#god people are unbearable in the comments

[annamaryllis]

saw a fic where annabeth is "toxic and abusive" but percy ends up with apollo. these people are not real

[peachysunrize]

Labyrinth ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laena’s oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemond’s injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isn’t my first language<3 it’s very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.

Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)

a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when it’s from the man’s pov, and there’re so little fics that get into the depths of Aemond’s pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! I’ve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3🩷

A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideas😭🫂✨

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”

Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyra’s forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.

He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friend’s eyes.

You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?

He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.

No, you left him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.

The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaena’s hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys. 

Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your mother’s funeral.

“What do you want?” he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.

“I-I wanted to ask how you were doing…”

“After leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?” He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.

“I-I don’t have any excuses, but Aemond, please—” “No, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!” “I know you are upset with me, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but please let me—” “No!” he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.

“Aemond…” the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesn’t spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagar’s saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.

You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.

Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.

•••••••••••

Jacaerys’ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crown’s money. He can’t blame them though, they’re desperate to get on the lords’ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.

Unnecessary, stupid… 

Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that they’re arriving today, and he’s aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.

With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.

He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.

He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.

As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing. 

It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.

He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.

He can do it, he has done it countless times.

Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his mother’s servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.

He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.

He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.

There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.

Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.

He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but it’s never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.

He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.

He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, it’s not enough, it’ll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to women’s attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms — a reminder of how he has become the man he is.

He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.

He has told everyone that there shouldn’t be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.

He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he can’t care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room — and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.

“Ser,” Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a ‘good morning, my prince’ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.

The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princess’ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isn’t enough torment from them.

He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realm’s delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegon’s arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes — how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.

“Good morrow, Mother,” he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, “you look radiant this morning.”

“Hush you, sweet talker,” she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, “have you heard about the Velaryons’ arrival?”

“Lord Corlys is coming as well?” he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicent’s elbows, “I did not know…” “Neither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemon’s eldest will.”

“Driving on dragonback, obviously,” he mutters, sighing shakily. 

Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “Do not project your anger on her, she was but a child.”

“Yet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,” he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.

“Give your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,” Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.

Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they aren’t going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives. 

“Your grace,” Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.

“Princess,” Alicent smiles, “welcome back to your home,” she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.

“Aegon…”

Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemon’s who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.

He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.

“He is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,” Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.

Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.

The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasn’t for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.

Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesn’t let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. It’d be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.

“How are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?” Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasn’t meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegon’s constant teasing of Rhaenyra’s family coming back to Red Keep.  

“Well enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,” Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.

“Can’t do that! It’d be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.” Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemond’s sneer.

“As much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you can’t give them more reasons to resent us,” Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, “besides, they are here anyway.” he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.

Aemond’s heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your mother’s house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring way… 

Aemond’s eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.

His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.

He doesn’t move from his spot, he can’t move even if he wants to; he’s struck between shock and something he can’t pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes it’s a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.

The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesn’t need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs. 

You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who… suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.

“My lady,” he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.

“My prince, it’s so good to see you again,” you grin at him, “I hope you are doing well.”

“As well as a half-blinded man can do,” averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasn’t left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; it’s been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.

“Darling,” Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.

He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sister’s lips while she tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.

“We have missed you, the girls, and I,” Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, “you did not visit us at Dragonstone.” “I don’t like it there, the castle unnerves me,” You reply softly, “I rather enjoy the silence of grandsire’s castle.” “You are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestor’s sit,” Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.

“I’m a Velaryon just as much as I’m a Targaryen, but ‘tis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, don’t you think, princess?” you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sister’s words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Mother’s side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.

“I would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but I’m afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,” you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.

Aemond doesn’t spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.

“You have grown, Aemond,” you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, “no longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.”

“Yes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,” he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, “Did I jest about something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Mother’s funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope you’re still the sweet prince who helped me study.” your lips twist into a small smile.

You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Mother’s soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.

Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.

“I apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,”

“I’m reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.” his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.

“I look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.” “Perhaps we can,” he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown — the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that — is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.

•••••••••••

He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.

He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air — he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.

Weak, he thinks to himself, he’s weak.

He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.

Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; it’s not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself — an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.

Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the king’s solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.

“Aemond!” You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.

“My lady,” he bows his head politely, “How come you are late for such an interesting gathering?”

You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, “I was spending some time with Helaena’s children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!”

“Indeed they are,” he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, “what are you doing, My Lady?”

“I did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,” “There is nothing to forgive,” he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til King’s solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him. 

There’s an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he can’t understand it — it can be his heart since it’s beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He can’t even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels… right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, it’s all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.

Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.

The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their mother’s side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.

He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years you’ve been Lord Corlys’ ward in Driftmark.

“You’re staring,” Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesn’t look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.

“I am merely observing,” he replies, but knows his brother is right. It’s only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.

He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one who’d sit beside him, but when he sees it’s you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.

You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.

Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncle’s cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say. 

He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.

Tonight, Aemond doesn’t look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.

You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue that’s cast on your irises softly.

He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.

You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, “Is there something funny, Prince Lucerys?” your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke. 

Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.

“I was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,”  he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.

Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he can’t — not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.

Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; there’s no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Luke’s blushing face.

“Your words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how it’s been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,” you say, “I find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.”

“I-I apologize, good sister, I wasn’t…”

“It is not me who you should apologize to, it’s Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.” You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.

No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps you’re just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.

“I apologize, uncle,” 

Aemond’s stare is blank as he looks at Luke who’s chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.

“Let us put our differences aside, and become a family again,” the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup. 

The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemond’s surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, he’d rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.

His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply can’t though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.

“Aemond…?” you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Are you alright? You look quite flushed,” You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.

“Yes, yes, I might have had too much wine,” he doesn’t know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, it’s him who needs to be convinced that it’s the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.

“Oh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,”

“Why would I be?” he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his… enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.

“Then I’d be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.”

•••••••••••

After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.

Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.

With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jace’s nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.

Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.

That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemond’s arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.

He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.

He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.

You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.

He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face. 

“I have never heard you laugh so freely before,” you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.

“I don’t remember having a reason to do so,” he replies, smiling up at you.

“I’m glad that I’m able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.” leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.

He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness?  How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him? 

He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.

He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and won’t stop until you are satisfied.

You don’t let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesn’t realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.

“You promised you would make a sandcastle for me!” you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.

“I did not,” he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.

“Fine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!”

He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, “Alright, I will make one for you.”

It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadn’t thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him — and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.

And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.

Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.

You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.

Aemond doesn’t dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.

“Open your eye, My Prince,” you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.

He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.

“Don’t think about anything, just… just focus on me.” 

He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.

You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.

The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemond’s broken heart.

•••••••••••

A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jace’s birthday arrives. He is in his mother’s solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you weren’t Daemon’s daughter.

“Mother—”

“You should dance with her tonight, my darling!” Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, “I have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.”

Aemond’s heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, “Don’t let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.”

“They would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,” he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.

“I have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.”

“How can I choose my happiness over her life?!” he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.

A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queen’s room.

“Oh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.”

Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.

“You look so beautiful, my darling,” Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.

“Thank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,” you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, “you said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?”

“Enchanting,” he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “You look breathtaking, My Lady.”

“So do you, My Prince.”

“Shall we then?” he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.

“You said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.

“I am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,” he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

“Is everything alright, Aemond?” you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. “Yes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.”

“Does that mean you will dance with me?” you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.

“We shall see,” he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.

You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemond’s tunic.

A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemond’s face as he watches you get flustered at your sister’s attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.

He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.

He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans. 

He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isn’t who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.

He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.

“Stop glaring and do something!” Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, “I don’t like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.” “I thought you liked your stepmother,” Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.” Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.

He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain can’t start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.

He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks he’s not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another man’s arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.

Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. “My Prince Aemond,” you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.

 He doesn’t wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someone’s shoe on his blindside.

“Lady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.”

“Why thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,” you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.

“You are playing with fire, darling.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.

“I’m a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,”

“Is that so? Well, I must say—”

He doesn’t know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he can’t see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isn’t in his hand anymore.

“Aemond!” you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.

What have I done?

What have I done?

I dropped her.

I did this.

What happened?

His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.

“Aemond, look—”

He can’t look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.

Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldn’t have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore. 

With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor. 

His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, no, he doesn’t deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this? 

He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.

“You are dismissed!” he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, “Ah!” He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if it’s burning his skin.

The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees don’t have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasn’t in pain… if only his eye wasn’t cut out…

Aemond doesn’t hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body. 

“Aemond, please let me—” “No, no, no, no…” he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.

You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.

“It’s going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,” You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.

“Gently, my love, gently,” you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.

“Stay, please,” he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.

“I will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and I’ll be back in bed with you.” You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.

He can’t see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke won’t get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesn’t bother him anymore before you come to bed again.

You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.

Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.

“My love, you need to help me pull the gem out,” you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.

“No, it is an unbecoming sight—”

“Nothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,” you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, “the skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.”

He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he can’t help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain… that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.

“Alright…” he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. “Shouldn’t we use something more—” “Take it out, take it out—I don’t care how!”

You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.

He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.

•••••••••••

He is running.

Where is he? Why is he running?

He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.

The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.

What’s this smell?

He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.

He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesn’t expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.

“Darling, are you alright?”

“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you say, taking a step away from him.

“I don’t understand, why—” “You did this to me!” screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.

“I was not here—”

“You did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!”

“Aemond!”

“Aemond!”...

He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.

“You should leave,” his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.

“Aemond—” “I will only hurt you, why don’t you understand?!” he asks, raising his voice a little. 

He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he can’t cope if he ever hurts you again.

“You have not hurt me, you won’t hurt me.” “I killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I won’t fucking hurt you? I have already done it.” He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.

“It’s not your fault, I should have been more careful. I won’t let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.” you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.

“Don’t push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his arms tighten around you.

He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

•••••••••••

He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.

“It’s very rude to stare,” he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.

“Not when he is my lover,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, “you look like a fairy when you sleep.”

“No one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?” He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.

“You are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!”

He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?

“You are staring,” he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasn’t even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.

“Can you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.”

“What happened to the insecure boy I held last night?” You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.

“It’s still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,” his palms rest on your thighs.

“I need you,” it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.

His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.

“I-I have already lost my maidenhand…”

“I don’t care, I have you now,”

He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.

He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.

He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.

“A-Aemond, please, need you closer,”

He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.

His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.

You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.

“Can I move?” He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.

You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.

The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.

You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you. 

He watches your face twist in pleasure — the pleasure he is giving you — and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.

He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.

“They would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.” You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust — he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.

“Must you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.”

“You should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,” you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed “and you shall do it with the braids I do for you,”

“You are impossible,” he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.

“Come, sit!” You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesn’t disgust him, it doesn’t scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels… beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.

“Do you wish to know what I see when I look at you?” You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.

“I see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.”

[suiana]

(yandere! psycho x gn! reader) (shitpost)

"will you be the air to my lungs?"

"sir, i am your therapist."

he stares at you for a second, blinking slowly before he starts wheezing, clutching his chest tightly.

"oh no... oh dear me! i am... dying of an asthma attack now... I'm afraid i need... air..."

you stare at the dramatic male, an exasperated expression on your features. you stare at him in distaste, finding his presence more and more unbearable by the second.

seriously, you were his therapist for god's sake! why does he keep trying to get together with you of all people?!

"get up. i will not tolerate your dramatic acts anymore."

you merely comment on his behavior with a judgmental glance, turning back to type away at your laptop as you tune out the male's whines.

god, sometimes you wonder why you became a therapist when you have to deal with people like this.

[nathaslosthershit]

“Notice me” “Beg for it" (LN4)

Summary: After what feels like centuries of back and forth flirting, Lando and his Mclaren teammate have tired people out with their inaction to do something about their very obvious crushes. Aka the 5 times they confused fans with their interactions + the one time they made everything clear (SMAU)

Part of my summer event! Warnings: Zak Brown, Reader sort of takes Oscar’s place? Also the timeline on this is weird sorry

mclaren

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris, and others

mclaren Proud to announce our official driver lineup for the next season as yourusername joins the McLaren family🧡! Can’t wait to see her and Lando in action next season👊🎊

username1 oh I am about to be unbearable once we get more content with these two

username2 i have no one i can tell about this

mclaren guess how we felt having to keep it a secret!

zbrownceo welcome to the family yourusername!

yourusername happy to be here!!!

yourusername Thank god the news is finally out, you all don’t know how hard it was to not scream it from the rooftops once I signed my contract

landonorris Wouldn’t want anyone else as a teammate 👊

yourusername I would

landonorris wasn’t what you were saying earlier

landonorris “oh Lando, what a dream come true to drive alongside you, I’ll be such a good teammate you’ll forget all about Carlos-whats-his-face and the other old guy”

danielricciardo why am I catching strays?

yourusername you’re saying I haven’t made a pretty good impression? Maybe I should have stayed at Alpine…

landonorris definitely not saying that, please don't leave

username3 the vibe between these two is off-

yourusername

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and others

yourusername P3! My highest yet 👊! What a blast this year has been so far and we have still got a couple races to go! While I could talk about how thrilled I am with my first podium in F1, it wouldn’t be right to not mention my teammate’s spectacular race, earning him his first F1 win. So happy I could be on the podium right next to you, Lando, to celebrate your first (of many) wins! 🎉

username1 they sure do put every other duo to shame with how much they support each other

username2 Lando’s win was amazing but my god I would rather talk about her overtakes

landonorris always the best supporter 👊

f1gossip

liked by 15,158 others

f1gossip Spotted: landonorris and yourusername seem to be spending quite a lot of time together on their summer break! While most teammates like to take this time to get away from the people they work with every day, these two seem to do the opposite, getting quite comfy with each other while on a eurotrip together.

username1 they can’t do this to me oh my god

username2 completely unprofessional in my opinion! They are coworkers they should not be vacationing together, especially since they are wearing revealing outfits at the beach. Disgusting how much this sport has changed

username3 you will live i swear its not that big a deal

username4 usually id argue against getting into drivers' business but it does seem inappropriate to be going to the beach and having dinner alone with your teammate…

username5 dont know who i am more jealous of tbh

username6 im sorry do you people not want them to get along?

yourusername

liked by zbrownceo, carlossainz, and others

yourusername team meetings and court (mclaren) ordered teammate bonding

username1 lando norris make it less obvious how in love with your teammate you are challenge (impossible)

zbrownceo I don’t think we ordered any bonding, you guys are close enough already. Maybe I will file a restraining order between you two so you guys stop distracting one another?

landonorris sorry boss 😞

yourusername boo you are no fun old man

zbrownceo want to rethink that last comment yourusername?

yourusername we promise we won’t distract each other as much, Mr. ZakBrownCEO

landonorris notice me

yourusername beg for it

carlossainz you both may be happy now but just wait until he replaces you with a fancy new teammate and forgets all about you

yourusername stop being a diva

landonorris

liked by 53,836 others

landonorris Going into today I wasn't expecting the technical failure that would cause us to have to retire the car. Because it wasn’t an easy day for me by any means, id much rather take the time to congratulate my favorite person on her first Formula 1 win. Seeing you grow from your rookie season till now has been such a wonderful thing to witness. Its even better to be by your side while you do it. No one is more deserving of this win. Congrats on your first (of many) wins :) 

username1 he is so in love i am sick

username2 who do they think they are fooling

usernamer3 so sorry to see you dnf 😢but glad to see you are in bright spirits

yourusername Lando 😭 such an incredible day and an even better celebration afterwords. Thanks for being by my side all this time, I couldn’t have done it without you

landonorris we both know damn well you would be just as successful, maybe even more considering how much of a distraction I am for you 😉

yourusername the only thing distracting about you is your stupid face and annoying personality

landonorris I guess you are just spewing out a bunch of lies today huh?

username4 they are already hot rich drivers why do they get to be in love too? 

username5 fr leave some happiness for the rest of us

yourusername

liked by 97,839 others

yourusername yes, we know you all knew this but let us have this moment please

username1 oh my god what a shock 🙄

username2 how will we ever get over this news🙄

username3 how could they have deceived us for so long

username4 nah i can’t even pretend like this is breaking news.

yourusername I knew it was a rumor but I wasn’t expecting everyone to know 😀

landonorris I always thought we were kind of discreet about it…

username5 are you kidding? It would be less obvious if you guys held up signs that said “we are in love”

[evilminji]

Oh... my god? Ghost Reporters.

Imagine it. Their office is in the Zone. They literally FEED of hunting for The Next Big Scoop! And Revealing The Truth! Every honest reporter that got silenced for getting a little too close to the facts. The bloody, beating, heart of societies underbelly.

Every Lois Lane that had no Kryptonian to stop some rich and powerful jackals putting them in the ground.

Well Death sure didn't stop THEM! They STILL want answers! But now they have co-wokers. Oh~ and SUPERPOWERS! And best part?

The newly appointed KING is going too and from the living world. That must mean it's okay now, RIGHT? Your majesty? You're not a RAGING HYPOCRITE, aaaaare you? :) 🎤

And... look. Danny knows full well what these piranhas are up too. He's not stupid. But Madeline Fenton raised a lot of things. Fool? Not one of um. That a LOT of reporters with sharp, sharp teeth and bloodlust in their eyes. He wants to half-live.

He compromises. Illusion of control and all that. Yeah, yeah, they all tooootally respect his authority etc. Give them Them Scoop! He, wisely, gets the fuck out of the way. Whoosh! Off they go!

Thats.... probably gonna be a problem. *siiiiiips his morning coffee* But it's not HIS problem. Not right now.

And? Suddenly all these politicians and business leaders are getting fucking AMBUSHED. Oh? You thought you'd get soft ball "aren't I a man of the people. Buy oil!" Bullshit questions? HA! Where were you on June 27th, 1978, at-

And "according to YOUR words, exact quote as follows-"

Just? They BEAT the leader with the STICK. "Oh but you'll lose access". They'd love to see HOW! They can go through WALLS! Answer the question, coward. "Your gonna make powerful enemies!" Oh nooooo, what are they gonna DO?

Shoot us TWICE?

Hey Mr. Family Values! How's the three mistresses your wife doesn't know about?? "No comment"? That's fine. We already have THEIRS. >:D Good luck with your upcoming election!

And like? As newspapers are shutting down and turning clickbait all across the country? This ONE(1) tiny, middle of nowhere town? Somehow has a horrid, horrid, ARMY of Satan's own Reporters. All apparently willing to die for the News. Throwing themselves at dictators and Supervillians alike.

"We see no God here but the Truth" is literally their papers MOTTO.

The damn thing is basicly a BRICK. You get a paperback of news. Entire planet AND THEN SOME. How?! How are they reporting, IN DETAIL, on the break down of talks between two planets 16 galaxies over? Hal says it's accurate. But what Earth paper would even HAVE that information?

And?? The whole town treats this as normal? There are human children, complaining about the weight of papers, because it makes their paper routes a pain in the ass. Soccer moms discussing alien celebrity drama. Farmers muttering over foreign unrest and how it will impact their corn harvest.

Fucking Lex Luthor, clearly deciding to roll with it, coming to sign himself up for a paper. Gaining a new life long Nemesis upon meeting Vladimir Master, whom he decides is both hot and unbearable. Someone is heard shouting "oh god, there's TWO OF THEM!"

And?? Look. Clark isn't MAD. Or JEALOUS. Nor is he in a secret Reporting War with Jerry from the Amity Chronicle. Because that would be petty and childish. He's just SAYING, maybe they should check the place out!

Maybe Jerry is a DICK and deserves it, is all. (Lois stop laughing.)

@hypewinter @hdgnj @ailithnight

[loveinhawkins]

It’s the last period of the day, and in his peripheral vision, Steve can see Eddie Munson fighting sleep, elbow repeatedly slipping off his desk.

They’re not usually in this class together; a good handful of teachers are on a ‘field trip’—which had been sold to the principal as an educational experience, but was really an excuse for both students and staff to while away the last remaining days of the semester.

So most classes have become an assortment of students who haven’t gone on the trip, odds and ends who usually wouldn’t cross paths.

When Steve had entered, he saw that the room was sparse, people dotted about the place with no regard to a seating plan—he’d headed straight for a desk by the window, hadn’t even noticed that Eddie Munson was in the seat right beside him until he’d already sat down.

And then it turned out he couldn’t even reap the benefits of choosing a seat near said window. The room was stuffy, unbearably so, and Eddie had beaten Steve to it, actually raising his hand and asking, perfectly politely, if he could open the window.

But the substitute teacher had just sneered and replied haughtily, “No, Munson, you cannot.”

Condescending ass, Steve had thought, and he was almost looking forward to one of Eddie Munson’s infamous diatribes.

But Eddie just wilted in his seat and didn’t say another word.

That’s when Steve noticed that he kept looking down at his desk. There was a piece of paper on there, an end of year test—Steve recognised Mrs O’Donnell’s handwriting making comments in the margins. The top right hand corner was folded over in such a way that just made the hiding of the grade all the more obvious: it was clearly an abject fail.

As Eddie stared at the paper, he started to blink rapidly, and for a horrible moment it seemed like he was going to cry, so Steve quickly looked away.

By the time he dared to look back, it was a quarter of the way through the period, and the heat of the room must’ve been getting to Eddie, his eyelids fluttering as he tried not to doze.

And now Steve’s stuck with a teacher who’s clearly immune to every pointed look he shoots his way. He gets to the point where he’s glaring daggers at the dude—seriously, where does he get off, keeping the window closed just to prove some bullshit point about authority?

Every so often, Steve finds himself catching a paper airplane—what are they, five?—that had been heading for Eddie’s face, made by some meathead junior. Steve either swats them away or, if he’s feeling particularly pissy, crumples them up with one hand, throws them back at the junior’s head.

Eddie’s repositioned his elbow so it’s no longer in danger of slipping off the desk—eyes totally closed now, like he’s accepted defeat.

Steve is too late to catch the next paper airplane as it hits the side of Eddie’s head, and when Eddie stirs, blinking blearily at him, he says, defensively, “It wasn’t me.”

“Relax, Harrington,” Eddie says, yawning, “I know.” He unfolds the paper airplane with a tut. “No structural integrity to this thing at all. You’d give me quality.”

Steve doesn’t think of a barbed comment to reply with, because Eddie starts refolding the paper and uses it as a fan—and it’s not even for a bit or anything; Steve can tell that he’s just genuinely suffering.

Movement draws his eyes to the front of the room; he watches as the teacher makes his way to the door and leaves.

“Thank God he’s gone,” Steve mutters. He stands and lifts up the window as far as it will go, hears Eddie’s quiet sigh of relief as the fresh air comes in.

Steve glances over at the door; the paper airplane-throwing junior has gathered a little group, and it looks like they’ve locked the teacher out. There’s no footsteps or furious knocking yet, so Steve figures he’s got a bit of time.

He jumps up onto the window sill to better enjoy the breeze, stretching his legs and idly looking outside.

He just catches Eddie scoffing, the little aside he makes: “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Steve turns his head to him. “What?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Just… you,” he says.

And it’s said with a kind of reluctant fondness, almost like they’re friends—which is bizarre, Steve thinks, since this is definitely the longest conversation they’ve ever had.

But maybe the approaching summer break has Eddie all sentimental.

“What about me, Munson?”

Eddie gestures at him, as if to say uh, everything, but it somehow doesn’t come across as an insult.

“Just… the way you do things sometimes. Like you’re in a goddamn movie.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Dude, I’m just sitting. Anyone could do this.”

“Nah, Harrington. It’s all in the execution, y’know?”

Steve snorts. “Bull.”

“And not all of us have the hair for it.”

Steve tilts his head, drawls, “Oh, I dunno.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh like he’s been taken by surprise.

Steve turns back to the window. It’s not all that great a view, really, the sun only highlighting the dried unkempt grass around the track. Still, there’s an undefinable something to it that gives Steve pause.

Maybe it’s because graduation is right around the corner. Even just walking down the school corridors feels like a series of goodbyes.

“Hey, Harrington. You heard of mise-en-scène?”

And Steve finds himself grinning at the French accent Eddie slips into.

“Bless you,” he says, just to be annoying, though he has heard of it, remembers it from when they looked at some plays in English. Then overheard it, really, while the aspiring film students fretted over their college applications in the library, and he listened with a jealousy he didn’t care to analyse. “I’m seeing some movie shot stuff here, is all.”Steve looks over again, in time to see Eddie adopt an over-the top trailer voice. “The fallen King—”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“—looks down at what remains of his Kingdom, setting his sights on pastures new.”

A wistful edge creeps into Eddie’s voice, something separate from the theatrics—confirming Steve’s suspicions that he won’t be graduating this year, after all.

“Not exactly pastures new,” Steve says. “I, um, didn’t get into anywhere so.” He shrugs vaguely. “Gotta hold down a summer job and then… I don’t know. Not thought that far ahead yet.”

Eddie seems to consider him. “Nothing wrong with that, Harrington,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Steve replies. Because it’s true; he knows he’ll be far from the first high school graduate staying in Hawkins, working a minimum wage job all summer.

His parents had said as much. But then…

He doesn’t know how to explain that it’s the tone in which they say things rather than the things themselves that sets him on edge. That sometimes just the way they shut doors around him inexplicably prompts a feeling of nausea.

But they’re out of town for the whole summer—already left this morning, thank God. So he’s hardly going to get into all of that with Eddie Munson, of all people. Barely addresses it within himself, honestly.

“It’s just… not really what I pictured,” he says instead. “You know, like…” And maybe Eddie’s theatricality has made him a little bolder, because he looks out at the view, and slips into a brief understated impression with ease: “I'm shakin’ the dust of this crummy little town off my feet and I'm gonna see the world.”

When he turns back, Eddie’s lips twitch again, and this time the smile wins. “Well okay, George Bailey.”

Steve smiles back. Shrugs once more. “It’s for the best, really. Means I can keep an eye on—”

And he stops himself, realises he was about to say the kids.

Eddie’s eyes light up with interest. “Oh? So you’ve found someone worth staying for.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice when he adds, “S’awfully romantic of you, Harrington.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Not like that. But… yeah, you could say so. They’re all worth it.”

“Huh,” Eddie says thoughtfully. “What happened to you, Steve Harrington?”

Steve laughs. Shakes his head. “Life. And, uh, got a thump to the head.”

Eddie whistles lowly. “Damn. Maybe I should try that.” He glances down at his test, frowning.

“Hey, come on. Everyone loves a comeback kid.”

“Hmm. Not everyone.”

Eddie sighs and stuffs the test into his bag. As he does so, there’s a sudden pounding on the door, and Steve hears some of the students break out into whispers that are so loud they might as well be shouting: discussing their plan to pin the blame on Eddie for locking the teacher out.

Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s soon leaving high school behind that has Steve viewing all of this with a clarity he can’t remember having a few years ago. They’re just mean, he thinks, just plain mean for the sake of it. Jesus Christ, you don’t kick a guy while he’s down.

Eddie’s eyes dart over to the group. He’s clearly overheard them too, but he seems resigned to it, like he’s got no more fight left in him.

A girl unlocks the door, and the teacher storms inside, apoplectic with rage.

And before anyone can get a word in, Steve says, “It was me. I locked the door.”

He can feel Eddie staring at him. He leans more into his lounging on the window sill, pretends to check his nails.

The teacher’s eye twitches. “And may I ask, Harrington,” he seethes, “what would even possess you to—”

“Oh,” Steve says, faux brightly, “that’s easy. I don’t like you.”

Eddie’s hand subtly rises up to cover his mouth. Steve bites back a grin; he knows a hastily stifled laugh when he sees one.

“Out you go, Harrington,” the teacher says, pointing at the door.

Steve stands up, unbothered. He’ll just ditch, head home early before the dick’s had any time to step out into the corridor and scream at him. That mall’s almost done being built; he could finish filling in a job application for one of the stores there before the day’s out.

He makes sure the window’s pushed up so far that it’ll be more of a pain to try and close it compared to just letting it be.

Then he swings his bag over one shoulder, says in a little aside, “See you, Munson. You know, Class of ‘86 has a better ring to it anyway.”

“I’ll, uh, take your word for it, man,” Eddie says, and he sounds a little taken aback.

Steve glances over his shoulder just before the door shuts behind him, and he sees Eddie’s hand raised in an uncertain wave, like he can’t believe he’s even doing it.

And if you ask Steve, that’s a movie shot all of its own.

[stuniolvs]

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ~ christopher sturniolo

summary.) chris reads bad comments about himself and you try to figure out what’s wrong.

warnings.) crying, chris being sad,

chris’ eyes watered as his eyes read over the words on his screen.

he was scrolling through the comments on his podcast liking the positive and funny ones, when he stumbled across the not-so-positive ones. now normally chris doesn't read them but he had decided to and it was a bad idea.

has anyone noticed chris is gaining weight?

god chris is so loud its so grading

i dont know how anyone stands chris he’s so loud and unbearable.

as chris read the last one more tears rolled down his face. he immediately thought to his girlfriend, did she think he was annoying?

maybe he should just tone it down. he thought as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

when he woke up in the morning he turned on his phone and saw a text from you

ill be over in and hour baby 💕

okay see you soon

you furrowed your brows at chris’ dry response. he hadn’t answered your texts last night and now a dry response in the morning? something was definitely up.

as you drove over to chris’ you just enter the door seeing chris and his brothers laying on the couch watching a movie in the background while matt and nick argue about something on the couch.

you glance over at chris and see him not including anything in the conversation and staring at his phone.

“chris! hes in the wrong! right?” nick yells, gesturing with his hands as he speaks.

“sure” chris mutters.

you’re surprised at chris’ response and the fact that nobody has noticed your presence.

“hi baby,” you walk over to chris seeing a beanie on his head and a white blanket draped over his lap.

“hey” he murmurs. “are you okay?” you ask.

chris feels his throat burn at your question. “yep im fine, jus’ tired” he sniffles. “okay,” you whisper laying your head on his shoulder.

a couple hours later you, matt, and nick are talking and chris still hasn’t contributed anything to the conversation.

you give nick a look and look down at chris, then back up at him. when nick shrugs his shoulders you tug chris’ hand “hmm?” he asks.

“c’mon” you tell him still tugging his hand to his room.

“come on lets lay down baby.” you order him and pull him onto your chest.

“okay chris, what’s wrong?”

the second the words leave your mouth tears fill his eyes. “do you think im annoying?” he asks voice breaking. your heart breaks sheeting the boy in front of you. “no chris, why would you say something like that?” you reply

chris hesitates, “there were comments about me” he mumbles passing you his phone.

as your eyes skim over the comments displayed on his phone your eyes tear up. how could people be so rude? “oh baby” you whisper pulling him into your chest, kissing his beanie-covered head.

“chris. you are not annoying, not one bit. you’re my favorite person to be around and i love you so much. also baby you’re fine as fuck so don’t listen to anything they say. you’re the farthest thing from annoying chris. those people who are saying those things are stupid.” you’re cut off by a sob. “baby,” you say worriedly pulling his head up to see tears running down his pink cheeks. “i love you so much baby” he whispers his voice soft and crackly. “i love you more chris and don’t ever believe what they say again m’kay?” he hums in response. you lean in to his lips catching them in a soft kiss. he kisses back it lasts for a couple minutes untill chris pulls away. “im hot.” he pants pulling his black sweatshirt over his head as ripping his beanie off “yes the fuck you are” you mumble under your breath chris blushes and hides his head in the crook of your neck he presses against you so you can feel the heat radiating off his cheeks.

“i love you sweet boy” you whisper

“i love you more baby.”

[elsecrytt]

satoru gojo knows he's not wanted. only needed - a weapon for killing curses and curse users, day in and day out, the lynchpin of jujutsu society.

he's fine with that, most of the time. the truth is, when suguru left, he thought that was the end for him. he was never very good at friendship in the first place, at making people like him.

he has a difficult personality, and he doesn't want to change. people willing to deal with him as he was were few and far between, and they never had that immediate connection like he did with suguru.

even if it left him unbearably lonely. it's just not in his nature to mince words, to hold back, to play nice. if he couldn't be satoru gojo, then what else did he have left?

and it's fine, most of the time.

but some of the time, it's not. it's really, really not. sometimes, it's worth it to try, just the tiniest bit, not to be a complete ass and drive away a pretty face who seems unbothered by his attitude.

that's how he ends up with you - a non-sorcerer. he hasn't told you about sorcery in general and doesn't want you to know.

to him, your shared penthouse is his safe space. he never walks or drives there, only ever teleports so that no one can trace him there. no one, not even at the school, knows that he primarily lives there.

he spends every spare hour (sometimes even just ten minute) he can there. finishing missions early, darting off after lessons, eating there whenever he can.

satoru only sleeps whenever you sleep. he never showers alone, never does his nighttime routine on his own.

that's all precious time he could be spending at your side.

washing your hair, your face, cleaning up alongside you. laughing and splashing and making a little more of a mess if he can get away with it.

here, there are no curses, no former friends turned traitor, no one who needs his help.

you smile as soon as you see him, hear him, run up to hug him if your hands are free.

he's on the lock screen of your phone. once or twice he's caught you just staring at it, delight painted all over your lips.

all you want from him is his company -

and god, is he ever aware, you're the only one alive who does.

most of his coworkers dislike him to various degrees. even his students have mixed feelings about him sometimes.

he does his best, he really does, but he can't bring himself to get attached to someone who might one day leave.

you won't, though (you can't), so he's free to love you all he wants.

he'll freely confess - he's overcompensating. pouring all the missed opportunities to bond, all the awkward moments where his attitude turned other people away, into the dam that is your relationship.

you don't mind his funky schedule (too much), you're a huge homebody who likes having date nights at home.

you smooth off all the rough edges of his personality - the arrogance, the smarmy comments - with a laugh and a taunt, a hand in his hair that he can't help but lean into like the domesticated pet he is.

god, he loves you. he loves you so, so much, unreasonably so - loves coming home to a "satoru! welcome back~", loves bringing home meals from different places and watching you try them with delight (you joke that his mysterious job must be as a delivery man, which he laughs at more than he should), loves coming home to your unnecessary attempts at cooking every now and then, something indescribable curling in his chest.

he loves sitting and talking with you about the latest show you're watching, telling you about his "coworkers" and "juniors" (sometimes he has to stop himself from giggling about it) and how annoying his latest day at work was.

sometimes it's sort of vague and vapid but it's fun when it's with you. sometimes it's deeper stuff, real stuff ("my oldest friend passed away recently" "one of my juniors at work has a complicated family situation") and you seem to always know just what to say. talking to you always makes him feel better.

he worries, sometimes, that he's not as good to you as you are to him. he tries - god, does he try - to show you the extent of his love, if he can't afford the words or time, then in deeds.

you're taken care of for the rest of your life, that was a given. the penthouse is in your name, various trusts set up in the impossible event of his death.

you have full access to a joint account that was actually just yours, set up for you by him - he just didn't feel like trying to convince you to accept the money.

he buys you things, of course. food mostly, to eat together, but also little trinkets and manga and souvenirs of the various places he goes to. little pieces of his life to share with you.

and when he can, he does do dates. every second he gets to spend with you is like gold, and he spends them all fully invested, eyes locked on you and yours, walking on air the entire time just from your presence. ready to talk about anything you had an interest in.

he's just that infatuated. satoru could talk for days to anyone, but you're the only one who'd listen, who'd chatter back just as enthusiastically. he wants you on speed dial every moment he's away.

shopping trips, too, he's always happy to play dress up, to dutifully compliment you even though privately he thinks you look best without any clothes -

and that, too, he does for you. he makes no secret of his affection for your body. spares not even a second getting to his knees, nuzzling against your thigh, cheeks flushed as he looks up at you with pleading eyes won't you feed me, pretty please, i'm starving~

he shows you he loves you. with hands and mouth and body, as a sorcerer should. silent curses falling from his lips as his body joins to yours.

it seems almost cruel of you to let him have this. why can't he live here forever? why can't he always be inside you?

satoru gojo knows he is the absolute last person who should be complaining about this, but why is life so unfair?

why can't he spend every minute of every day by your side? touching you? talking to you?

in his wildest dreams he's not killing curses or sorcerers or changing the world.

he's in bed with you, by your side from the moment he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep. that's his dream, just you being there, always.

he worries most of all what he'd do if you ever fought.

you're not the type - you "need space to calm down" sometimes, which is usually just you going back to your room. you "want to have a calm discussion" where you sit and listen to him and talk about feelings, and you have this way of making him talk.

you're good at communicating, at making people feel better, and understanding others. sensitive in a way that he's not.

you're never out to hurt him, even when he can tell his time away is grating on you, his constant absences and flightiness rightly off-putting.

you never argue with him, never make demands, and that's how you got together in the first place, the perfect match.

(it scares him, really, being made for battle as he is. where's your fighting spirit? wouldn't you cry and scream and beg if he was going to leave you? wouldn't you go to war for your love? he knows he would.)

but deep down he knows it's there. a massive part of his life is hidden from you - things that are important to him; his mission, his students, his power.

he doesn't know what to do, really.

he wants to keep you safe, unworried. he wants to keep this island of peaceful, mundane happiness in his life.

he wants you to love him, wholly and completely, for all that he is. he wants to hear you tell him he's doing it right. that you're proud of him.

there's so much he wants now, compared to when his life was just teaching students, killing curses, and waiting for the day he'd have to kill his only friend.

satoru isn't sure which one is better. because even though he hopes he can have you how he wants, and the rest of his life too -

he's starting to think it might not be possible.

[stxrr-strxckk]

Thinking about work rivals to lovers with Carmy...

You don't know how the hell you got here. A few months ago, you were fresh out of culinary school, and now you're working at a fancy New York restaurant with not one- not two- but three Michelin stars?

Sure, you didn't have the most important job- you were just staging. That's basically a glorified intern, but still with the shit pay. A normal day on the job consisted of shadowing a team of people so in synch it was like they were one big machine. You being there was a cog in the gears.

None of the chefs wanted you there, and you could tell. Some hid it better than others, but you could see it in their eyes. They saw you as less than. A worm they could crush with the heel of their shoe without giving it a second thought.

They weren't outright mean to you, of course, but there was always something- a little slip up, a break in the mask of professionalism that would show how they really felt about you. A single eye roll, a sneer, maybe a scoff or sarcastic remark behind your back that they thought you couldn't hear- but you were always listening. Always.

It honestly pissed you off. Why spend so much time beating around the bush, acting like everything was fine? If they really had such an issue with you being there, they might as well just say it to your face. Still, none had the guts to actually do it.

None, except Carmen fucking Berzatto.

No one in that damn kitchen hated you more than that curly-haired bastard. To be fair, he was like that with everyone. His first thought when a new person entered the kitchen, whether staging or not?

I'm gonna smoke this motherfucker.

He was the same way with you, just ramped up to 100. You rubbed him the wrong way. He didn't know what bothered him so much, you were like every other stage he'd ever worked with. But maybe that's what bothered him. There was just, nothing special about you.

You were extraordinarily ordinary. And that was the most confusing piece of the puzzle for him.

How did you; an up-and-coming chef in the New York area just trying to get by, staging at any restaurant that'll take you somehow ending up here?

God, in the beginning he couldn't stand you. Even just being stationed near each other was enough to drive him insane. Any chance he got to leave, he would. His smoke breaks ramped up, and so did his amount of volunteering to leave on errands.

You were pretty much the same. Snide remarks, comments, eye rolls and scoffs were most of your vocabulary around him. Everyone in the kitchen knew of your disdain for each other, and it became a bit of a game for them. Let's see who pops first: Carmy or the new kid? How close can we get them before a fight starts? How long until they either kill each other or hook up?

Still, as time went on, the other chefs learned to accept you, Carmy learned to ignore you, and you learned to deal with his bullshit.

Carmy also learned that he might have a staring problem.

It was little, at first. quick glances at you at your station. Just to make sure you aren't royally fucking up per usual, right?

But it became something... More.

Glances turned to looks, and looks turned to stares.

The more he stared, the more he noticed about you.

The more he stared, the more he noticed about himself.

Like, for example, your laugh. It was loud. Loud enough to break his focus every time he heard it, which was often because you just have to find everything so damn funny. Still, there was this warmth to it. It became familiar, comforting even. He found himself quietly chuckling, wondering what joke had made you laugh like that so he could replicate it and tell it to you later.

And as the weeks went on, it was harder to not stare at you every time you entered the kitchen. Maybe it was those ridiculous outfits, that made you look straight outta Brooklyn, though they did have a certain charm to them. Maybe it was your perfume, unbearable at first but after a while addicting. Or maybe it was just you. Maybe it was just the fact that Carmy wasn't just staring at your outfits, or listening to your laugh, or smelling your perfume, he was staring at, listening to, and smelling you.

He hated to admit it, but that little voice in the back of his head was right. The one that told him maybe he didn't hate you. The one that told him maybe you weren't the worst chef he'd ever met. The one that told him maybe he was issue, you were fine- amazing, even, he was just too dense to realize.

He didn't listen to that voice often, but as time passed the voice got louder and it was harder to push down his feelings like that. He knew, sooner or later, that he would explode and tell you how he felt. How he really felt.

Maybe that would be tonight.

Carmy could feel his jaw tense just looking at you, gripping the countertop so hard his tattooed knuckles looked pale in the fluorescent kitchen lights.

Somewhere else in the kitchen someone yelled out an order, but he wasn't paying attention. He was busy watching you. You were preparing lamb with a mint jelly, but the jelly was runny and the lamb undercooked. God, it almost made him feel sorry for you.

He watched as you wiped sweat from your furrowed brow, a concentrated look on your face with your tongue slightly sticking out of your mouth. It was kind of endearing to see you trying so hard. God, was he smiling? At the thought of you? He'd tried to push these feelings down, he really had. He just wasn't strong enough.

Carmy quickly went back to being straight faced, trying to focus more on his job of prepping vegetables for a side dish. Still, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop stealing glances to your station. It was a mess, in all honesty. How you hadn't been screamed at yet, he had no idea.

A thought appeared in his head. He tried to ignore it; shake it off and focus on the food that needed preparing. But it was consuming his mind. Finally, he couldn't take it. He set down his knife, glancing at your station.

"Chef!" he called out. You were the only person nearby, so of course you turn and look at him. You felt yourself grimace. God, what does he want now? To yell at you, insult your undercooked lamb and mint jelly that was turning more into a mint sauce every minute?

You didn't know why you were so off your game today; maybe it had something to do with all the staring from Mr. 'I'm too good for the rest of you' just one station away. Those piercing blue eyes had been boring a hole through you for far too long now.

Even still, you made sure to smile and nod. "Yes?" you replied, with a sickeningly sweet tone.

"Yes, chef." Carmy corrected, and you scoffed. "Come over here."

You obliged, although hesitantly. Why did he need you at the garde manger? Not to mention, you were sure he would never work with you willingly. If he had it his way, you'd be out on the streets begging for spare change.

"You're cooking the lamb all wrong," Carmy began. You rolled your eyes. Of course he's calling you over to critique you. That's the only thing he finds pleasure in doing. He can see your disinterest, and quickly snaps his fingers in front of your face. "Hey, listen to me."

"Okay," you grumble.

"The only thing you should be saying is yes chef. Not okay, not yes, not some bullshit complaint about me not fuckin'- bein' all nice and shit, just yes chef. Capiche?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Yes chef." You were used to Carmen getting pissy, throwing his temper tantrums, but not like this. This was different. This, was hot.

"Good." Carmy's reply is short and sweet. A moment of silence fills the air, the tension evident.

"So, for uh- for the lamb." he sniffs, grabbing a cut of the animal and his good knife. "You're not- you're starting the lamb on medium heat and just keeping it like that, the whole way through, right?"

You nod, watching him cut a piece to the right size. You never noticed how strong his arms were until now. You'd seen them, sure, but never in this light. Muscles, some veins popping out, you can't look away.

"Well- you're supposed to start it on, uhm, medium high. Yeah. Not medium, that won't cook it well enough without burning it and making it look like shit. So, you start on medium high, then around halfway through, you turn it down to medium and just keep it there until it's done. Yes?"

"Yes chef." you nod. You had to admit, he knew his shit. Carmy was a good chef, no doubt about it. And watching him work? It was like magic.

"Great. Here, lemme- lemme show you how to do it, first, so you don't fuck it up like you did last time. That was- that was bad. Fuck." he cringes at the stutter in his voice, reminding him of the childhood he spent too afraid to speak thanks to that debilitating stutter. It was gone now, mostly. Except for when the nerves got the best of him.

He walked to the stovetop, turning the heat to medium high and pouring olive oil on the skillet. The lamb made a hissing sound as he tossed it into the pan, the crackling and popping of the oil growing louder.

"See, and now this- this is when we turn down the heat, and you just change the side every few minutes until it's brown, and uh- yeah. There ya go. Perfect lamb. Yeah." he explains, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. He starts to walk back to his station, but you stop him.

"What about the mint jelly?"

He stops and turns around. He never thought he'd see the day where you- the annoying stage who hated him almost as much as he hated you, would ask for his help. He can't help but smile. He doesn't know why. Maybe it's the satisfaction from the unspoken confession that yes- he is a better chef than you- or maybe it's because you actually want to spend time with him. You're asking to learn from him, and you don't even sound mad about it!

Maybe he's smiling because this stupid little workplace crush may not be as one-sided as he thought.

A/N: Holy shit I kinda love this. Might make a series of work rivals to lovers with Carm cus he's my husband fr fr <3 we share a name for a reason!!!💯💯💯

wordcount:1,868

[bellewintersroe]

Daniel Ricciardo x HornerDaughter! Reader.

You ask for a part 3, you shall receive 😈 I’ve had a few inbox’s and comments asking me for this so I’m happy to continue hehehe, do you all wanna see this series as pure smut or a mix? I think there’s only so much sex I can write 😭😭 this one is a mix so obviously an 18+ warning in place, but it’s not so heavy on smut in comparison to the other two parts.

@allabouthappiness thanks for asking me to tag you!!! If anybody else wants tagging in any of my work lemme know! Christian Horner throws a bbq party after Silverstone, it’s a good nice for the drivers to unwind and have some down time. High of the announcement he’d be racing once again, Daniel is obviously present and celebrating with his second family. The night is running smoothly, or so the Australian thinks, he just can’t get Christians daughter out of his head, and when she arrives later that evening the sexual tension is unbearable between the pair. In such a close proximity to being caught, will Daniel make a move? Or suffer in silence with his undeniable attraction to the younger woman…

“What do’ya want Daniel, a burger? Steak? Or my daughter?” Christian questioned.

“What?!” Daniels head snapped up in shock. “Or a hot dog?” Oh. “Uh, a burger, go on then…” God, he was so in his head. It had to stop, she wasn’t even here and Daniel couldn’t stop thinking about her. There was an odd disappointment that the pretty girl wasn’t there, a sickness deep in his stomach knowing she was at another party than here. He knew it was wrong to feel that way, but after their exchange over text the other evening, he just had to see her.

After a couple of drinks his phone felt heavier than ever in his pocket. He knew she was just a text away and remembered how she’d told him he could have her whenever. Her bedroom was just right up there, maybe when she got home, if she got home tonight, she’d drag him up there. Daniel shook the thought from his head quicker than it arrived, her family was sat right in front of him, and it felt twisted to think such sinful thoughts about Christian’s daughter.

The night grew later, and at around 1AM, Max found the wondering, drunk girl lingering in her kitchen nervously. “Hey, look who I found!” Everybody’s heads lifted in unison, the petite girl standing shyly, waving as Daniel felt his heart jump in his throat. He felt her look at everybody but him, and then, when she finally did, he looked away in pure shyness. What the fuck happened to Dutch courage? Y/n felt her eyes slowly trail across the men and their girlfriends, before they fixated on Daniel. He was fiddling with the beer bottle on his lap, scanning over the logo like it was the most interesting thing on the planet. A gentle smile followed by a slight blush grew on her face. In an odd sense she was worried he’d think she was frigid by not doing anything, but it was kinda difficult when so many people were around in her family home.

When he did look up, they caught eyes for the first time. He almost had to do a double take, especially when she started smiling, angelic and innocent, lingering over his as her body angled away, tits bouncing slightly as she shuffled in her seat. “Have you got any food left?” She then stood up, speaking to her father as Daniel felt his eyes roam over her tight little dress. Fuck. He couldn’t- he shouldn’t. Watching her interact with her family was undeniably sweet and charming, but he felt so guilty. The way he had to adjust himself in his pants ever so slightly at the curves of her body, it was so wrong but he was so hooked. An hour or so later, she’d had enough to drink to make the first move to sit next to him. She had Checo’s jumper on, nipped by the cool British night as Daniel watched them interact in borderline disgust. Christian and Geri had ventured to bed, so had some of the other men, but there was enough people still lingering to make the whole interact with her inappropriate.

“Did you eat the last kebab? Max said he’d save me one but they’re all gone.” She fell against his leg, bum scraping over his thigh, almost as she went to sit on his lap. Her body was pressed against his and her drink sloshed slightly down her bare leg causing a shiny wetness that Daniel wanted to lick clean. “Nah, kebab? I didn’t even get one of those.” The Australian answered, head turned and tilted down so they were face to face. A knowing smile grew on her face as she purposefully looked down to his lips. Daniel thought he’d have a heart attack.

“It was me…” Checo commented, coyly. “Checo!” She groaned playfully, Daniel grimacing when her attention was no longer on him. “What? You’ve got my jumper, that makes up for it!” The Mexican man exclaimed as Daniel ground his teeth together even harder. Was he being paranoid or was he flirting? He knew the Red Bull racer had a bad reputation with women, despite having a wife and four whole children at home. Daniel didn’t respect it.

“Yeah, yeah.” She shook it off, waving her hand before sipping from her glass again. “I’ll take the jumper off you?!” Checo then continued. It took everything in Daniel’s power not to roll his eyes, he couldn’t believe he was the only one hearing this. Even she was a little cringed out, she wasn’t stupid, she knew when a man was openly flirting, but Checo just had one of those personalities, plus she knew his partner, she’d never go there.

“Have it back then… I’ve got millions upstairs.” She teased, pulling it off and throwing it back directly in his face. Daniel liked that, there was no longer the smell of a man’s cologne on her, now it was only her sweet perfume that he found intoxicating. Now they were skin to skin, she purposefully brushed her arm against his, teasing as she fought for a comfortable position for her arm.

“You didn’t try a kebab then?” She turned her attention back to Daniel. “Nah, why, should I have?” He couldn’t hold back the smile the whole time they were talking. “Mmmh, they were good, weren’t they, Checo?” Despite her words being aimed at another man, her eyes were glued to Daniel. For a second or so, Checo eyed up the pair, squinting in confusion. Were they flirting or was he just super drunk? Checo just assumed the second about himself.

“Yeah… they were…”

* “See ya’ guys later.” Daniel waved to Max and Kelly who drove off in their lift back to their hotel. Kelly waved whilst Max’s head hung out of the window, sickened from the mixture of alcohol he’d been consuming all evening. From behind Daniel he felt a hand smooth over his back, causing him to tense seeing it was y/n. She looked so sexy, changed into her oversized T-shirt and shorts that he couldn’t see the bottom of. Daniel could see the press of her hardened nipples against the white material, piercings obvious as he had the most perverted thought to lift the shirt up.

“My Uber’s 15 minutes away.” He then muttered, feeling a little awkward from the silence that took over them. “Oh.” She played with the bottom of the shirt. Daniel could’ve sworn he saw shorts earlier, but he must’ve been fooled because there definitely was no material covering her thighs. Fuck, he had such easy access to her cunt, something he’d basically dreamt of for endless nights. Alone now, Daniel’s eyes fixated on the bare of her tan skin, fists balling at either side of him.

She let out a sigh, questioning how the hell they could do everything they wanted in the space of fifteen minutes. Much to her disappointment, they couldn’t. But the alcohol buzzing through her bloodstream wouldn’t allow him to leave without even the smallest of a kiss. Her hand slowly closed the door, pulling the bolt on as he gulped, blinking away, back to the floor below. Feeling himself sway, he slammed a hand against the door, preventing himself from falling. When he did he caught her fingers under his own. “You okay?” She giggled, head tilting up to him. “A little drunk.” He rubbed over his face quickly. For some reason he didn’t want her to know that he couldn’t get the thought of her sweet cunt out of his head.

“Just a little?” She teased, his hand still resting on her own. “More than a little, fuck.” He snickered as she had the overwhelming urge to kiss him. “So am I.” She giggled, wrapping her two smaller fingers over his and nudging his hand slowly down the door. Daniel’s hand moved with ease, eyeing up the movement as she lead it down to her ass. Daniel swallowed, feeling her soft skin as he gripped on her flesh, squeezing a handful of her ass gently. “Hm.” She hummed out gently, moving her hand up over his shoulder, followed by the other, almost as though she was testing the waters. Daniel nudged his face closer, dipping his head as he inhaled the scent of her perfume once more. Fuck, she smelt so good. Their faces were so close, nudging closer, each aching for contact. “Kiss me, Daniel… nobody’s here.” She whispered, trailing a hand down the back of his scalp. She’d needed him all evening, craved the close proximity between them. Now she only had 15 minutes of it? “You want me to?” Why was he nervous? She’d nodded with the slightest moan, making the first move to press her lips against his own. The kiss was gentle, soothing, it ignited a fire in both their chests.

He’d moved in closer, kissing her a little deeper, but when he heard a thumping noise from upstairs he jumped back, eyes wide in worry. “It was just the dog…” she giggled. “Oh.” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. Sure enough, the door came scurrying down, heading towards his water bowl in the kitchen.

Taking him gently by the jaw, she moved her lips to the soft skin of his neck. Her smooth lips moved over the sensitive area, kissing and sucking with the lightest pressure. Daniel’s palm was back on the door, pressing to avoid the urge to just grab her body. “Touch me, Daniel.” She sensed the worry in him. “I can’t.” He shakily exhaled, penetrated by the worry that her dad could possibly come down and catch them. He wanted to, he really wanted to. “If I start I won’t be able to stop.” He admitted as she swallowed a little, smiling simply and kissing his cheek.

She pulled off, and Daniels eyes opened again seeing her ready to spin away. He couldn’t bare it, “no.” So he grabbed her arm, keeping her in place. “No, no.” He muttered, pulling them around his neck again. Fuck… he couldn’t touch her but she could- “talk to me.” Daniel borderline pleaded, closing his eyes again as the swell of her breasts pushed up against him, nipples hard against his top. “Talk to you?” She teased, pushing her hips up to his. He was already rock hard, fuck, she bet he hurt straining against his jeans like that. “Talk to me. Tell me everything you want me to do to you.. please, y/n.” He was speaking quickly now, hands now gripping at her hips as she pressed up against him.

“So I can’t kiss you… and you can’t touch me, but you wanna hear everything I want you to do to me?” She blinked back to him, a fake confusion taking over her face. Daniel nodded, dropping his head so he could look at her better.

“Why are you torturing yourself like that?” She giggled again, hearing him groan. “M’ not messing around.” A hand slid up her body, onto her neck, gripping her throat as she let out a breathy moan. Fuck, she didn’t know he had that in him. It turned her on 10x more and she wasn’t quite sure if she could cope with Daniel holding off for much longer.

“Fuck, why are you winding me up like this?” She whined, grabbing a hold of his arm. It was the first time she’d let the confident guard down, staring up to him with pleading eyes. “Please Daniel, please… please. Nobody knows…” she whispered, feeling his hand smooth up to her jaw. Daniel felt himself losing control and had to snap back into reality, gritting his teeth as he held her close. “You know I can stay quiet for you.” Her hands tan dangerously close to the top of her jeans. Daniel let out an inward moan, frustrated by how close he was to feeling so good with her. He stumbled back against the door, head looking back as she fell with him, fingertips grasping around the material of his pants.

Spurred on by his hardness she let out a gentle hum, gazing up to him again. “I can be your good girl, Daniel. If you just want me to talk to you, then that’s all I’ll do… I won’t touch.” Deep down she knew he wouldn’t resist, he could barely even look back into her eyes or he’d lose his mind.

“I won’t touch you ever again if you don’t want that.” God no. That’s not what Daniel wanted. He took her by the back of the head, holding her close as he pressed his lips to her forehead, inhaling the scent of her freshly washed hair. It reminded him of the time they’d fucked in the changing room, her ass pressed against his hips, his cock so deep inside of her… he wanted it again, fuck he knew he couldn’t but he needed it.

“I need you.” Daniel told her, shaking his head as she gripped at his shirt. “Then take me, fuck, you’re making it so hard on yourself. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“You’re 22.” He muttered, lips moving against her forehead. “And your dad is- is upstairs… he’s my princi-“ “And he has no fucking clue you’re down here with me.” She told him firmly, sliding a hand back down to the hem of his jeans. “He never will. It’s only me and you.” She kissed his jaw once more. Daniel felt himself losing control, again, his hand sliding up her shirt, grazing over the thin material of her underwear, over her waist and stomach. “You’ve got five minutes to do whatever the fuck you want to me, or I’ll just go upstairs and do it myself.”

“Not upstairs, do it here, do it now.” Daniel choked out, fingers curling over her underwear and yanking them down. “Please, please. I can’t touch you, I won’t, but I can watch you.” He shook his head as she bit down on her lip, enjoying the slight control he had over her. “Why can’t you touch me?” Her voice was light and airy as her black underwear fell to the floor. She’d purposefully changed into them just for him to see.

“Not now.” Daniel hushed, guiding her hand to her pussy, she felt herself, already wet, running her fingers over the sensitive bud. “I want you to-“ he cut her off with a bruising kiss. “Just do it. For me, please.”

Her fingers rolled at her words, almost falling back into the wall, but Daniel pulled her close again, holding her waist close as he could feel the slow moving of her hand. “Faster.” Daniel instructed, against her mouth, hearing her moan as she continued to pleasure herself.

“Want ya’ to make yourself cum before I leave.” Daniel shook his head, unable to get enough of her kiss. “I can’t-“ she went to whine fingers dipping in her wetness, it would never feel as his would. “Yes you can.”

“Need you Daniel, please, need you to touch me. Your fingers would feel so good inside of me.” She drunkly babbled, keeping her voice low as Daniel’s forehead rested against hers. He felt undeniably turned on, his cock was throbbing in his trousers and it took everything inside of him to not pull his pants down and give her what she wanted. “So beautiful.. you look so beautiful doing this, y/n.” He breathed out, overwhelmed by her beauty. Her lips were slightly agape and plump from where they’d been kissing, her eyes were lazily focused on him, and there was a slight knot of pleasure between her brows. Daniel kissed there once more before meeting her lips.

He’d felt something funny inside of him, not for the first time, and it wasn’t because he was drunk either. They were real butterflies, fuck, that wasn’t good- but the way she was sighing was angelic- he almost couldn’t stop himself. The alcohol fuelled his sex drive, and also his anxieties. How could they ever be together? Woah- together? Where did that come from? Daniel pulled back from the kiss, looking over her face once again. So pretty, so youthful, she had her whole life ahead of her, what were they even doing? “Daniel.” She whimpered, and he couldn’t stop. No matter what his brain was telling him, he was too entranced by her. God, he knew it was wrong, so wrong, but it felt too good to stop. “I got you.” He hushed, tilting her chin up to meet in a kiss. She felt blissful, the relief of the touch was good, but if it was his touch it would’ve been better. His hand flattened over hers, fingers on top of hers, mimicking the action, he was so close, yet not close enough.

Sneaking her hand away, his fingers finally sunk into her wetness, but it was cut acutely short when the buzzing of his phone interrupted them both. The Uber. Fuck. “Shit.” Daniel cursed as she awkwardly reached down to pull her underwear up. Her teeth sunk down into her bottom lip, looking at him through her eyelashes as he answered the phone, telling them he’d be out in a second.

“Sorry.” He whispered, leaning forwards and pecking her on the lips quicker than she could process. “See you later, Daniel…” “Fuck- I-I’ll make it up to you. Some how.”

[hyperfixingfr]

STOP SUPPORTING KNDBRAINROT!!!

Some of you guys are still engaging with their content and liking it + following them - please stop! The only way they'll truly care about their actions is if they aren't gaining support!

They've been harassing artists in the fandom, block evading many artists and even stalking some onto social medias they never talked about having. Kndbrainrot had even done this to me, messaging me on Tik Tok despite me never giving it out!

In this same conversation, they admitted to me that them requesting an EEnE artist drawing Ed kissing Sarah (a pair of siblings) was 100% done with incest intents. (Shoutout to amazingspace-22 for not giving them incest content :)))

I've tried for HOURS at this point to get them to apologize/own up to drawing Kuki on a body pillow extremely sexualized. They refused to, and when they finally DID "apologize", it was riddled with guilt tripping and blame dodging.

They don't really CARE about apologizing for doing this. At some point they even told me they WANTED to draw this and still would want to.

They only care about harassing artists into giving them art. They only want to be forgiven so they can get unblocked and ask more people for free art. One time, they commented this under my commissions post that I made to try and get temporary fix for my extreme and unbearable pain. This is extremely insensitive and outright SNARKY. They've also had a reported instance of demanded kommandonuovidiavoli draw something despite her very clearly only accepting certain kinds of requests at certain times.

They also called gay people sinful. I tried to question them on this like I have the other stuff they've done because I understand they're young and easily influenced by indoctrinating materials, but they kept fighting me back and refusing what I was saying with things like "oh but it's okay because I'm Christian and support the community" (while still claiming LGBTQ+ people are going to hell... Lovely/sarc)

Also shows a case of them dodging blame because they don't even address my first question.

To finish it off... Compilation of them dodging blame and giving horrible excuses for why they won't apologize.

I'm done talking about them. For the love of god, please block them and cut off support from them. They're feeding off your support and it's sad to see people still don't care. We can't let a young child think this behavior comes without consequences, because they seem to think they can get away with it. Don't let them get away with it.

[justmymindandstuff]

Lord Stark Robb Stark x Wife LannisterReader

summary: It was a stupid argument and Robb knows he has fucked up after you threw his title in his face. Fine. He doesn't need you or so he thought. He quickly realizes that he made a mistake and that he does need you more than he thought.

warnings: canon-typical misogyny, curse, Robb is kind of an ass but he will come around in the end, fluff.

words: 3.728

A/N: slightly inspired by this post by @dipperscavern .Thank you for the inspo :) // Gif not mine// AO3 // requests are open :)

Be kind and have fun 🧡

"And maybe if you would just stop acting like a spoilt brat and shut the fuck up for a second I could hear my own thoughts. You are getting on my last nerves." his voice is hoarse from screaming. Both of his hands are angrily clenched into fists as he leans his arms over the back of his chair. He glares at you angrily through the room. The moment his words leave his mouth, he sees something shift in you. Just a moment ago, you were shouting at him in anger, pacing back and forth, eyes sparkling with anger when you look at him.

Now you stand there frozen, your eyes wide with tears. Robb bites his lip and prepares to apologize. But with your next breath, you straighten up, hiding all your feelings behind a mask.

"As you wish, Lord Stark." your voice lacks any emotions, not even anger anymore.

Robb's ears start ringing and he knows he messed up. You never call him Lord Stark. Your Grace, sometimes, at public events or in jest, Love and Robb. Most of the time you just call him Robb. He is your Robb. Not Lord Stark, not your Grace, not the King, just Robb. And he doesn't want to be anything else. He wants to be your Robb.

You sink into a perfect curtsy before him, and in that moment, Robb doesn´t see his wife but your mother in you. It makes his skin crawl. Cersei raised you to be a perfect princess, and it took him ages to get through that facade. Now it frightens him how quickly you have raised your walls again and how you go from his Stark Queen back to beeing a Lannister Princess again in just seconds. You lift your chin a little, and Robb no longer knows what he wanted to say. He feels as if his chambers have become several degrees colder. Without another word, you turn around, your hair blowing your scent over to Robb, it feels like a slap in his face. As you storm out of the chambers in anger he wants to follow you, but that's exactly what you want him to do. Robbs knows that he has gone too far, despite he stays behind. He won't give you what you want and follow you like a lost puppy. He reaches for his wine, and curses softly. Gods, sometimes you are unbearable.

It was a silly argument. One of the Ladies at court had called you Lady Lannister behind your back, and it had upset you. You demanded that Robb punish her. At first, he thought you were joking. To punish a Lady because his wife heard a rumor? His lords would rebel immediately, and he would understand them. So instead of agreeing with you he started laughing. You exploded with rage. Of course your argument doesn´t stop there. Things between you and Robb escalated and in the end, you both were just shouting at eachother without really knowing why you were angry at the beginning . Robb rubs his hands over his face. You will calm down again and come back, then you can talk about it like adults. Of course, he would apologize for his stupid comment. Yes, you get on his nerves, but he doesn't want it any other way. You know that, right? Robb turns to his daily tasks. He is a king, he doesn't have time to wonder about his wife's mood all day long.

Robb was wrong, you don´t come back to resolve your dispute reasonably. He hasn't seen or spoken to you all day. He only caught a glimpse when he watched you walking through the courtyard of Winterfell with Sansa from his window. Grey Wind at your side. Traitor.

He doesn't quite understand why you got so worked up. You are a Stark, no matter what people say, no matter what people call you. Since the Lannisters imprisoned Eddard Stark, your loyalty to the North has been called into question countless times. So it's nothing new for you. A few of Robb's lords had begged him to let you fall, but Robb had remained stubborn. You are his wife! If the Lords want him as king, they must accept you as queen. You have been a Stark since the moment he took you under his cloak in Winterfell's Goodwood. So why is it such a big problem for you to get called Lady Lannister? It's just a name.

A name that has been tarnished itself with shame over the last years. Broken promises, war crimes, incest. Still just a name.

Robb reaches for a cup of wine and takes a sip, he is stucked in his work. He would like to hear your opinion on one of the letters he received, but you would probably just dismiss him with a sassy response and slam the door in his face. It would end with Robb standing at your door, begging that you let him in. He doesn't want to expose himself like that.

He sighs and leans back a little in his chair. He tries to understand why you get so worked up about an insignificant Lady, as if the thoughts of others actually matter to you.

You cried in his arms just once when the truth about your real parentage came to light. You were so ashamed of just being yourself. A product of incest. Robb had believed it in the first second. You look like a younger version of Cersei Lannister. Lioness through and through.

That makes you dangerous, you are so beautiful that he becomes weak. Robb knew this the moment you stepped out of the carriage, during King Robert's visit to Winterfell all those years ago.

His thoughts wander to the moment he saw you for the first time. His mother had dressed Robb up because he would meet you for the first time today. He has to make a good first impression. That's what his mother had said. This agreement has been made when he was 5. Robb Stark, heir of Winterfell, would marry the king's eldest daughter. You should have traveled to Winterfell a long time ago to live with the Starks, but your mother had screamed, raged, cry and did not allow it. So Robb meets his betrothed, the princess from the warm south, only a week before the wedding. Theon had made jokes, and Jon had looked at him with pity. But all of that didn't matter when he saw you for the first time. A glance from your green eyes was enough and Robb has the need to fall to his knees before you and give you the world.

Robb shakes his head slightly and sits up straight. He has to answer a few of these letters today. He needs to concentrate.

It’s getting later and later, and Robb is becoming increasingly restless inside. He doesn't know what it is. He can't quite put his finger on it. Something is not right. Robb rubs his tired eyes and blinks a few times before he can recognize the letters in front of him again. As the moon is already high in the sky and the candles have burned down so much that Robb can hardly see anything, he gives up. He stands up with striped limbs and stretches, yet his back aches slightly from all the sitting. Robb would simply continue tomorrow. His steps lead him through his home to his chambers.

He slowly opens the door and sighs. He is greeted with emptiness. He hadn't expected you to be here, but a small part of him had hoped for it. Your side of the bed is empty, which means you have gone to sleep in your own chambers. Which are only yours in name. He could count on one hand how many nights you spent in your own chambers without him. He lies down in bed and stares at the ceiling. His stomach begins to growl. For a moment, Robb is confused. He can´t remember the last time he went to bed hungry. He closes his eyes. Of course not, you always bring him something to eat on those nights when he is brooding over papers and letters for a long time. You always bring him something from the dinnerhall, usually already in your nightgown. Then you sit next to him while he eats. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you don't, sometimes you discuss problems, he asks you for advice, or you inform him about the latest gossip at his court. You always enjoy your time together. Robb opens his eyes. Damn! He is an idiot.

He tosses and turns in bed for quite a while. He can't find sleep. Every now and then, he dozes off briefly. He gets up at the frist rays of sunlight, without feeling refreshed. Nevertheless, he gets dressed and leaves his bedroom. There is no trace of Grey Wind, but Robb is sure that the direwolf has taken his place by your side. And for a second, he is jealous of hos wolf. Robb decides against breaking his fast in the great hall and instead goes to his study. On his way through the halls of Winterfell, he has to stop a few times because someone wants something from him. Robb is trying to be friendly, but the argument with you and the almost sleepless night is wearing on his courtesy. Upon reaching his destination, he is greeted by a new pile of letters and parchment rolls. Robb would prefer to turn around and run away. He is not sure if he can endure another day full of work and without you.

"Please ask My Lady Wife if she would like to break her fast with me." Robb turns to a servant.

"Of course your Grace." he bows and leaves the room. The door had not yet properly closed when it was opened again and one of his guards entered.

"Your Grace." the guard begins to talk. Robb want to crawl out of his skin or scream, or both. Instead, he forces a smile onto his face and turns to the new visitor. "It is the goldsmith."

Robb nods, and the man steps in and bows.

"Good morning, your Grace. I am bringing your delivery. I hope she agrees to you." the goldsmith lets his apprentice step forward to present the golden necklace with the Direwolfheadpendant. Robb has to suppress an eye roll. He hates this theater. A waste of time for him. It would be easier if the jeweler simply handed him the necklace.

You love that. You have lived for sixteen years in the Red Keep in King's Landing, raised in all the luxury, splendor, and gold of the world. From the moment you were born, everone bend the knee before you.He can't blame you.

The gold of the chain is intricately crafted. The wolf's head detailed.

Most in the north prefer silver, most of his clothing is adorned with silver as well. The North had its own silver mines. Gold had to be imported. That's expensive and time-consuming. Impractical. Northmen despise the impractical.

With you it´s different, you shine in gold. And that is Robb's fault. He loves to gift you with jewelry, dresses, elaborate hairpins and tiaras. He can't help it. If you want to bathe in gold, he would make it possible.

Of course, you behave like a spoiled brat. He spoils you.

He praises the work of the goldsmith and gives him a few more gold coins, even though he has already spent a small fortune on the piece of jewelry. He doesn't care. If necessary, he would walk all the way to Essos to get you a gift. He would conquer the whole world just to make you happy. Robb places the velvet cushion with the chain on the table while the goldsmith and his apprentice leave his study again.

His Page comes back with your answer. "The queen has already broken her fast, My Lord."

"Fine." Robb eats his breakfast alone and then throws himself into work. A longing for you pulls at him, but he tries to push it away and focus on his work. Later today, he has to meet with Lord Karstark, actually he had planned that you to accompany him to this meeting. Karstark wanted compensation, in his opinion, his family suffered the most from the war. Wasn't it Robb who lost his father? Karstark has been discussing with him for ages, he always wants more. Robb had hoped that you could distract Karstark a little. The lord eats out of your hand like a stray puppy. Robb is sure that you would rather pout than help him. But he didn't help you either. Frustrated, he sinks deeper into his chair. Maybe he had behaved incorrectly after all. He should have supported you. Of course, he can't punish a Lady over a rumor, but laughing was the worst thing he could have done. Nevertheless, he thinks that your punishment of silence is a bit excessive.

All day long, Robb sends you pages delivering his invitations. Would you like to go for a walk with him? Would you like to go riding with him? You could take out the falcons and have a little hunt. You send them all back with a no as an answer.

Robb knows that you are stubborn. The day goes by and he still doesn't get any reaction from you. He has shown that he is ready to make amends. He curses your stubbornness, even though he knows very well that he would never give up your willpower for an obedient woman.

He reacts a bit too annoyed with Lord Karstark and dismisses him after a short time with an unfriendly comment about willingness to sacrifice and loyalty. An angry lord is a problem for later.

Robb postpones the petitions from his subjects and instead trying to focus on expenses, taxes, and planning for the next harvest. His mood is extremely bad.  

Not even a letter from Arya, or Lady Baratheon as she is now called, from Storm's End lifts his spirits. Baratheon, Stark, Lannister. Arya surely wouldn't make such a fuss just because someone addresses her as Stark instead of Baratheon. But Arya's family does not consist of incestuous, murderous traitors.

In Robb's war against your family, you have completely devoted yourself to his cause. You had burned all your bridges and stood by his side. You have laid aside your Lannister colors and fully identified as a Stark. Gods, you even advised against releasing your uncle/father and keeping him as a valuable hostage. He slowly realizes that he behaved wrongly. Instead of maning up and going to you to apologizes to you, he sends another page with the question of whether you want to have lunch with him, and not even an hour later, another one asking if you’d like to pass the time with a card game in the glass gardens.

In the afternoon, you have enough. Furiously, you storm into his chambers. Robb sits at the table with Dacey Mormont and Smalljon. The conversation immediately falls silent when you enter, and they look at you.

"Please leave. We're going to fight now." you say with a perfect, false smile. You eyes are bursting with anger, it's the only thing that shatters your perfect facade. Even your hair is tied back in strict, southern braids, just like you always wear when you're angry with Robb. Because you know exactly that he hates it.

Smalljon laughs, gives Robb a hearty pat on the shoulder, and gets up. "The lioness is showing her claws." he laughts.

Dacey rolls her eyes at the comment and then pushes the other person out of the room. The door closes behind them. Robb takes a deep breath and stands up. Disarmed, he spreads his arms wide. But before he can say anything, you already start to grumble in a cold tone with sparkling eyes.

"First you claim that I get on your nerves and that you can't stand my presence, but when I give you what you want, you can't leave me alone? What is that supposed to mean?“

When did he ever say that he can't stand your presence? He feels anger rising within him because you are putting words in his mouth, but he takes a deep breath to calm himself. He wants to make peace, not argue again.

"I don't want to argue. That doesn't make any sense."

You snort disdainfully. "I want to argue! That's enough semse."

"No, I mean it doesn't make sense because I agree with you," he says. You stop. You didn't see that coming. You push your lower lip slightly forward, you've spent half the night thinking about what to throw at him next. Now he's taking the wind out of your sails. But Robb recognizes from your raised eyebrow and the way your eyes sparkle that you are skeptical. "I should have taken you seriously. And under no circumstances should I have laughed at you. I'm sorry."

"You hurt me." you’re raising your chin slightly again, maintaining your arrogant facade. Robb dares to take a step closer to you and notices with joy that you do not back away. "You said I'm annoying you."

"I shouldn't have said that. I doesn´t mean it. I was just angry. I know that's no excuse. It was wrong. I'm really sorry. You're not annoying me. Gods, I missed you so much, and you weren't even three hallways away from me. I can't stand it when you're angry with me."

You release your tense posture, your gaze softens, but you’re not smiling yet. Robb takes the last steps towards you and takes your hand. Immediately, your fingers close around his. Robb feels a sense of relief.

"I can somehow understand you. I know that I can be difficult. Especially when we argue," you admit softly.

"I would rather spend my whole life arguing with you than loving someone else. I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean to hurt you. I want you to know that I understand why you are angry. I did not stand by your side. That was wrong."

You look into his eyes, and Robb feels like you can see right into his soul. And then finally you smile. No false smile, no, you smile sincerely. Robb's heart skips a beat. Your smile is enough, and his heart beats faster, like a lovesick teenager. He is glad that you allow him to see that smile again.

"I forgive you," you say. Robb pulls you into a hug. Immediately, his arms close around you as he pulls you to him. He takes a deep breath and inhales your scent. For the first time in days, he feels truly relaxed. You snuggle up to him, fitting perfectly in his arms. He kisses your head.

"I love you," he whispers in your hair.

You detach yourself of him to look at him again. "I love you," you reply to him. Robb could die here and now, for he would never experience more happiness than when you say those words to him. You rise up on your tiptoes to kiss him. Robb pulls you closer to him. Relief, happiness, and love flood through him. When your lips left his he just have to smile.

"I have something for you."

Confused, you look at him. Robb points to the necklace lying on the corner of the table.

"You think you can buy my forgiveness with gifts?" you say, faking annoyance, but a smile dances on your lips as you run your fingers over the fine craftsmanship.

"No, of course not. I had already ordered that" Robb walks past you and takes the necklace from the table. "May I?"“

You turn your back to him and move your braids to the side so he can place the necklace around your slender neck. His fingers close the clasp and gently stroke your neck. He can't help it and lets his lips glide over the soft skin. You turn around in his arms and smile.

"It is beautiful. Thank you, Robb." you reply and reach for his hand.

"You are Lady Stark. My Lady Stark. Never forget that, and I will make sure no Lord or Lady never forget it either."

Tears well up in his eyes, and for a moment, he fears he has said something wrong again, but then you pull him into a tight embrace. You bury your face in his chest and he holds you close. You just stand there. He enjoys being close to you. Suddenly he is overcome by tiredness.

"Come to bed with me." he whispers.

You start to giggle and pull away from him a little. "I forgave you three seconds ago and you already order me into your bed? That is not the gentleman I married."

You married a horny teenager who didn't let you sleep a single night in the first weeks of your marriage. Robb gently leans in and kisses your forehead.

"No. I just want to sleep for a few hours. The last night without you was a nightmare."

You nod slightly, agreeing with him. You didn't sleep well alone either, you missed his warmth far too much. You smile and snuggle closer into his arms, his beard tickling your cheek, making you giggle softly, yet you lean into him.

"As you wish, my Lord Stark."

Something tightens within him. He never wants to hear those words from your mouth again.

"No. Don't say Lord Stark." Robb pulls back a little to be able to look you in the eyes. You tilt your head slightly and look at him expectantly. "Say my name."

A sincere, warm smile appears on your face. The smile is only for Robb. Then you rise onto your tiptoes to kiss him.

"As you wish, Robb." you say. Robb grinned like a little boy. He kisses your lips and your cheeks again. He takes your hand and you go back to your private chambers together. When you finally lie next to him in your bed again, he pulls you close into his arms. Your legs intertwine, and tightly wrapped with his love, he falls asleep just moments later.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Always her doll

Yesss!!! I hope you like it!!! Thank you for your request, and for your beautiful words!!! They lift my spirits!!! Sorry for the language mistakes!!! :))))

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, jealousy, Donna being Donna

Word count: 5,750

Summary: Maybe you you were too popular

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Mmm, I think they're ready,” you murmured, sighing and turning off the oven.

The old kitchen gave off a sweet, almost intoxicating aroma. Carefully, you took out that tray of freshly made muffins and ran a hand over your forehead, satisfied with the result.

“Perfect…” you whispered shaking your hands, scared when you noticed a presence behind you, gently grabbing your waist and pulling your body back. “Oh…” you jumped.

“Hi, tesoro…” the lady in black asked with a tender whisper in your ear, kissing your cheek, without letting your body go. “Did I scare you?”

“Donna,” you said smiling, closing your eyes to feel better her caresses, her displays of love that were not lacking in your daily life. “How long have you been hidden in the kitchen?”

“Hidden? You’re not thinking I was here to scare you,” she murmured amused, swaying your body.

“That's true, that's more like Angie,” you said with a tender smile, turning around to capture her lips with yours. “I thought you were busy with the dolls.”

“Mm,” she murmured, nodding, kissing you quickly and moving away from you, looking at the muffins with curiosity. “I couldn't concentrate with this delicious smell,” she commented amused.

“Oh, my bad,” you joked, pointing at yourself while wiping the excess flour from your hands. “Relax, I'm done.”

“What a pity…” she purred, with a tender smile, playing with your hand. “Muffins?”

“No, honey, they're not just muffins,” you said amused, pointing at your creations. “They're (Y/N)'s special ultra-delicious muffins”

“Mm, but they're still muffins,” Donna said, blinking mockingly. “Did you make them for me?”

“Well, you will have the honor of trying them,” you commented, with a mischievous smile. “But I warn you that they can give you a deliciousness attack,” you whispered, pretending a serious tone.

The lady in black laughed, shaking her head and studying those muffins, tilting her head.

It was just another day in your perfect life.

Being born in that sinister village was something like a life sentence, always surrounded by shadows, snow, grey skies… The fact that you had been blessed with a kind, fun and outgoing personality didn’t change your destiny, unless you yourself did something about it.

Not wanting to succumb to the shadows that surrounded that place, you decided to make your own path, to flee from the darkness, to avoid wasting your life in a loveless marriage, or serving day and night in the old castle.

No, a life of an ordinary villager was not for you, and you knew it.

After starting to lose hope, thinking that perhaps the Black Gods had already written your life and you could do nothing to remedy it, something that would change your life forever happened: you met her.

Donna Beneviento was one of the four pillars that held Mother Miranda's dominion. Mother Miranda, the priestess of the Gods and undisputed ruler of that snowy place.

You had heard so many things about that Lady Beneviento that having her near you made your body tremble.

But people like to talk, to invent terrible stories about the unknown, about the terrifying doll maker.

To be completely honest, some of those rumors were not wrong. The gifts of the Black Gods had granted that sick woman the ability to make you suffer the worst fear of your life, to turn anyone stupid enough to enter their grounds into a case of tears and unbearable terrors, if they survived…

Loneliness, darkness, complexes… All of this surrounded the young Lord. The claws of the dark demons had sunk deep into her skin. You always tried to live away from rumors, but even that didn't help when, on one of your endless walks, you crossed the threshold that separated light from darkness.

The woman in black had surely prepared to kill you, so her loneliness would be her companion once again. That was the only moment in your life when you were afraid, but it didn't last long.

Sick? Yes, disturbed? Oh, of course, sweet and kind? Sure. Little by little you discovered that  words were absurd if you compared them to reality.

An extroverted girl like you didn't seem like the companion she was looking for, nor did she seem like the great love you dreamed of every night, but your grandmother had a saying: wishes always come true, but not in the way you expect.

She was right, you fell in love with that lady in black, with that soft voice, broken by lack of use, with her hands, with her body, and, finally, with her beauty.

A wounded, deformed beauty, but a beauty, the most beautiful you had ever seen in your young life. Not even an insignificant scar, nor the worries she had about the gift of the Gods to her body, were enough of a reason to abandon her, to not feel the love that filled your soul when you were with her.

There were problems, yes, your social and almost popular character clashed with her desires for tranquility, for solitude. Of course, there was nothing that could break that love, nothing, not even that different behavior.

“Mm,” Donna murmured, savoring one of those freshly made delicacies, as always when you cooked, with a frown, studying each ingredient. “You put cinnamon on it.”

“You don't miss a thing, do you?” you joked, giving her a nudge, which made her laugh shyly, sweetly... You loved her with all your soul. “Eat as many as you want, but leave at least 5 or 6.”

Donna nodded with a tender look, checking every detail of that sweet.

“(Y/N),” she said, as if she had just realized something important. “You said they're not for me...”

You rolled your eyes, taking a breath, preparing for a tense conversation, as always when you wanted to leave the old estate.

“No, they're for Luiza and my friends,” you said quietly, clearing your throat. She looked at you with her eyebrow raised, her expression serious.

“You're going to leave again,” she murmured, shaking her head with a sad sigh. “(Y/N), you spent the whole afternoon out yesterday.”

“Well, I'm really in demand,” you joked, closing your eyes, instantly regretting your choice of words. “Um, forget I said that.”

“In demand? What do you mean? D-don’t, don't make me nervous,” she said, with a worried look, her brow furrowed, studying each of your possible micro expressions.

“I don't want to make you nervous, Donna, I mean... Well, you know I have a lot of friends,” you said, thinking better of your words.

“Too many,” she commented, in a small voice, looking away from you.

You, wanting to avoid a jealous attack, smiled tenderly, approaching Donna and cupping her face in your hands, kissing her to calm her nerves.

“Don't be mad, my love... I promise I'll be back soon,” you whispered tenderly, hanging on to her waist, without your lips completely leaving hers.

“You always say the same and then, then I spend the whole night waiting for you,” she said, nervous, moving away from your kisses, with a dark look. You snorted, guiding her face so she wouldn't stop looking at your bright eyes.

“I'm just going to have tea at Luiza's house, I'll be back before you know it,” you said calmer, playing with her hands, with your best good girl face. “Why don't you dedicate yourself to your dolls?”

“I've been in the workshop all day, I wanted to be with you,” she protested, with a tone that couldn't help but be a bit childish. “In-inoltre, you know perfectly well that when you're not her I can't be calm.”

“Well... Hey, I can call Luiza and tell her I'm not going, what do you think?” you offered, not wanting to argue with her, knowing that, in part, if we forget about the absurd jealousy, she was right.

You had many friends, in the village you weren't just any girl, everyone knew you. If they asked you, you could swear that it was the only part that Lady Beneviento didn't like about you.

The lady in black sighed, kissing your hand and walking away from you while shaking her head.

“I-I can't do that, I can't stop you from doing whatever you want... You, you told me it wasn't right,” she stammered, with her gaze down, biting her tongue so as not to tell you to do it, to cancel that tea.

“I say a lot of things,” you sighed, rubbing her back while she focused absurdly on the counter. A strange idea popped into your head. “Hey, why don't you come with me?”

“Cosa?” she asked confused, with a disoriented face. “Me? With you?”

“Yes, you, with me,” you repeated amused, being the one who grabbed her waist from behind, nodding profusely. “Why not? To get some fresh air from time to time is good for you.”

“I don't mind getting some fresh air, but, but...” Donna said, grabbing your hands so you would let her body go, turning slowly. “No, what do you want me to do with all those villagers?”

“Oh, sorry, Your Majesty,” you mocked, something that the lady growled annoyed at. “Hey, come on, it might be a good idea, right? I've talked so much about you to my friends that I'm sure they're dying to meet you.”

“Yes, literally,” Donna pointed out, shaking her head again. “They already know me, (Y/N).”

“Well, not as much as I do,” you insisted, hanging on to her shoulders again, kissing her lips in a mischievous way. “Come with me, Donna, you'll have a good time… Besides… Are you going to turn down the opportunity to know what I do when I'm not at home?”

“Mm,” she murmured, frowning, her gaze on yours, but at the same time, far away from it, thoughtful. “I hadn't seen it that way,”

“Don't forget that I always manage to convince you, always,” you whispered in her ear in a mischievous way, making her whole body tremble.

“I have that weakness for you...” she sighed, while you approached the kitchen door, winking at her.

“Put on your veil, darling, we're going for a walk,” you joked, leaning on the door frame and leaving the kitchen with a playful gesture.

The walk through the forest was always relaxing. The winter breeze seemed warm with her hand in yours, with that slow walk, with that desire to enjoy your company to the fullest. Unfortunately, you were not alone...

“Where are we going?” Angie, Donna's inseparable doll, asked. One doll that many times, made you want to throw her into the fireplace.

“Again?” you said annoyed, rolling your eyes.

“Where, where!?” the puppet shrieked again, forcing you to press your lips tightly.

“To Luiza's house, it's the fifth time I've told you,” you growled, being comforted by the soft caresses of the lady in black, who looked at you through her veil. “Donna, was it really necessary?”

“I'm not going anywhere without her,” the lady whispered in a dark voice. You had no choice but to snort in defeat, enduring the doll's mocking words.

“Ha! Suck that, you stupid village girl!” the doll mocked, clinging to her owner. You darkened your gaze, but looked away sulkily.

“Angie, basta,” Donna said, calming the doll's excitement, one that was inevitable every time she left the estate.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Angie shouted again, making you regret your offer. “Shall we play movies?”

“No,” Donna and you said at the same time.

“Come on, I'll start... Do you know what movie I think of when I see you two?”

“Oh, not again...” you lamented, especially knowing that her film culture had increased thanks to the Duke's forbidden tapes.

“Scema e più Scema,” the puppet hissed, making you dig into the snow, fists clenched.

“I've been living with Donna for over a year. Do you think I don't know what you said?” you asked angrily, but knowing that messing with you was her biggest hobby and that, after all, you could consider her something like a friend.

“Mm, you're Dumber,” Angie said.

“Don't listen to her, tesoro,” Donna whispered, pulling you to move, finally leaving the property.

“(Y/N),” an old woman, who recognized you as you headed to your destination, said. You stopped with a smile, separating yourself from your girlfriend and approaching her. “Gods, how nice to see you…”

“Mrs. Ivanovic, you look well,” you said in a friendly manner, shaking the old woman's hands. She looked over your shoulder at the lady in black, lowering her head in respect.

“My dear, if I'm here it's thanks to you… I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't helped me with the cracks in my house,” the woman said, taking your hands in a grateful manner. “Tell me, girl, does she take good care of you?”

“Donna?” you asked, giving away the old woman's question, one that caught the attention of the lady in black. “Oh, of course she does.”

“Every day I pray for you, I pray for her to take pity on your soul,” the old woman whispered, with terrified eyes that discreetly looked at the Lord.

“Don't pray that much, Mrs. Ivanovic, you know you have a privileged place next to the Black Gods,” you joked, saying goodbye to the old woman, who almost ran past the lady.

“Who was it?” Angie asked, indiscreetly.

“Oh, well, a woman I helped a while ago, her house was almost in ruins,” you explained, taking the hand of the brunette again, who seemed to have her gaze fixed on that poor old woman. “Donna? Come on.”

The Lady grunted, and, after greeting a few villagers who came to talk to you, you arrived at your destination. Donna didn't say anything, she seemed nervous.

“My dear, what a joy to see…” Luiza said as she opened the door, turning pale when she saw who was accompanying you. “Lady Beneviento…”

“I'm accompanied today,” you said amused, running a hand over the shoulders of the brunette, who shifted uncomfortably. “I hope it's not a problem.”

“No, of course, of course it’s not,” the woman said, nervously, stepping aside. “It's an honor, my lady.”

Donna nodded kindly, entering the house with you, holding her faithful doll in her arms.

“The Black Gods bless me with your presence, my lady,” Luiza said, walking while playing with her hands, leading you to the living room, where your friends were already waiting.

“Hey, guys!” you said with a smile, greeting your friends effusively, leaving your girlfriend behind, who sighed, surely overwhelmed by so many people.

Everyone turned around with a smile that faded when they saw your companion, staying with their eyes wide open, totally petrified.

“What's wrong with you? Did the Lycan get your tongue?” you joked, approaching your best friend, Elena, patting her back affectionately.

“(Y/N)… Hey, hello,” the young Lupu said, as did the others, staring at Lady Beneviento.

“What are those faces about?” you asked, leaving the muffins on the table, frowning in amusement. “Calm down, she doesn't bite.”

“Speak just for Donna, silly,” Angie said, startling those present, who lowered their heads in terror.

“Oh, come on, relax, pretend she's not here,” you said, gesturing with your hand. “She's here to accompany me, not to judge you for your sins.”

“Please sit, my lady,” Luiza said, indicating a place for Donna to sit, without letting your friends' eyes leave her.

The lady nodded again, sitting down with a stoic pose.

“Would you like a cup of tea, my lady?” the woman offered, to which Donna nodded slowly, staring at your friends, as if she were analyzing their soul.

“Well…” you said, sitting down too, trying to break the tension of the moment. “I see your arm is better than ever, Viktor,” you said, pointing at your friend, who seemed to relax at last, now avoiding eye contact with Donna.

“Oh, yes, much, much better,” the boy said with a smile, taking one of your muffins. “Oh, really, (Y/N), you should sell these things…”

“That's what the baker is for,” you joked, always keeping an eye on the brunette, who remained motionless while Luiza served her tea, trembling.

“I've already lost two teeth because of his bread,” he joked, shaking his head. “Your hands are really divine…”

The lady in black abruptly turned her head towards you, but you ignored her, looking at your friend.

“Can't you stop flattering me for a second?” you said amused, with a blush visible on your cheeks. “Hey, Elena, how's your father feeling?”

“Oh, mu, much better,” the girl said, with a calmer smile. “If it weren't for you, he'd still be sick.”

“Don't thank me, thank Donna's fabulous plant encyclopedia,” you said, grabbing the lady's hand, which seemed to be shaking. “Right, honey?”

They all looked at each other, visibly uncomfortable.

The lady didn't answer, so you shook your head, ignoring her passivity.

“We missed you on bonfire day,” another of your friends said, changing the direction of the conversation, feeling less and less afraid.

“Yes, I told you…” said another of them, laughing amused, receiving a slap from Luiza before he took another one of your muffins.

“Let's pray,” the woman said, clasping her hands and bowing her head towards Donna, feigning fearful respect.

“Oh, come on Luiza, it's not necessary,” you said, indicating to the woman to sit next to you, something she did without taking her eyes off your girlfriend. “Come on, eat, they're freshly made. Do you want one muffin, darling?” you asked Donna, who gently shook her head, her whole body tense.

“You should have come,” your friend Ivan said, amused, when the atmosphere relaxed, almost forgetting that the fearsome Lord was present, something easy, since the lady in black looked more like a piece of furniture than a person.

“No, thanks, I don't want to get lost like last year,” you said, taking a sip of tea.

“You got lost by yourself,” Elena joked, with a calm smile. “I think you were sure you had seen the same tree twice.”

“Well, it was a very similar one,” you said. “Luckily you managed to find me.”

“Find you? I doubt you even knew where you were, (Y/N),” she said, arching her eyebrows and shaking her head.

“That’s true!” Viktor said, laughing mockingly. “We had to carry you… Home.”

You laughed embarrassed. You could sense from her awkward movements that Donna was not amused at all. After all, she was the one who took care of you that night.

“Poker, losers!” Angie shouted, who, unlike her owner, seemed to be at ease in company, taking the savings from three of your friends, who protested with a grunt.

“It seems that Angie is having a good time,” you whispered to the brunette, who looked distractedly at the doll while you calmed her with a soft caress under the table.

“Last year was very funny,” Elena commented, attracting your attention again. “Do you remember the bets?”

You were left breathless for a moment, praying that neither of you would talk about it.

“Yes, of course I remember, (Y/N) lost and had to spend ten minutes locked in the closet with Katia,” one of your friends commented, so you closed your eyes.

As expected, the brunette didn't like that comment, and she folded her teaspoon over itself, dropping it on the table and drawing everyone's attention.

“Oh, wow, do you want another teaspoon?” you asked cautiously, looking at that shattered cutlery. She shook her head. You couldn't see it, but you knew her eye was burning under the black veil.

Without saying anything to you, she reached out her hand for the doll, which moved towards her, floating in the air as she stood up abruptly from the chair.

“I'm going home,” she whispered so only you could hear her. She seemed terribly upset, and it was no surprise.

“Oh, yeah, okay... Um, we're leaving,” you said with an apologetic look. Elena looked at you and waved her hand.

“Are you coming on Friday?” she asked.

You nodded as Donna walked towards the exit, looking at you to follow her.

“Yes, I'll try,” you said in a friendly tone, hugging your friend goodbye, something that made a furious growl sound through the hallway. Donna was already gone.

“I'm, I'm leaving,” you said timidly, leaving the house hastily, trying to catch up the brunette. “Hey, Donna, wait!”

The lady stopped without looking at you, letting you take her arm, almost dragging you through the snow.

“Hey, hey, are you having a crisis?” you asked, noticing her labored breathing. She stopped and looked at you through the fabric.

“No,” she answered dryly, walking back towards the old mansion.

“Oh, okay... Um... Donna, don't go that fast...”

With a hurried step, without saying a word, the waterfall loomed over you again. The lady in black let you go and opened the doors with a furious gasp, pushing the veil away from her face, showing you her irrational anger.

“We had a good time, didn't we?” you said shyly, closing the doors again, with a good girl look.

“E che cazzo, (Y/N)?” she hissed leaving Angie on the floor, breathing heavily.

“What? I, I don't know what you mean…” you stammered, scratching the back of your neck. “What's wrong, honey?”

“What's wrong? How dare you to ask me what's wrong?” the lady said shaking her head, blinking in disbelief.

You rolled your eyes and sighed impatiently, kicking the floor.

“I ask you because I don't know, what’s wrong with you?” you said with your emergency tone, a calm and patient one.

“Why did you want me to go with you? To rub in my face how much everyone loves you?” Donna asked again, with a dark, dangerous look.

“Excuse me?” you said, arching your eyebrows. “Donna... It's not about that.”

“No? And what is it about? Do you know what it's been like for me to endure that kind of strange adoration that everyone has for you?” she asked, furious, pointing at you with her finger.

“Calm down,” you whispered, making a gesture of relaxation with your hands. “You're losing control, honey, come on, breathe...”

“Vaffanculo!” Donna shrieked furiously, moving her hands in an exaggerated way, dragging out her words. “I'm not losing control, you're driving me crazy, (Y/N).”

“How rude,” you joked with a mischievous smile, approaching the lady to caress her face. “Don't be mad, my love... That people love me shouldn't make you feel bad.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” she said, with a nervous laugh, moving away from your reassuring caresses. “I'm very happy to see that everyone loves you, to see that they have fun locking themselves in a closet with you, that they only have nice words for you...”

“If I remember correctly, you like me that way,” you counterattacked, with a haughty tone, not letting yourself be provoked. You were already a black belt in arguments with Donna, in handling the problems of her wounded mind.

“What way?” the doll maker asked, shaking her head, blinking erratically.

“Kind and affectionate,” you said, raising your head. “According to you, that's what made you fall in love with me.”

“Yes, and I'm starting to think I'm not the only one who feels that way,” Donna hissed, without relaxing her hardened features. “Tell me, (Y/N), how many times have you cheated on me with that stupida?”

“Who?” you asked open-mouthed, surprised by that baseless accusation. “Oh, no, you can't be serious…”

“I'm completely serious,” she whispered threateningly, grabbing your arm too tightly, so you protested with a hiss of pain.

“Donna, you, you’re hurting me…” you said, fighting against her grip, against the nails that dug into your skin.

“You’re the one who’s hurting me, (Y/N)… Do you like hugging that stronza? Let's see if you like it the same way when I get rid of her.”

“Okay, that's enough, Donna,” you said, making an effort to free yourself from her grip and give her a slow slap on the cheek.

“Now you hit me… I see everything clearly,” Donna hissed, putting a hand on her bruised cheek. You rolled your eyes, starting to lose patience. “You've never loved me.”

“I hit you so you'll stop saying stupid things. I hugged Elena because she's my friend, friends hug each other, did you know that?” you said with a haughty tone, trying unsuccessfully to reason with her deranged mind.

“So how many friends do you have, (Y/N)?” she asked, not giving in. “Do you hug all of them?”

“Many, I have many friends, Donna,” you hissed, trying to be threatening, something that wouldn't be possible. “But you know what? I'm not surprised you don't know. You haven't had a friend in your entire life…”

Donna recoiled from your words, unable to respond to that terrible truth, one you didn't want to use, one you instantly regretted.

“Donna, honey… I, I didn't mean…” you said in a softer tone, moving closer to take her hand, a hand she pulled away with a snort.

“You said it, (Y/N),” she whispered with a broken voice, looking away from you. “if you said it, it's because you mean it.”

“No, well, I… Let's see, it's true that I…” you stammered, grabbing the brunette by the shoulders, fighting her attempts to get away from you. “My love… Hey, I love you, you know? I love you so much and…”

“You love them too,” Donna whispered, stopping resisting your hold, her eye wet with tears.

“It's not the same,” you explained, relaxing your breathing, controlling hers with gentle movements.

“You don't understand, do you?” she said, starting to sob, shaking her head, totally out of her mind. “You don't understand what it's like to always see you surrounded by people, to see how they smile at you and... Hug you and...”

“I guess I can't help it,” you said with a tender smile, playing with her hands that allowed your soft caresses. “You've fallen in love with a very popular girl…”

“A very beautiful girl,” Donna sighed, closing her eye to calm her demons.

“Well, that's what they say,” you joked wrongly again. Donna didn't seem angry. She simply brought a hand to your cheek.

“It hurts me, tesoro, it hurts me to think that someone could... Could take you away from me... Y-you're right, I, I've always been alone and... I don't... I don't know what...” she said with a broken voice, passing her hand over your face, touching, feeling all your beauty.

“Shh…” you whispered, moving a little closer, swaying your body, closing your eyes and rubbing your forehead against hers. “Shut up, my love… My precious Donna… You have nothing to fear…”

“You know that no matter how many times you tell me… I will always be afraid of losing you,” the lady whispered, placing your hair, letting her body move with yours.

“Well, but I can do something to make you believe me,” you said with a tender smile, running a finger along her lips. “There is something I don't do with anyone else…”

Slowly, you approached her lips, kissing them softly, savoring the salty taste of her desperation, of her irrational fear. She deepened the kiss, as if that romantic and simple act had been enough to calm her. You knew it wasn't like that, but at least, it seemed to have an effect.

“See? I only do this with you…” you murmured with a tender voice, biting your lips. “I'm yours, darling, only yours…”

“Only mine…” Donna whispered, blinking in confusion, as if she was thinking about something. “You're right, you're mine…”

Her voice became dangerous. Her hands gripped your face tightly, dragging you into a much messier, deeper, more impatient kiss. Her hands began to get out of control, traveling down your body, clawing at your legs under your dress. The gasps were not long in coming.

“You're mine!” the lady shouted with a furious growl, pushing you roughly against one of the tables in the hall.

You gasped in surprise, but not annoyed, letting the lady hug you from behind, kiss your neck wildly, your breasts were an easy prey for her hands.

“Donna,” you sighed with a smile, letting the heat replace the jealousy, letting the brunette's surprisingly wild attitude continue.

Donna was always affectionate, maybe too much. She was always gentle, always holding you like you were something fragile, kissing you softly, making love to you slowly, romantically. That possessive attitude was totally different, but you didn't know you liked it that much.

“You're not going to abandon me... You're mine...” she whispered nervously, pulling up your dress as your body was covered in kisses, as your back lowered to give her better access to her desires. “And I'm going to prove it to you.”

“Mm, okay,” you said amused, silenced by a hand on your mouth, as your underwear was stripped from your body with a furious tug, letting it slide down your ankles.

“Don't... Talk...” Donna hissed, pressing her hand against your mouth, with a dark, but exciting tone. “Only do it if you're going to say you're mine, I just want to hear you say that, is it clear?”

You nodded, arching your eyebrows at that abruptness, when her fingers went down your wetness, when they ran through your folds, deforming them for what was to come.

“Now you're going to... stay still,” the lady in black whispered, playing with her dress, releasing her throbbing erection and passing it through your wet entrance, causing a moan and a tremor of your hips, which desperately sought more contact.

“Mm, Donna...” you moaned, repressing the pleasure that simple touch caused in your body, the sensation of her hard shaft moving freely through your folds.

Definitely the wild Donna was climbing positions.

“Hey! Tell me,” you protested when she entered you roughly, stretching your body hastily, forcing your walls to accommodate the intruder. “Donna, you know you're big... It-it hurts...”

“Shut up!” she squealed, moving slowly, making her way into your wetness, giving you a strong tug on your hair. “If you love me, you'll have to hold on. I don't want to waste time.”

“Oh, okay,” you said amused, moaning in pleasure at all those sensations, at how exciting it was to see her out of her mind while she was inside of you. “Mm… Honey…”

“Do any of your friends do this to you? Huh?” she said nervously, starting to move when the wetness of your entrance allowed her, sliding effortlessly, with your walls praising, squeezing her erection intensely.

“Not at all,” you joked, following her frenetic rhythm with your hips, getting a spank for your boldness.

“I said, shut up… Just nod, doll,” Donna hissed, scratching the skin of your hips, moving your body to her will, making that table move dangerously.

You obeyed, hiding your face, euphoric with pleasure, moaning discreetly as she took you intensely, quickly, but making you feel the greatest pleasure possible.

“Doll… I like it,” you said among moans, leaning so she could move better, so it would be easier for her to manipulate your hips, to dig her nails into your skin.

“Do you like it? Good…” she said, moaning too, slowing down the rhythm of her thrusts, taking you slower, enjoying the journey her body made inside yours. “Because that's what you are… La mia bambola…”

“Mm, yes… Yours…” you repeated, losing control of your movements, moaning scandalously, hitting the table because of your inability to hold her while she moved inside of you, while she deformed your wet walls.

“Mine, only mine... If, if someone lays a hand on you I will...” she said, fighting against her own pleasure, against the warm, wet embrace of your body in hers, stimulating it with your own movements.

“No one will lay a hand on me… I’m yours, your doll… Only yours… Do whatever you want with me, my love,” you moaned, fighting the impulses that alerted you of your imminent release, one that her rough and wild attitude caused to advance.

“That's it… Good doll…” she whispered, hardening her thrusts, controlling the trembling of your body with a firm hand on your back, moving gracefully as she moaned, while completely dominating you. “Mine…”

“Donna, I'm, I'm close…” you said nervously, with your legs shaking when the lady in black slowed down, torturing you, knowing that you weren't lying.

“Is my little doll close? You're such a good doll…” she said amused, grabbing your neck, leaning it back so she could capture your lips. “Ask me, doll. Ask me to let you venire…”

“Mm, please…” you whispered, leaning forward again along her evil laughter, surely due to the clumsy movements of your hips, which were desperately trying to regain that overwhelming sensation.

“Louder…” Donna hissed, moving painfully slowly, grabbing your hair again.

You, totally sunk in pleasure, were unable to say a word, earning a strong tug followed by a loud spank.

“Louder, doll!” the lady shrieked.

“Please, Donna! I'm a good doll! Let me cum!” you said with your voice broken by pleasure.

“That's the way I like it,” she said, satisfied, fulfilling your wishes, resuming her thrusts, holding your hips, not letting you even think about moving away.

Your orgasm came soon, forcing your body to tense, to arch, held by her arms, overstimulated by the continuous movements of her hips, which seemed not to want to stop.

“Cazzo…” the lady moaned, holding you tighter as she released herself inside of you, unable to resist the involuntary movements of your walls. Her heat filled you in a terribly pleasurable way, like a wet caress, claiming you, letting her seed mix with your arousal with a furious growl.

Then there was a moment of silence, only interrupted by your disordered breathing as your bodies relaxed.

“Donna…” you sighed moving away so she could get out of you, pulling down your dress and turning around. “It was…”

“I'm sorry,” she said, her forehead sweaty, lowering her hands to your waist. “I, I went too far…”

“What? No, I…” you said amused, shifting uncomfortably due to the dampness of your legs, turning her face to look at you. “It, it was great, my love, different…”

“So… do you like being my doll?” Donna asked, with a cautious tone, frowning.

You nodded, giving her a quick kiss on the lips, hugging her affectionately.

“I'm yours, Donna. I'll always be yours…”

[cinnamonest]

Head empty no thoughts just daydreaming about incel scara with groupmate/project member!reader

Imagine them sitting together in a library. They need to be close to share one screen and go over everything while one or the other does some explaining. And scara is just DISGUSTED by her very clearly, very obviously whorish behavior aka her casually jutting her chest, pouting/biting her lips, getting close to him when she needs to lean, when she bends over away from or next to him, he can see her cleavage if he tries hard enough, or see her skirt ride or her lower back getting exposed and if he moves juuuuust a bit closer he can touch her boobs-

Just outright disgraceful and shameless behavior typical of the female 😤 and no, that's not his boner wdym. And reader is just earnestly trying to understand what he's trying to say because he seems so indifferent and almost looks as if dislikes her.

Ahhh it must be because he's annoyed, this isn't her subject after all. In which case, ALTERNATIVELY- consider CS major scara with darling in some non-STEM field passively calling her dumb and insulting her intelligence whenever they come to "study" because: what? She doesn't know how to install Windows? Ha

Only reason she has a decent gpa is because you don't actually need brains or talent for those art "subjects" and they are more suited to females anyway because it's not like they contribute much to society or are very intelligent, unlike him-

I remember my university had these little rooms in their library that were basically tiny study rooms with a couch and chairs, but like no windows, and were advertised as two-way soundproof to help you study and let me tell you. Y’all. People had sex in those. A lot. It happened a lot.

But the thing is they had no tables with desk-type chairs, only like coffee tables and lounge chairs, so if you wanted to work with someone else on something you kinda had to use the sofa which could be very awkward. Anyway

Oh he's absolutely a STEM snob that looks down on humanities majors. They’re for people with no real skills, who lack the ability to do more important stuff… or God forbid, you're a fine arts major of some kind. Very typical girl stuff, they waste money on useless degrees because they insist on having equally useless jobs. You’re probably going to be a future HR person, getting random guys fired for harmless comments and such.

So he always talks to you in such a condescending way, as if the things he’s explaining are so very obvious or simple that it’s a chore to explain it to you. You need to be aware of how intellectually inferior you are.

Also he’s one of those boys for whom “disgusted” is really just turned on, he lacks the ability to distinguish it — like it’s arousing, but it’s irritating that it’s arousing because he can’t do anything about it, so he identifies that feeling as disgust when it’s really just unbearable levels of sexual frustration compounded with bitterness. Ugh.

And as for you, it has to be intentional. You know what you're doing. It's on purpose. You just think it's funny or amusing to torment someone who can't do anything about it. In a fair world, you'd pay for your actions somehow.

And maybe you're even getting good grades in exchange for "favors." That makes sense, it's the only way that explains how you remain enrolled really. Maybe you'll eventually do the same for him, try to get him to do work for you in exchange for something. Not that that would work, he would never ever enable you like that, and definitely has the self-control necessary to reject you.

There’s something so wrong with how things are, that this situation can even arise, that you’re allowed to waste so much money and time on your dumb degree when you have better uses. He’ll probably go home and make some long vent post to some niche corner of the internet about the woes of having to tolerate this situation. Tragic.

[eliecasa]

summary: reader see’s a man spank a box on tiktok & it awakens a monster

warnings: minors i know I said I wouldn’t but we all lie as humans. this is one of those times where you mustn’t interact, plss ( contains these mentions: asphyxiation, verbal, and spanking kinks ) the reader is mentioned to have a vagina.

wrdcnt: 2K

inspo

A small huff of frustration pushed from your nostrils as you’re once again opening your eyes to stare out into the rainy darkness of the night. The sight is usually lovely and heart-warming as it was Simon’s wish to live somewhere with nature all the while staying a generous 20 minutes away from the city. It’s quiet here but there’s a memory that echoes loud and vibrantly in the back of your mind.

Simon sat still, sleeping as quiet as a mouse as you squeezed your eyes shut and subtly rubbed your thighs together. If you’d never downloaded tiktok, you’ll probably be sound asleep and dreaming of a dog handing you something as strange as a sweater with your own face sewn into it. Soap suggested that it be a good idea to keep a good balance of humor and seriousness since Simon would be left alone to tease you without anyone else jumping in to defend you, and the only way to do that was to give in and download the god-forsaken TikTok app.

Oh how you wish you’d never listened to him.

The first thing you’re greeted with is a video of a buff man underhand smacking a box to fit evenly with the others atop and below it. It came immensely loud from your headphones and caused a barely-audible yelp to part your lips. Your first thought was to get out of there so, you did… by scrolling one video down as Simon came over from the kitchen and asked what was wrong. And of course, having lacked a good answer, you merely waved him off and cleared your throat, saying that your headphones were accidentally turned to maximum volume.

He squinted those dark and suspicious eyes before humming and going back to make dinner- which was the deal for an old bet that he lost. Anyway, you’re instantly back on the video and fluttering with little butterflies of heat and embarrassment… that was until you opened the comments and saw that everyone else was thinking the same. Even married people were saying things such as “I try to get my husband to do this but he doesn’t know manual labor too well” which tickled you a little bit.

Though you were laughing at the time, you found yourself staring at Simon’s hands a bit longer than usual as the two of you ate dinner together. Don’t be mistaken, Simon had done nearly everything you desired with those strong pair of hands but still, that new seed planted in your head was quickly taking over and growing vines up and down the walls of your busy mind.

“What’s on your mind?” He said after watching you daydream for five minutes. It almost seems deliberate as he moved to hide his hands underneath the table. Classic Mr. RIley.

“...Nothin’,” you shrugged, connecting your gaze before promptly taking a good chunk of spanish rice.

Simon paused and did that empty stare where he kinda just assessed you before going back to whatever business he was originally doing. The judgemental gaze causes the slightest of shame to boil your skin as you roll your eyes. He’s your husband and has seen and touched every nook and cranny of your body and for some reason, you don’t want to tell him what’s bothering you.

Fast forward back into the present. The fluffy white comforter seems to get unbearably hot just as the heat radiating from Simon does. Sex and experiment is no taboo between the two of you and your coyness was just overall pitiful, however, that small little angel in your head keeps saying “Well, you have to really ask yourself if he’s the type to wound his loving spouse” while the devil said “Tell him to throw you over his lap and spank you like that goddamn cardboard!”

Again, you rub your thighs together. Maybe your mind was turning into one of those awful hormone monsters from a show that shall not be named. A small sound of anger escaped your mouth as you try to clear your mind, knowing that Simon would get woken–

“Having a strop, are ya’?” His heavy voice felt heavy and trapping as you knew that this was the most reasonable time to just get it over with.

Almost too quickly, you flip in his arms and lock eyes with him. Well, he was still waking up but your patience led you to gently pinch various areas of his face before he’s basically stretching his neck to be freed.

“Fuckin’ stop will ya?”

“Why haven’t you ever gotten rough with me?”

In the moonlight that shows through your windows, you can see the way that Simon’s face bunches into one handsome twist of confusion and tiredness. His eyes slowly open to look at the ceiling before he turns his head and stares dead into your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

Your right hand moved back a couple of inches and came back to gently slap him as his face remained cradled in your hands. A small chuckle escapes him before he pinches your thigh.

“Why’re you kicking my ass instead of explaining–”

“I obviously mean- like during sex,” you spoke with the tiniest amount of annoyance in your voice as the sexual frustration was beginning to plague.

The hand on your thigh rested as his face relaxed.

“I do… it was your idea to get into the choking thing-”

“No! I mean- yes that but why don’t you ever hit me?”

He seems to relax into the pillows a bit more as his eyes darted back to the white and plain ceiling. Simon was taking a moment to actually think if he’s never done such since it seems like a problem that could have been bothering you for who knows how long. Maybe you were doing that classic tactic of trying to alter his memory for your own benefit. There’s been multiple times where you’d lay on top of him and ask when was the last time he’d give you proper praise despite him clearly remembering it happening two days ago. He tilts his head, thinking of the past five months. The two of you had gotten into a couple new positions, areas to have sex, as well as experimenting with verbal kinks. Not to mention that asphyxiation kink that appeared to stay and make an appearance during each session.

“Simon!”

“I know, I know… just making sure you aren’t lying,” he said, casually sitting up to turn on the blinding light next to the bed. You try not to grab him as he moves from over you to settle back and rub his eyes.

“What needs to be done to get you sound, eh?”

A lightning bolt strikes as you pretend to think as if Apollo was saying “Don’t you dare waste that man's time, Y/N.”

So, instead of pissing anyone off, you decide you sit on your knees and face Simon with your chin up and your shirt covering your sweaty palms that were hidden underneath the oversized fabric. You’re ex-military and you’re especially all but a coward. Simon Riley will not stop you from reaching your dreams.

“I want you to start…” your lips twist in the slightest as you try to find the right words just to settle on “spanking me…”

He tries not to seem surprised but the smallest raise of his eyebrows gave it all away.

“Today,” you finish, almost coming off stern and unmovable.

Many would disagree with this but you could say that Simon had very telling eyes and right now, he was not only questioning just how freaky you were as well as how much of a possible masochist you were underneath that loving and soothing base of your personality. The asphyxiation thing was brought up during sex so he couldn’t really so no to you in the heat of the moment but now you’ve caught him fresh out of an innocent sleep.

“Are you… sure?--”

“Simon,” you dare, looking away for a second before shaking your head at his timidness.

He wasn’t following the script; you’d admit that you wanted to be spanked and he would pat his lap and get to work. That’s how it was supposed to go! However, Simon wanted to play the long game and see how long he could drag this until the sun began to rise.

“Why didn’t you say this instead of staring at my hands the entire meal?”

“Who the hell would just come out and say ‘Hey, mind hitting my ass when we fuck’?”

A small smile spreads his pink lips as his shoulders momentarily hunch.

“You’re not shy any other time.”

For the 800th time, your pupils roll to the back of your head. As you’re shaking your disappointed little head, you pause to see that the storm seems to calm down a bit, instead turning into a windless pour that wouldn’t wake anyone if they were sleeping. The silence left you no choice as Simon indeed began to follow the script written in your head.

“Guess we’d better get to trying before you’re all snappy then,” his heavy mancunian accent coming loudly as he stood up and stretched.

The movement caught your attention and glued it onto his strong thighs. Simon was a brief type of guy— which was honestly a bit surprising when you first discovered it. The soft fabric remained comfortably on his strong thighs that would soon have you stretched across them.

There’s a couple of heavy steps across the bedroom floor before he settled on the front of the bed and in front of the black screen of the television.

“Are you serious?” you purse your lips, crawling towards him as he looks at you from over his shoulder.

Instead of being verbal, he jerks his head to coax you over as a barely-noticeable smile squints his eyes.

And be damned; you were over there in no time. But instead of instantly giving you what you wanted, Simon couldn’t help but tease you a while longer. Only now do you wish he was a quick mover that despised roleplay. Your hips jump a little as two of his slightly-calloused fingers slid down the smooth and silk skin and dew of your cunt.

“Why the long face, doll?” He laughed, taking a glance at the way your lips and eyes were tightly closed shut.

“Do your thing, Simon,” you spoke quickly to muffle a sound of pleasure by covering your mouth and turning away from his eyes-view.

“I just wanted to feel you a little bit, no harm done,” he gently slapped your soppy cunt before lifting your shirt to bunch around the waist. Tonight, you were just wearing a normal pair of lace panties without the partner of a bra. Bras are vibe killers and the world could do without. Plus– it gives your lover easier access to rest or warm his hands when he’s bored.

Anticipation made the fabric become nearly insufferable as the room seemed to double in heat.

“Keep these on?”

You thought, looking at the shiny oak of your bedroom floor before giving him a muffled response.

“I don’t mind them staying on.”

As so, his ring finger released your panty and turned into a palm that smooths over the entirety of your plump ass. The feeling of Simon’s hands on your bum had often aroused you more than it probably should have. He’s never spanked you but he's grabbed it and caressed it as often as you allowed. The way he’d squeeze long enough to make it hurt had always brought out the bedroom hormones even though sometimes he would do it somewhere other than the comfort of your home. anything that made you feel like his was enough to keep it wet for hours.

“What are you waiting fo-AH!” you nearly turn into a flailing mess before your hands quickly resettled onto Simon’s strong thigh which was trembling with amusement.

For someone who was wary of hitting you, he’d come down really heavy handed. You’re a first-timer, it wouldn’t have killed him to at least warn you. However, the hot and stinging feeling is an arousal-multiplying sensation that has your mouth feeling a little numb and your adrenaline flowing.

Your eyes nearly comically blow wide as the two of you make eye-contact, Simon’s face being one of subdued delight as you gently pant out.

“Do. That. Again.”

[magics-neptunes-things]

Christmas Cooking

Hi guys!

Here is one with this sweet cutie pie that is Lia :)

This one is shorter but please enjoy it!

TW : None

Your girlfriend is, in your humble opinion, the most lovely and cute person in the world. Before you even found the courage to propose her a date, you always had this soft spot for her. The way her eyes shine when you accept one of her demands or the falsehoods digging in her cheeks make you simply unable to refuse her anything.

And God knows how much your teammates tease you about it. But over time you’ve made a point and accepted your destiny. You're so wiped about your girlfriend.

So, when Lia asks you with a baby pout if you can make Christmas cookies this afternoon, she doesn’t need to use all her persuasion to make you agree. You both live in London a few hundred meters from each other, but Lia took you in her suitcase when she returned to Switzerland to her family.

After a visit to the Swiss supermarkets, Chocolat's paradise, you gathered the necessary ingredients and found yourself wearing an apron and a dispenser to prepare the dough.

The kitchen is quite a mess to be honest. There is floor everywhere, an impressive number of plates and utensils in the shrink. You somehow lose the scissors and you can't remember why your shirt is wet.

"Baby stop eating the dough" Lia laughs, clapping your hand away.

"Wasn’t me" you answer, mouth full of said dough.

Lia laughs again before focusing again on the recipe book. She must still be one of the only people to follow a recipe on a book, but it is also for this kind of singularity that you fell in love with her.

"Sugar" she asks you, reaching out without leaving the book with her eyes.

You hesitate to tease her once again, before deciding to be wise and to give her the bowl of sugar that you weighed carefully earlier. Lia saw things big, wanting to prepare three different kinds of dough. But she seems to be having a good time and you’re having a lot of fun too, to be fair.

"Milk, Pretty, please"

Once again, Lia reaches out and this time you don't resist. With a big smile, you press your face on her hand.

"You’re unbearable" Lia laughs, putting a tender kiss on your lips.

"You love me" you answer maliciously, holding out the milk.

"That I do"

A few dozen minutes later, several cookie are in front of you and have cooled enough for you to decorate them. You spend a long time preparing your trees, adding green dye and Smarties as Christmas balls. Lia is more adventurous and you are amazed by her talents as a cookie decorator.

When you are done, you clean the worktop before washing your hands and try to get rid of the green dye that has invaded your hands. You’ll soon be able to play the Grinch. When you are done, your eyes are once again drawn to your girlfriend who is always focused on her cookies.

She has red dye on her cheek and hair that escapes from the ponytail that she made so as not to be disturbed while cooking. She is focused on her work, tongue pulled to the side. You don't resist the urge to put yourself behind her, passing your arms around her waist to put a tender kiss on her cheek.

"You’re so cute" you whisper in her ear, smiling as she shivers.

You just have to put a kiss behind her ear to distract her and make her look at you.

"You are a real inconvenience"

Her harsh fake tone doesn't work and you laugh maliciously and squeeze her against you. Lia soon smiles in turn, turning entirely in your arms to steal a kiss before returning to work. You remove the red stain from her cheek with your fingers, staying still to let her finish. You’re actually almost mesmerized by the way she decorated her cookies.

If one of you gets hurt too badly to continue football, you can always switch back to it.

********

YourInstagram and Liawaelti

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jbeattie91 Save me some! ↳ YourInstagram Sure! ↳ liawaelti She already eat all of them ↳ YourInstagram Traitor