if you suggest it, taking it as a personal offense that you don’t want to spend time with her. She won’t admit it to you, but the act of sleeping near someone she doesn’t positively loathe or who isn’t trying to use her in some way is one of the few things that really brings her peace. Even if it’s against your will, having you in bed with her soothes her. It’s honestly the best sleep she has had in ages.

· She’s not a huge cuddler, but she does like physical confirmation that you are near. Often times she’ll reach out in the night to grab your hand or drape her arm across your body, never smothering, but just enough contact to assure that you are still by her side.

· She staunchly refuses to have any stuffed animals in her bed, telling you she finds them childish and stupid (whether she actually feels this way or is just pissed you are trying to bring things into her bed that take up even more space is debatable). If she finds any plushies you are hiding she will most likely throw them away on sight. You may be able to get away with a little one, but that’s only if she doesn’t find it or is feeling extremely benevolent.

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Derek🦂

· The only time Derek shows any kind of ‘affection’ is when he sleeps. Like Strade, he likes to secure himself to things while he slumbers, and if he doesn’t fall asleep with an item (you) already in his arms at some point in the night, he will subconsciously grab onto something (also you) and not relent until he wakes the next morning.

· The way he clings to you can almost be considered sweet. Wrapping his arms around you securely, burying his face into your chest or the crux of your neck as he snuggles up against you as close as physically possible, it makes you momentarily forget what a monster the man beside you actually is. It’s almost as if he’s a child huddled up close to a parent, seeking comfort from the things that go bump in the night. The spell is broken if he happens to be awoken during one of these cuddle sessions, and he’ll take out his embarrassment over the situation by treating you even crueler than he typically does.

· One of the few niceties he allows you is sleeping in his bed as opposed to the floor-but it comes at a price. It’s an honor to be able to sleep next to him nightly in his huge, plush, expensive bed, an honor far too good for the likes of you. He expects to be compensated for his generosity, so you’d best be ready to do any and everything he asks or desires at the drop of a hat, no matter how degrading or agonizing it may be. If you want to keep this privilege while preventing as much suffering as possible, you’ll do as he says. (Then again, it’s not like he really needs your active participation to force what he wants out of you, but he does like when you obey him ‘willingly’ and has a tendency to be a smidge less cruel when you follow his instruction).

· He usually forces you to either sleep nude or in some very compromising/uncomfortable/embarrassing negligee that covers so little you mine as well BE naked. He’s a blanket hog too, and has a penchant for cranking up the AC at night, leaving your only source of warmth to be curling up beside him. You try and fight it at first, but you inevitably give in when the chill gets to be too much (also you aren’t too keen on getting ill in his presence, swallowing your pride is worth it if you can avoid more suffering).

· He will mercilessly make fun of and belittle you for any stuffed animals you may have or try to sleep with. He’ll infantilize you, asking if you need a binky to go with your stuffy, or tease that he’ll need to put you in diapers so you don’t accidentally shit the bed. However, even with all the constant mocking, he does find it kinda hot when you try and use the plushies as a shield, doing your best to conceal your sniveling face and exposed body behind the fluffy creature as he plows into you ruthlessly. The toy does a shit job shielding you, but it is hilarious to watch you try and hide yourself behind them.

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Mason🐻

· Despite everything, he’s actually probably the nicest of the lot to sleep with. He’s warm and soft, and when he holds you it’s comforting and shockingly soothing. It’s disconcerting how easily you melt into the same person that caused you so much trauma and torment, haunted by the fact that the arms that now wrap snuggly around you were not so long ago the greatest threat to your life. You don’t know whether you should be more disgusted with him for holding you with such familiarity or yourself for enjoying it as much as you do.

· The man can sleep almost anywhere. After years of surviving out in the wilderness he has honed his body to handle tough climates and all manner of conditions, granting him the ability to thrive in less than favorable environments. The man could probably fall asleep in the middle of a torrential downpour with nothing but a rock bed beneath him and come out of it completely rested.

· You aren’t expected to immediately be able to rough it. He realizes this way of life is all fairly new to you and that getting used to nights out in the wilderness has its own learning curve. Because of this, he’s actually surprisingly accommodating about the whole thing. When you camp, he makes sure to bring his best tent and sleeping bag for you to use, even though it’s a hassle to drag around and he himself has long since forgone the need for it. Though it’s nearly impossible to find comfort enough to sleep while stranded deep out in an unfamiliar forest, surrounded by nothing but the pitch black of night, all manner of voracious wild animals, and a serial killer, he does his best to make sure you are adequately cared for and as content as you can possibly be.

· However you best not slack with your survival instincts, this coddling is only a limited time deal. You proved yourself to him once by pulling through his trial, but that doesn’t mean you have a free ride forever. He’ll pamper you a bit in the ‘honeymoon’ phase, but if you grow complacent and begin to let him down… It isn’t going to be a smooth or happy time for either of you. Its best not to betray his expectations, if you do something overly stupid or otherwise show your survival was just a fluke… your sleeping arrangement is going to be the least of your concern.

· He finds your affinity for stuffed animals a bit juvenile, but also slightly endearing. He can’t deny how cute you look when you are curled up in his bed, nestled amongst various furs and blankets, clutching tight to your favorite plushie while you rest. He enjoys that sight so much that he decides to make you his own plushie for you one day as a gift.

· It was a strange little lumpy creature he cobbled together from various fabric scraps and other soft, but unidentified, material, all sloppily hand sewn with little black buttons for eyes. It was a true amalgamation of mismatched cloth and stuffing, and to be honest… You weren’t really sure what it was supposed to be. A bear, maybe? Or a raccoon? Regardless, you take it without question, and once he sees it’s been accepted he’s quick to discard your previous plush. He’s accepting of this hobby to a degree-you can have ONE. And since you were smart and picked the better of the two, you don’t need the ratty old one to cling to for company anymore. You have him and you have his gift, everything else is frivolous.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

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quinnylouhughesx43 · 4 months

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“He's been a bit of a jerk”

Summary: quinn suddenly ditches his childhood best friend on new years eve when they have spent every NYE together since they were 6. luke saves the night

Warnings: use of y/n and I think one or two uses of y/n/n, only brief mentions of quinn not actually active in fic but substantial to the plot, like has internal dialogue via italics, if I missed anything please let me know

Word Count: 1.8k

requested: yes - “luke pining after Quinn’s best friends and he finally gets the girl.”

Authors Note: edited as may 31, 2024 - if you read before May 31 the word count is now 800 more than it is was previously 🫣

part 2

On the frost-tipped grass, (Y/N) sat beneath a canopy of stars, her back propped against the rough bark of an old oak tree. A light dusting of snow had settled over the ground, transforming the world into a perfect winter wonderland. She shivered, not necessarily from the cold evening, but from the heart wrenching realization that tonight was supposed to go different. It was New Year's Eve, and every year since they were six, she and her childhood best friend, Quinn had celebrated together. But this year, he had up and ditched her last minute. Just like that. He gave her zero explanation and no apology. He had just vanished into the night with his middle brother, leaving her feeling more alone than ever. Which when he left for the NHL was pretty hard to top, yet he somehow managed to do it when he was only somewhere in the same town. The two barely get to see each other anymore as it is. He lives in Vancouver and she lives in Michigan. Quinn flies her out to a few games a season and of course she attends any Canucks vs Redwings games as well as Canucks vs Devils games. However the time the two have available with one another is so restricted at that time, she may as well be just another fan in the arena.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching through the frosted snow. A warm blanket was draped over her shoulders, and a steaming cup of hot chocolate was pressed into her hands. She looked up, her eyes falling on her best friend’s youngest brother, Luke, as he joined her. She briefly looked over his features, his cheeks were already flushed from the growing colder night, but the smile he gave her was warm and genuine.

"Hey, (Y/N)," he whispered as if they were amongst a huge crowd of people and not alone in an empty yard. His voice still highly audible over the silence of the night. "I came out here for a few reasons but one being because I…” Luke’s words ran out into the night. His right hand pulling off his beanie then he was slipping his fingers through his messy curls. A tell tale sign he was nervous about whatever he was about to say. “I wanted to apologize for what Quinn did to you tonight. He had no right to leave you like that. I don’t know what is going on with him and what would make him decide to leave behind the one person who has been consistent for him that isn’t family. The one person in his life that still sees him as Quinn and not as big shot Quinn..” Luke shoved his beanie back on and sighed. He had been looking up at the night sky watching the night clouds move uncovering the stars. “He has been a bit of a jerk here lately, and I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to stop him."

(Y/N) smiled weakly at the rambling boy next to her. Her gaze slowly drifting back up to the now clear sky and where the stars were twinkling like Christmas lights. "It's fine, really. I mean, it stung a lot at first, but..." Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged halfheartedly. "I'm just glad you were here tonight." The butterflies in Luke’s stomach flapped back to life and were going insane at her last statement. “Who knows Lukey. Maybe we can start our own tradition together this New Year’s.” Luke was watching her body languagefor any signs of a joke before speaking up. “I wouldn’t mind. It would teach Quinn to ditch someone as special as you.” (Y/N) slightly smiled, still looking up at the stars. “Special? No. Just me Luke.” (Y/N) argued, Luke didn’t want to have the silly argument back and forth. He knew just how special she is. Given the chance he would show her too. After all, a girl like her deserves to be treated, loved, and respected the way she treats, loves, and respects everyone else. (Y/N) was the girl has sought after ever since Luke stopped thinking he was supposed to marry his mom when he was older. Luke shook his head and groaned at her words. “One day (Y/N/N). Just you wait, one day you’ll know just how special you truly are.” He tells her before they fell into another comfortable silent state. His words confidently spilled out. (Y/N) turned her head opposite from Luke so he couldn’t see the true smile she was wearing across her face because of him. She also hoped he couldn’t hear her heartbeat as a result of his words.

The silence stretched between them, as she snuggled further into the blanket, (y/n) suddenly became aware that Luke was only wearing a thin jacket as he shivered. She glanced over at him, her eyes meeting his. "Here," she said, pulling the blanket off from around her shoulders. "You can have this. It's getting kind of cold out here." Luke hesitated for a moment, debating on offering to share the blanket. "No, really. It's fine. I'm warm enough." She shot him a glare. “Luke Warren Hughes. I just saw you shiver.” Her tone, at best, was barely strict. He held eye contact waiting for her to continue, he could practically see the gears turning in her mind. “If you won’t take it for yourself, we will share it.” She says wrapping it around him and snuggling into his side. Luke was trying his best to calm the butterflies and his racing heart. While also fighting the mental battle on if he should shoot his shot at midnight.

(Y/N) is the girl I have wanted for years now. She is right here. Cuddling into my side, a couple moves and I could easily be her new year’s kiss. If she hates it? I just play it off as a friendly new year’s kiss. Her and Quinn have been each other’s midnight kiss before, I can play it off as if I’m filling his shoes if she questions me and she’s angry. I can do this. I can do this. I think I can do this?

As midnight was quickly approaching the air was thick with anticipation between the both of them and more people were gathering outside.

The countdowns echoed throughout the night, each one louder than the last.

Fireworks lit up the sky, casting a multitude of colors over everyone. The fireworks also casting iridescent colors across the blanket of snow on the ground. Making a beautiful picturesque scene.

Luke decided it was definitely now or never. He may not have done it 12am but right now under the colorful display of the many fireworks was perfect. He smiled down at (Y/N), feeling a warmth spread through his chest, for the first time the butterflies in his stomach calmed. He leaned in, his breath fanning her cheek. "Happy New Year, (Y/n)." She felt his lips brush against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. That is when he froze up. Her reaction to his lips barely touching her sent his heart racing. He was scared she was going to send him flying into the snow. Her best friend’s baby brother’s lips just touched her. But she didn’t move. She was waiting? Luke quickly finished his well wishes to her before she snapped out of it, "I hope this year brings you everything you wish for." Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled back, their gazes locked.

“Do it Luke. Her eyes are basically screaming, begging for you to.” why do you have to be in my head now jack dear god please shut up.

In a seconds time he was leaning back in, his left hand making its way softly to the back of her head. His fingers interlacing in her hair. (Y/N)’s breaths were slow and deep awaiting Luke’s next move. “Tell me if this isn’t something you want.” Luke swallows down the anxiety he was feeling. Mentally silencing the jack he hears in his head telling him to go for it. “Because once I do this once.. I’m going to want to do this again and again. Everyday for the next foreseeable future.” Luke’s voice was trembling in want, desire, need. All of his feelings rushing to the forefront of his mind. “Shut up and kiss me Luke.” (Y/N) sighed grasping his face pulling him to her.

As their lips touched, the grand finale of the fireworks show was set off. The energy of the grand finale matching the energy sparking off the two of them. Luke and (y/n)’s kiss was hot enough to melt the snow underneath them. The way their mouths moved in perfect harmony. The small nips Luke made against her bottom lip as he pulled away. It left them both wanting more, needing more.

“Remind me to thank my brother for being an ass.” Luke mumbles against her lips before getting lost in another languid kiss. “Lukey let’s go home. It’s the new year, I’m cold and I also want to thank Quinn, because now I know who the better kisser is...well I’ve not kissed Jack.” She pauses and makes a playful gagging noise. “And because it finally got you to make a move.” Luke’s face went more red than it already was where it was tinged from the cold. “That..what?” He was baffled by her admittance . “I had my assumptions. I’m just happy I wasn’t wrong. Now let’s goooo. I wanna go get in bed and get warm.” (Y/N) sent a wink his way.

She was hinting towards cuddling. But with how fast Luke was grabbing up the blankets that they had been sitting on and were wrapped up in, before grabbing her hand and heading to the car…She is pretty sure his mind went a different direction.

“Quinn now owes me $10, he said you didn’t like me.” (Y/N) says once they were in the car and headed down the road. “You two had a bet on if I had a crush on you or not?” Luke laughed while asking. “No we had a bet on if you even liked me as a person. Because you avoided me. He’s going to be so shocked to know that you like-like me.” She clarifies with a giggle when she says ‘like-like’. Luke rolls his eyes at the thought of his older brother being naive enough to believe he didn’t like his best friend. “So back to what you said earlier tonight…Same thing and same place next new year’s?” Luke asks her. She nods with a smile. “New tradition, with you. Starting this year.” (Y/N) confirms with a nod. “Only maybe we hang out inside until right before midnight.” She adds grabbing for Luke’s hand to wrap both of her freezing ones around. The two sat in a comfortable silence stealing quick glances, with smiles plastered across their faces, and glimmers in their eyes the rest of the way to the Hughes home.

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petriwriting · 11 months

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Promise. - Theodore Nott X Reader

Summary: Theodore gives Y/N a special gift, reminding them that they are his safety in an unsafe world.

A/N: I would imagine this takes place in 6th year, 'cause you know.. Voldemort. But beware I've been really into writing fluff for my comfort characters lately. This is very angsty. Extra heartbreak points if one of them dies at the battle of Hogwarts, use your imagination.

Late-night walks were common for the pair. Especially when they needed to get away for the night, with everyone going on in their world it was no wonder they both needed a break.

Theodore Nott was under the threat of his father, expected to side with Lord Voldemort, it was his reputation as a pure-blooded Slytherin. Perhaps in some sickening way, he felt the need to clear the family name of his father's wrongdoing. But deep down, he knew it wasn't right. They both did.

Y/n was by his side, as loyal as a Hufflepuff. through everything. On the nights his father became aggressive and violent, Theo came to them seeking refuge. Y/n always welcomed the boy with open arms.

They had been a pair since childhood, they attended dinner parties together, and y/n attended every one of Theo's quidditch games. In turn, Theo was there for y/n when classes were stressful, and life felt overwhelming.

It wasn't until that particular evening that things would change, possibly forever.

The two walked along the empty, quiet streets braving the cold air together. they had both been quiet, observing their surroundings and enjoying each other's company in silence.

"Y/n," Theo finally said, shattering the long silence that had been following them.

"hmm?" y/n's voice was soft, quiet. they were now entering a park square. someplace slightly more private than the streets.

"I've been thinking."

"About what?"

"About us."

y/n's heart began to race. surely this wasn't a breakup, how could Theo possibly be abandoning all they had, after all, they had been through? this couldn't be. y/n was so accustomed to hearing bad news these days that it was the only solution their brain could come up with.

"Y/n," Theo turned to them, holding their face in cold pale hands. "I love you, but I don't want to be with you in this war," he said.

"Teddy, I don't understand-"

"Please just listen." Theo insisted quietly. "This is not me parting ways with you, I- could never," he explained gently. "I propose that we run away. change our names, we can flee and start a new life together. without all the dangers of being here."

Y/n was unconvinced and looked down for a moment before locking eyes with him.

"I love you more than anything. But if we stay here our lives will be in danger, possibly forever."

Y/n couldn't deny that fact. The war had already taken people they both loved. It wasn't right to be talking about wanting to get married one day, have kids, and grow old together if it meant they would be living in danger, living in fear.

"It isn't right. We can't just flee. we need to fight this," y.n shook their head gently, partially in disbelief. "no matter what happens." the pair locked eyes and the snow began to gently fall around them, coating the park in a grey glow.

"Then promise me."

Theodore shuffled through his pockets, pulling out a tiny deep red velvet box. It was battered, aged, and torn. but it was still soft. "Promise me, that you'll stick around, no matter what." as soon as Theo mimicked y/n's words, soft tears began falling from their eyes, watching him toy with the box.

Out from the box emerged a shiny, silver ring with an elaborate stone placed in it. something very expensive no doubt. something that was purchased with his father's money. Theodore offered the ring to y/n.

"This was my mother's ring," he said quietly, his voice slightly shaking. "I took it from her things when she,-" Theo gasped quietly, the shaky breath taking the air out of his lungs when he tried to continue his sentence.

Y/n grabbed the sides of his face, the boy wasn't crying, Theodore rarely ever cried. but there was hurt in his eyes that pained y/n to see.

"I promise." barely a whisper. "no matter what Theo, I'll always be right here."

Y/n's soft touch brushed against Theo's cheeks before he pulled forward pressing their lips together in desperation. It was a sweet and heartfelt kiss, like two lovers that couldn't live without each other.

After the kiss, they embraced one another very tightly as the snow collected around them.

"I just want everything to be okay," Y/n whispered. "we'll be okay."

they pulled away from one another, each shivering in the cold. Y/n took the ring and gently twirled it around their thumb and forefinger. "Theo I can not take your mother's ring." it was dazzling. quite beautiful for that sort of thing. "I know how much this means to you." y/n said. Theo was insistent. "I've been wrong about a lot of things in my life, y/n. But I was never wrong about you. I want you to have it, keep it, my end of our promise." he insisted.

"Theo-"

y/n was promptly cut off. "Please take this. you know how much it means to me, you mean more than that." his heartfelt confession made y/n's stomach flutter, it was that same feeling they had when they were younger and Theo would hold their hand or say just the right thing. Theo grabbed the ring and slipped it onto y/n's middle finger.

"I'll guard it with my life." y/n said with another shiver, the later the night grew the colder the chill in the air became.

"Here, love," Theo said, taking off his coat and offering it to Y/n by draping it around their shoulders. "but Theo, you'll be cold." y/n retorted, but Theo was incredibly insistent that evening. "I can manage until we are safe at home," he chuckled softly. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

As the two continued on their path, Theo wrapped their arm around y/n, in an effort to keep them warm and as an act of deep affection. Y/n leaned their head over onto Theo's arm.

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moo-blogging · 4 months

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No thoughts tonight, just dad Levi in my head.

You always wanted a spring baby. You thought it represents hope, new beginnings, and endless possibilities. But your baby came at mid autumn when the leaves were falling and the sky gray. It wasn't that you would love your baby any less just because of the season the baby was born in, but you had concerns about your baby surviving the winter.

Living in the outskirts of town closer to the military camp allowed Levi to sleep at home whenever he wasn't on night duty. However this had reduced the convenience of reaching for a doctor. Levi knew about your concerns and he assured you that there was less titan attacks in the winter and he would arrange with Erwin to have lesser night duties.

Before the winter came, you and Levi had been thrifting for warmer clothes, but it was hard to get infant sizes. You learnt to strap your baby onto your chest to keep warm together. Levi had the cadets carried more logs to the cabin. You sewn clothes together to make thicker blankets, socks and mittens.

When the cold harsh winter hit, you dressed your baby in 3-4 layers of clothings you sewn. You yourself was wearing 2-3 layers too. The jacket Levi took from the military was useful when you had to go out to fetch more logs, but it was too hot in the house. Seeing your baby's cheeks red with warmth and love, your worries reduced. Your baby was the exact replica of Levi. With his hair was dark as the night, his eyes gleaming silverish blue and his pointed little nose, you loved your baby so so much you felt like your heart could explode with love.

One evening without night duty, Levi came home to you. He gave you a quick kiss, played with baby for a moment, and hit the shower. Levi always showered before you during winter to make the bathroom warm. After a hot shower and feeling warm, you walked into the living room finding Levi alone and the crate empty.

"Levi? Where's baby?" You asked, a wet towel draped on your shoulders. Turning around, you saw a big bulge under Levi's oversized hoodie. Levi insisted on buying this oversized hoodie at the bazaar. You knew Levi did not wear oversized clothing but he refused to disclose what it was for. And now you knew.

You mirrored Levi's grin as you approached him. Levi was bouncing on his toes. He leaned in toward you, pulling at his collar. You saw your baby's sparkling huge eyes staring at you. A grin started to spread across his face when he saw yours. A sharp baby-ish giggled echoed through the room. Levi had strapped baby onto him and pulled the hoodie over them. Baby was safe and warm with Levi, grinning as he ate his little fist.

Levi started to hum and rub the baby's back, lifting his eyebrows and blinking his eyes to tease baby. Baby laughed again. You kissed the side of Levi's lips. You really loved watching Levi being a dad. He was never shy or embarrassed to learn about being a supporting partner during the pregnancy. You tried to stop him for strapping the baby onto him after his long day at work. You knew how it hurts your back, but Levi insisted because "you have been carrying baby for 9 months, i want to share this with you too".

With Levi sitting on the sofa and you on the carpeted floor, Levi was drying your hair with a towel by the fireplace. The cabin smelt like bonfire, tea and baby powder. Snow was falling quietly outside, and the night was dark.

But your cabin was warm and cozy. Your husband's fingers massaging your scalp as he dried your hair. Your baby babbling happily and Levi replying with "oh really?" "you like to eat your fingers, huh?" "you think so?".

Oh, you thought, what a wonderful life this is.

#dadvi #levi ackerman #levi fluff #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi heichou #levi x y/n #midnight thoughts #levi x you #aot x y/n #levi ackerman x you #captain levi #aot fanfic #dad levi #levi drabbles

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withleeknow · 6 months

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seasons of you.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff or at least i hope so lmao, not v edited and literally no one is surprised lol i sound like a broken record atp just adding that into every post word count: 0.7k note: inspired by a highly fucked up thing that @matchannie said to me yesterday lmao it has not left my brain since you said it you absolute monster

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

minho falls in love with you four times a year.

minho falls in love with you in the spring, over blooming cherry blossoms and vibrant daffodils that greet you on your weekly sunset walk. over the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his own without soft fluffy gloves getting in the way, now that it's finally warm enough to retire that extra layer of protection for the season. over the sun coming out of hibernation and filling your days with golden light, falling upon your face and casting you in a magical hue. over the remnants of winter that still leave behind a palpable chill in the air early in the morning or late in the night, that has you reaching out for the comfort of his warmth. over your delighted smile when he brings home a bouquet of tulips after a long day at work. over your glassy eyes, reddened nose and flushed cheeks as he takes care of you when the seasonal allergies kick in.

minho falls in love with you in the summer, over picnics in the park where you both lay on blue gingham picnic blankets, your head on his chest, as you watch the clouds overhead drift peacefully. over watermelon gelatos passed between teasing lips, the confectionary melting too quickly for your liking under the blazing sunlight. over spontaneous drives to the beach even though neither of you can swim, but you go just for fun, just to build sand sculptures in the shape of your cat babies and stand on the edge of the water to splash at each other. over long naps on the couch on days where you're too lazy to venture into the outside heat, preferring to stay cuddled up together under the air conditioner with niki playing in the background.

minho falls in love with you in fall, over shared slices of pumpkin pie as you watch the leaves turn yellow and red right outside your window. over the adorable way you hide your face behind your hands on nights where he puts on a horror movie because he insists on honoring the halloween spirit. over your off-key rendition of taylor swift's all too well (the 10-minute version) for most of the season because you adamantly claim that it's autumn's official anthem. over weekends spent attached at the hip, baking sugar cookies for hours on end. over your crestfallen pout as you take note of how the days keep getting shorter and shorter, already missing warm sunny weeks with all your heart.

minho falls in love with you in winter, over matching scarves and beanies, even though he often has to carry them for you because you have a bad habit of forgetting them before you go out. over the first snow of the season because they say that if you witness the first snowfall with the person you love, then you will stay together for a long, long time. over sweet cuddles in bed as a bad christmas movie plays on tv, and you fall asleep on his shoulder about half an hour into the movie despite being the one to select the movie in the first place. over your return from a shopping spree with your girlfriends with nothing for yourself but everything for soondoongdori, from christmas themed clothes to treats and toys.

but then again, maybe it's not entirely accurate to say that minho falls in love you merely four times a year. if he wants to be precise, then he would say that he falls for you anew every morning he wakes up and sees you asleep in his arms like a delicate miracle granted by a star he once used to wish upon. if he wants to get technical, then he falls in love with you with every smile that you send his way, which is a terribly sappy thing for him to admit but it doesn't make the statement any less true.

minho loves you every day of every week, of every month, of every year. he's loved you before he even met you, when you were just a romanticized idea in his head and hadn't yet walked into his life like the angel he was always meant to find. he loves you every minute of every hour; there isn't a second where you're not on his mind, not a single beat of his heart that doesn't spell out your name. he loves you throughout the seasons and a million times in between.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom @jisuperboard @wyzminho @amarecerasus @channection @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @judeduartewannabe @chanshyunjin @firelordtsuki @astronomicallyyy @alm334 @lashaemorow

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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vinvantae · 6 months

Text

𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Jenson button x childhood sweetheart!reader

Summary: The not so wordless agreement that you and Jenson would someday end up together is thrown into turmoil when he’s invited to your proposal party

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: none

The snow fell across the fields like a blanket, tucking each blade of grass in for a dream-filled night’s sleep - it would usually be quiet this time of night, but the air was filled with the laughter of the children and teenagers alike who had begged their parents to take their sleds out and venture down the icy slopes. You yourself had been one of them, rapping your fists against the red wood of your neighbour’s door, rocking back and forth on your heels as you waited not so patiently for it to swing open.

“Hi John!” You grinned. “Can Jense come out? I know it’s late but we haven’t had snow like this in years and-”

John smiled and stepped aside, revealing Jenson sat at the bottom of their stairs - shoving his feet into his welly boots. “Looks like someone had the same idea as you, son.”

Jenson looked up from the black rubber of his boots to see his best friend - the tip of your nose and cheeks tinged pink, the pearly whites of your teeth lit up in a big grin. He matched it with a smile of his own, giving his Dad a quick hug before joining you out in the snow, taking your sled from you to carry over his own shoulder. You were wrapped in a big yellow coat, a hand-knitted scarf and a pair of gloves that looked a touch too big for your teenage hands - your boots already covered in a soft layer of snow from the small trek to get Jenson.

“Don’t go too far, and be back by midnight!” John called out. “I’m sure your Mum told you the same, young lady.”

“Yes, boss!” You laughed, arm locked tightly around Jenson's so as not to slip on the icy ground. Your best friend smiled down at you - leaning into you to share your warmth.

Jenson listened to you yap away about all the different things you could make out of snow that would be endlessly better than a snowman. He let his arm drop from yours, moving to loop around your waist so he could haul you in closer - using the cold as an excuse. You gestured towards the moving crowds up ahead.

“The big hill just by the forest is where everyone is, it’s got the best spot for sledging.”

Jenson hummed softly, and you looked up at him. “Yes, but I don’t want to go sledding with everyone. I want to go sledding with you.”

Your nose wrinkled up in a playful disgust, earning a playful shove - a squeak leaving your lips as you nearly slipped on the icy tarmac beneath your feet, but you knew Jenson would never let you fall. His surprisingly strong arm stayed around your middle - holding you close to him. As you looked at him once again, your cheeks warmed - his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You’ve gotta stop looking at me like that, you know what happened last time.” You grumbled, jabbing his waist - breaking eye contact.

Jenson raised a teasing brow. “And who said that would be the worst thing?”

“Jenson.” You hissed quietly, not missing the girls who watched the two of you walking in the opposite direction to the rest of the town. You were well aware of the jealousy that sprung from your friendship with him - you’d been in his life since you were infants, but as the two of you had grown up - Jenson had quickly become established as one of the most handsome boys in school. “Don’t say another word.”

“You know I don’t care what they think.” He grumbled. “I don’t want them…”

You looked up at him, the mischief in his eyes had since faded - replaced with a warm tenderness that you knew he had reserved for you. “Jense…”

“I know, I know.” His sigh was wistful. “I’d give it all up for you, you know that.”

You took his face in your gloved hands, brushing your thumb across his cheeks. “I would never. Racing is your dream, and we’re only kids. You’d hate me in the future for stopping you from chasing your dreams.”

He watched your gaze flutter across his face, trying to get a read on how he felt - but in his silence you spoke again.

“Hey, if you've gone and got all those big racing dreams of yours… and you still want me…”

Jenson’s hand came to rest on top of yours, gently removing it from his face so he could lace your fingers together. “I’ll always want you.”

You laughed, although there was little humour in it. “Jense, we’re only 16. When you’re an adult you may feel different, especially when you’ve got all these beautiful women throwing themselves at you once you’ve won a race…. I would be over the moon if you still wanted me but I’m not going to be disappointed if your feelings change.”

He gave you a sad smile. “…I’ll always want you.”

His forehead came to rest against yours, skin surprisingly warm despite the freezing temperatures. You went to protest again but his lips captured yours in a sweet kiss, you allowed yourself to indulge in a moment of weakness - letting your arms slide around his neck to keep him close.

Letting him go was the right thing to do, being hung up on a girl he knew back home was only going to hold him back. He deserved the right to explore and be free whilst he travelled the world, you’d never ask him to give that up.

Oh, but he wished you had.

He wished you had when he was invited back home after a race season nearly 12 years later by your mother, insisting he had to be at this party. Neither of you were 16 anymore - he was 28 years old, had just come 18th in the championship and felt absolutely miserable. But you? You seemed to be absolutely thriving.

Job of your dreams, beautiful home… and William. Fucking William.

The two of you had been together for almost 3 years now, he was some hot-shot CEO of his own company - money coming out of his ass, private jets, cars. And you knew he spoiled the shit out of you, every time you came to a race to support Jenson - William had insisted on paying for you to have the best experience, despite Jenson offering to do the whole lot for free.

And when he pulled up to the address your mother had given him, he thought his jaw was going to fall through the floor. Sure, he’d seen mansions in his time - but this was a whole different level.

It had a fucking maze in the garden for crying out loud. With a fountain in the middle? Who did this guy think he was? He reluctantly gave his car keys over to the valet, before following others inside - all of a sudden feeling drastically underdressed in his sports coat. He was more than grateful for the champagne that was offered to him as he desperately sought out someone, anyone he knew.

The two of you had grown up together, he thought you had the same friends but he couldn’t recognise a single face. Despite the two of you staying in near constant contact, he suddenly felt like he really didn’t know you at all. The girl he knew would scoff at all this, one of your favourite activities when you came to races past - before William - was making fun of all of the rich people, flaunting their wealth but now you were one of them.

He stepped out onto the back patio, eyes finally landing on your parents - chatting away without a care in the world, your father adorned with a watch and a diamond necklace draped across your mothers neck that he knew they couldn’t afford.

“Jenson! You made it!” Your Mum’s face lit up at the sight of him - she stepped away from the other couple she was with to wrap him up in a tight hug. “Oh she’s going to be so happy you’re here.”

“Have you seen her? I don’t feel like I know anyone here.” He chuckled awkwardly, giving your Dad a hug as well.

“Oh I’m sure she’s just making some finishing adjustments, we need her to look perfect.” She grinned.

Jenson frowned. “What’s the occasion?”

Your mum gasped. “Oh, I was sure William would have told you!”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “William and I aren’t exactly best mates. I think he only tolerates me because I’ve been around for so long.”

Jenson didn’t miss the look your parents exchanged before your Mum placed a gentle hand on his forearm, giving him a sorry smile. “William is proposing to her, love.”

In that moment, he could’ve sworn his heart stopped - he didn’t know you and William were so serious. He always thought that he was just a distraction until the two of you were both in a place where you were ready to commit. It had almost happened when he got 3rd place back in 2004, but you were so close to a big promotion and you wanted to focus on that. You always wanted to be able to give the other your full 100%, be in a place in life where you were secure - maybe he should’ve just said fuck it and let himself be selfish.

He wasn’t mad at you for dating William, he could never be. But were you really about to marry him? The garden went quiet for a moment, so he looked over his shoulder.

You slowly walked down the stairs into the garden - a long dress in a deep blue hugging your figure, long sleeves to protect you from the cooler weather - a slit in the side allowed you to walk elegantly, your hand still resting against the cold stone of the railing. Jenson wasn’t sure he’d ever seen you with such professional looking makeup, nails to match your dress too. Beneath the jealousy, he felt the urge to tease you - wind you up for becoming one of the posh people you’d always claimed to loathe.

But you looked nervous as you started greeting everyone - eyes flickering around the party, you looked beautiful too, of course, but he recognised the look on your face - he’d only seen it a few times through your life but this was probably the worst he’d seen it. Fear. Did you know what was happening…? And who were you looking for?

William practically led you around the party, his hand never straying from the small of your back - which Jenson could now see was nearly exposed from the low back of your dress, adding to the elegance of your look. Jenson considered going over, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he loitered around your parents - not really letting himself join in on the conversation either, just keeping a watchful eye on you.

But that didn’t last too long either, the clinking of a champagne glass and microphone feedback filled the garden.

“Evening all, thank you all for joining us.” William had led you to the middle of the patio, his hand still on the small of your back.

“I’m sure she’s loving being the centre of attention like this.” He mumbled, earning a gentle elbow to the side from your mother. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Oh, shush. You had your chance.” She snipped at him.

He went to protest but instead shook his head and turned back to the scene in front of him - you were fiddling with the tips of your fingers, trying to avoid eye contact with the onlooking crowd but still glancing up as if you were looking for someone. Is she looking for me?

“As you know, I’ve been lucky to spend the last 3 years with this wonderful woman at my side.” William spoke with a confidence that demanded attention, Jenson wanted to tear his eyes away but he just couldn’t. “She came into my life at just the right time, and I can’t wait to see where the rest of our time together takes us… so…”

Your whole body froze as William sank to one knee, fishing a small velvet box from his suit pocket. “William…”

Jenson wasn’t sure if anyone else heard the tone of your voice like him, or if he’d just made it up - but it sounded like a warning.

“Would you make me the happiest man alive, and do the honour of being my wife? Will you marry me?”

You risked looking at the crowd one final time, and when your eyes finally met the blue you’d been searching for - you practically felt the tension melt away. Jenson tilted his head a little, raising his brow - you didn’t miss the way the corner of his mouth tugged up into a teasing smirk and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from returning it. You didn’t miss the way your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, how in that moment you wanted nothing more than to rush across the garden and have him wrap you up in his arms.

“…well?”

“Oh.” You suddenly remembered the man currently on one knee in front of you. You tore your gaze away from Jenson to look down at him, a sorry smile on your face. “…I’m… I’m really flattered, Will, I am. Uhm, maybe we can talk about this in private?”

The silence of the crowd was replaced with whispers, although he stood behind him - Jenson could see William’s entire body stiffen and his ears turn a dark pink with embarrassment. “…yeah, uh… yeah okay.”

William passed the microphone to someone before walking off, leaving you standing alone - you mumbled apologies to everyone before doing your best to catch up with him, holding the bottom of your dress so as not to trip over your heels. Jenson finally felt like he could breathe again; whilst everyone else was upset and shocked by the scandal before them - he felt relieved, you did still want him.

“…maybe inviting you was a bad idea.”

Jenson looked to your mother, who was still staring straight ahead. “You can’t tell me you didn’t know that there was a chance she’d say no. This was her choice… this has nothing to do with me.”

She shot him a look. “I saw her face when she realised you were here, Jenson. You had your chance with her, why can’t you let her move on?”

“I’ve not had my chance with her… don’t you see that? I’ve been waiting until I can give her the life she deserves and-“

“She doesn’t need to wait, William can give her that.”

Jenson scoffed. “This isn’t the life she wants… I know William wants her to quit her job and play the pretty little housewife but that’s not who she is. You know that, I know that. And proposing to her in front of all these people? Most of whom I’m not convinced she’d even met before today? Her worst nightmare.”

“Jenson.”

“You didn’t have to invite me… but you did.” He stood his ground. “If you wanted this to happen then you should’ve kept me in the dark, but you know deep down, just as well as I do, that William isn’t the one for her. I love your daughter, more than he ever could.”

Before she could speak again, your father placed a hand on her shoulder - bringing her attention to him. “What’s done is done. It’s her choice at the end of the day… and she didn’t say no, they might be working it out as we speak.”

Your mother rolled her eyes. “Yes honey, because that’s how all happy marriages start - with an argument.”

As the two of them bickered back and forth, Jenson decided to make himself scarce and track you down - weaving through the crowds who were still speaking in hushed tones. Poor William. What was she thinking? How embarrassing.

He ignored them, pushing his way inside - listening out for the two of you and seemingly you hadn’t gone far. A nearby door slightly ajar, a raised voice coming from inside.

“This is so embarrassing! All of my friends are here!”

“And almost none of mine, William.” Your voice was a lot more level, calm. Jenson lent against the wall just outside of the room. “Why did you not invite any of my friends?”

“These are our friends.” He huffed, Jenson could hear him pacing back and forth. “God, I just wanted today to be special - I got your parents here, fuck, I even got your mother to invite Jenson and you know how I feel about that prick.”

“Hey.” You snapped. “Keep his name out of your mouth.”

William went deadly quiet, it was scary. Jenson was close to peeking around the corner to see what was happening, but then William spoke again.

“It’s him isn’t it? It’s always going to be him.”

Your sigh spoke a thousand words, and this time Jenson did risk looking into the room - just to see the look on your face at your boyfriend’s accusation. You didn’t look sad, you didn’t look angry… you had a look of acceptance. You stepped closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his bicep.

“I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you…” Your voice was soft, practically laced with honey. “I love you, William… but Jenson…”

Jenson waited with bated breath to hear your next words - you’d told him before how you felt about him, but this was different. You didn’t know he was there - you had no reason to be gentle with your choice of words. He turned back away from the room, head rolled back against the wall - he allowed his eyes to close.

“He makes me not want to sleep because being with him makes reality better than my dreams… Home is wherever he is.” Your voice was practically a whisper, as if you knew your words would sting if they were any louder. “I just don’t think I could love anyone in the same way as I love him. I… I was selfish with you.”

“I was selfish too.” He admitted, his hand coming up to cup your jaw - thumb brushing across your cheek. “I should’ve just let you be with him. I always knew where your heart truly was…”

“William, this isn’t your fault. Please, don’t blame yourself for this… all of this is on me.”

“I should go. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You whispered. “I’m sorry, you deserve better.”

Jenson froze as he heard the sounds of shoes tapping against the floor, there was no way he could get away without being spotted - so he just accepted his fate, he took a deep breath. The footsteps paused in front of him and he opened his eyes to meet the sorrowful gaze of William. “Treat her well, yeah?”

“I promise. I’m sorry it ended like this, man.” He forced a smile. “Best of luck to you?”

William held his hand out and Jenson shook it, pressing his lips into a line. “You too mate. Sorry for keeping her from you all these years.”

With a gentle pat on Jenson’s shoulder, William left to go sate the crowds - leaving your childhood friend alone in the corridor. He took one deep inhale before stepping into the room - your back was to him, as you looked out the tall window, presumably to watch your ex(?) boyfriend subdue all of his friends.

“Just me and you, under the cover of night… in the forest on that cute mossy stone bridge across the river. The one you like to throw pebbles in.”

You looked over your shoulder with a coy smile. “Sorry?”

“That’s how I’m gonna do it.” He shrugged, stepping up behind you - strong hands coming to settle on your hips, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Nothing fancy like all this.”

He relished in the way your cheeks flushed. “That sounds wonderful, Jense… I can’t wait.”

“Not much longer, I promise.” He whispered, this time kissing just behind your ear. “I’d propose to you right now if we weren’t literally at your engagement party.”

You laughed, turning in his arms. “Tomorrow then?”

He couldn’t help the smile on his face. “Tomorrow it is.”

***

Your feet crunched against the snowy ground, nose and cheeks tinged pink as you made the walk from your flat to Jenson’s house - the roads were too icy to drive and you’d always loved the snow, so walking was the easy choice. You smiled softly as you walked through your old neighbourhood, kids laughing and throwing snowballs, parents peeking through the curtains to watch on.

It didn’t surprise you that Jenson had spent some of his earnings to buy a small home here - it was one of his favourite places in the world, yours too. You rapped your gloved hands against the door, rocking back and forth on your heels as you waited.

As soon as it opened, you were wrapped up in Jenson’s arms - a kiss placed on your cold forehead before he stepped out to join you, locking the door behind him. “Can’t believe it’s snowing.”

“I know, especially since it was so sunny yesterday.” You hummed, looping your arm around his. “Where are we going?”

He gave you a soft smile. “Do you not remember the plans we made yesterday?”

“O-oh.” You giggled. “Yeah, yeah I remember.”

“Good.” Jenson pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “Then let’s go.”

“Wait.” You stopped him walking to take his face in your hands, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you.” His voice was practically a whisper. “We don’t have to do this today… you literally just broke up with William.”

You tilted your head, giving him a sweet smile - brushing your thumbs across his cheeks. “I want this. I want you.”

His grin was almost bright enough to melt the snow around you, he took your hand in his and the two of you began the journey - careful to avoid any icy patches, holding each other close for balance. Jenson took the time to give you a full catch up of his next season, Honda had pulled out due to financial issues so Ross Brawn had bought the team and they were starting from what felt like nothing - a big risk, they weren’t… well anything. But he had faith, he had to. After coming 18th, what did he have to lose?

You had nothing but adoration for him in his career, no matter where he ended up - you felt foolish for letting each other put your career ahead of your relationship. You knew you were capable of getting your career goals with Jenson by your side, but you always feared he’d have resented you if you’d somehow got in the way of him getting the wins he deserved.

But as you stepped into the forest, the frozen stream sparkling beneath the bridge - none of your worries seemed to matter anymore. Jenson took both of your hands in his and carefully led you onto the bridge, careful not to slip as he walked backwards. “Your trousers will get wet if you kneel, Jense.”

“Worth it.” He grinned. “I know this isn’t a surprise, but you got to promise to let me get through what I have to say, okay?”

“Promise.” You hummed, taking a deep breath, giving his hands a squeeze.

You bit your lip as he got on his knees, keeping his gloved hands wrapped around yours. “Where do I even start?”

“Might be a bit long if you start at the beginning.” You teased.

“Hey, what did I say?” He hushed, narrowing his eyes playfully at you. “Okay… honestly, I don’t think there’s any words that could truly describe just how much I love you, but I’m going to try my best.”

He almost couldn’t get the words out with the way you were looking at him - a gentle sparkle in your eyes as you held back the tears, the softest of smiles on your lips. He took a deep breath.

“You’re my best friend, my soulmate… I literally cannot remember a life before you and I don’t ever want to picture my life without you. I wish I could specify the exact moment in time I knew you were the person I wanted to spend the rest of time with, but it was gradual, all consuming. You’re my first thought when I wake up, my last thought before I fall asleep and you fill all of my best dreams.”

He let go of your hands to remove his gloves and yours from your left hand. “I don’t care that my career isn’t where I want it to be. My biggest regret is simply that I didn’t do this sooner… I want us to achieve our dreams together. I want us to grow and change together.”

The tears were freely rolling down your cheeks and as he pulled a small black box out of his coat pocket, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. How you felt in this moment was polar opposite to how you had felt when it was William on one knee in front of you - you felt safe, loved… Jenson was all you’d ever wanted.

“So, my love, I’m sorry I’m not the first man to ask you this… but I hope to be the last.” He opened up the box, a beautiful ring inside. “Will you marry me?”

You nodded faster than you ever had. “Yes, oh my god, yes.”

Jenson grinned, and you let him slide the ring onto your finger - and you took a moment to admire it, recognising it as his Grandmother’s, a ring that had been promised to you by her when you were no older than 8 and now it was really on your finger. You looked to your fiancé, who was now standing with an expectant look on his face.

“You gonna kiss me or what?” You purred, running your hands up his chest.

“Don’t have to ask me twice, baby.”

He only gave himself a moment to grin before kissing you with a new vigour - when you brought your hands up to hold his face again, he could feel the press of your ring against his skin and it made his heart race. He pulled back just enough to nudge his nose against yours.

“I told you before and I’ll tell you until the end of time… I’ll always want you.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

Hope you enjoyed!

This is really a birthday present for myself cus I’m fully in my Jenson era but I hope you all like it ♥️

#jenson button x reader #jenson button x you #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #x reader

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