#and unevenly filled

[faunabel]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!

finally getting to these asks oops

thank u anon <3 i feel so loved

my birthday was shit but i got cannoli bUT ACTUALLY THE CANNOLI WAS ALSO SHIT 3/10 but at least i got some kind asks out of it!

[sleepsucks]

Could you drop that lemon pie recipe on us sometime?

i really wish i had a cool answer for you there but really i'm just honoring the tradition of looking up the recipe online and randomly picking one of the first few results

feel free 2 check it here but also it's in french https://www.encoreungateau.com/tarte-citron/

[ahsterism-aa]

alright this is the plan if i remake

[pucksandpower]

Made with Love

Charles Leclerc x amateur baker!Reader

Summary: in which Charles would rather risk the entire paddock getting food poisoning (again) than break your heart by telling you that your baking is horrible

You hum to yourself as you pull a tray of freshly baked cupcakes out of the oven. The sweet, chocolaty aroma fills Charles’ kitchen, making your mouth water.

This batch is sure to be perfect! You’ve been practicing your baking skills for months now, determined to get it just right.

Charles wanders into the kitchen, drawn by the scent. “Mmm, something smells good in here!”

He peers over your shoulder at the tray of cupcakes. They’re a bit misshapen, with cracked tops that deflated the second they were taken out of the oven. The frosting is glopped on unevenly.

To you, they look absolutely mouthwatering. To Charles, they look … well, he loves you too much to say.

“Try one!” You urge, holding out a cupcake. Charles flashes you a hesitant smile before taking it. He peels back the liner and takes a bite. His eyes widen and he forces himself to chew and swallow.

“Well? How is it?” You ask eagerly.

Charles clears his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s great. Your best batch yet,” he lies. In truth, it’s dry and dense, with a strange bitter aftertaste. But the delight on your face makes the fib worth it.

You throw your arms around him in a hug. “Yay! I can’t wait to share them with the team this weekend.”

Charles’ stomach drops. The thought of the entire paddock pretending to enjoy your baking makes him cringe internally. But he plasters on a smile. “What a nice idea! I’m sure they’ll love them.”

The two of you arrive at the circuit and you can barely contain your excitement as you carry a large container of cupcakes into the paddock. Charles trails behind you, backpack slung over one shoulder, his other arm wrapped around your waist. He presses a quick kiss to your temple before you flit off to distribute your baked goods.

You first approach Max Verstappen, holding out a cupcake with rainbow sprinkles. “Here Max, have one!”

Max eyes the treat dubiously but accepts it with a polite smile. “Thanks Y/N, that’s really nice of you.”

You beam and turn to Charles, missing the look of apprehension on Max’s face. Charles catches Max’s eye and draws a finger across his throat in warning. Max’s eyes widen but he nods in understanding. Charles won’t let anything ruin your mood today.

You make your way through the paddock, handing cupcakes to mechanics, engineers, PR reps, reporters, team principals, and drivers. Charles hovers behind you, keeping a watchful eye on each recipient.

Daniel Ricciardo visibly gags on his first bite when you turn away. Charles glares and shakes his head sharply. Daniel rearranges his face into a smile and gives a thumbs up.

Lando Norris takes an overly large bite and Charles has to pound on his back as he chokes it down.

Esteban Ocon discreetly spits his cupcake into a napkin when you’re not looking. Charles lunges forward and grabs his arm, squeezing tightly until Esteban wheezes out “Delicious!”

You remain blissfully unaware of the chaos that falls over the paddock in your wake, oblivious to Charles’ desperate interventions. All you see are your friends and acquaintances enjoying your baking.

When you finally offer a cupcake to Charles, he takes it and eats the whole thing without hesitation. Because even if it tastes like sugary sawdust, the delight on your face makes it the best treat in the world.

“Wasn’t that fun?” You gush to Charles afterwards. “I can’t wait to try out a new recipe soon!”

Charles just kisses your frosting-smudged nose and says, “I can’t wait either, mon amour.” As long as you’re happy, he’ll choke down all the questionable cupcakes you offer. Because your smile is the only thing that matters.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you and Charles arrive for the next race weekend, yet another batch of fresh baked goods in hand. You’re eager to share your latest creations — classic chocolate chunk cookies. You spent hours carefully following the recipe, determined to get them just right.

As you make your rounds distributing cookies, the reactions are the usual mix of forced smiles and discreet spitting. Charles trails behind you, glaring at anyone who doesn’t immediately rave about how delicious they are. The drivers and mechanics quickly catch on, showering you with praise and shooting Charles grateful looks when he turns you away.

You finally offer a cookie to Graham, a mechanic from the Mercedes team. He takes it hesitantly, eyeing Charles standing behind you. But Graham is new to the paddock and unaware of the baked goods situation.

He takes a bite and immediately grimaces. “Ugh, these taste terrible!” He blurts out.

You gasp, stumbling back as if struck. Tears well up in your eyes. Charles is at your side in an instant, pulling you into a comforting hug. Over your shoulder, he shoots Graham a look of absolute rage.

Graham realizes his mistake too late, shame washing over his face. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean ...” he stammers. But you’re already pulling away from Charles and rushing off, sobbing.

Charles turns on Graham, eyes blazing. “How could you? All she ever wants to do is make others happy!” Graham cowers before him, other mechanics backing away nervously.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Graham says miserably.

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Charles snarls. “You stay away from her, you hear me?” Graham nods shakily. Satisfied the message is received, Charles races after you.

He finds you behind the garage, face buried in your hands. “Oh mon ange,” Charles murmurs, wrapping you in his arms. “Don’t listen to him, your cookies are perfect.”

You cling to Charles, sniffling. “I just wanted to do something nice for everyone. But I’m so horrible at baking!”

Charles tilts your chin up. “You listen to me. You have the biggest, kindest heart. It doesn’t matter if the cookies are a little, er, overdone. What matters is you put love into making them. Don’t let someone like Graham get you down.”

You smile tremulously. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best boyfriend ever?”

Charles grins. “Hmm, I don’t mind hearing it again.” Laughing through your tears, you tell him again, punctuating it with a kiss.

After ensuring you’re okay, Charles seeks out Graham. “I trust you’ll be more considerate going forward?” Graham nods meekly. “Good. But just so we’re clear, if you upset her again, you’ll be out of this paddock for good.”

The next day, the news breaks that Graham has been dismissed from the Mercedes team for “attitude issues.” You feel a bit guilty, hoping your cookies didn’t cause him to lose his job. But Charles seems strangely satisfied, so you don’t dwell on it.

From then on, Charles redoubles his efforts to protect your feelings whenever you provide baked goods. The paddock falls in line, fawning over your overly salty pretzels and dry banana bread.

The brightness of your smile makes it all worth it to Charles. Because keeping that joy and kindness shining in you is what matters most to him.

***

You step out of Charles’ Ferrari, the engine purring as he puts it in park. Taking his hand, you smile excitedly — today is another fan meetup organized by the team, and you can’t wait to connect with Charles’ supporters again.

“Are you ready, mon cœur?” Charles asks, squeezing your hand gently. His green eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks at you adoringly.

“Absolutely!” You chirp, patting the large picnic basket hanging off your arm. “I made lots of treats to share today!”

Charles grins and leans in to kiss your forehead. “I’m sure they will love everything you made, as always.”

You beam, bolstered by his encouragement as you both make your way to the event. The meetup is being held in a local park, with tents and tables set up amongst the lush green grass and towering trees. You spot a long line of fans waiting eagerly for Charles’ arrival. Most are dressed in the familiar rosso corsa of Ferrari, holding posters and memorabilia for him to sign.

“Charles! Charles!” They chant excitedly when they see him. You hang back happily, letting him have his moment with his dedicated supporters. Charles takes selfies, signs autographs, and chats animatedly in Italian, French, and English. The fans are thrilled to interact with their racing idol.

After some time, Charles waves you over. “I would like you all to meet someone very special to me,” he announces, wrapping an arm around you. The fans erupt into cheers and applause. “This is Y/N, my love.”

You blush at the attention but manage to give a little wave. “Hi everyone! I’m so happy to be here today.”

Charles addresses the crowd again. “As some of you know, Y/N loves to bake and has brought some special treats to share with you all today.”

This is met with more enthusiastic cheers. Though none of them particularly enjoy your baked goods, the fans appreciate the effort and know Charles likes to reward them for humoring you.

You open up your large picnic basket, beaming with pride. “I made my favorite oatmeal raisin cookies, some lemon squares, and my famous rocky road fudge!”

The fans try not to visibly cringe, lining up politely with plates held out. You happily distribute your overly dry, burnt cookies and gooey, cloying fudge. The lemon squares are mushy and saccharine. But the fans accept it all with smiles and encouragement.

“Mmm, delicious!” One teenage girl forces out through a mouthful of your fudge.

An older man gives you a thumbs up as he chokes down a cookie, eyes watering. “So good!”

You beam, pleased that they enjoy your baking so much. As you chat with each person, you don’t notice Charles discreetly handing out autographed photos, caps, and other prized memorabilia to reward the fans for their efforts.

After you’ve handed out all your baked goods, Charles suggests a stroll through the park gardens. As you walk hand-in-hand admiring the flowers, he says softly, “You have such a big heart, Y/N. The way you care so much about connecting with the fans means the world to me.”

You squeeze his hand gratefully. “It’s the least I can do — they support you in everything, so I want to support them too.”

Charles stops and turns to you, his expression tender. “You are amazing, truly. I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He leans in and kisses you sweetly. Your heart flutters just like the first time your lips met.

When you return from your walk, the event is winding down. You say goodbye to the fans, who thank you profusely for the treats and making their day so special. You tell them you can’t wait to bake for them again soon!

After the last fan leaves, it’s just you and Charles. The late afternoon sun casts golden light on the empty picnic tables.

“Did you have fun, mon amour?” Charles asks, caressing your cheek.

“The best time!” You say enthusiastically. “I just love baking for your wonderful fans and seeing how it makes them smile.”

Charles’ eyes are full of love. He kisses the top of your head. “As long as it makes you happy, that’s all that matters to me.”

You snuggle into his chest happily. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“I don’t think so,” Charles teases. “Why don’t you remind me again?”

You grin up at him. “I’ll tell you over dinner … I have a new donut recipe I want to try out.”

Charles fights down a grimace as he reminds himself that your love is more than worth suffering through another dreadful dessert. “I can’t wait!”

***

“Mate, you have to stop her before she poisons someone,” Max whispers urgently to Charles as you step out of the room.

Charles furrows his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Your girlfriend. Her baking. It’s … it’s just terrible. I’m sorry, but it has to be said.”

Charles lets out a dismissive chuckle. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Max raises his eyebrows incredulously. “I chipped a tooth on her brownie last week!”

Charles rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as he avoids making eye contact.

“Look, I get that you don’t want to upset her,” Max continues, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “But we can’t keep lying and pretending it’s good! One of these days, someone is going to end up in the hospital.”

Charles sighs deeply, running a hand through his tousled hair. “What do you want me to do? If I tell her the truth, she’ll be devastated.”

You return to the room then, a bright smile on your face as you carry a plate of freshly baked apple tarts. “Who wants one?”

Max cringes almost imperceptibly while Charles shoots him a warning look. “They look great, ma belle!” He says with forced enthusiasm, taking one and bringing it to his lips.

The apple filling is gelatinous and tastes faintly of soap. Charles forces himself to swallow it with a strained smile. Max quickly declines when you offer him one.

Later that evening, Charles finds Max alone outside his apartment building. “I need your help,” he admits defeatedly.

Max looks at him expectantly.

“With Y/N’s baking … how do I get her to stop without completely crushing her?”

His friend contemplates this for a moment. “Well … you could try convincing her to take up a new hobby instead?”

Charles shakes his head. “I’ve suggested that before, but she’s dead set on baking. It’s her biggest passion.”

“Okay, then you’ll have to take a different approach.” Max strokes his chin thoughtfully. “What if … you told her a bunch of us were going vegan or something, so she couldn’t bake for us anymore?”

Charles raises an eyebrow at the suggestion, but then slowly nods. “You know, that could actually work …”

The next day, you eagerly bring a fresh batch of blueberry muffins to the paddock to share with everyone. Charles takes a deep breath before pulling you aside gently.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” He starts, trying to keep his expression neutral.

You blink up at him curiously. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Well …” He clears his throat. “I was talking to the guys and … Lewis has actually convinced a bunch of them to go vegan. Lando, Max …”

He lists off a dozen more names, watching as realization dawns on your face. Your shoulders slump slightly.

“Oh … I see.” You glance down at the muffins in your hands. “I guess that means I can’t really bake for them anymore.”

Charles feels a pang of guilt at the disappointment in your eyes. But then, your expression brightens again.

“I’ll just have to start baking vegan treats instead!” You declare happily. “This is so exciting, I’ve been wanting to experiment with more plant-based ingredients!”

Charles’s shoulders tense as the plan epically backfires. Of course you’d take this as an opportunity to bake even more.

Over the next few weeks, you gleefully embrace the vegan baking lifestyle. Charles has to smother his laughter when Max nearly chokes biting into one of your “chewy” vegan brownies. Lando spits out a mouthful of your gritty vegan chocolate cake when you’re not looking.

You, however, remain blissfully unaware of how dreadful your creations are. No matter how many hints Charles tries to drop, the problem only seems to be getting worse.

One evening, you set a plate of fresh-from-the-oven vegan peanut butter cookies on the coffee table, plopping down on the couch next to Charles with a proud grin.

“Try one!” You insist, picking a cookie up and holding it in front of his lips.

Charles hesitates for just a second too long. Your face falls and he scrambles to take a bite, barely suppressing a wince as he chews on what feels like a solid lump of chalk mixed with peanut shavings. He forces himself to swallow it down with an enthusiastic grin.

“Wow, these are incredible!” He lies through his teeth. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

You perk up immediately, the dejected look vanishing. “You really think so? I tried a new recipe I found online.”

“Definitely a winner,” Charles affirms, trying his best to sound convincing. “We should bring some to the paddock for everyone to try.”

Your eyes light up at the suggestion and guilt twists in Charles’s gut. The last thing he wants is for the other drivers to have to suffer through these … confections. But he could never be the one to shatter your baking dreams.

The next day at the track, you eagerly pass around the plate of peanut butter hockey pucks to the drivers and crew. Charles discreetly pulls Max aside with a pained look.

“Please, I’m begging you …” he murmurs under his breath. “Just smile and nod, no matter how bad they are.”

Max grimaces as he takes an experimental bite of one of the cookies, his expression doing little to mask his revulsion. But he meets Charles’s pleading gaze and forces out a strangled, “Mmm … great!”

One by one, the others follow suit — fake smiles and strained praises as they choke down your baked atrocities. You remain obliviously pleased, unaware of their suffering.

Over the next few weeks, the vegan baking experiments only seem to get worse and worse. The paddock has become a silent circle of culinary martyrs — all sworn to an unspoken code to preserve your feelings at all costs.

You proudly present a tray of charcoal-colored muffins that leave the entire garage coughing from the plume of burnt flour. “Tried a new recipe for dark chocolate avocado muffins!” You explain brightly.

“Can’t wait to dig in,” Lando is close to crying, his eyes already watering.

Charles has to bite back a laugh as Max takes a heroic bite, barely managing to keep it together. He pats the Dutchman on the back firmly as the poor guy fights back a gag reflex.

“Two more words about her baking and you’ll be racing with three wheels next season,” he warns Carlos in a low mutter after witnessing the Spaniard nearly vomit up a slice of your “moist” vegan zucchini bread.

The sheer willpower it takes for the entire crew to maintain the facade is almost impressive. Technique and strategy meetings have now become immense displays of unspoken fortitude — everyone driven by the simple goal of not letting you catch on that your baked goods are, in fact, completely inedible.

Charles has started bringing backup protein bars and shakes to every race just to make sure nobody accidentally lapses into baked good-induced delirium.

He really has no idea how much longer this can possibly be sustained. But he also has no idea how to safely extract the situation without demolishing your passion and self-confidence in the process.

For now, his main objective is to ensure your bright smile and cheerfulness remain unchanged — no matter how many mouths he has to personally silence to make that happen.

At the end of the day, having you by his side, radiating that infectious joy and following your heart’s desire, is worth enduring all the subpar vegan muffins in the world.

He’ll take a bite of your latest abomination with an adoring grin, because that’s what partners who truly love each other do — they support each other through the good, the bad, and the burnt-to-a-crisp.

***

It’s the start of a new season, and Charles has been racking his brain for a solution to the ongoing baking saga. As much as he loves indulging your passion, the charade is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. The entire paddock is at their wits’ end trying to choke down your vegan torture devices week after week.

That’s when he has an idea — one he hopes will be a win-win for everyone involved.

“Surprise!” He says with an excited grin, presenting you with the envelopes. “I got us signed up for this baking course. I thought it could be fun for us to take some classes together!”

You’re beaming as you throw your arms around his neck. “That’s such a thoughtful idea! I would love nothing more.”

Of course, Charles being Charles is hardly fully forthright about his motivations. “To be honest, I’m the one who really needs the help,” he fibs sheepishly. “We all know I’m a disaster in the kitchen. But with your talents guiding me, maybe there’s hope!”

Over the next few weeks, you and Charles diligently show up for your baking classes. The instructor walks you through fundamentals like properly measuring ingredients, controlling oven temperatures, and mastering technical skills. Slowly but surely, your creations start emerging looking (and smelling) better and better.

One evening, you return home with a fresh tray of beautifully baked chocolate chip cookies — the first delicacy you’ve felt confident enough to bake since the lessons. You present them to Charles with bated breath.

He takes one tentative bite, his eyes widening in surprise. These are actually ... edible! More than edible — they are legitimately delicious! The dough-to-chip ratio is perfect, the texture is chewy but not dry or crumbly. He quickly stuffs two more into his mouth with an appreciative moan.

“Ma belle … these are incredible!” He gasps out between bites.

You clap your hands over your mouth, eyes shining with glee. “Oh my gosh, you really think so? I was so nervous!”

“Are you kidding? I could eat this entire tray all by myself!”

The two of you dissolve into celebratory laughter and hugs, the sweet taste of success quite literally on your tongues.

“I think it’s time for the real taste test,” you declare one day, rolling up your sleeves as you start prepping an array of fresh baked goods. “We’re taking these bad boys to the paddock!”

The next race weekend, you stride in carrying bakery boxes of your fresh chocolate chip cookies as well as some decadent fudge brownies.

“Fresh out of the oven!” You announce proudly, setting them down with a bright grin. “Who’s hungry?”

For a long beat, nobody moves. The drivers exchange wary glances, their self-preservation instincts kicking in as they recall the many baking debacles of the past. Lando bravely reaches for a brownie first, his face scrunched up preemptively-

Only to blink in surprise as the rich, fudgy flavor hits his taste buds. His eyes widen comically as he takes another bite. “Bloody hell ... this is actually good!”

The words seem to shatter the suspended tension. Soon the entire paddock is swarming the trays, devouring the fresh baked goods with delight. Charles watches on in disbelief, his own taste buds experiencing flavors he didn’t even know were possible from your former creations.

He sees Max take a bite of one of the cookies, freezing in place as his eyes slip closed with an expression of pure bliss. When they open again, Charles is alarmed to see they’re glistening with unshed tears.

The Dutchman wordlessly holds up the cookie, gazing at Charles reverently as a lone tear trails down his cheek. Then, to everyone’s astonishment, he brings the baked good to his lips and takes another sensual bite, savoring it like it��s the first good thing he’s ever tasted.

From then on, it’s like a switch has been flipped. The paddock that once dreaded your baking now seemingly can’t get enough of it. Every race weekend, they await your fresh creations with unrestrained enthusiasm, like kids on a sugar bender.

Charles has lost count of how many times he’s caught drivers and crew sneaking off to wherever you’re prepping the latest batch, nostrils flaring as they try to scout out that heavenly aroma.

It’s gotten to the point where Max’s performance coach has had to implement strict rules about his treat consumption to prevent indulgences from derailing his season.

“Easy there, Max!” Rupert calls in a booming tone, swooping in to physically restrain the Dutchman as he makes a mad dash toward where you’re unpacking that week’s fresh delivery. “You know you have a limit on those.”

Max strains against his performance coach’s grip, eyes zeroing in on the platter of goodies being unloaded with unrestrained longing. “I don’t care, she brought triple chocolate cookie dough brownies this time! Let me go!”

Rupert grunts in exertion, struggling to keep his driver in check. “This is for your own good! Think of your diet!”

“That’s irrelevant!” Max practically snarls, pupils blown wide like an addict suffering from withdrawals. “Do you have any idea how long I waited to have real baked goods again?”

It’s a battle of wills and metabolism that quickly becomes a weekly sight. Charles can’t help but chuckle fondly as he watches Max and Rupert’s familiar tug-of-war happen like clockwork every Sunday.

As much as he’d love to intervene, he knows better than to come between Max and your heavenly baked creations. He’s just thrilled that this baking journey took such a delicious turn — both for your invigorated culinary passion and for the safety of everyone’s tastebuds.

Honestly, he’ll take the sight of a feverish Max drooling over freshly baked goods any day over having to choke down burnt muffins and brittle biscuits. This is the sweet upgrade everyone had been dreaming about.

The true recipe for happiness was sticking by each other’s side through all those halfbaked stumbles.

[orikiys]

🔖 、FOUND HOME

ᘛ 𓏧     ࣪    𖠵 희승 ☓ fem!reader. ꔪ ﹏ ᘒ fluff established relationship implied flirting warning kissing petnames not proofread & 744 words

“do you think we’d still be a couple in an alternate universe?” you groan at the question and cover your face with your arm.

“go to bed.”

“what if we already got married and had five kids?” he mutters with a tone as serious as ever. even though it’s dark you can just feel that he’s not sleepy at all.

“go to bed,” your eyes are still closed yet you can’t hide the sleepy smile stretching your lips out.

a soft laugh escapes your throat when he places an arm over your waist and pulls you closer. even though the bed was big enough, it’s the warmth the radiates off his body that helps you fall asleep every day.

opening your eyes, you look up at him. from the dark all you are able to make out is his messed up hair which is unevenly falling over his eyes and his lips that fortunately never stop smiling.

“can’t sleep?” you whisper, extending your arm towards him and brushing the hair off his forehead. instantly, he closes his eyes with relief spreading all over and manages to mumble out a “no”.

his arms pull you in even more if possible and he tucks your head in his chest holding you as if you were his teddy bear.

“hmm why are you so soft today?” you tease him and when he chuckles, it reverberates in the walls of the room and your chest fills up with fondness at the sound of it. it doesn’t even need to be seen how heeseung would look when he laughs. the corner of his eyes would form crescents like the moon does and there’s always a sparkling glint in his eye that reminds you of all the liveliness and love he is filled with.

“did you go back to sleep, princess?” he mutters and raises his hand to cradle your jaw. his fingers brush against your cheek tenderly and a moment later you feel his warm lips come in contact with your forehead. he places a gentle kiss but doesn’t pull away without making the sound of a loud smooch.

“i wonder where all this love is coming from. is it because i let you watch your football match over my series?” you whisper looking up at him intently. there’s an unspoken agreement that passes between the two of you as heeseung lowers himself just where his lips hover over yours.

without giving it another thought, he holds you by the back of your neck, smiling softly as his lips meet yours in a sweet kiss. when he leans away, his hands still stay glued and distracted from tracing the outlines of your cheek as if it was the easiest thing to do.

“you’re beautiful,” is all he says as he plants another kiss this time heading for your forehead. your eyes remain closed in peace as you relish these moments with him.

living with heeseung has never felt like a mistake. every extra minute you spend with him is a reminder of how many more memories the two of you make. even the corners of the room are a witness of the gas called love that always floats in the air, trapping and holding down the two of you together.

“let’s sleep?” you suggest when you notice how quiet the guy beside you has fallen. turning around so that your back faces him, you drape his arm over your waist and place your hand over it slowly. heeseung shuffles a bit before back hugging you tightly and rests his head in the crook of your neck.

he breathes softly and his face is already at ease considering how all of his muscles have relaxed.

it reminds you of the times when he used to play basketball, he always had the same expression towards the things he adored; you noticed. be it his favourite fruit or his birthday, his eyes can never lie especially when it comes to things called love. and you do consider yourself lucky because one of it is meant just for you.

“i love you,” is the last thing you hear before you hear soft breathing and that’s the time when the world announces that he’s asleep.

you grab his hand softly and raise it to your lips, muttering back the exact words he did before you find sleep pulling you over.

nothing matters at the end of the day except you being wrapped by his warmth.

[futureman]

happiest day

pairing: mike schmidt x reader

summary: when you least expect it, mike surprises you with a confession

warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, hint of angst, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, mentions of rough sex, requited feelings

word count: <1k

Mike tells you he loves you for the first time the way no one ever should. Balls deep, while he's cumming inside you.

It tumbles out, a quiet moan at first, then a louder realization that takes both of you by surprise. His hips slam into your ass once, twice, and then he's filling you up, his admission hanging heavy in the air.

You're almost positive you imagined it until he repeats it again with a little more conviction.

"Fuck. I think I'm in love with you," he pants heavily, his hands intermittently squeezing your waist in time with the heady pulsing of his cock.

There's a beat of silence while you struggle to process his words, torn between the warring sensations of his release leaking down your thighs and shock tugging at your ribcage. He slips out of you as he softens, and once your connection is broken, it hits you like a ton of bricks.

"...What?"

He freezes behind you, and you immediately regret your gut response. That's not what you meant to say at all. Of course, it's not. You're just...confused. You hadn't expected it from him, not when you've only been together for a few months. Part of you wants to wait and see if he takes it back, just in case. But he doesn't.

"If...it's okay, you know. If you don't feel the same, it's okay," he mumbles, folding over you to rest his forehead between your shoulder blades.

His breath is warm and humid against your skin as he peppers soft, lingering kisses down your spine. Strong arms wrap around your waist, clinging to you like this might be his last chance, and suddenly it all feels so real. You've been too quiet for too long and now he's afraid.

You haven't told him yet, but there's no need to be. You just can't figure out how. How can anyone possibly cram the immensity of months of pizza nights on the living room floor watching James and the Giant Peach with Abby, and days off work spent tangled in bed, fucking and fighting and forgiving, into three little words?

You try anyway, but what comes out isn't a response. It's a plea. You don't know what you're asking for—you just know you need him.

"Mike," your voice shakes with it. He holds you tighter, and now there's so little space between you, you can't tell where he ends and you begin.

"You don't have to say it. It's okay, I won't be mad. I just...I need you to say something. Anything," he whispers, his day-old stubble rough and grounding as he speaks.

He nuzzles into you, breathing unevenly—nervously—and you realize he's comforting you. Regardless of what you decide, you're still his first priority.

You find his hand where it rests, splayed across your stomach, and lace your fingers with his. Just say it. Just tell him, say it back. There'll be plenty of time to show him how much you mean it.

Because they're not just words. They're not even a feeling. Love is a promise, and you'll keep it.

Taking a steadying breath, you turn in his arms and pull him down on top of you. It's the first time you've seen his face since he got home and wrestled you onto your hands and knees, all searing touches and deep, frantic thrusts. Since he told you he loves you.

His eyes meet yours, darting from one to the other, desperate for an answer, but yours, instead, follow the freckles across his nose down to the curve of his cupid's bow. There is so, so much to love about Mike Schmidt, and he deserves to know it.

"Of course, I love you," you promise, tilting your chin up so your bottom lip just grazes his top.

His face lights up with an unrestrained smile you see so rarely, the one reserved only for you and Abby on his happiest days. You lean forward to kiss him, softly and open-mouthed, and he inhales sharply, his hands shooting down to your waist.

His grip is a little too tight, and you think maybe he's scared you'll take it back, so you wrap your legs around him to hold him right where he is. Then, the kiss deepens and, when his hands start to roam, you realize what he needs.

Mike has always found solace in you, inside you, whenever he's struggling to express or accept what he's feeling, and right now he's asking for reassurance. Hooking your heels behind his back, you tug his hips into yours, and he groans into your mouth as he slips through his release still dripping from your heat.

He's already hard as a rock and bucking into you as if he didn't fuck you into his mattress less than an hour ago, except this time you can see him. The tension between his brows and in his shoulders visibly loosens, and he exhales a sigh of relief the moment he's buried to the hilt.

Enveloped by your warmth and security, it falls from his lips again, over and over—an increasingly sure declaration as he continuously fills you up and hollows you out.

You repeat it back, and it feels good. It feels so good to love Mike Schmidt.

thanks for reading!

[luvjunie]

— headcanons. miles morales (earth1610)

MILES who somehow managed to pick you up with that corny little shoulder touch his Uncle Aaron taught him. Not because it actually worked and left you smitten and head over heels for him—but because in that moment, the dorky boy who stood in front of you had made you laugh so hard you’d nearly peed yourself. There was no way that with a sense of humor like his, he wasn’t getting your number.

MILES who has never missed a good morning or a goodnight text. While often they may not always be at the most ideal times, it’s the fact that he remembered that means the most to you. Even if he’s running late to school, shoes untied, and shirt buttoned unevenly as he bundles out the door of his dorm, he insists he can text and run to class at the same time. And at night, even if his eyelids feel as if they weigh a ton the minute his back finally hits his mattress after webbing the villain of the week to a light pole for the cops, he refuses to fall asleep without telling you he loves you first— though the message may include a few sleepy typos. “Goodnihgt aby i lov youuu” “shitno i meant baby not aby”

MILES who hand draws a card for you when the monthly anniversary of your relationship rolls by. Each one of them is different and creative in their own way and you’re always excited to see what it’ll look like this time. He’ll swiftly swing by your fire escape on his way to patrol, drop a box of chocolates, your favorite candy, or a bouquet of flowers on the steel metal along with the card, then switch arms and thwip another web to the next building in the same breath.

MILES who loves to draw you, especially when the two of you haven’t been able to hang out in a while, just so he can reminisce and pretend like you’re there, in his room with him. His sketchbook is filled with pictures of you, hearts usually adorning whatever space is left blank on the paper. He sees you in such a different light than you view yourself in, and he’s able to capture certain aspects of your features that you hadn’t even noticed before. He was so embarrassed the first time you saw his sketchbook laid open on his bed and tried to hide them from you, nervous he’d make you uncomfortable in any way. But you were nothing short of flattered, and reassured him of such by smattering kisses onto the expanse his flushed face and telling him how much of a sweetheart he was.

MILES who falls asleep in the span of two seconds. Usually when you can’t come over, you settle for long facetime calls so you can tell each other about your days, or watch a movie together. But he’s just so comfortable around you, and your voice is so calming, like a lullaby, so much so that he can’t help it when he falls asleep halfway into your rundown of events. After five minutes of silence, which is unheard of for a kid like Miles who is always filled with endless quips and jokes, you’ll scoop your phone off your bed only to see his ivory-colored ceiling instead of his face.

“Milesss!” You whine, the sudden sound of shuffling from the other end of the line erupting through your speakers as he frantically scoops his phone back up from his pillow, his sleepy face shifting back into view.

“Huh?” He mumbles, clearing his throat as he blinks the sleep from his eyes.

“You fell asleep in the middle of my story again.” You accuse.

“Nuh uh! I’ve been awake this whole time. I’m just a really, really good listener, m-hm. I am a wonderful and completely-awake, professional listener.” He nods, gifting you his signature goofy smile that‘s always a reminder that you can never be mad at him for long.

MILES who loves taking you to the new places he’s able to go around the city now that he’s Spiderman.

When you found out your boyfriend was Spiderman, you were in such disbelief that you immediately asked for proof, for him to show you anything that proved he was spiderman other than a suit and a mask. And proof you got, if the powerful gusts of wind in your face as he swung the two of you with web after web over the skyline of the city were anything to go by.

You were terrified the first time, legs glued around his waist and arms clamped so tightly around his neck that there was no way you’d fall. He would never in a million years let you slip from his grasp anyways, but if you did, you were damn sure taking him with you. He kept one arm around your waist for support and laughed at how you hollered almost the entire way to the clock tower, and whether they were screams of excitement or terror, he didn’t know.

It was beyond exhilarating, seeing the city from above with him, standing on the roofs of buildings you never imagined you’d reach. It had your heart pumping faster than you thought it ever could and your trust in him solidifying even further, and soon you found yourself asking him take you again, and again. And Miles would take you anywhere you wanted to go; open to doing anything just to see a smile on your face and to have you holding onto him like that again.

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to any other platforms

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter two)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

chapter: 2/?

MASTERLIST

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, oral sex, thigh riding, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here (and pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

a/n: first off, THANK YOU for the love on chapter 1. wasn’t sure how I’d fare since I’ve done a lot of writing in my life but little to no smut. with that said! longer chapter incoming. also I just know he’d give insane head okay i just do,the guy looks like he fucks and he definitely does

You weren't sure exactly how you slipped away from Snow’s room that night, but you could somewhat piece it together in flashes. First a head rush, then the fire in the pit of your stomach practically having gasoline thrown on it.

You remembered a quiet gasp escaping your lips, then panic, a flash of white, and suddenly you were stumbling away, head spinning as you tried to catch your breath, pacing unevenly down the hallway, any chance of a stealthy escape long thrown out the window.

Back in your room, once the door was bolted and your back was against it, making sure nobody could get in if they tried, you had your first shot at clear-headedness since you’d heard heels scuffing the hardwood.

You’d soaked your panties through and were dripping down your thighs, but you’d be damned if you could get into the headspace to take care of it. Panic flooded your veins, ice-hot as you tried to catch your breath. you slid down the door and sat there, legs numb against the cold wooden planks.

Who was she? A million questions filled your head all at once. Was she from the Capitol? Could she be one of Snow’s friends, one of your friends? The thought made you sick. What if you’d dined with her before? Talked to her? How long had this been happening? Who knew about it? Were you being played?

Had he seen you watching him?

Unable to help yourself, your one-track mind took you back to the way he’d groaned your name, though you were half sure that had been a fever dream of some kind. Still, you kept replaying it. Over and over, like a broken record.

It didn’t make any sense, you were so fucking confused. All this time you’d been hoping he would make a move, you’d practically begged him to. Why hadn’t he? When you were clearly on his mind, and yet he made you believe he didn’t think of you that way at all. Was he just respecting your agreement?

You fiddled with the lace on the hem of your slip as you mulled it over. You stayed sat like this for almost an hour, trying unsuccessfully to wrap your head around it. When you ended up right back where you started, and you were sure enough time had passed that if someone was coming to get you, they would’ve already, you finally stood up. Your caution led you to drag a chair from across the room, propping it up by the door to jam the handle. That left you with the sliver of peace of mind you required to shower off this cold sweat you’d formed.

The next morning, you dreaded breakfast. But you knew you had to face him, as well as the fact that this could very well be your last meal. You should at least try to eat well.

You made your way downstairs, a few minutes later than usual, enough for Coriolanus to already be sipping coffee, a few pages through his newspaper. You’d not got fully dressed yet, not wanting the contrast to be too obvious, but you’d wrapped a silk dressing gown around you so you were a little more covered up. You knew one thing for certain, you wouldn’t be trying any more of your tricks until you knew just what you were dealing with.

He didn’t look over at you, which you took as a good sign. The urge to hide from him, from what you’d seen and what you now knew, overwhelmed you. You didn’t say a word, and picked silently at your breakfast, but despite your best efforts, not managing to keep more than a few bites down.

“You’re quiet today.” He muttered, and you started.

“Um.”

He lowered his paper.

“Something wrong?”

How about everything?

“Oh, no, I’m okay. Just uh…” you glanced up at him, and met his sharp gaze. Fuck. You’d hoped you’d go unnoticed. You felt like a deer in headlights, like he could read your mind.

“Well?” He prompted, gaze unwavering. You blinked.

“Headache.” You managed to breathe, faking a small, pitiful smile.

He brought his paper back up in front of him, crisply turning the page. You both thanked the new barrier between you for cutting off his stare, and resented it as you looked at the tiny printed words you couldn’t make out from where you were sitting.

“I’ll have Lucille bring you up something.”

“Thank you.” you said quickly, almost too quickly, and you feared he might lower his paper again to watch you as you stumbled over another excuse. But you fell lucky this time.

The week seemed to pass in a blur, Monday’s gala being one of the only times you really left your room when Snow was around, other than meal times, which you spent in a similar state as that first breakfast. You cursed yourself for throwing out your longer dresses, and settled for the least suggestive of them, the white one you’d been thinking of pitching to Snow as a backup plan in your panicked state outside his bedroom. That all felt worlds away now. What you’d seen had shifted the tides, marking a solid, definitive line in your head between the before and after.

The gala went as well as it could given the circumstances. You danced, Snow was charming to you in front of the guests, but held your gaze no longer than usual. It was simultaneously terrifying and thrilling to feel his hands on your waist, knowing what you knew. It felt like you’d been tapped with a cattle prod and had to hide it every time his hand brushed yours on top of the dinner table, as unsuspecting guests smiled at you, the happy couple.

If only they knew that in the same breath, you were scanning the crowd, wondering who the blonde could’ve been, how close she was to Snow, if at all, and hating the way every touch he placed on your hands and waist served as a reminder that he’d been touching her instead of you.

Your stupid brain had formed a highlight reel of what you’d witnessed behind Snow’s door, and it tortured you with every passing moment. To know he was thinking of you. To think that maybe, he wanted you there instead. It put a strange sense of possessive pride into you, that weaved between your jealousy. Because yes, you’d seen another girl on her knees with her mouth around him, but you hadn’t heard any name other than your own while it happened.

You carried this strange hope, dwindling to start off, and then building each day that you were left un-hanged and very much alive, slowly chipping away at your fear of the worst. And yet, you knew the game, unbeknownst to Snow, had been fundamentally changed. You’d stopped your antics altogether, now barely meeting his eye as you passed each other in the hallway, covering up more at breakfast, and only talking just enough to avoid another interrogation. Avoiding touch, and conversation, and all-around keeping yourself away from him.

You were quieter still at night in your room. After a few days, you’d finally felt safe enough to move the chair away and sleep with the door locked as you normally would. But while your games had stopped, your want for him had only been amplified. Fuelled by jealousy and frustration, you had to bite down on your hand so that not even the slightest noise made its way out as you pictured him, not as you used to in your fantasies, but as you’d seen him that night, undone with your name on his lips. It was much easier, in your head, to picture yourself as the one on your knees. Any other fantasy just failed to make the cut now you’d seen the real thing.

Thursday rolled around and you’d made a new habit of pacing the downstairs library when Coriolanus was out of the house. That way, if he got home and stepped inside, you could pretend to be lost in a book. But the hours seemed to stretch out and you became bored, and with no Snow in sight, you decided to head down to the servants’ quarters.

This wasn’t a common occurrence, but it wasn’t unheard of. You were known for your gentleness among the house staff, less harsh than Snow, but firm nonetheless. It had led you to a respectful friendliness with the maids and servants, and once every so often you’d check in on them.

Today’s objectives, however, were purely self-motivated. You found Lucille, who dressed you, at the kitchen table, chopping vegetables.

She stood upon seeing you, and curtseyed (Snow was rather old fashioned that way). You nodded, then took a seat at the foot of the table.

“Do you need any help with that?” You glanced at the cutting board.

Lucille’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Ma’am.”

You laughed. Lucille chopped and diced, and you asked questions. At first, they were after her family, her brother was sick and despite your offers, she wouldn’t accept help. So instead you listened, and slowly but surely, your questions got a little more directed toward the object of your interest.

You were good at playing the long game, so you started by asking about the company he kept. What she thought of them, with the promise that it would stay between the two of you, cross your heart.

She wouldn’t say much but she knew a little more than you; Snow kept very similar company as you did, and rarely went out for social visits. Any trips were strictly work-related, and when you eased into the topic of his past, Lucille mentioned, in very polite terms, that he had left a small trail of women heartbroken after a short period of time. That not all of them had been pleasant, and that she was pleased you seemed to have a positive effect on him.

She knew about your arrangement, practically the whole staff did, but they were kept on a very tight leash and were thoroughly reminded to not say a word acknowledging it, not even to you. It was with a knowing glance that Lucille told you she was happy you’d stayed around.

You smiled. Knowing that was likely all you were going to get for now, you let her be. By then, it was late enough to have gone dark, and you headed up to bed.

You awoke to creaking outside your door, and the shadow of footsteps from underneath it. You’d been tossing and turning for the last - you checked your watch - two hours. Excellent. You rolled onto your back wondering who it was, and then you heard it again. At first you wondered if it was just a sleep-deprived hallucination, or a sense of deja-vu, but then you focused, and there it was. The sound of heels. Again.

You sat up in bed, pushing your hair out of your face. You were enraged the first time, but if this was becoming a Thursday night tradition, it would be a serious problem. You were tired, you reasoned, you could just try to go back to sleep. Ignore it. Not let him have this power over you, a power that he didn’t even know he had. All the more reason to ignore it, and make it tomorrow’s problem.

But you just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, no matter how hard you tried. Your mother used to say it was a problem, always sticking your nose in places it didn’t belong. But it had got you this far, hadn't it?

You knew you were going to follow her to Snow’s room again, it was just a matter of time. You had to at least pretend you had an ounce of self-control, whereas really your head was thrumming and you knew it would take getting hit by a high-speed train to send you back to sleep now.

So you held off. Five minutes passed. Then ten. You had to know, at least, what they were doing. Maybe you could get a look at her face, see who it was, and answer some of the questions you had.

So you went. With a purpose this time, knowing full well what and who you’d end up seeing, trying to take steady breaths and focus on your plan. Check who it was, then leave.

You’d never been that great at execution. Call it hedonism, call it a morbid fascination, or living vicariously, but when you walked up to the door - which was ajar again, strangely even more than last time, by at least an inch or two - you looked inside, and your feet planted. The last shred of your self-control allowed you to take in the room first, the desk and chair that was right within your sight, and as you tucked yourself into the room, half hidden behind the door, you finally looked back at the bed where you’d seen Snow with his blonde girl last time.

Neither of them were sitting now.

Thirty seconds ago, you would’ve believed the hottest thing you’d ever seen was what played out in this room last week. But that was before you saw Snow turned away from you, still fully dressed with his sleeves rolled up, stomach on the bed and face between the blonde’s thighs, eating her out like he was on death row and she was his last meal.

You’d gotten head before. You knew it felt good, but the boys you’d slept with before your arrangement with Snow were selfish and inattentive. They would try, but they were far more interested in getting their dicks wet than showing you a good time. But Snow - you’d never seen anything like it. You didn’t know it could feel that good, or at least, not as good as the blonde girl - who you noted in the back of your mind, wasn’t anyone you recognised - was making it look. Her hips were bucking so hard he was having to pin her down with both hands around her waist.

She was just moving so much, wriggling and crying out and gasping and - you didn’t think you’d ever truly known jealousy until that moment. You couldn’t look away, knees weak and hands shaking, letting yourself get sucked into this headspace again, losing all trace of rationality. You’d think she was playing it up for him, but you knew what that sounded like. You’d faked enough orgasms to know if she was, but this? This was real. As she got close, grinding into him, writhing, running a shaky hand through his hair then getting louder, you managed to snap out of your trance.

In a flash, you ran back down the hallway.

If you thought you were avoiding Snow before, this week was about to give you a run for your money. You took breakfast in your room, and kept only to the parts of the house you knew he never entered. You only touched yourself in the shower, silent cries washed away by the water and steam, paranoia backing you into a corner.

You feigned illness the one time Snow sent a maid to inquire after you. Nothing too major, but enough to put him off. When he left the house, you snuck into the library to smuggle books back to your room, a pile forming as you tried ceaselessly to distract yourself.

You wrote home, you studied art and history. You attempted a few terrible sketches. You tore apart your room, then put it back together.

Before you knew it, Thursday rolled around again. On longer days like this, when Snow had been away working for hours at a time, you’d doubled down on your efforts to get information, and after chipping away for just long enough, you finally managed to squeeze some tidbits out of Lucille. Namely that there was a certain gentleman’s club in the city that he used to frequent before his election as President. Snow’s old driver might know its name, she said.

“But that was long before he met you, ma’am, rest assured.” She added hurriedly.

“Of course. Thank you, Lucille. I think I’ve kept you for long enough. Goodnight.”

Snow had been gone for the whole day, and you weren’t sure if he’d come home yet, so as you headed up to your room, you quietly wandered a little further down the hallway, to check if there was any light beneath his door. There wasn’t. Good. You were glad he wouldn’t be continuing this routine of his. Maybe this Thursday night, you could sleep peacefully.

With a sigh, and mulling over what you’d learned today, you returned to your room, poured a drink, then collapsed into bed.

This night was as sleepless as the rest, and you’d been drifting - not uncomfortably - in and out. A storm was brewing outside, and the sounds of howling wind began to keep you alert. You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, then glanced towards your door. Snow must’ve come home at some point, and very late at that, because dim lights had been turned on in the hallway. Paranoia crept into your mind, slowly poisoning your thoughts and turning you inside out.

It didn’t take long before the feeling pushed you to roll out of bed, slide on a dressing gown, and crack open your door. This time, you couldn’t hear footsteps, or anything that might arise suspicion. You closed the door again. Waited. Then looked around your room, at the messy sheets and the half finished glass of liquor on the nightstand. You rarely drank alone, but these past few weeks had been getting to you, fucking with your head. Coriolanus Snow had driven you to this.

The wind got louder, and you knew you were too wired to sleep, so you stood by your window and finished the glass.

You’d never been good with mysteries. You wanted to know everything, all the time. Know who had power over you, know precisely how to take it away. Know exactly what was happening around you at any given moment. But most of all, you didn’t like being played for a fool.

And sure, the ethics of it had never been discussed between the two of you. Your business was strictly professional, but when you weren’t allowed to sleep around, why could he?

In fact, how dare he?

You poured another glass, straight whiskey. Downed it, pacing your room, back and forth between the door and the window, running your fingers along the ridges of the crystal glass. You thought about him, comfortably in his room, not a care in the world.

How dare he.

You weren’t sure if it was the drink or the buildup of your situation that had your blood boiling, but it didn’t matter. You were incensed. His behaviour was an insult to your name, to your family’s name. Sure, this relationship was a sham, but all the more reason for him to act with basic fucking respect. Sleeping with - and very obviously, at that - a whore, who had a bad habit of leaving the door cracked open, was unacceptable.

You were running hot, and if you knew one thing for certain, it was that when Snow met with fire, he was going to melt. You’d make sure of it.

Your feet took you into the hallway, with the decidedness that this would be the last time.

You rushed down the corridor with a tightly bottled rage that was about to burst, words hot on your tongue and demanding to be spoken, until you turned the corner and saw Snow’s door half open. You stopped in your tracks. Reassessed, then stepped closer, slowly, steadily. Remembering what you were there for.

Then, as you got close enough to see inside - right there, without you even having to step past the threshold, were the two of them, lit by a table lamp, Snow sat on the desk chair as the girl rode him to high heaven, obscene noises getting louder. As you approached you saw Snow’s face again, eyes shut, breath laboured, and you couldn’t believe that anyone just walking by would be able to see this. They were fucking like animals, out in the open. You didn’t know how or why you drew closer still, closing in on them. The girl’s head was dropped down to his shoulder, back facing you, and couldn’t see you unless she turned, but Snow? He was practically facing the door, almost as if he’d been…

No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

But you didn’t have time to think it through, because Snow’s eyes blinked open, and you knew. He was looking right at you, blue eyes piercing into yours, sharp and dangerous like he was going in for the kill. You stood there, jaw dropped, unable to look away. In what world could you walk in on someone like this, and feel like they held all the cards, and you none? That was how he looked at you; like you’d been there watching the whole time, and this was all a show, playing out exactly as he’d planned it. Like somehow, despite all your best efforts, he’d landed on top.

It was like he read your mind, because he wet his lips, unblinking as the blonde writhed on his lap, and fucking smirked.

a/n: can’t wait for them to hate fuck after this (oh sorry forgot i’m the author for a sec) thanks for reading &lt;3

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii

if you’d like to be tagged, please leave a comment on the masterlist!! 💌

[lundenloves]

THE CARD

〔 this is dedicated to all the girlies who never stopped trying. because sometimes, putting up boundaries isn’t as easy as it seems and that’s okay. if you think i’m talking to you, i am. 〕

˗ˏˋ to be flat about it, simon’s daughter stopped making him birthday cards. this one unintentionally got a bit deep but i do that with everything so don’t act surprised.

⇀ 1.1k | no warnings

masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | request info | taglist

Your husband often forgot about his birthday. Lost to bad memories, and lack of care but primarily his job. Even still, it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to remember — feeling comfort in letting it slip under the rug, rubbing the back of his neck in absence when you had asked him the date. He insisted it was something to be ignored, and for your three years without kids it was, aside from the one present he reluctantly let you buy. 

Of course, that was until your first born came along. 

And there were a lot of things Simon didn’t know about having children. The obvious ones like the guilty regret late at night, being out of his depth and even how to deal with them. But, also their childlike wonder and passion for random things that seemed so foreign to him. Afterall, a birthday is a birthday, it never seemed to matter whose it was — your kid would turn to incredulous sobs if it wasn’t celebrated. Especially when she had found out about her fathers, bottom lip quivering when he had gently told her how he prefers to not do anything. 

It started when she was a toddler, forgetting about his birthday until she had heard you talking about it. Small ears perked up at the mention of the word, hanging by the door to watch as you traced Simon’s arm and the tattoos, his head shaking and a few words mumbled between you. Every year you asked if he wanted to do anything, knowing his answer but hoping for another.

So, naturally, she took to her bedroom. Trashing her small desk with dozens of crayons to create a card for Simon, one that was unevenly folded yet made with her whole heart. 

She did that every following year without fail. Except, her cards folded more evenly as time passed and the crayons were exchanged for pens, then pencils. The drawings got better and better, words spelt right and the inner messages were longer all before they had stopped entirely.

In seemingly simple change for a shop bought card. See, the words were joined together nicely though the message was shorter and the lack of ten kisses in exchange for one suddenly made the card seem empty. “Why’d you stop?” You would ask one night as the pair of you lay together in the dark, your husband's place taken by your daughter near every night when he was away. “Making the cards.”

She shrugged. “Didn’t think he cared.” 

When in reality, those cards were the only thing Simon looked forward to year round. And it wasn’t like he had outwardly expressed how much they meant to him, rather giving a weak smile and a soft kiss to her temple each time. But he kept them, every single one, every drawing was stored for safekeeping in a small box filled to the brim. Sketches that ranged from family drawings, to landscapes, animals and solo drawings of him if not herself.

Time ran from small limbs clambering over your own, six in the morning to reach Simon who had stirred when she fell onto his chest, a hand instinctively placed on the back of her head in his half-conscious state. “It’s your birthday!” She used to drag out with a laugh, sitting up on his stomach and holding the card mere centimeters from his face. 

To the last birthday, handing him the shop bought card in all teenage glory, too embarrassed to write ‘I love you’ so it came as a ‘Love you’ and the once overly done x’s and o’s were now a set of one. He didn’t know the first thing about teenagers either. How past a certain age everything felt detrimental and targeted, embarrassment seeped through everything and it wasn’t cool to like your dad anymore. 

Especially not as a teenage girl. 

And it wasn’t until he was away for his birthday for the first time in years that she had missed it. Missed the softening of his eyes and the way his arm would wrap around her shoulder and pull her to his side, hand rubbing her arm in acknowledgement of her efforts. 

She took his safety for granted most of the time. Waving to him at the door with no doubt that he would be back months later, a naturally blunt text that he was safe would be sent to you and all would be well. Though, sometimes he was required to hand his phone in before the tougher trips. Designed to provide the safest atmosphere, though back home many miles away it never did feel safer. And that was when she missed him the most. 

You always wanted what you couldn’t have.

Simon was no better. He had taken the younger years for granted. The tears before bed, stalking into his bedroom after a bad dream, tired eyes in the mornings and the excitement to see him once back home. He wasn’t to know when the last time he would pick up his daughter was, or the last time she would ask for help when reaching for a cereal box. Hell, even the final she had fallen asleep on his chest or asked him to stay until she had dozed off in her own ‘big’ bed. Small hands wrapping around his fingers, giggles and toothy grins had all evaporated into nothing. 

It was tough being a dad.

But it was hell being a teenage girl. 

Sometimes it felt ike you were made purely to drink iced coffee with alternative milk, wear baggy clothes and feel bad for old people every now and then. The act of growing up isn’t something you want, though something you concede to after realising you had wished your youth away. 

And in that, 

There was something about girls and their fathers. 

The constant need for subconscious approval and love, feeling bad for the man who raised you whenever he was left to eat dinner alone or scorned by your mother in a heated argument you couldn’t help to overhear. Simon’s daughter had always been in that predicament. 

She missed her dad when he left, yet hated when she shared the kitchen with him. It felt like an itch that you weren’t able to scratch, though his rare hugs completely killed all flame she had for him and sometimes, instead, they allowed for tears to flow. Because after all, a girl is really just her dad. 

Maybe that card should've been made after all. 

˗ˏˋ university is wiping me out already. it’s the first week back do you want to fucking calm down. been set two presentations (both recorded wtf) and three literature papers.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffeee

as always reblogs and comments are mighty appreciated blah blah blah

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: A New World {3}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: just a short smut scene to keep you fed while I’m away 😊 Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, p in v & a, cumplay WC: 800~ F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four

The alarm to get ready for media day was promptly ignored and for the first time in his life Lando was the first one awake. You were semi-conscious, half asleep and caught in the peripherals of a dream that left you hot and needy. Your body sought out the source of hardness behind you and Lando kissed your shoulder as his morning wood pressed to your ass.

“Seven days, baby,” he murmured in your ear. The relevance was lost on you in your state as his hand lifted your leg up so his cock could tease your entrance. You were in a trance as his tip penetrated you and your eyes burst open as you felt the warmth of his cock for the first time and Charles grinned at the sight.

“Seven days,” you breathed unevenly as you realised the significance and Lando echoed the sound as his cock was coated in your wetness.

“Fuck, Charles,” Lando moaned in your ear. “She feels like heaven.”

Without the latex barrier it was like you could feel every ridge and every vein on his shaft as it dragged along your walls. With nothing coming between you, you felt everything.

You whimpered at the loss as Lando pulled out but it was momentary as Charles replaced him. You could feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest as he grabbed your knee and pulled it over his hip, deepening the angle of his lazy thrusts as he sealed his lips over yours. Charles stole the moan that would have filled the hotel room as Lando’s finger teased your ass, using your own arousal to prep it for him.

“Putain, you’re so tight, chérie,” Charles gasped as your walls clenched around his cock and he rolled onto his back, keeping your bodies joined as you settled on top.

“Relax, baby,��� Lando cooed as he knelt behind you, spreading your cheeks as he watched you ride Charles for a moment. He was almost undone by the sight of his boyfriend’s cock, bare and glistening with your juices, pumping in and out of your pretty pussy. Sense came back to him when your head fell back with a cry and your body shuddered with your orgasm and the urge to feel that for himself spurred him forward.

Light danced around your vision as Lando inched himself into you, the fullness seeming to chase the very air from your lungs as your body stretched to fit them both. Lando stilled behind you as his chest pressed to your back and he breathed with the counted marks of a man barely holding on to his sanity.

“Best decision ever,” you purred as you tortured them, slowly fucking yourself against them to see who would lose patience first.

“Agreed,” Lando chuckled in your ear. “I can feel Charles inside you, love.”

“Moi aussi,” Charles groaned, snapping his hips up and leaving you breathless.

You could feel another orgasm approaching, the feeling of weightlessness and tightening causing a short circuit in your brain.

“Holy shit,” Lando moaned as he felt your body clench around him. “Gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill you up so good.”

“Je vais te remplir la chatte.”

Your cunt clenched at the dirty words and you lost yourself to the feeling of their cocks filling your holes and the heat that flooded you as they came inside you.

You collapsed into a sweaty pile of tangled limbs, but Charles was strong enough to handle the added weight as his arms encompassed both you and Lando.

“Hmm,” he hummed happily behind you as he pulled out and watched his cum leak from your ass. You peeked over your shoulder to see the possessive look in his eyes before yours fluttered shut as he pushed it back in with his finger. “Pretty.”

You were happy to take the fine for being late to the media pit, nothing could bring you down from the high you were on.

Click here for the next part.

[heartss4val]

"lay all your love on me."

synopsis: general dating headcanons for our favorite water boy. pairing: percy jackson x gn!reader headcanons. word count: 1.2k

��� oh, the antics.

• he's constantly trying to impress you even if you claim it gives you secondhand embarrassment. he'll be practicing tricks on his skateboard and be like, "this one's for you, babe!" and goes to do a kickflip or something and COMPLETELY falls off. LMFAOO.

and he'll be all whiny when you patch up his hand because he wanted to make you proud!! but all is good after you reassure him and kiss his scratches better. (as per his request.)

• percy loves partaking in your hobbies, regardless of his skill level.

if your hobby is knitting, soon enough you’ll be gifted a sweater with a pink heart and your name stitched unevenly on the seams. yeah, it might be a little itchy and it's practically falling off your shoulders, but he tried his best!!

if you like reading, he'll snuggle up with you as you two share a book. (although he prefers if you read to him, dyslexia is a pain.)

you get the point. quality time is something he values greatly. as long as he gets to spend time with you, he doesn't mind what activities you choose to engage in, whether it's watching, listening, or doing something else altogether.

• you usually accompany percy on quests, but on the rare occasion when you don't, he's quite literally counting the days until he can see you like a child counting down until christmas.

before leaving, the hugs he gives you are so tight it's unreal. like, his friends have to intervene to separate him from you. as he gradually steps back, he tells you he loves you and misses you despite him not even leaving for the quest yet, LMFAO. he only releases his grip on you when your index fingers are the last thing touching.

but when he comes back, his affection for you is on full blast. like i'm talking shrieks of excitement when he finally sees you, which attracts the attention of some nearby campers but he couldn’t care less as he runs over, nearly colliding into you with his hug.

• percy has a unique way of hugging that leaves you feeling entirely enveloped in his warm embrace. when he hugs you, your entire torso is engulfed, and your face is pressed against his chest. his arm wraps around your waist, almost entirely covering it. his other hand, calloused yet gentle, cradles the base of your head, holding you close to his chest or neck, and the scent of seawater and his cologne fills your senses.

• matching bracelets type of love!! one day, you two were strolling around manhattan and came across one of those cheap, diy jewelry kits for 10% off. you know, the kind that's meant for little kids and not demigod teenagers? yeah, that kind.

but percy bought it for you anyway, and you guys spent the remainder of the day crafting matching jewelry for each other! yeah, it did get frustrating sometimes, (you always have to tie the end of percy's bracelet/necklace for him because for some reason he's completely incapable of doing it himself.) but you two laugh and tease each other the whole time and it's just really sweet.

percy made you a blue bracelet with a little trident charm in the middle, and you made him one with your signature color theme and your initials on the beads!! both of you wear them around camp proudly, and the beads make a jingling sound whenever you hold hands with him.

(+ he runs his fingers over the bracelet you made for him whenever he starts to miss you.)

• hands intertwined all the time!! he's developed such a habit for it that whenever you're together, he automatically reaches for your hand. whether you're walking around camp, sitting on the couch, or even sleeping, holding your hand is so ingrained in his mind that he doesn't even think about it.

percy loves feeling the difference between your palm and his, whether yours is softer, calloused, coarser, etc. he also loves playing with any rings you wear, twisting them around your finger or rearranging them.

• cabin sleepovers are an absolute must. you have them once every few weeks — and would have them more often if it weren't for the harpies.

not only does he love spending time with you in his cabin, but also he just sleeps more peacefully around you.

percy likes to rest with his chin nestled in the curve of your shoulder. you've grown accustomed to the feeling of his warm breath against your skin and the weight of his head against your collarbone — which he leaves lazy kisses on before he falls asleep. only when his eyelashes brush against your neck, fingers curled into the fabric of your sweater, can he relax and feel safe, warm, and loved enough to fall asleep.

• percy jackson is the type of boyfriend who leaves his clothes out on purpose for you to wear. he pretends not to notice that the hoodies he lends you never return to his closet. but he doesn't really mind because he loves seeing you in them.

• staring is a percy thing. even if he tries to hide his gaze every once in a while, you still manage to catch him sitting across from you with a lovesick smile, his eyes trailing over your face taking in every feature as if it was his first time seeing you.

when his eyes finally catch yours, he quickly looks away, but he can't resist glancing back at you a moment later because like, how could he not?? and with his confidence building up, soon enough he whispers, “c'mere and give me a kiss, yeah?”

• percy always tries to be creative when it comes to dates because they're kinda limited at camp. while you've experimented with various activities such as training, picnics, and swimming, your favorite pastime is strawberry picking. you two spend the day in the fields, picking the sweetest strawberries you ever had which later turned into refreshing strawberry smoothies.

but he's so particular about what strawberries he picks. you'll go to pick one with a little bruise and he'll whip his head around so fast like??? it's not that serious percy.

• percy does his best to learn everything about you, from the things you love to the things that you hate. if you hate bugs, he'll get rid of them all for you, (but he puts them somewhere safe because he's a sweetheart.) he'll speak for you in public if you're not comfortable in social situations, and he'll lead you through large crowds if you hate them. he's always learning and paying attention to the things you like, dislike, love, and hate so that he always brings a smile to your face.

he'll go out of his way to learn your favorite songs so he always knows which ones to play during long car rides, he knows how you like your coffee, and he has your entire takeout order memorized!!

• percy's love for you is so evident, there may as well be hearts in his eyes. he thinks you're the absolute prettiest, and nothing can change his mind. you two are perfect together, and the whole camp knows it.

a/n

this was supposed to come out earlier but my peanut allergy got provoked, but fuck it, we ball. 💪💪 (malnourished, heavy eye bags, weeping, hysterically shrieking, dehydrated, and on the verge of insanity.)

xx val

[flowerandblood]

Object of Despair (2/3)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, oral sex, fingering, hate sex, smut, angst, domination, violence, swearing, humiliation, hard chauvinism ]

[ description: Aemond is forced to marry a widow from House Arryn as part of the alliance and support of his brother in the war against the Black faction. After their wedding night, which went completely differently than he imagined, Aemond tries to return to his daily routine. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. Lots of hate sex, violence and chauvinism. ]

Part 1 − Object of Desire Part 3 − Object of Delight Epilogue

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Their wedding night was so different from what he had imagined that he was at once horrified, ashamed and intrigued by the person who had been living in the chamber next to his for several days. She wasn't seeking his company or attention, appearing only at suppers spent together with his family.

He knew he could have summoned her to his chamber at any time, and it would have been her duty to come and give him what he wanted, but every time he meant to do so he changed his mind and resigned, frustrated, staring into the light of the fire burning in the fireplace, sitting in front of it on his ornate wooden chair, thinking about that evening.

After what had happened between them it seemed to him that they had both suddenly come down to earth, not knowing what to make of how aggressive and full of rage the rapprochement had been.

He let her go and watched her, breathing unevenly, tying back his breeches, as she immediately covered her buttocks back up with her nightgown − he could see that her whole body was shaking, her lips trembling, her eyes big, her cheeks puffy from the tears that ran down her face.

She calmed down a little after his words and reassurances, but she was still terrified.

She asked him in a breaking, weak, quiet voice if she could now return to her chamber, and although he had originally had no intention of letting her lay in his bed, he felt disappointment at the thought that she had not begged him to let her stay.

Not wanting to show weakness or allow her to think that her presence was something he craved, he allowed her to do so with a nod, and she left without a word, neither bowing to him nor wishing him a good night, quietly opening and closing the door of his chamber behind her.

The next day, during the duel with Criston Cole, he could not concentrate − whenever he caught sight of a shade of blue out of the corner of his eye he involuntarily looked in that direction, thinking it was her in her gown that he remembered so fondly, his heart pounding hard with shame.

He pressed his lips together, turning his head away, snorting, playing with the hilt of his sword in his hand with apparent impatience, seeing some other woman − Cole watched him vigilantly, but not dared to ask either about her or his impressions of her.

Her presence was a taboo for him.

That same day, he walked and spent long hours in the great royal library, despite the fact that he usually instructed his servants to bring thick, old volumes filled with the history of his family and all Essos to his chamber. He hoped to meet her there, to confront her again, this time clearly showing her where she belonged.

To his disappointment, he did not see her until the evening − her blue gown immediately catched his attention, sewn from a soft, lovely fabric it fell heavily over her pleasant, girlish curves, accentuating her figure.

He swallowed hard as he looked at her face and noticed a large red bruise under her eye, which must have been the result of the moment he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head on the table.

She was discussing something in a whisper with Helaena, his sister bent over her with concern, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture they had all inherited from their mother.

They fell silent when they noticed him − her violet eyes looked up at him, sad, resigned and tired. He thought, feeling a burning embarrassment in his chest, that explaining to her who had the final word on what their marriage would look like was no longer necessary.

Sitting down at the table next to her he knew what awaited him − when his mother walked into the chamber and saw his wife she froze, the smile gone from her face.

She looked at him with pain, with disappointment he could not bear and he closed his eyes, thinking only of the fact that he wanted to sink to the ground.

"Dear sister-in-law, has my brother given you another gift besides, we all pray, his future heir in your womb?" Aegon asked with a sneer. He clenched his teeth, sucking in a deep breath, looking at his brother with grim fury, to which he only smirked, popping a grape into his mouth, biting through it with a loud crunch, amused.

He felt his wife shift beside him − his heart began to beat faster in panic at the thought that she was about to say something to humiliate him, to mock him in front of his entire family to take revenge on him.

"I slipped in the bath, my King." She replied simply, without emotion, regret or anger. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, surprised at the ease with which she lied despite it being obvious that everyone around her had guessed what had really happened.

His brother raised an eyebrow clearly impressed, cocking his head, leaning back in his chair with a loud creak of wood.

"You slipped." He repeated softly and she replied nothing, looking at him calmly.

She and Aegon exchanged glances for a moment − it seemed to him that she feared neither him nor his position.

"I hope no more such unpleasant…accident happens to you, my Lady. Such a pretty face." He hummed, reaching for his cup, but she merely blinked, no grimace passing across her face, as if his words did not bother her at all.

He himself didn't know what he thought of all this, so he decided to go back to his daily routine, pretending that she simply wasn't there, convincing himself that it would be better that way.

He didn't need her, he didn't want her, and her silence and distance were doing him a favour.

He watched her sometimes from afar, seeing her pleasant silhouette glide between the columns as he trained in the courtyard, always headed for the garden, the tree he had read about before she came to King's Landing, and at which he understood the Northerners prayed.

He did not think of it at first, but then he began to notice the gazes of the men and guards fixed on her as she passed them, their smiles, their dreamy gaze as if they were imagining what they would do with her body, the body of his wife, his right and his duty.

It planted a seed of doubt in him − he wondered if perhaps she was meeting her lover there, if he was a source of ridicule in the keep because the servants already knew that she had not been faithful to him, that she had betrayed her crippled husband.

This thought made him furious, but having no proof for his supposition he decided one day to change his plan for the afternoon and watch her through the window − as soon as he caught sight of her figure passing through the cloisters he left his chamber, moving unhurriedly after her.

As he walked between the tall shrubbery, hearing the grass rustling and the birds singing, he tried to focus on other sounds, expecting quiet moans and panting to reach his ears, but heard only his own footsteps traversing the path strewn with small rocks rattling under his feet.

He stopped as he stepped into a small clearing − a large, white weirwood with a disturbing, wrinkled, red face on its trunk looked at him ominously, his wife lying on her back on the grass beneath it, her eyes closed, her dark, loose hair surrounding her head, her hands laid on her stomach.

He stood motionless, wondering if she was waiting for someone, however, she did not open her eyes or look around.

He thought with surprise that she was asleep.

He swallowed loudly, for some reason feeling desire at the sight of her lying silhouette, the fact that someone could see and hear them, that she was his wife, and he could take her here and anywhere else he wished.

He felt how his cock swell in his breeches, his lips tightening into a thin line as the heat spilled in his lower abdomen.

She shuddered and opened her eyes when she heard him move towards her − she lifted herself up on her arm, her lips parted in disbelief, however for some reason she did not rise or try to escape.

He stood, towering over her, feeling his superiority and dominance over her in this position and this situation, his fingers slid down to his breeches, untying them in a calm, nimble manner.

"Come here, wife. I promised you something, didn't I?" He asked, feeling his heart pounding like mad, releasing his aching erection, its pink tip glistening from his precum.

It seemed to him that she was shocked by his insolence, by the fact that he wanted to profane her sacred place, after a moment, however, the expression on her face changed. He parted his lips noticing how she rose slowly, kneeling before him as if to pray, with a light flick of her hand sliding the material of his breeches lower, looking him straight in the eyes.

No fear, no terror, no regret.

He sighed and immediately grabbed her by the hair, wanting to be in control of what was happening when her hand grasped his throbbing, hard cock in her soft palm, squeezing it at the base. He drew in a loud breath as her lips brushed its tip without any hesitation, her pink, shiny tongue licking it encouragingly. He tilted his head back, delighted.

"− fuck − keep going −" He commanded, impatiently pressing her closer to his lower abdomen, watching her with excitement and curiosity, his manhood quivering with desire in her hand, her fingers giving it a calm, assured strokes. He groaned involuntarily when he saw how she slowly slid the fat head of his cock between her lips, the tip of her tongue teasing him lazily.

She sighed as the thrust of his hips slid it deeper into her mouth − he heard her almost choke when it hit the back of her throat, her palate wonderfully wet and warm, her lips clamped down on it, in some natural, subconscious reflex beginning to suck it.

"− that's it − there you go −" He gasped with awe at the perverted sight before him, his fingers entwined in her smooth, soft hair, clenching down on it, controlling himself, however, so as not to cause her too much pain, forcing her head not to escape when his hips with sure deep pushes invaded her throat.

"− did you often satisfy your late husband like this? − it's clear this isn't your first time − little slut −" He exhaled, groaning lowly listening to the loud clicks of her saliva each time his aching cock disappeared again and again deep into her mouth, her hand tightening on it more firmly, making him accelerate his pace.

"− stop − that's enough −" He muttered, having no intention of wasting his seed, wanting to finish inside her, trying to push her away, but he felt her tongue trailing down his length, her free hand clamped down on his buttock, not allowing him to escape − he had to lean against the tree trunk, his other hand holding her hair as his cock thrust into her greedily.

"− f-fuck, fuck, fuckkk −" He hissed out in rage combined with delight and groaned loudly in relief as he felt his semen spill over her palate. He looked down at her, her eyes closed, all around them only the rustle of the leaves, his shaky, loud breaths and the sound of her swallowing, so lewd it sent shivers down his spine.

Slowly she slid it out of her mouth, his cock all slick and glistening from her wetness − her soft, pink tongue licked it for a while longer, teasing and sucking lightly on its tip from which the remnants of his seed still flowed. He stroked her smooth hair, feeling his body still shudder with shivers of pleasure after such intense fulfilment.

"− you look perfect like this −" He gasped softly, his thumb running over her cheek, noticing with some kind of relief that there was hardly a trace left of the bruise from a few days ago.

"− you will spend this night in my chamber − you should try how it tastes sticky with your moisture − don't touch yourself −"

That evening he waited impatiently for her, strangely excited and anxious, pacing around his chamber, absorbed in his thoughts.

He feared that she would humiliate him, show him, by not coming to his summons, that she despised and disrespected him, and then force him to use violence against her again.

He did not want any more accusing glances from his mother directed towards him at the table.

He shuddered as the door to his chamber opened suddenly − he turned over his shoulder and swallowed hard, noticing her figure covered only by her night gown and the cashmere blue shawl thrown over her shoulders − her long dark hair were loose, the look of her violet eyes calm and full of some kind of curiosity.

"− have you touched yourself? −" He asked coolly as the door closed behind her with a loud clatter of wood, turning towards her, walking in her direction with his hands folded behind his back.

"− no −" She replied softly, without any pleasantries or further elaboration, looking straight into his face without a sign of fear or uncertainty.

He intended to regain control of the situation she had taken from him when she decided when he would come and how, all by herself.

Stupid cunt.

"− undress and lie on your stomach −" He commanded in a dispassionate, cool, deep tone, from which her gaze darkened a little, as if clouded, her plump lips parted slightly but no sound came out of them.

She walked past him without a word, heading barefoot towards his bed and climbed onto it, her back turned to him as she sat on his bedding, letting him watch as her fingers slid the fabric of the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall down, revealing her naked, smooth body.

His hands began to undo the clasps of his tunic as she lay on her stomach following his command, her face turned the other way so that he could not see her gaze − the sizzle of the fire in the fireplace all around them, and besides, a complete silence filled with a heavy, stifling tension, a threat of what was about to happen between them.

He felt what he saw in his cock, his manhood expressing painful impatience, throbbing in his breeches at the thought that he intended to come deep inside her that night more than once.

"− did you love that fool? −" He asked indifferently in a voice slightly hoarse with arousal, licking his lips with his tongue in satisfaction to see that her whole body tensed, her fingers clenched on the pillow lying under her head, her back rising in a shuddering breath.

She was silent for a long moment, as if his question had startled her − he watched her vigilantly, pulling his boots off his feet, staying only in his undershirt and breeches as she lay exposed, bare, vulnerable, condemned to him and him alone.

No matter what her answer would be.

She shuddered, as if snapped out of her reverie, as he sat up behind her, his large hand running over and stroking her full, soft buttocks.

"− speak −" He hissed, his hand slapping her bare skin so sharply and quickly that she bounced and squealed. He gave a reassuring stroke to the spot, red and throbbing in the indistinct shape of his hand − involuntarily his lips curved into a teasing smirk as he noticed the moisture glistening between her thighs, her folds pink, throbbing and swollen.

She liked this kind of games, he knew that.

"− I was the furnishings of his household − I loved him as much as his chair, his bed or his table could −" She muttered, and he looked at her, surprised, not knowing himself what he thought of her words. He stared at her face, her gaze fixed on his window, her lower lip trembling as if she was trying not to cry.

He hummed, intrigued, moving forward, placing his hands on either side of her head, his long hair tickling the bare skin of her back and shoulders, making her gasp loudly, her body quivering all over in anticipation and uncertainty, fear and curiosity at what he was about to do.

"− I am, I believe, in his debt − he taught my wife how to suck cock so well −" He whispered quietly with a hint of dark mockery and threat, her lips parted wide in a quiet moan as he slid one of his hands under her stomach, parting her legs with his knee, forcing her to spread them in front of him, his mouth ran over her neck as his fingers sank into her leaking, soft, hot womanhood.

"− but did he fuck you good? − hm? − did he know your weaknesses? − your most sensitive points? −" He murmured, her whole body breathless, her buttocks bucking up towards him and rubbing against his hard cock, moving to the rhythm of his fingers as their tips dug into her tender skin, trailing around her bud, teasing her once in a while, his hand all sticky with her juices.

"− fucking answer me − he fucked you with his fingers 'till you mewled his name? − 'till you begged for his seed? −" He growled, crushing her with the weight of his body, his other hand clamping down on her neck, careful not to overdo it though − she whimpered loudly, writhing beneath him as he quickened his pace, running his fingers over her puffy slit again and again, leaking from her fluids, his fingers invading her fleshy folds with a loud, lewd click, his aching manhood hitting her buttocks.

"− yes − he's gained experience with whores and servants before, just like you −" She hissed out, her breath caught in her throat as his fingers tightened harder around her neck, his two fingers forced their way inside her, stretching her tight, hot, wet walls with sure, deep pushes to which her hips responded greedily with rocking, meeting him halfway.

"− shameless whore − maybe I should care less about your pleasure, hm? − fuck you so that you cry out in pain −" He threatened, and she laughed, struggling to catch air, her lips parted wide, her eyelids clenched.

"− objects do not know fulfilment or disappointment − love or hate − do what you want with me −" She breathed out, her eyes opened, releasing a wave of tears that ran down her cheeks, seeing this he slid his fingers out from inside her and let go of her neck, quickly untying his breeches, for some reason furious at her words, his nostrils twitched dangerously in accelerated breath.

His thumbs spread her folds wide to the sides, allowing the fat head of his cock to force its way inside her with her loud moan of surprise, his one, brutal push was enough for him to thrust deep into her with a sigh of pleasure and satisfaction.

"− listen − that sounds like disappointment to you? − like hatred? −" He sneered, panting loudly, placing his hands on either side of her head again, his knees spreading her thighs wide so that he slid fully into her, bucking his hips, his thrusts violent, sure and deep, each time his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a loud click of her moisture.

"− fuckin' leaking − all thirsty for my cock −" He gasped, feeling her muscles squeeze him tightly in pleasure, his face sinking into her soft, fragrant hair, his hands in some subconscious, natural reflex found her breasts, caressing and kneading them between his fingers, teasing her nipples with his thumbs.

"− ah −" She cried out innocently, girlishly − he stifled a low groan hearing that sound, accelerating his pace, opening her slick cunt wide on his cock again and again with brutal, quick thrusts, his mouth sliding down to her neck, clamping down on her skin, sucking her so painfully hard that she hissed, grabbing him helplessly by the hair.

"− I promise you that when I'm done with you, you won't be able to sit up tomorrow − your stomach and womb full of my seed −" He growled out into her ear, his breath caught in his throat as her hands found his, clenching on his fingers, entwining them together, her hips responding to his thrusts so eagerly that he struggled to restrain himself from coming just yet.

"− don't stop − fill me, please, please, please −" She mewled so loudly and sweetly that he lost control completely; he could feel the sweat trickling down his back from the exertion, one of his hands slid down her stomach, giving her pearl a few encouraging strokes from which her whole body quivered.

"− good girl − say my name −" He muttered with his face pressed against her soft hair, no longer controlling his movements, his hips slamming into her involuntarily, aggressively and quickly, no longer sliding out of her, chasing his own fulfilment, her walls clenched against him greedily, sucking him inside, wet and hot.

"− Aemond, fuck me, fuck me, f-fuck −" She whimpered and that was the end of it, from her lips came sounds of pleasure and relief he had never heard before, sweet, girlish, innocent, vulnerable, he felt her moisture trickle down her thighs, soaking him all over, her core throbbing hard in fulfillment, giving him wonderfull squeeze.

He gasped loudly, letting go at last, coming so hard inside her that it went dark before his eyes, his fingers tightened on her body to make sure she wouldn't escape him, their bodies writhing in convulsions, overwhelmed by how intense the fulfilment was, slapping against each other.

"− oh gods −" He mumbled, stroking her smooth shoulders, breasts, hips, thighs with his large, rough hands − he felt as if the scent of her body, her hair and her moisture had completely overwhelmed him, filling his lungs and his head. He closed his eyes, panting loudly with her, only realising after a moment that the fingers of one of her hands were still entwined with his.

They lay like that for a moment, trying to calm themselves, his lips finding her cheek, neck and shoulder, placing hot, lazy, wet kisses on them. He heard her sigh softly, her words like honey to his ears.

"− I want to taste you now −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddessing @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[kaciidubs]

telling pillow princess hannie to top you, and so he sits there dumbfounded, unsure of where to even start. as he’s desperately fucking into you, he’s whining and begging you to take the lead again, because it’s just soooo difficult and tiring for him to do all the work </3

PLZ MAKE THIS A DRABBLE / MINI FIC

Nonnie, your brain is AMAZING for this! I'll turn it to a short drabble for now, but perhaps in the future it could expand it into a mini fic! ❣️ ❣ Warnings; Pillow Princess! Jisung, Fem Mean Dom! Reader, decryphilia, begging, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, slight feminization, mommy kink ❣ Additional tags; Han is referred to as Jisung, Sungie, and more, Reader is referred to as Jagi, and Mommy

Telling pillow princess! Jisung to top you would go something like this...

"Y-You want me to what?"

It wasn't that he hadn't heard you clearly, no, not at all, but the words you said almost sounded foreign to him the first go around.

"Fuck me."

Yep, that's exactly what you said.

Of course, he'd wanted to get into your pants the second he came home, his brain going dumb as any and all thoughts centered around you, you, you - but he didn't want the lead, he wanted to be used as per usual.

Jisung was submissive through and through, and though he had spikes of switch tendencies, they all usually ended with him begging to fill you or be filled; body resting beautifully on the crumpled sheets of your shared bed - your dirty little pillow princess.

"I... But... I wanted you to-"

A disinterested hum floated through you as you laid against the bed, taking his place amongst the pillows and blankets, "That's strange, I don't remember asking you what you wanted, Sungie. I told you to fuck me, did I not?"

He whimpered, his already hard dick jumping between his legs at your harsh tone, "Y-Yes, mommy."

"Well, then," you parted your legs further, inviting him toward your glistening cunt, "come and do as you're told, princess."

He tried, truthfully he tried, but the minute his tip sunk past your walls, he was doomed; body shivering with restraint as he tried to think of how to start without fully crumbling to his desire of chasing his orgasm.

Did you want him fast? Slow? Should he have eaten you out first? No, you didn't ask him that - you would've sat on his face without even mentioning it. God, you were so tight, how was he supposed to do this?

"Jisung, if I wanted to cockwarm you, I would've done it myself."

"'M sorry, I just-" An airy moan fell from his pink lips as you purposely clenched around him, shaking hands seeking refuge on your hips, "F-Feels too good, Jagi, I don't know-"

"Move."

He looked up at you with teary eyes, pouting in hopes of coercing you into changing your mind about putting him in control, "Jagi-"

"Move, Jisung."

Heeding your command, he delivered a shallow thrust, eyes fluttering as a wave of pleasure shot up his spine, before he repeated the action again, and again, and again - eventually working himself up to a slow, unevenly paced flow.

Your fingers tweaked at your nipples to provide yourself further stimulation as you watched your adorable sub worked himself into an overstimulated fit.

It was too slow, it was too sporadic, he couldn't fight his full instinct of burying himself to the hilt in order to give fuller strokes and he couldn't take it. He didn't want your guidance, he wanted you to use him like a toy - fold and bend him to your liking and take as much of him as you desired, he was good for it, after all.

"Mommy?" He was defeated, and it didn't even feel like a full ten minutes of him topping, "Mommy, please, I-I can't do it."

A disappointed sigh escaped you, though from the way you were practically dripping around him it was obvious you weren't truly dissatisfied - you loved watching him crumble.

"Are you that much of a needy slut to even take what you want from me? Even after I offered myself up to you so nicely?" Tilting your head, you sized him up with a sharp gaze, "You can't even get yourself off without begging for my help, can you? What a shame, I shouldn't even let you come."

Jisung let out a sob, shaking his head frantically, "N-No! Please, mommy, I need it - I need you!"

Deciding to spare him further turmoil, you nodded your head to the side, "On your back, princess."

Pulling out of you with a whine of disdain, he quickly flopped onto the empty space beside you and watched as you pushed yourself onto your knees; throwing a leg over his lap to straddle him with ease.

"Just so you know," you huffed, hovering above him and watching as that familiar spark glimmered in his eyes, "I'm not stopping until you're dry, you hear me? You want me to use you like the little sex toy you are, fine - I'll use you."

[Unedited]

[pxob]

angel eyes

Genya Shinazugawa x Fem!Reader

Word count: 5524

Category: Enemies to lovers, slow burn romance, angst and fluff.

Warnings: Manga spoilers (if you squint), mentions of death, blood and injury and swearing.

Prologue 

Kanae-sama and Shinobu-sama had taken you in as a child after a demon attack had brutally slaughtered your parents. From that day on, you harboured a deep resentment towards the foul creatures that had caused so much pain and suffering, not just to you but to countless others as well.

Despite the trauma you had endured, your gratitude towards the Kocho family never wavered. They had taken you in, provided you with a loving home, and helped you heal from the devastating loss of your parents. 

While Kanao was timid and obedient, you were more like a replica of Kanae-sama's personality - kind, loving, and easy-going, except when it came to your deep-seated resentment towards demons. 

Your bond with Kanae-sama was as tight as any sibling relationship could be. Shinobu-sama recognised your deep connection with her biological sister and would even let her strict personality slip around you. From dawn until dusk, you trained with Kanae-sama and shared meals with her every evening. You were inseparable, to the point where Shinobu-sama had to physically intervene to separate the two of you. 

Until she died at the hands of Upper Moon 2. The news spread like wildfire, and you threw yourself into training with tireless resolve, determined to become the Tsuguko that Kanae-sama had hoped for. 

Kanao and Shinobu-sama were worried about you day and night, and despite Kanao's silent presence, she never left your side. She was aware of the hole in your heart that may never be filled again after Kanae-sama's death. 

A part of you, gone. 

“You’re not going to like this,” Aoi said as a way of greeting. She was standing at the sliding door of yours and Shinobu-sama’s research room. 

“Aoi-chan,” you looked up at her from your microscope. “What are you unhappy about now?” You teased. 

“Oh, it’s not me who's going to be unhappy,” Aoi said, giving you a knowing smile. You raised an eyebrow in curiosity as you heard a pair of unfamiliar footsteps approaching. 

Aoi stepped aside and introduced you to the boy. "This is Shinobu-sama's Tsuguko," she said, "She'll be giving you frequent check-ups, so please treat her with respect." Her words dripped with venom as she added, "And if you don't, I'll poison your medication." 

The boy stood in the same spot where Aoi had been moments before, his impressive height looming over her. He donned the uniform of a demon slayer, and his muscular physique strained against the tight sleeves. As you observed him closely, you couldn't help but count the numerous scars that littered his body. 

You also couldn't help but notice the unruly, unevenly cut hair on his head that resembled a rooster's comb. 

“You’re fucken kiddin’ me,” were his first words. 

You smiled in realisation, remembering clearly where you first met this boy.

Upon reaching the mountain top, you both were met with the discord of yelling and bodies shifting aggressively on the cobblestone path. 

“This is for starin’ at me, ya yellow-headed freak,” the boy shouted as he grabbed the other young boy by his yellow kimono. 

The examinees were scattered, murmuring, yet none intervened. 

“I WASN’T STARING AT YOU!” He shrieked. 

Everyone held their breath, waiting to see what would happen next. 

“Ya were, dickwad,” the boy replied, his fist raised menacingly. 

Without hesitation, you swiftly made your way towards the boy, grabbing his wrist tightly. 

“It’s rude to assault strangers,” you said calmly, a smile plastered onto your face. 

"The fuck," he said aggressively as he tried to retract his wrist from your grasp, you tightened your grip even more. 

The yellow-haired boy fled the moment he saw an opening, tears streaming down his cheeks as he trembled uncontrollably. 

“Let go, bitch,” he spat out, face turning red. 

Kanao took a step toward him, a silent threat emanating from her. 

“It’s okay, Kanao,” you said kindly, “Some people are unfortunate to not have been taught basic manners.” 

The bystanders began to chuckle lightly. 

"One day, I hope he learns to be kind," you said, twisting his wrist firmly. "Otherwise, his attitude will be the death of him." You then took hold of his elbow, manoeuvring it into a lock and guided him towards the ground. 

A resonating thump followed as he hollered below you. 

“YOU FUCKEN BITCH I’LL SLAUGHTER YOU!” 

“Your attitude has not changed since then it seems,” you stood, slowly walking towards him. 

He had grown an incredible amount in the short time since you last saw him, a clear indication of Himejima's rigorous training regimen and, most likely, his constant consumption of demon flesh. 

"Thank you for bringing him here, Aoi-chan," you said, the boy was staring back at you with a bewildered expression. "You may go now," you added, dismissing Aoi with a nod of your head. 

“Please come in,” you said, turning and leading the way towards the working desk, where there were two chairs on opposite sides of the table. “Please take a seat,” you gestured towards one of the chairs, noticing that the boy was still standing by the door. 

"I'm not coming in," he declares, looking down the hallway, averting his gaze. 

"Why is that? I won't bite," you joke with a friendly smile. But the boy remains rooted to the spot. 

“What’s your name?” you asked politely. 

“None of your business,” he snapped back. 

“Okay, none of your business,” he scoffed at that. “I’m going to be putting my valuable time and efforts into you-” 

“That was your choice,” he cut you off rudely.

Classic 

“Himejina-san informed me all about your case,” You walked towards the cabinet, situated on the far side of the room, where you stored all sorts of medicinal concoctions. Your gaze scanned the shelves, searching for the specific one you needed, after a few moments of searching, you finally found the right vial and walked back towards him. 

As you approached him, you noticed he was watching you every step of the way. You held out the vial and said, "I've created this specifically for your special case. It's designed to help mitigate any extraneous effects that may arise." 

The boy's eyes narrowed sceptically as he glanced back and forth between you and the vial. He hesitated before finally speaking up, "What if you poisoned this shit?" 

"Don't worry," you said. "It's completely safe.” 

He took the vial and inspected it closely. "Should you ever feel overwhelmed with the powers of the demons you consume, this should help ease it," you explained. "I recommend that you drink a tablespoon every half day and come back to me every week to check in on your progress." 

You took a step back from him and flashed a teasing smile. "And maybe then, you'll finally feel comfortable enough to share your name with me!" 

His face contorted into an irked expression, and he turned to walk away upon hearing your comment. As he strode down the hallway, you noticed him tuck the vial into his pocket and observed his ears turning red. 

A few days later, a group of three new demon slayers arrived at the Butterfly Mansion and were granted the privilege of staying there. You recognised each one of them from the mountain top of the final selection. Among them was the yellow-haired boy named Zenitsu, who seemed to recognise you even more. He took a considerable liking to you, constantly fawning whenever he catches sight of you. 

But what surprised everyone was the presence of a demon among them. It was unprecedented to have a demon among the ranks of the demon slayers; however, despite this, you have taken a liking in investigating the demon named Nezuko. 

Kanae-sama had a goal of eventually living in peace with demons. If Kanae-sama were here, she would have loved Nezuko, a sweet young girl who can easily be seen as a younger sister figure to almost anyone. 

“Zenitsu-san, your drool is creating a puddle on the ground,” you said as you were training. 

He sighed dreamily, “You’re so radiant, etherial, powerful-” 

You promptly resumed your training as Zenitsu's words started to sound like white noise. 

As he continued to ogle over you, another presence approached the training grounds. He stopped immediately upon seeing you training, his eyes scanning over your movements with interest. 

He watched as you effortlessly destroyed every single bamboo target with just a few swings of your Nichirin blade. Your movements were so swift and precise, as if you were dancing through the air. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy and spite as he watched you move with such ease and grace. 

He wondered how many hours of practice and dedication it must have taken to reach such a level of skill. 

He could tell that you had been a Tsuguko for quite some time, likely honing your skills through rigorous training and practice. If you continued at this pace, he couldn't help but wonder if you might become a Hashira in a matter of months. And what was even more impressive was that you would be the second youngest among the Hashira, which made your potential all the more remarkable. 

The thought of someone else reaching such a high level of skill and potential while he remained stagnant infuriated him. It stung even more because he had always wanted to impress his brother, the only person he ever truly wanted to please. But seeing your abilities, he couldn't help but feel like he would never be good enough in his brother's eyes. 

You turned around, a smirk spreading across your face as beads of sweat rolled down your serene complexion. "Oh, didn’t see you there," you said with a chuckle. "I'm glad you came back."

Zenitsu's eyes snapped to where you were now looking and he yelped, "SCARY MAN!" 

The boy turned to face Zenitsu and said, "Piss off, creep.” 

His words made Zenitsu run to where his other two companions were within the mansion. 

You headed towards the engawa, where a carafe of water was waiting for you. As you walked away, he couldn't help but survey the damage you had done to all of your targets. It was clear that you had accomplished it all without using any specific techniques, leaving him in awe. "How did you do that?" he blurted out. 

As you finished gulping the water, swiping the rouge droplets from your chin you asked, “Do what?” 

He pointed towards the targets, now reduced to mere fragments joining with the dirt on the ground. 

You let out a small laugh, "How did I do it without using any breathing technique?" You walked towards his side, "You're quite observant. How about you tell me your name and I'll teach you a thing or two?" You teased. 

"Genya Shinazugawa," he replied straight to the point. 

You grinned and said, "I meditate for an hour every morning and night." 

He looked at you with disbelief and asked, "Ya kidding, right?" He visibly deflated and continued, "Ya tellin’ me you sit on your ass and breathe for two hours a day? That's fucken ridiculous," his tone laced with disdain. 

"You'll understand one day," you replied, a hint of amusement in your voice, and then pivoted on your heel. "Let's start your check-up, Genya-san." 

“Take off your shirt,” you instructed. 

Genya stuttered in surprise, “What?” 

As you reached for the stethoscope from the table drawer, you said, "I need to listen to your lungs and heart for any defects.” 

“Oh.” 

Respecting Genya's privacy, you continued facing the opposite direction as he removed his upper layers. You could hear the rustling of clothes and then the sound of them falling to the floor. Once you sensed that he had finished, you turned around to face him. 

You couldn't help but marvel at his physique. At his age, he was unbelievably ripped with muscles and scars that seemed to accentuate his sculpted form, as if he was crafted from the finest quality marble. You rubbed your eyes, pretending as if something had gotten into them and then looked at him, only to find that he was already staring back at you. 

“Please have a seat,” you gestured towards the chair beside the table. 

He complied, appearing to be more cooperative than before. You pulled a stool in front of him and noticed him tense up, every muscle in his body taut. 

You clenched your jaw, put on the earpieces, and carefully placed the stethoscope on his left pectoral, listening to the booming beat of his heart.

 "Why is your heart beating so quickly, Genya-san?" You prodded, looking up at him through your lashes. 

"Drank tea," he replied too quickly. 

As you removed the stethoscope from his pectoral and stood up, you noticed that he was staring out the window. 

"Are you nervous, Genya-san?" you asked, trying to provoke a response. 

He snapped his eyes toward you. "Fuck no," he said, his voice tense. 

You towered over him as he remained seated in the chair, observing the way his jaw clenched and unclenched and his hands balled up in fists. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly walked around to his back and brought the stethoscope above his scapula. 

“Genya-san,” you said softly. 

"What?" he said sharply. 

"Your lungs aren't expanding and contracting properly," you pointed out, a clear indication that he was holding his breath. "I'm going to need you to take some deep breaths for me."

Reluctantly, he complied and you listened carefully to his breathing. His lungs seemed to be contracting more than they should for someone at rest. 

You took a step back and removed the stethoscope, gaping at the size of his back. Quickly, you shook your head, trying to clear the improper thoughts that had crept into your mind. 

He hastily gathered the clothes lying on the floor and put them on. “Has the medicine been helpful to you in any way?” you asked. 

He responded with a grunt. 

“I need you to respond verbally, Genya-san,” you insisted. 

“Yes,” he snapped. 

"Very well," you said, making your way to the table and focusing on the array of ingredients on your shelves, trying to regain your composure. 

"You're healthy. I'll just need you to avoid drinking tea before our next check-up," you concluded. 

You heard the sound of the door sliding opening. "Please close the door on your way out," you said delicately, not turning around to face him. He did exactly that, saying nothing but walking out of the room. You swore under your breath. 

As he sped down the hallway, his mind raced and his heart pounded with a sense of urgency. 

He knew he couldn't deal with you anymore. The thought of being trapped within four walls with you made his stomach leap, a clear indication of disgust.

Your soft spoken voice, loving eyes and kind touches had a way of making him feel at ease. He couldn't help but notice how you treated everyone with kindness, even those who mistreated you. It was intoxicating and he couldn't comprehend how someone could be so selfless. 

Your angel eyes saw good in many evil, it was something that both repulsed and charmed him at the same time. He couldn't understand how you could be so forgiving and compassionate, yet he found himself drawn to it like a moth to a flame. 

As he rushed out of the mansion, he bumped into a red-headed boy, barely registering his presence. The boy yelled something after him, but all Genya could think of was getting away from you. He needed to breathe, to clear his head, because the more he allowed himself to be drawn towards you, the more his carefully constructed plan to reach his brother began to crumble. 

He knew he couldn't afford to let himself catch feelings for you. It would only make things more complicated and could jeopardise everything he had worked so hard for. But the more he thought about you, the more he found himself unable to resist your angelic nature. 

Genya's frustration boiled over as he ran his hands through his hair, yanking on his locks in anger. "FUCK!" he shouted, lashing out and kicking a nearby rock, sending it careening into the trees. 

Today was the day of another weekly checkup. 

You were prepared, steeling yourself to remain professional and composed despite the tension that lingered between you. 

As you waited for Genya's arrival, you reviewed your notes and made sure everything was in order. Despite trying to remain composed, you couldn't help but feel a tinge of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. 

It was a little late, later than he had previously arrived. You tried to push the feeling aside, reminding yourself that anything could have delayed him and it was better to wait patiently. 

The sun had already set and the night stars were becoming prominent outside your window. 

"Where is he?" you muttered to yourself, glancing at the clock on the wall. 

You couldn't help but wonder if he was deliberately avoiding the appointment, perhaps because of his stubborn nature or his reluctance to be confined in the medical room. 

So be it, Genya. 

Despite trying to distract yourself with training, your thoughts kept wandering back to Genya. It had been several days since you last saw him, and you couldn't help but wonder where he was and what he was doing. 

But you pushed those thoughts aside and focused on your role as a mentor to Tanjiro, Inosuke, and Zenitsu. You spent long hours helping them hone their skills and improve their techniques. Tanjiro, in particular, showed remarkable progress and you couldn't help but feel proud of him. 

"Tanjiro-san, you're improving at an astonishing rate!" You praised him. 

"It's all thanks to everyone here, including you," he replied with a grin. 

One of the things that made you happiest was being able to help others. You had a big heart and always went out of your way to offer assistance, even when it wasn't necessary. Seeing others improve and achieve their goals gave you a sense of fulfilment that was hard to describe. 

"You too Inosuke-san, well done!" You gave his arm a genuine squeeze, acknowledging his effort. 

Inosuke mumbled something behind his mask, but you could sense the delight in his tone. 

Zenitsu, on the other hand, couldn't help but interject. 

"But what about me,” he whined. "Am I improving too?" 

"Well, Zenitsu-san, you're definitely...trying," you said diplomatically. 

Zenitsu pouted, clearly hoping for more praise, but you knew he had a lot of work to do before he could truly become a skilled demon slayer. 

Despite his flaws, however, you couldn't help but feel a soft spot for him. You looked around the training grounds and realised you needed to get back to your research. 

"I'll leave you all to your training," with a wave goodbye, you turned and walked away while they bowed in response. 

As you strode, you heard the sound of yelling and pleading coming from inside the mansion.

Your curiosity piqued, you quickened your pace and soon noticed droplets of blood on the hardwood floor. Your hand instinctively reached for the hilt of your sword. 

Running, you followed the trails of blood and desperate cries, your heart racing with fear and anticipation. Finally, you skidded to a stop, frozen at the sight before you. 

Genya had always been aware of the risks that came with being a demon slayer. But this particular demon had been stronger than he had anticipated and had managed to inflict injuries that were more severe than he was used to.

Genya relied on consuming the flesh of other demons to heal his own wounds, but this time he had not been successful in consuming a single thing from the demon. This lack of regeneration made the wounds even more excruciating and difficult to deal with. 

Despite the pain, his first thought was to find you, the medical expert who could treat his injuries. He knew that he needed your help to heal and get back on his feet. With that in mind, he had managed to make his way to the mansion, gritting his teeth through the pain as he focused on reaching you. 

Naho, Kiyo, and Sumi trembled in fear as Genya strode through the gates of the Butterfly Mansion, paying no heed to his open wounds. 

He was stubborn to reach you. He trusted only you to treat him or even touch him. 

Blood dripped from his wounds, leaving a trail on the floorboards of the mansion as he made his way towards your office. He ignored the cries of the three girls, driven solely by the hunger to reach you. 

“You’re dripping blood on the floor, please stop!” Naho begged. 

“Let us help you, Genya-sama, it will only get worse!” Kiyo added. 

“Shut up,” he snarled. He didn't mean to sound so hostile, but he needed to reach you without distractions. 

The sound of the girls’ screams echoed in Genya’s ears as he shoved his way towards your office, ignoring the pain that shot through his body with every step. 

His hand left bloody smears on the door as he pushed it open, desperate to find you. But when he stumbled into the room, he found it empty. 

His vision was blurry, and he was seeing spots, the pain almost unbearable. He staggered backwards, using the wall to steady himself as he tried to call out for you. 

Suddenly, he heard the skid of someone stopping behind the three girls who were still screaming in terror. He turned his head, his eyes fixing on you as you stood there with your hand on the hilt of your sword. 

You were frozen in place, clearly shocked by the bloody and battered figure of him. 

“Genya Shinazugawa!” You gasped in shock, your hand instinctively flying to cover your mouth. 

You gently moved Sumi out of the way to reach him. As you got closer, you saw the bloody handprints on the door and the exhaustion on Genya's face. Your heart sank at the sight of his injuries. 

“Please prepare the first aid materials in the infirmary,” you commanded the three girls, they ran quickly. 

"Genya, what happened?" You asked, your voice trembling with concern as you took a closer look at him. 

“Demon,” he said softly. “In a lotta pain,” he added. 

You nodded, your mind already racing with what needed to be done. "Let’s get you cleaned up,” you said. 

You gently took Genya's hand and led him towards the infirmary, careful not to aggravate his wounds. Despite the excruciating pain he must have been experiencing, he stiffened at the sudden contact. You noticed this and quickly dropped your hand, apologising, "Sorry, I should have asked." 

Genya grabbed your hand and held it tightly. "No," he said, "I liked it." 

Your eyes widened at his bold statement, and a blush crept onto your face. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you led him into the infirmary.

After a few hours of tending to Genya's wounds, he finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell into a deep slumber. 

You sat by his bedside, watching over him as he slept. As you gazed at him, you noticed how peaceful he looked, with his breathing slow and steady. 

With your heightened senses, you slowly turned to catch a glimpse of a white-haired man standing silently by the door. 

He lifted his index finger to his lips, signalling for you to stay quiet. 

You nodded in understanding, still surprised by his unexpected arrival. 

He sat himself softly on Genya's bed and pressed a kiss onto his forehead. Your eyes widened as you pieced together the resemblance between the two of them. 

Sanemi Shinazugawa left a kiss on his brother's forehead. 

After Sanemi finished looking at his brother, satisfied with the amount of care given to him, he walked towards you and whispered in your ear, “Thank you.” He then walked out of the room. 

The next morning, you decided to bring breakfast to Genya, wanting to compensate for his sore body with a meal served in bed. As you entered the room, you found him sitting up and staring out of the window, watching the lush trees dance in the fresh air. 

"Good morning," you greeted him with a beautiful smile, holding a tray of food in your hands. 

"Mornin’," he grumbled, his voice still heavy with sleep. 

You couldn't help but feel a little flustered at the sound of his voice. 

"I brought you some food," you said, making your way to him. "May I sit?" you gestured towards the bed. 

"Feel free," he replied softly. 

You sat down next to him and placed the food on his lap, pouring a glass of water from his side table. Genya was about to grab a spoonful of food for himself, but you gave him a warning glance. 

"What?" he looked confused. 

You took the spoon from his fingers and guided it to his mouth, feeding him yourself. 

His face turned bright red as he promptly covered it with his large hand, grabbing your wrist. "I can feed myself," he whispered. 

"I know," you replied with a teasing smile. "But I can't help enjoy seeing you blush.” 

He stared at you intently, as if searching for something in your eyes. 

“You need to eat, Genya-san,” you reminded him. 

He opened his mouth and you brought the spoonful of food towards him. He gratefully accepted it and sighed in satisfaction after swallowing it. Then, you brought the glass of water to his cracked lips. 

Water escaped from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. You quickly wiped it away with your thumb, but as soon as your skin made contact with his, you felt a jolt run through you. You looked up at him and noticed that his eyes had clouded over and his ears were red. 

"I'M SO JEALOUS!" Zenitsu exclaimed loudly. 

"Shut up!" Inosuke swatted Zenitsu’s head. 

Genya turned his attention to the door, where Zenitsu, Inosuke, and Tanjiro were peeking in. 

"Get. The. Fuck. Out!" Genya bellowed, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Nezuko-chan," you said while sitting on the engawa, gently smoothing out her hair. She was lying on your lap as the two of you basked in the moonlight. 

She let out an enthusiastic hum, and her small hands reached up to grasp yours, nuzzling her cheek against your palm. 

The gesture made your heart swell with warmth, and you couldn't help but think that this is how Kanae-sama must have felt when you were younger. 

You chuckled softly as you noticed Genya’s attempting to spy on the two of you from the hallways of the mansion. "Ganya-san thinks I can't see him spying on us," you said with amusement. 

He made his presence even more obvious by speaking up, "Ya know you got a demon on your lap, right?" he said. 

"I am most aware," you smiled at him. 

The moonlight highlighted your features even more, making you look ethereal. 

"Why do you smile," he asked, his curiosity piqued. "When you feel so angry all the time?" 

His sudden analysis caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but feel a little surprised. 

Nezuko gazed up at you, her eyes full of curiosity and admiration. You couldn't help but think of Kanae-sama and how she used to play with your hair in the same way you were now with Nezuko. 

Genya's words had stirred up memories of Kanae-sama and the pain of her loss came flooding back. Your throat started to tighten, and tears welled up in your eyes. "Fuck," Genya was taken aback by your sudden change in attitude.

Nezuko's sudden embrace took you by surprise. You cried hard on her shoulder, the memories of Kanae-sama and the pain of losing her flooded back to you. Your tears wet her kimono, but she didn't seem to mind. It was as if she understood your pain, despite being a demon. 

Genya watched with a mixture of confusion and concern. He had never seen this side of you before, and it made him realise how little he knew about you. He always saw you as the kind-hearted person with a beautiful smile on your face, always ready to help anyone in need. 

It was difficult for him to see you in so much pain, and he didn't know how to comfort you. 

He hesitantly placed a hand on your head, and you made a muffled sound of surprise from the sudden touch. You turned around and looked at him through your wet lashes, tears still running down your cheeks. 

“I got you,” he said, looking you in the eyes and giving you soft smile. 

He sat down next to you, allowing his shoulder to touch yours. You felt a flutter in your chest at the contact and didn't dare move, afraid the moment might end. 

You looked down to check on Nezuko, she had fallen asleep in your embrace.

Genya's took your hand in his, it was so warm in yours as he ran his thumb along your knuckles. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of being close to him as you both gazed up at the night sky. 

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” You asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Genya shifted slightly, looking down at you. "Yeah," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "So beautiful."

Two months had passed since Genya started his frequent check-ups, and your relationship had blossomed into something beautiful. You found comfort and joy in each other's company, and Genya seemed to have found a sense of purpose being around you. 

On this particular day, the two of you were sitting on the engawa, overlooking the stunning garden of the butterfly mansion. The fragrant scent of flowers wafted through the air, and the gentle rustling of leaves added to the serene atmosphere. 

You had previously mentioned to Genya that you would meditate for two hours a day, and he had expressed interest in joining you. 

Sitting in silence, Genya found it increasingly difficult to stay still. His legs were losing feeling, his nose was itching, and he was just so close yet so far from you. It was pissing him off that he couldn't hold your hand, kiss your forehead, or have you play with his hair. 

As he tried to resist the urge to sneeze, Genya's nose continued to twitch uncontrollably. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable sitting in silence next to you, struggling to maintain stillness during meditation. He wanted nothing more than to hold your hand, feel the warmth of your touch, or have you play with his hair. But he knew that any movement on his part would break the stillness of the moment. 

Despite his discomfort, he refused to touch his nose. He had noticed that you had an amazing sense of spatial awareness, and he didn't want to risk breaking the peaceful atmosphere with even the slightest movement. So, he tried to hold on as long as possible, hoping the sneeze would subside on its own. 

It did not, it only got worst. 

He slowly opened one eye, feeling a bit apprehensive about disturbing your meditation, but then he couldn't resist the urge to steal a glance at you. However, he quickly regretted it when he realised that you were already staring back at him, a small smile on your face. 

"Have you been starin’ at me all this fucken time?" he snarled. 

"Yep," you chirped. 

"You little-" Genya was about to say something but you jumped up, giggling, and ran towards the garden. 

As you both tumbled to the grass, laughter filled the air. You could feel the soft blades of grass tickling your skin as Genya playfully pinned you down, his weight making it impossible for you to move. You looked up at him, his chest heaving from the chase, his eyes burning with mischief. 

You playfully pouted, pretending to be upset that Genya had caught you, but your smile gave you away. 

Genya couldn't help but notice the pout on your lips, and his eyes flickered back and forth between your eyes and mouth. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he should make a move, but before he could do anything, you took the initiative. 

You pulled him towards you and pressed your lips against his. 

He was frozen at first, hands grabbing chunks of grass in an attempt to restrict himself, but he couldn't resist your allure. You whispered his name, which undid him, and he responded by deepening the kiss. 

As the kiss broke, both of you were left breathless. Genya looked into your eyes, his gaze intense and filled with emotion. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, while he pulled you onto his lap. 

For a few moments, both of you remained entranced in each other's presence, the world around you fading away as your hearts beat as one. 

[chessholic]

　ー　Feelings　ー

11th Doctor

(feat. 10th Doctor)

Summary: You didn't expect to meet the Doctor with a totally different face.

Author's Note: Hey! I am not super pleased with this. However I hope you enjoy it. Bare with me, I am getting better at this. :)

You cheerfully exited the TARDIS skipping down the cobble stone street. The Doctor couldn't help, but smile while his eyes shined all the love he held for you. You just didn't see it, maybe you were too afraid to.

"So, what are we doing?", you asked curiously turning to face him. You were in London shopping for something.

"I just need to buy some-", the Doctor came to a stop raising a finger to his chin. He seemed to be in deep thoughts.

It was rare because usually he was all over the place and you needed to watch out his hands that moved almost as fast as his rambling. So this quiet moment was something new.

"Blimey...", he muttered under his breath.

"You forgot again?", you asked smirking at his sarcastic smile to you. You skipped back to him and took his hand.

"Let's explore and maybe it will find us", you told him and pulled him with you.

The Doctor couldn't ignore how nice your hand felt in his, your hand was comforting, you couldn't get lost when you held his hand. And you tried your best to calm your beating heart and thoughts. The Doctor was your safe place, he gave you comfort.

If you only knew that the feeling was very mutual.

You two have dated for a while now, but you both were a bit afraid. The Doctor was already afraid of losing you and you were afraid of the pain it would cause him. You two hadn't kissed yet, the tension and idea lingering in the air, making it thick to breathe.

Sometimes the tension felt suffocating, so many emotions, but no one said anything.

The love you held for each other was evident, but neither of you had said the three magical words.

I love you

ー

You and the Doctor were exploring a huge market that was packed with people. At some point you two got separated. The panic was filling you, suffocating you. People were hitting your shoulders and making you lose your balance. All the sounds and people yelling seemed to quiet down, like the time had stopped.

Closing your eyes and trying to stop hyperventilating you prepared for the fall waiting for the hard ground. However you felt someone taking you in their arms.

"I got you", someone said with a comforting voice. Carefully you opened your eyes meeting warm looking brown eyes that had a hint of concern in them. However the thing that struck you was the fact that his eyes were oddly familiar. The man carefully helped you to your feet.

"Please, can you help me away from-", you quietly asked, but stopped when a person almost knocked you over again.

"Yes, let's get you away from here", he stated determined to get you away from the crowd that seemed to cause you your distress.

ー

Finally you found a quiet sideway and you leaned against a wall breathing still a bit unevenly.

"Are you okay? Can I help?", the man asked awkwardly, you were reminded of the Doctor. Your Doctor always wanted to help everyone, often forgetting himself in the process.

Doctor!

"I need to find him", you muttered closing your eyes trying to steady everything, your body and mind. The world was spinning and you could see black dots.

Why did you agree to this trip? The Doctor was your safe place and only he could get you through these situations.

"Find who?", the man asked and finally you took a good look at the man.

He was wearing Converses. Why? He had a light brown faux-suede duster coat on and he had a tie. Your Doctor always wore bowties. How would he look with a tie?

The man was odd, but at the same time you felt something familiar.

"Thank you so much, my saviour, what is your name?", you tried to joke, but you felt awful.

The man perked up and apparently tried to make himself look important because he raised his chin and pushed his chest out a bit.

"I am the Doctor", he announced flashing a charming smile.

"No, you're not", you said furrowing your brows.

A smile on the man's face faltered and turned into confusion.

"What?", he asked, that was not a reaction he was expecting.

"You are not the Doctor", you repeated nervously and tried to get away from the man.

"You are from the future? Do you travel with me?", the man asked with curiosity, but kept a distance between you two. His eyes were honest, just like your Doctors.

They also held the same wise look in them. Could he really be? He once mentioned something about regeneration.

Carefully you walked closer to him. The Doctor watched curiously what you were going to do.

You lifted your hands up close to his face. You waited for permission. The confused man didn't say anything so you gingerly touched his face. Your face breaking into a toothpaste commercial smile made the man's hearts skip a beat. He could see how much love your eyes hold for the future him, for him.

"So you have always been handsome, but not ginger", you whispered your voice a bit shaky from the unexplainable emotion that was in your throat.

A small chuckle escaped his lips. "And who you might be?".

"I am not sure if I am allowed to tell you that", you answered a bit cheekily making the man grin.

You carefully took your hands away from his face suddenly craving to find your Doctor.

"Y/N!"

You both turned to see where the shouting was coming from.

"Doctor!", you yelled back tears streaming down your face, however they were happy tears.

Finally down the alley ran a tall lanky man who was nothing like the skinny spiky haired man next to you.

His brown wild hair was messier than usual, probably from him running his hand through his hair in stress. His green eyes were frantically searching for anything that would indicate you would be hurt.

"You are okay, you are okay", he rambled pulling you to his arms. He buried his face to your neck inhaling your scent.

"Blimey, I was so worried. I will never let go of your hand again", he muttered taking your face in his hands.

"I am okay, Doctor. Nothing bad has happened", you reassured him bringing your hands on top of his that were holding your face carefully while his eyes scanned you throughout.

"I love you so much Y/N, I cannot lose you", he confessed voice thicker than usual.

Before you could even answer to him, his lips captured yours. Regardless of the storming emotions the kiss was gentle and loving.

It made you weak in the knees. Oh how many nights did you imagine what this moment would be like, how this would feel. You needed to admit that it felt better than you could have ever imagined.

After a moment you two pulled away catching your breaths.

"I love you too Doctor, with all my heart", you whispered making the Doctor smiling brighter than the sun.

"What are you doing here?", the Doctor asked after a moment of silence.

"Oh you-", you looked where the past version of him used to stand. However the skinny man had disappeared into thin air.

"I just needed to get away from the crowd", you explained, it technically was the truth.

He accepted your answer and took your hand smiling giddily.

"Let's get back to the TARDIS"

"That sounds great", you responded leaning against his side resting your head against his shoulder.

Near the TARDIS you felt eyes on you. Turning around you were met with brown eyes that seemed to shine brighter than the stars you had seen.

You blew him a kiss and winked before disappearing into the TARDIS.

The Doctor watched as the TARDIS disappeared. Oh how he wanted to find you. He didn't know you, but he could already feel how you were a missing piece from his soul.

He really loved you already.

ー

"Why on earth did you wear sandshoes?"

"Oi!"

ー

[blayresmuses]

love spiral

summary: a turn in conversation has you asking uncomfortable questions that aemond can't help but answer.

warnings: ‘teach me how to kiss trope’, best friends to lovers, light smut

the leaves of the trees rustled above you as you lay with your head in aemond’s lap, your eyes closed as you listened to him read from some history book. the godswood was empty, peaceful - just how you liked it.

these moments the two of you had were sacred, buried away in the deepest chamber of your heart, a place so overwhelmingly filled with aemond targaryen. he was your childhood best friend, the person you’d grew up with through everything. you’d bickered and fought, played and learned together - you thought at times that he knew you better than you knew yourself.

‘i don’t think i’ve ever heard something so dull,’ you whined, opening your eyes and gazing up at him. ‘tell me one of your stories instead, they’re much more fun.’

he met your eye, lips quirked up in an amused smirk at the childish pout on your lips. ‘i don’t think my stories are suitable for a ladies ears.’ he went back to his book, flicking through the pages but no longer really reading. you often had this effect on his concentration, his focus disappearing at your slightest request.

‘now, now aemond,’ you urged, sitting up now and settling into the curve of his shoulder, the bark of the tree rough against your back. ‘you’ve never adopted that logic before so i advise you to tell me something before you bore me to sleep.’

aemond chuckled, a husky noise that settled deep in your belly, a feeling that scared you and excited you at the same time. ‘you advise me,’ he repeated, slamming the book shut and tossing it to the side. ‘i hate to remind you but i am a prince, if anything i should be the one advising you to be quiet and leave me in peace.’

‘where’s the fun in that?’ you took up a lock of your hair that lay on your shoulder, using it to run down his jaw, his lips and laughed as he squirmed. aemond looked so young, carefree and you were happy that in these moments you could bring it out of him, even if it did take pestering him to get it. ‘now tell me, my prince. did you visit the brothel last night? i’ve heard aegon has become a frequent visitor.’

aemond choked as if the air was too thick to swallow. he’d never truly adjusted to the blunt, brash ways you’d picked up over the years. you were a lady in every way but you also had a wickedness to you that he admired, adored even. he shook his head quickly, avoiding your eye. he actually hadn’t gone - he had in the past of course, shamefully often choosing women that resembled you in some way but it always left him feeling dissatisfied and frustrated.

‘what is it exactly that you do there?’ his head turned back swiftly at the softer tone of your voice, the slight vulnerability in your curiosity. he liked that he was the one you came to, the one to receive your thoughts. ‘i mean i have a slight idea but not the full picture-’

‘it is not for me to say,’ aemond interrupted. rough fingers caressed your jaw, his way of softening the refusal. you gazed at him, awed slightly by the thoughtfulness of his actions. you weren't some innocent doe, you'd heard gossip around court and the feelings they spoke of with men was what you were sure you had with aemond, you just had to explore it. ‘your husband. when that day comes, he’ll tell you.’

saying the words filled him with a deep sadness, a terrible sense of loathing at the imagined man who’d take that step with you, who’d show you something special that aemond wished he could have for himself. ‘but i want you to tell me,’ you insisted, resting your cheek in his palm. he couldn’t hide the flurry of emotions that rose in his eyes, his heart beat unevenly under his tunic. pictures of you played in his head, scenarios he’d imagined already a number of times. you rose up onto your knees, inching closer to him and aemond shook his head as if he could rid himself of these thoughts.

he wasn’t pure, wasn’t hindered by feelings of honour and morality like men could be. taking someone’s innocence, others wouldn’t even blink an eye, some would say it was a part of manhood but this was you. this special, remarkable being that deserved every good thing under the sun that sat in front of him and made him feel normal and wanted. the bond the two of you shared was an exceptional, one of a kind thing - even he knew that.

‘show me something,’ you said after moments of his silence. it was a demand, the determined jut of your chin and the spark in your eye told him such. he felt uncharacteristically lost, floundering under feelings and the sense of duty to do the right thing by you. ‘surely my husband would want me to know something, at least. teach me, aemond.’

how the conversation had taken this turn he didn’t know but with every word, with every second that passed with you looking at him so longingly his resolve weakened. he felt each second go past and the urge to kiss you there in the open took over until all that was left was primal need. ‘one thing,’ he agreed hoarsely, stomach turning over as you moved closer, your knee knocking into his as you leaned into him. ‘we can't actually do it but i’ll show you the general idea.’

before you could object his fingers slid through your hair, as gentle as the wind and stopped at the nape of your neck. they were clammy, his nerves really showing when they dug in, gripping you as if he were afraid you'd vanish or run. he had no problems with whores because they meant nothing but this was an entirely different situation, you were an entirely different girl. the two of you took simultaneous breaths as his thumb tipped your chin up. 

a shiver ran down your spine as aemond lowered his mouth to the delicate skin of your neck. you felt him breathe in, his nose nudging against your jaw as if he wanted to commit your scent to memory. your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, nails digging in to your palms as he left a soft, closed mouthed kiss on your skin. you gulped from the simple touch and aemond paused, waiting for a reaction before he continued. you were shaking already, a fire starting to burn low in your tummy. 

you felt another kiss and another, pressed so sweetly into your neck until you were huffing in frustration. then they got firmer, moving slowly in the direction of your collarbones that were exposed above your dress. his tongue slid against your skin, tasting you and aemond knew already he'd never forget this moment for the rest of his life, no matter how small and insignificant it may seem. his stomach clenched as you sighed, felt you moving slightly, rocking in to thin air as if you needed something to relieve the pressure. it gave him a maddening high, so innocent you were to get so needy from the slightest thing, from him.

‘that's it,’ he breathed. ‘it starts like that but on your mouth, not there.’ reluctantly, he pulled back just the slightest bit. your foreheads touched and he watched as you gulped in air, your cheeks flushed and your bottom lip swollen as if you'd been biting down on it. such a sight it made his heart ache. 

‘i want that, show me more,’ you begged, hands coming to rest on aemonds shoulders as his mouth opened to object. ‘i don't care about how improper it is aemond, i care about you, about this.’

aemond was already weak, he didn't take much convincing and as he moved closer, the pace so slow you thought you'd thought you'd cry out in impatience. tenderly he tucked some hair behind your ear, so close you could feel his breath against your mouth. you suddenly felt nervous, remembering you haven't done this before. you could only sit there as his mouth finally pressed against yours once, twice, thrice - just like he'd done to your neck. 

aemonds lips retreated only for you to follow eagerly, slotting your lips back together. the grip on your jaw grew tight as he fought desperately to keep his control. he felt like he still had it until you moved, climbed somewhat gracefully into his lap like you were born to be there, to be his. he couldn't fight it any longer, his fingers clutched at the heavy skirts of your dress, helping you get settled. if you felt him hard underneath you you didn't mention it, he wondered momentarily if you even knew what it meant, if you knew how badly he wanted you, had wanted you for years. you just slid down until you were pressed right against him and he swore he'd never known a pleasure like it. 

you gasped in need into his mouth as the kiss grew messier. it was the epitome of a first kiss, an inexperienced, clumsy thing that grew more addicting as the time went on. your fingers tangled in his hair and with a confidence you didn't know you possessed your hips moved once slowly against his, testing the waters. a frenzied groan hit your ears, a shy feeling of power radiating off of you knowing that you could elicit a sound like that from a man of such station. ‘there isn't a thing i wouldn't give you,’ he murmured softly.

he didn't even give you the chance to answer before his lips were back on yours. almost immediately his tongue slid into your mouth and it was all you could do to try and keep up, the words having left you in a giddy, dizzied state. every nerve in your body was alive, burning so hotly you could only compare it to dragaonflame. you ached pleasantly where ever he touched, you wanted him everywhere at once. you wondered how far you would have taken it if it weren't for the gasp of horror behind you.

you pulled away as if shocked and aemond took one long glance at you, knowing what had happened, knowing you'd probably never be alone like this with him again anytime soon. your lips were swollen, red and now his, your hair was dishevelled but what really affected him was the panic in your eyes as you turned your head, making eye contact with one of the ladies of the court. he wanted to tell you that nothing bad would happen to you, not whilst he lived. one bad word against you and he'd draw his sword, no matter who it happened to be. the possessive, obsessed side of him reared his head at the thought of other people knowing about this moment, this precious occasion that was so sacred. he didn't want other men eyeing you, wondering what you felt like. it sunk in that he couldn't ever let you go. 

he would have you forever, have your first everything.

the woman stared for a few seconds longer before turning and dashing off. you rose without looking at him, cheeks now red with what he assumed was shame and humiliation. you ran off, away from him. it hurt but he accepted it, only picking up his book again as he tried to process what had happened. he could have chased after her of course, threatened her not to tell a soul but he didn't.

he sat for minutes, listening to the silence, wishing you were there. with a quick change of heart he hoped it spread quickly, a dark thought that made him feel slightly disgraced - but the quicker everyone knew the sooner your father would appear with a marriage offer to sate the rumours.

it all worked exactly in his favour, he just hoped you’d see that in time.