#top two are the only ones that don't change

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 1: Bruises and Bloodlines]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else's protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm's End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), Aemond stressing everybody out, Aegon hating his life even more than usual, RIP lil Luke Strong, don't touch bats in real life or you will get rabies.

Word count: 6.3k

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Cannibal, a noun: one that devours its own.

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s back, you can feel it: a sensation like falling, the impact of Vhagar’s claws against the earth. You get glimpses like this, unpredictable flashes of intuition, a window into the contents of his mind or the scenery he is draped in like how branches hang from a willow tree. You set Blueberry down on the windowsill, where he skitters to the edge and swoops out into the night, chasing white specks of moths and lacewings. Then you leave your bedchamber to meet Aemond in the hallway.

One of the maids is there, trying to be patient as she paces with Maelor in her arms. He’s just like you were at that age: a demon who never sleeps. His white-blonde hair is disheveled, his eyes rheumy and pink from crying in protest. But then they brighten.

“Red Red!” Maelor swipes at you with tiny, grasping hands.

“What are you doing awake?” you coo at him, beaming. “It’s nighttime. You aren’t a bat. Are you a bat, huh? Are you hiding a pair of wings somewhere?”

He giggles as you pretend to inspect him. The maid smiles.

“If you don’t have any wings, I’m afraid you’ll have to go right to sleep. That’s the rule for humans.”

Maelor trills in his toddler lisp: “Then I want to be a bat.”

“Okay! I’ll find some bugs for you to eat.”

“No!” he squeals, dismayed. “No bugs!”

“In that case, I guess you’re a human after all. If you go to bed now, you can help me collect seashells tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Maelor agrees grudgingly, and the maid ferries him away. From the Godswood, great horned owls hoot. One of the knights of Aegon’s Kingsguard, Sir Willis Fell from the Stormlands, passes by on his patrol and gives you a quick nod, polite but a bit avoidant, awkward truths he pretends he can ignore. He doesn’t ask if you need assistance or why you’re awake at this hour. He already knows. He vanishes again, his white cloak swishing behind him like the tail of a wolf or a jackal.

You lurk at the top of the Grand Staircase shrouded in shadows and shifting firelight, feeling night wind skate over your cheek like children playing on a frozen lake, and that breeze is not here but outside where Aemond must be trudging across the courtyard towards the royal apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast. You drum your fingertips impatiently on the stone banister. When at last he appears—first only a silhouette in the darkness, then rippling into color under the torches, black leather and silver hair—Aemond is drenched with rain and ascending swiftly, two stairs at a time.

You grin as you take a step down to him, slinking, conspiratorial. He told you all his plans before he left; he tells you everything. “How was Storm’s End?”

But Aemond doesn’t answer. He blows past you and stalks towards Criston’s chambers, rainwater dripping from his hair and littering the floor with tiny, transluscent pools.

You turn to watch him leave, mystified. “Aemond?”

He says without stopping: “Go wake Aegon and Mother. Tell them to meet me in the small council chamber. I’ll get Criston and Grandsire.”

“Why?” Again, Aemond ignores you. This is unusual. You bolt after him, closing the space between you until your fingers catch his wrist. “Aemond, what—?”

He grabs you and pins you to the wall, the stones cold against your belly through the crimson velvet of your robe, Aemond’s hips braced against yours, domineering, demanding, promising what he will do for you after. You close your eyes and sigh shakily—a savoring, a surrender—and then he is tender, turning your face so he can kiss the apple of your cheek. He murmurs, warm and low: “Do as I ask.”

You nod. “Okay,” you agree in a whisper. Aemond releases you and vanishes to rouse Criston. You break for Aegon’s chambers.

There is a woman in his bed, snoring softly and with long auburn hair spilling over her bare shoulders. He has endeavored to spend less time drinking and philandering since becoming king, and yet…it is so rare for a creature to change its spots or stripes or scales. Aegon has always been this way. Without his vices, you would not recognize him.

You kneel beside the bed and rest a palm lightly on Aegon’s damp forehead. You have to be careful when you wake him; he flinches, he startles, he has too many memories of being ripped from sleep by bruises and crescent-moon indentations of fingernails. “Aegon? I’m really sorry, I know it’s late.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s you. “Fuck off,” he groans into his pillow.

“Aemond’s back from Storm’s End, but something’s wrong. He wants you to meet him in the council chamber.”

Aegon looks up and blinks drowsily. Moonlight spills into the room through gaps in the curtains. He smells strange, like lavender; that must be from his companion. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

You shake your head.

Now Aegon is alarmed. The dark, cloudy blue of his irises is rapidly clearing. “Alright. Give me five minutes.”

“Wash the girl’s perfume off you so Mother isn’t quite so disappointed.”

Aegon chuckles, rubbing his eyes; something about the way he does this reminds you of Maelor. They are both just boys; they are both so incendiary and yet so vulnerable. “Get out, whore.”

You tousle his hair roughly, smack a kiss onto his sweat-salted temple as he tries to shove you away, snicker as he hurls pillows at you. You are slipping through the doorway when you hear the woman in bed mumble: “Huh? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “Thank you very much for your company, your skills were more than adequate, now kindly find your way home…”

You hurry down the hall to Mother’s chambers. There are seven-pointed stars on the walls and the furniture, green tapestries everywhere. She will always be a Hightower, averse to Valyrian oddities and suspicious of that sinister, ancient magic. She does not understand it; she tries to overlook it in her children. It’s the only way she knows how to love them. You sit beside the indistinct shape beneath the blankets, sinking into the goose feather mattress, and nudge what you guess is her shoulder. “Mother?”

She stirs, and then her face fills with concern when she sees you in the dim light from her candles. “What’s happened, darling? Are you ill?” You are prone to headaches and chills and nausea, you always have been, maladies of the flesh that are either a blood inheritance or a curse from bad stars. Once when you were very young, Aemond pushed you into a cold stream during a royal progress to the Vale, and you had been laughing when Criston leapt in and dragged you from the water; but two days later, you began burning up with a fever so hot they thought you might die. Aemond had slept on the floor beside your bed, and when you shivered so violently your bones ached he climbed in beside you and held you until you could sleep again; and later when his eye was cut out on Driftmark and he was half-mad with pain, you did the same for him.

“No, Mother, I’m fine. It’s Aemond.”

She sits up and studies you. “Aemond?”

“He’s back from Storm’s End, and he wants to talk to you.”

“To me?”

“And Criston and Aegon, and Grandsire too.”

She doesn’t understand. “Now? Why? What’s wrong?”

“I have no idea.”

“What did he say?”

Everyone expects you to already know, but you don’t. “I think he wants to tell all of us at the same time. In the small council chamber.”

“Now?” she says again, puzzled, still half-asleep. “What is so important that it can’t wait until morning?”

“Mother, there are only so many ways for me to express that I don’t know. If I had any indications at all, I’d share them.”

“Alright.” She’s smiling; you have amused her. She throws off the covers and touches her bare feet to the floor. “Pass me my robe. It’s on that chair over there.” And of course, the swath of velvet you hand her to wear over her nightgown is a deep emerald green: the color of fertile fields, not blood or beasts.

By the time you and Mother arrive together, everyone else is already taking their places in the council chamber. Aegon is at the head of the table, spinning his stone—a black sphere of volcanic glass—and peering around boredly. Grandsire and Criston are greeting Mother and yawning into the backs of their hands. No one has woken Helaena, and yet she is here, settling nimbly into the chair beside Aegon. He gives her a brief, fond glance, noting that she is fidgeting with a small oak dragonfly he once made for her. Aegon carves wood, Helaena embroiders, you shatter seashells with tiny hammers and use the shards to make mosaics, miniscule yet unladylike violence. Aemond has books and swords in place of crafts. And Daeron…you assume he must have cultivated some artistic talents while away in Oldtown—he was always so imaginative as a boy—but you would not know them. You see him so rarely now. You sit across the table from Aemond. He is the only attendee not dressed in nightclothes. His black leather tunic is still layered with a sheen of rain.

Grandsire lowers himself gingerly into his seat, grinding arthritic bones that pain him. The nights have grown chilly, even here in the south. Winter is coming, the maesters warn. His gaze passes over you and Helaena—the two of you aren’t really supposed to be here, but you’ll be permitted to stay if you cause no trouble—then he smirks humorlessly at Aemond. “So you failed.”

“No,” Aemond says, and you think as you look around the table: No Orwyle, no Lannister, no Wylde, not even Larys Strong. What does Aemond not want them to know? “Lord Baratheon has agreed to marry his youngest daughter to Daeron in one year’s time. He was very enthusiastic about the match.”

“Great!” Aegon declares. “Although, personally, I am of the inexpert opinion that this could have been discussed over bacon and honeycakes at breakfast…”

Grandsire snorts, derisive; he disapproves, though perhaps he is not surprised. He says to Aemond: “You were sent to negotiate your own marriage, not Daeron’s.”

Aemond shrugs, as if it happened by coincidence. “That was Borros Baratheon’s preference.”

“It was your preference, you mean.”

Aemond is careful not to reveal any emotion. “Daeron is young, but he already has a reputation. He is known to be handsome and chivalrous and…” A wave of the hand as he searches for the right word. “Unmutilated. It is not so difficult to imagine why a father would believe him to be a more worthy son-in-law.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, one Targaryen is as good as the next,” Aegon says, and of course nobody pays much attention.

“Perhaps Borros Baratheon’s judgment has been contaminated by certain disturbing and disgraceful rumors,” Grandsire counters and glares at you. You don’t reply; there’s nothing you can say that would help. Everyone knows, but it rarely spoken of aloud, as if it is a ghost nobody wants to inadvertently conjure. All your life there has been this perpetual rebalancing of scales: someone mentions a diplomatic match for you, you stall and Aemond makes excuses, Grandsire and Mother try to convince him, Aemond is immoveable and they aren’t willing to invoke his wrath. Vhagar is the subtext of every dispute. They need her, they are terrified of her.

Criston attempts to deescalate. “Aemond’s task was to ensure the Baratheons’ loyalty to the crown, and he has accomplished that. Perhaps it would be wise to move on.”

“Fine, what else?” Grandsire snaps. “You assembled us here for some reason, I presume. It must be urgent to merit a meeting now. It better be urgent, or I’ll be paying people to shake you awake during the hour of the wolf for the next month.”

“It is urgent,” Aemond says softly, then pauses, gazing down at the ball in front of him, white quartz dappled with blue. Everyone watches him. You share a glance with Aegon; he is curious, but you have nothing to offer him. You turn back to Aemond with bewilderment in your face, furrows in your brow.

“Aemond?” Mother prompts.

He looks at you, only for a second, but you’re thunderstruck by what you see in his remaining eye. You have never known Aemond to be afraid, but he is right now. What happened? you think, horror making the blood in your veins cold and slow and heavy. What did he do?

Aemond begins: “Luke Strong was at Storm’s End too.”

“What?” Grandsire says, more baffled than worried. “That runt? Why?”

“He’s a weasel,” Aegon mutters, spinning his ball again.

“Rhaenyra’s son?” Mother asks. “She sent him there all alone? How peculiar. The way she was always hovering over him while they were here, I’m amazed she let him out of her sight for that long. How old is he now? With that plain, ever-anxious, pug-nosed face, he looks like a little boy—”

Aemond says: “He was sent to remind Borros of his old pledge to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim. But Luke had no incentives to offer.”

“And so Lord Baratheon rejected him,” Grandsire surmises.

Aemond nods, though perhaps halfheartedly.

“Well, good,” Grandsire says, surveying the table for agreement. “That’s good, right? With every house that refuses to aid her, Rhaenyra will be more likely to accept our terms, and we can resolve this question of succession without any bloodshed.”

“Meleys and the Dragonpit,” Aegon reminds him.

“Without further bloodshed,” Grandsire amends.

Mother and Criston concur, but you’re watching Aemond. He hasn’t responded yet. Mother’s gaze flits between the two of you. She is somewhat sympathetic to the affinity you share, but she doesn’t understand it. More than anything, you get the sense she believes it is something you must be saved from. The Hightowers could stomach Aegon and Helaena’s match—Viserys was still healthy enough to insist upon it, and the couple so seemingly platonic it was easy to forget they were married at all—but they have no appetite for a desire that defies political expediency, that burns scorching and wild.

“Aemond, did you quarrel with Luke?” Mother says, her tone patient in an I-won’t-be-mad-if-you-just-tell-me-the-truth sort of way. “I know…your eye…” She touches her own face, wincing at the memory of how he suffered. “Did you seek restitution of some sort from him? Did you make accusations?”

“We…exchanged some words,” Aemond admits. “And then…when Luke left on Arrax…” There is a lull, and everyone stares at him. “Vhagar and I followed.”

“What?!” Grandsire exclaims. “You threatened Rhaenyra’s son?!”

“I…” Aemond closes his eye, then after a moment opens it again and continues. “It was my intention to frighten him, that was all.”

“Idiot,” Grandsire hisses. “You know better. You’re too well-educated to act like you don’t. Now, that one…” He jabs an accusatory finger at Aegon, who is caught off-guard, what the fuck do I have to do with this?

Criston says, more gently: “That was very dangerous, Aemond.” Mother covers her mouth with one hand and shakes her head. Her long coppery hair hangs in uncombed waves, still tangled from sleep.

“So what happened?” Aegon asks. “Where’d you chase him to? All the way back to Dragonstone? You must have scared him to death.”

Aemond chooses his words with great care and agonizing slowness. “Everything was under control. Then Arrax…he unleashed his flames on Vhagar, and she…she attacked.”

Everyone is silent. After a moment, Grandsire says: “What do you mean she attacked?”

“She…” Aemond gestures vaguely with open hands, hands that have held you, caged you, dragged you, pleased you until you were forged to him like a blade to a hilt. Again, he looks at you, and what is he asking for? Help, empathy, compassion, forgiveness? “She bit Arrax.”

“She wounded him?” Aegon says.

“She devoured him.”

Criston blinks. “So…Arrax is dead, and where is Luke now?”

Aemond laces his fingers together on the table like he’s praying. “He’s…he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Mother echoes.

“Did you look for him?” Grandsire demands. “I mean, did you even bother to search for Luke, or did you just leave him in the Stormlands somewhere? Did he fall into the sea, could he be wandering around in a forest? If Luke is injured, we should send out people to find him. We could hold him as a hostage.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Aemond’s voice is frayed. And now for the first time tonight, you finally know what he’s going to say. Your eyes snag on Aegon’s, and he reads the terror there, and then it hits him too. “There is nothing to search for.”

Mother is gaping at him, the unwanted knowledge seeping in like rain through earth. “Nothing?”

“There is no body. Pieces, perhaps.”

Unspeakable, suffocating dread fills the room, and then Grandsire leaps to his feet and slams his fists down on the table. “Useless!” he roars at Aemond. “Worse than useless, a saboteur, a curse, a plague, you have ruined everything your Mother and I worked for, Rhaenyra was considering our terms and now you’ve condemned us all!”

“You killed Lucerys Velaryon?” Mother says, stunned. Her large dark eyes glisten with unpardonable betrayal. She’ll never look at him the same way again. “You murdered Rhaenyra’s son? A prince, the heir to Driftmark?”

“It wasn’t murder,” Aemond pleads. “It was…it was combat, it was a battle—”

“A battle with that child?!” Grandsire thunders. Helaena begins to cry, and Aegon places a hand on her wrist as his wide eyes dart around the table. “Everyone’s seen him, it’s no secret, and not a single person in the realm would be delusional enough to believe a clash between Vhagar and Arrax was anything but a slaughter!”

“Aemond,” Criston says quietly, appalled, astonished.

Aemond can’t meet his eyes. He peers down at the table, and despite everything—what will happen to us, what will happen to me?—there is an ache in your chest like cracked ribs trying to heal, a profound lightless distress, a ricochet of the pain he’s feeling. “It wasn’t my intention to harm Luke.”

Grandsire shouts: “Did you give Vhagar the order or not?!”

It feels like a long time before Aemond answers. “No.”

“Oh gods,” Criston says as he sinks down in his chair, turning to Alicent. She has hidden her face with both hands and seems to be weeping.

“So you can’t control Vhagar,” Grandsire seethes. “You ride the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world and you can’t stop her from eating people.”

“I never would have purposefully—”

“But you created the situation! You pursued Luke, you tormented him, and surely somewhere in your sick brain you considered that you were endangering his life! And now… now…now Rhaenyra will be merciless, she will never submit, she will endeavor to destroy us all!”

“It will bring more allies to her side,” Criston says. “They will believe she was wronged, and she will wield that weapon to great advantage. She is cunning.”

“What about your family, Aemond?!” Mother sobs, her face a hectic, bloody pink. “You and your brothers will have to go to war, you might be maimed or butchered, and your sisters and I…we could be taken as prisoners, we could be executed for treason!”

“That will never happen,” he swears; but his pale blue eye is misty, and he bites his lips together so they won’t tremble.

Mother is desperate, tears streaming down her cheeks “What can we do, Father? How can we salvage this?”

Grandsire points to you. “She must be wed immediately. We’ve already waited too long.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says, but no one is listening.

“Mother,” you beg. “Please don’t let them—”

“She will be married to whoever can help us in this,” Grandsire says. “The Lannisters or the Redwynes or the Swanns, perhaps the Butterwells or the Mootons if that will coax them to our side—”

“Then the realm will burn,” Aemond replies darkly, leaning over the table. “But I’ll come knocking on your door first, Grandsire.”

Grandsire looks at him, startled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Shall we find out?”

“Otto, please,” Criston says, holding up a palm. Then he considers how to dissuade him. “All things considered—the military strength that Aemond has brought to our side, the devotion that he has shown this family, present circumstances notwithstanding—he has never asked for much.”

“He asks for the one thing we cannot give him,” Grandsire replies, then turns to you. “What do you think about what Aemond has done? This recklessness, this monstrous error?”

He rarely asks for your opinion about anything. This is not a question but a summons: you are supposed to disavow Aemond. You are the one who can hurt him best. Instead you say, though it’s not what you truly feel: “Luke was an enemy. He perished in combat.”

Grandsire, Mother, and Criston all begin yelling at once. Helaena shrinks into herself, her dragonfly made of oak wood clutched to her chest. Aegon whispers something to her—you can leave, you believe he says—but she shakes her head no. You are stoic as the adults berate and implore you, and perhaps it’s strange that you still think of them that way since you’re an adult now too, and yet…their gravity seems so much heavier than yours, their tethers to the earth overgrown with weeds and moss.

“I’ll gut you myself!” Grandsire screams at Aemond, empty threats woven from helpless terror. “I’ll lock you in the Black Cells, I’ll have you banished to Dorne—!”

“I’ll throw a feast!” Aegon says suddenly, and the others go quiet.

“You’ll what?” Grandsire snarls.

“Little Luke Strong is dead and that’s a victory for our side. There’s no other way to look at it.”

“You intend to celebrate this calamity?”

“What else should we do?” Aegon asks. “Apologize? Go crawling on our bellies to Rhaenyra for forgiveness? No, she’d burn us alive. If it’s done, we must embrace it and use it to bolster our cause as much as possible. It was a battle and a victory. Aemond is a war hero. Onto the next objective.”

“What a disaster,” Criston mutters, rubbing his forehead. “Yes, that might be the only option we have.”

Mother clasps the small seven-pointed star that hangs from the gold chain at her throat. “I must go to the sept. I must pray for our survival.”

Grandsire glowers at Aegon. “You are a humiliation.”

“I am the king. I want a feast.”

Grandsire sighs deeply, pushing his chair away from the table. “I suppose I have letters to write.” And then, to Aemond: “When your sisters are captured and enslaved and married off to whichever Black loyalists will pay Rhaenyra and Daemon the most for them, I trust you’ll remember who’s responsible.”

Aemond gets up and storms out of the small council chamber. Mother mops the tears off her face with the sleeves of her green robe. Criston takes one of her hands and is murmuring promises, assurances, perhaps lies. You, Aegon, and Helaena say nothing. None of you can defend what Aemond has done, but you won’t denounce him either.

Then Grandsire grins at you, a cruel bestial flash of his teeth, an old grizzled animal tough from too many winters, icy wind shrieking through the chambers of its heart. “Oh, are you pretending that you’re not about to run after him?”

You don’t reply. But you rise from the table and flee as Mother watches you, her vast eyes swimming with misery.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a game with five pieces: the green snake, the yellow butterfly, the blue wolf, the red bat, and the purple shadowcat. They chase each other around the board, and if one of the other pieces lands on the same spot as yours then you have to go all the way back to the start.

Daeron is the youngest, but he almost always seems to win; some people are like that, luck flows like a river in their veins. Helaena enjoys playing even if she finished last. Aegon feigns disinterest but never declines an invitation, sliding his snake across the spaces with his index finger between slurps of wine. And sometimes Aemond is ruthless, taking every single opportunity to land on your spot and send your bat hurtling back to the beginning, sawing your legs out from under you, shattering your hopes like glass again and again until you are so frustrated you can feel embers glowing dry and searing in your throat.

But other times, Aemond pretends to misread the dots on the dice so he lands either too close or too far away and you are spared, and if you win he lies and says you deserve it.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is waiting at your bedroom door; when you are close enough to breathe him in, you taste rain and soot. Perhaps—if it isn’t your imagination—you can even detect the coppery tinge of blood, splatters of little Luke Strong soaked into the black leather of his tunic or his coat. You remember that boy you barely knew, more a phantom than flesh, a wraith who stole Aemond’s eye and then was spirited away to Dragonstone to escape retribution, a tiny god who Viserys worshipped from afar the same way he never stopped loving Rhaenyra. All you knew of your father was absence, and this was a sadness but a relief as well, because you could not escape the sense that if he was there you would only disappoint him.

“What is wrong with you?!” you whisper savagely. Aemond smiles and reaches for your face, but you swat his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me. You’re insane, you’re going to get us all killed—”

He drags you into your bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him. He’s lean but wiry, all muscle, and when you fight him—although you both know you want him to win—it is in vain. He tugs your hair out of its braid and hauls you across the room, pushes you down on the bed, rips off his coat and tunic and then follows you onto the mattress. You clamber away until you hit the headboard, your spine flat against the wood. As he closes in on you, your palm cracks across the blind side of Aemond’s face, and he grins. You have often thought that it should have been reversed, you wed to Aegon and Aemond to Helaena. You would not be so scandalized by Aegon’s vices; Aemond would be chivalrous with a meek, compliant wife. But alas, Helaena was born first, and the arrangement was set in stone long before any of your natures became apparent.

Aemond unfastens your robe and reaches under your nightgown of white cotton. “Open your legs.”

“No.” It is always this way with him; it always has been. You fight and he vanquishes, and both of you enjoy it.

He forces your thighs apart and you moan, the resistance bleeding out of you, you muscles going soft and yielding, Aemond radiant with this clandestine conquest on a night when nothing else is under his control. He can only love you when you’re tamed and tractable. Sometimes you think he likes that you don’t have a dragon, that your egg never hatched, that all of the unclaimed beasts denied you. You will always be vulnerable, powerless, at his mercy.

You cling to Aemond, your arms around his neck. He knows exactly what you need because you’ve already done this, more times than either of you could count: everything besides what could get you pregnant, and not just because Aemond would rather slit his own throat than have bastards like Rhaenyra’s. It’s something you’re both saving until at last you are married, and no one except The Stranger can separate you.

You gasp and Aemond growls through your hair: “Shh. Hurry up.”

“I missed you.”

“I know.” He doesn’t have to say it back; if he hadn’t missed you, he wouldn’t be here right now, two fingers buried to the knuckles and the heel of his hand grinding against you, almost, almost, almost…

The bedchamber door bangs opens, and Aegon saunters in with a goblet of wine, emeralds gleaming on the rim.

“Stop,” you tell Aemond, but he knows you don’t mean it, not really; beneath your nightgown his hand works faster, more roughly. You sigh and kiss him, deep and messy, surrendering, very close.

Aegon takes a swig of wine, licks the stray drops from his lips, and frowns down at you both, slightly intrigued but mostly nauseated. He cannot fathom a hunger for his own.

Aemond looks to him and says casually: “Do you want something?”

“I do, actually,” Aegon replies. “Were you planning to thank me?”

“Thank you for what?”

“For what I did for you in the council chamber, obviously. For the feast.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you, Aegon,” you say, and you are sincere.

Aegon raises his goblet in a mock toast. “That’s very kind, Red, but I wasn’t asking you.”

You whimper against Aemond’s throat, embarrassed but in ecstasy, not able to hold off much longer. “Aemond, just thank him.”

“Well I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

“That’s okay,” Aegon says. “I can wait.” He sits at the end of the bed, then bounces up and down a few times. “Oh, this is a great mattress! Very soft, like sleeping on a cloud! Why isn’t mine this nice?”

“Probably because you’ve ejaculated all over it five thousand times,” Aemond says.

“Oh, right,” Aegon jests. “Not quite that frequently, I think.”

“Aemond,” you plead breathlessly. “Just say thank you. Get rid of him.”

Aemond sighs and, with his hand still beneath your nightgown, turns to Aegon. “Thank you.”

Aegon smirks, mischievous. “And how will you repay me?”

“By overcompensating for your shortcomings in order to ensure the enduring success of our family, as I have done since birth.”

“Of course,” Aegon says, though a bit distantly.

Aemond glances down at you and then asks his brother: “Were you hoping to join us?” It’s not a serious question; if Aegon ever tried to touch you with genuine desire, Aemond would break both his arms. Fortunately, Aegon is the closest thing you’ll ever have to a real brother, and thus his limbs are safe.

Aegon chuckles and stands. “No, this is a bit unsavory, even for my taste.” He gulps the last of his wine and says as he leaves: “Enjoy, freaks.”

“Bye, Aegon,” you call, laughing. He waves and then closes the door behind him.

Seconds later—twenty, thirty, time evaporates like mist burned away at dawn—Aemond is making you come, and then you are yanking off his trousers and taking him in your mouth, and when you do this he always has to be touching you, smoothing back your hair, telling you how well you’re doing, and even though he warns you so you can pull away if you choose to, tonight you swallow every last drop of him and think of the sea that Lucerys Velaryon’s scraps tumbled into, the mineral bite of salt and metal and blood.

But when he finishes, Aemond doesn’t collapse like a dead man as he usually does. He throws you onto your back, licks and nuzzles his way down your breasts and belly, parts your legs and murmurs against the inside of your thigh before he begins again: “I want you, I want you, I want you, I can’t wait much longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s one of your earliest memories. You are in the garden, and it’s a blazing hot day, and a million varieties of blooms cut through the greenery: goldenrods, orchids, lilies, irises, daisies, bellflowers, red roses, blue forget-me-nots. Butterflies whirl in the air and land on Helaena’s outstretched fingertips. Grandsire is slapping Aegon and calling him an imbecile for trying to pet a bumblebee, and Aegon is wailing: But it’s fuzzy! Why can’t I hold it?!

You must not be very steady on your feet yet, because Aemond is pulling you up by both of your hands and asking: If I ran, do you think you could catch me?

Yes, you had said, and then you’d staggered after him as he darted into the foliage. Under the shade of blossoms and shrubs that towered so much taller than you, you tripped and fell and scraped your palms, one of them bleeding from striking a pebble. You cried out, but no one was there to pick you up: no Mother, no Criston, no Helaena or Aegon. You wept pitifully, thinking—as children do—that you would be lost forever, that you would never see your family again.

But Aemond came back for you, and he studied your bloodied palm, carefully plucking out every grain of brown soil; and then he kissed it, held it against his cheek, painted himself with the scarlet ink of your arteries and veins.

See? he had said, smiling so you knew everything would be okay. Now we’re both red.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How are the babies?” Aemond asks when he arrives, dressed for the feast in a green tunic embroidered with shimmering gold threads in the shapes of dragons, flying, shrieking, breathing fire. Helaena made it for him, of course. Each of you have wardrobes full of garments she’s sewn, a collection of Aegon’s woodcarvings scattered around your rooms, seashell mosaics hanging from walls: insects for Helaena, Sunfyre for Aegon, heroes from myths for Aemond.

You grin over your shoulder. “Come see them.”

It’s dusk now, so they are leaving the roost you keep in one corner of your bedchamber, covered with dark velvet to blot out light and sound as they slumber. Aemond kneels beside you and holds out his hand so River can scurry from your palm into his, clawing with his hooklike appendages. All of your bats are named after blue things—Blueberry, Sailfish, Clear Sky, Bluejay, Misty, Dragonfly, Lagoon, Lightning, Kingfisher—just as Aemond’s hawks and war horses are given names like Fox and Rusty and Cherry and Pomegranate. He is the only one who defends your pets when Mother threatens to banish them back to the Godswood or the seaside cliffs. You have no dragon; you must find solace with some other creature that inspires dread and revulsion. But you think they’re beautiful, and strange, and fearless, and wrongly unloved.

“Let’s move things along,” Aegon says as he appears in the doorway, wearing all green except for the Conqueror’s crown. “No one can dig into the roast boar until the guest of honor enters the Great Hall. So I need Aemond to show up immediately.”

“Almost ready,” Aemond replies without looking away from River, who is now scrambling up his forearm. Lighting takes flight and attempts to land on Aegon’s shoulder; Aegon yelps and flings him away.

“No, you can’t!” you say, rushing across the room to scoop up Lightning and cradle him in your arms. Fortunately, he is unharmed. “I told you, Aegon. They have tiny bones, you have to be gentle or you’ll hurt them.”

Aegon shudders. “They’re fucking disgusting. Rats with wings.”

Aemond sets River on the windowsill, goes to his brother, shoves him hard; Aegon’s back hits the wall. His crown is knocked from his head and clatters against the floor.

“I’m not apologizing,” Aegon insists. “I’m a victim of grave injustice. I was attacked. That thing could have bitten me.”

You say to Aemond in High Valyrian: “Should we do this for a while to annoy him?”

Aemond smiles. “Yes. We should talk a lot. A great amount, we should talk. Very much talking.”

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Aegon says.

“Aemond, what else will they serve besides boar?”

“I heard something about pies.”

“What kinds of pies?”

“Who knows. Maybe apple, or cherry, or plum…”

“Oh, I adore apple pies. Perfect for autumn. I could eat them all day.”

“I could eat you all day.”

“Don’t tease me, or we’ll never make it to the feast.”

Aegon is distressed. “I mean it! Stop!”

“They aren’t saying anything important,” Helaena assures him as she swishes into your bedchamber wearing a butter yellow gown. In her hair are gold pins shaped like ladybugs.

“Okay, but what are they talking about?”

Helaena says matter-of-factly: “Sex and pastries.”

Aegon groans and rolls his eyes. “Why did I ask. Okay, time to go.”

You walk together to the Great Hall, where Helaena and Jaehaera and Grandsire will dance in the center of the floor, and you and Aemond will whisper in shadowy corners, and Mother will peer around worriedly with her large watery eyes as Criston yearns to console her, and Aegon will smile patiently and never scold Jaehaerys when he gets underfoot or spills his pomegranate juice.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s another game, or maybe it’s a ritual; you are a little girl again, and every once in a while, without any warning, Aemond will shove you into a closet or a heavy wooden trunk and lock you inside. You will scream and pound on the door, but no one will hear, and you will spend what feels like hours alone in the darkness, wondering if this will be the time when you are not discovered until you have died of thirst and hunger, until there is nothing left but bones.

Then you hear approaching footsteps and Aemond lets you out, and when you strike and scratch at him he embraces you fiercely, like he’s a soldier who’s been away for a year or more; and he holds you until you stop fighting it and your heartbeat goes quiet in your chest.

[hannieehaee]

How about Joshua with a s/o who always wears baggy clothes and doesnt feel attractive because she doesnt wear revealing ones ?

If u want to write it pls do it only if u are ok with it and feel inspired ♡♡

content: bf!joshua, established relationship, some talk about insecurities, fluff, etc.

wc: 605

a/n: so sorry i took so long to write this!!

masterlist

"hey, babe, have you seen my shirt? you know, the grey one with the loose neck? i thought i- oh."

"huh? what was that?", you asked as you took out an earbud, turning to look at the boy who'd been trying to call your attention.

chuckling, he rounded the kitchen island to reach your side, hands practically attaching to your waist like magnets as he aided you in removing the other earbud, placing both on the counter next to you.

"i was just wondering where my band tee went, but i think i have my answer," he chuckled, pressing a sweet peck to your temple.

"oh, fuck. sorry, josh. do you want it? i can go change," you went to disconnect from him, but he wasnt having it, instead nuzzling his head on your shoulder.

"hm. it smells of my cologne still," he said almost to himself, "you don't have to take it off. i like you in my clothes," he reassured.

you could only scoff.

"your clothes are baggy on me. just like all my other clothes. what difference does it really make?"

joshua shrugged, "just like knowing you're wearing something of mine. you're style's cute. you're cute."

"flattery will get you everywhere, hong," you laughed.

it was one of those nice, domestic moments that occurred every so often. you basked in it, enjoying it before the two of you went back to your regular days.

it wasn't until later that you started to think about what you'd said to joshua earlier.

you did have a tendency to wear baggier clothes. hell, there really was no difference between wearing something of his and a piece of your own. it was incredibly rare for you to show skin or any sort of silhouette, and those instances were really reserved for nights too warm to handle in which you had to opt for some shorts and a tank top.

but even then, you went for looser ensembles. clothes that showed your figure were never really your forte.

you couldn't help but wonder if this ever bothered josh. would he have preferred if your style varied more? what if he thought of you as a prude? maybe he-

"what's got you thinking so loud?", the boy in question interrupted your inner turmoil.

you hadn't realized as you sat in front of your vanity, face wash in hand and still unused, that you'd frozen in place as you thought. his presence in the restroom hadn't registered until he spoke.

"just, uh," you pondered as to whether or not to voice your concerns, but his compassionate smile reflecting on the mirror made you decide, "i was thinking that maybe you'd like it better if i dressed differently? you know, maybe show more skin?"

you voiced it as a question, insecurities building in you as you sought a direct expression of his preferences.

"are you kidding? i like how you dress. and it's not really something that bothers me. you're comfortable and you're beautiful. it's a win-win situation for me," he kind of chuckled as he spoke, finding your question very sudden and unnecessary.

"oh."

you felt a bit dumb now.

"has this been worrying you? you know i'm like obsessed with you, right? you could wear a trash bag and i'd still be as obsessed," he joked, closing in on you similarly to how he'd done earlier in the day.

he finished his statement with a kiss pressed to your lips, humming when you kissed back.

"this just gives me free reign of your closet. i hope you know that," you jested.

"baby, i'm rich. take whatever you want."

[count-on-mi]

My Dear Brother Part 2 (Chaeyoung)

A/N: Sorry that I am being too busy at work recently, so I really don't have anytime to write. So just another short one for those who have waited for me so long. This will be the end of this mini series.

In Chaeyoung's new home, Chaeyoung sat on the sofa with her long hair spread to the left, her eyes staring at Zion. T who was slowly approaching in front of her. When Chaeyoung's tender lips touched Zion. T's lips, a magic power seemed to be generated that deeply attracted Zion. T.

Zion. T held up Chaeyoung's pink and red face and continued to suck the sweet saliva from her mouth. Chaeyoung also began to kiss back gradually, while she felt a pair of hands reach her chest. Although Zion.T's hands are on top of her clothes, he can still feel Chaeyoung's plump breast curves, and the soft touch is really admirable for a man.

Chaeyoung looked like a shy little girl with a blushing face like she was giving her first time to her boyfriend. Zion. T slowly put his hand into Chaeyoung's clothes, and clearly felt the hot body temperature radiating from Chaeyoung's skin, until Zion. T slowly reaching her back, the cold buckle of her bra formed a clear contrast with the hot body temperature. With a small unbuttoning sound, the bra that tightly wrapped Chaeyoung's plump breasts was loosened. Chaeyoung still held back slightly Zion. T's hand nervously. This slight resistance further aroused Zion. T's desire to conquer as a man.

"Ding dong! Ding dong! "

Just as the two people's passion and desire rose, a loud doorbell rang at an inappropriate time in the house. Chaeyoung and Zion. T had no choice but to suppress their desire and hurriedly got up to tidy up. As the owner, Chaeyoung pretended to be calm and opened the door.

“Jeonghoon”

"Noona"

The person who came was Jeonghoon, Chaeyoung’s younger brother.

"Noona ... Congratulations on moving to a new home ...This is a housewarming gift ... " Before Chaeyoung could figure it out, Jeonghoon handed Chaeyoung a large bundle of toilet paper and a gift box, then closed the door and changed his shoes.

"Huh ... I'm going to prepare some food ... " Things finally became clear. Chaeyoung couldn't just kick her brother out who came to congratulate him, so she had to get up and walk to the kitchen.

Two men who were staying in the living room could only chat awkwardly, especially Jeonghoon, who knew that he and his sister usually had a sexual relationship in private, but this time they were in front of Chaeyoung's real boyfriend. Although he knew Zion. T didn't know the truth but felt an inexplicable feeling of guilt.

Chaeyoung, who was in the kitchen then, also sighed in embarrassment. This seemed to be the first time that she, her boyfriend and her sex partner were face-to-face together. Running to the kitchen would be a temporary way of avoiding this Shura field.

After a while.

"Jeonghoon... you should eat more ... "

"Well... hyung, you should eat too ... "

At the dinner table, Zion. T and Jeonghoon got closer after their brief chat.  Zion. T is treating Jeonghoon like his younger brother, meanwhile, Jeonghoon went out of his way to accommodate Zion. T because he felt inexplicably apologetic. At this time, Chaeyoung became the most embarrassing person at the dinner table.

"Ah...By the way... I brought something good ... " Jeonghoon suddenly stood up and took the housewarming gift box that Chaeyoung had just put aside casually to the dining table and opened it naturally. It was a bottle of fine wine with a high unit price.

Seeing the good wine, Zion. T hurriedly called Chaeyoung to get a glass of wine and happily shared it.

After a round of drinking, the three people looked half-drunk and in a daze. Zion. T’s mind was on the glass of red wine in his hand, which he usually couldn’t drink. Chaeyoung was avoiding Jeonghoon, and taking care of Zion. T who had already drunk. Jeonghoon, already in a daze, saw that his sister Chaeyoung, who had always taken care of him, was now taking care of another man in front of him, and an inexplicable unknown fire arose.

"Noona..." Jeonghoon leaned over, pretending to be drunk and leaned on Chaeyoung's limp body, while calling Chaeyoung coquettishly.

Chaeyoung was busy stopping Zion. T to keep drinking wine, so she didn't have time to resist Jeonghoon's coquettish leaning. Chaeyoung just thought that Jeonghoon was drunk, clinging to her, and acting coquettishly as usual, so she didn't care too much and focused most of her thoughts on Zion. T.

Jeonghoon didn't know if it was the smell of body scent or shower gel, he just felt that the smell emanating from Chaeyoung's body was extremely attractive at that moment. The lust in his heart gradually turns into desire. After drinking enough, Jeonghoon felt Chaeyoung's warm and soft body and smelled the delicious smell. His cock in his pants suddenly became energetic.

"Ah ... Jeonghoon ... don't make trouble ... Oppa is still here ... He is your hyung... right?" By the time Chaeyoung realized it, it was too late. Jeonghoon 's hands had already reached into Chaeyoung's white T-shirt, deftly unbuttoning her bra, holding those plump breasts in his hands and rubbing them, it was a pity that Chaeyoung had to pay careful attention to blocking Zion. T. At the same time, she had to pay attention to the sound of her movements, completely unable to handle Jeonghoon's increasing tease.

"Who is my hyung ... I just want to fuck you in front of him ..." Chaeyoung didn't know whether it was because the men's friendship was so fragile, or because Jeonghoon was so drunk that he was talking nonsense, thinking that the two of them were still calling each other brothers. However, what Jeonghoon is thinking about is that he can't wait to fuck Chaeyoung in front of her boyfriend. Of course, Chaeyoung doesn't know the dirty thoughts in Jeonghoon's heart when she starts to fall into Jeonghoon's touch.

"Oppa... why don't you go to the room and rest first... " Chaeyoung thought that she couldn't go on like this. The clothes on her body were becoming more and more messy, and even one of her breasts was almost exposed. She covered a wet towel on Zion. T’s eyes, pretended to be massaging him gently. But in fact, she was just afraid of Zion. T would see Jeonghoon ’s hands groping her body wantonly. If he wasn't here, Chaeyoung would already have turned around to respond to Jeonghoon and started fucking him, but it is impossible for her to be fucked by another little boy next to her boyfriend.

Zion. T refused Chaeyoung's persuasion. While enjoying Chaeyoung's massage, he raised his head and opened his mouth to taste the red wine again. Zion. T, enjoying the wine, did not notice that Chaeyoung's movements paused for a few seconds.

"Nouna ... so wet ... don't worry, I will satisfy you ... " Jeonghoon leaned his head on Chaeyoung's shoulder and whispered, at the same time, he stood up and dangled his wet fingers in front of Chaeyoung's eyes. Jeonghoon was no longer content to play with Chaeyoung's soft breasts. He quietly unbuttoned the cuff of Chaeyoung 's jeans and put his right hand tightly inside. Chaeyoung is already wet when she is caressed by Zion. T earlier. The nervousness that her boyfriend might notice at any time made Chaeyoung's pussy even more soaked.

"Jeonghoon ... Ummm ... " Chaeyoung resists gently, half drunk and unconscious, has been aroused by Jeonghoon, with only a trace of reason that she cannot be noticed by Zion. T. Having been trained by her sister for many years, Jeonghoon also noticed Chaeyoung's hesitation at this time. Jeonghoon turned over Chaeyoung's red face and kissed Chaeyoung's lips, which were about to speak. He sucked Chaeyoung's tender lips, his tongue kept inserting into Chaeyoung's small mouth, stirring and intertwining fiercely.

This kiss made Chaeyoung fall into the alcohol and Jeonghoon completely. Even though her boyfriend is still here,  she responds to Jeonghoon's kiss, the entanglement of their tongues also moves from Chaeyoung's mouth to Jeonghoon's. Her left hand still gently rubbed her boyfriend Zion. T's face with the towel, her right hand quietly retracted to grasp Jeonghoon's cock, which he had already taken off his pants and stroked it up and down as gently as he was his boyfriend.

Chaeyoung and Jeonghoon kissed passionately for several minutes. From the corner of Chaeyoung's eyes, she glanced at Zion. T who just sat next to them. Her mind, which was originally hazy, suddenly became agitated again. She hurriedly pushed Jeonghoon away and wiped the saliva from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Oppa...the towel is cold ... I ... I'll get another one, please wait... " A belated sense of betrayal and shyness hit Chaeyoung, so Chaeyoung panicked and thought of a reason to escape, but Zion. T didn't respond.

"Nonna ... I'm going to fuck you ... Don't moan too loud or you'll be discovered ... " Chaeyoung was in a panic and wanted to escape. After taking a few steps, she was hugged by Jeonghoon behind her and pressed against the wall. When she heard Jeonghoon whisper teasingly in her ear. Chaeyoung subconsciously wanted to refuse but found it was too late. Chaeyoung felt a chill in her butt. Jeonghoon had already grabbed Chaeyoung's little hand behind her butt to block it and held Chaeyoung's plump butt. A familiar cock was inserted into her pussy. Chaeyoung felt the cock gradually going deeper into her body, and Chaeyoung was powerless to stop it.

"Wait ... wait ... no ... no ... ah ... ah ... " Chaeyoung realized that she was really a slut. She was being fucked by another man's cock just a few steps away from her boyfriend. The shameful thing was that even though she said No with her mouth, her body was enjoying the incomparable tension and pleasure, and deep in her heart she seemed to be begging for the cock inside her body to move faster and fiercely.

"Jeong... Jeonghoon... pull out... pull out... no... ah... ah ..." Chaeyoung was unable to resist and had to plead, but can't too loudly in case Zion. T would hear. As a result,  Jeonghoon couldn't hear what Chaeyoung said at all, but even if Jeonghoon heard it, he wouldn't pay attention to Chaeyoung's plea. Because at this time, Chaeyoung's pussy is several times tighter than usual. Jeonghoon couldn't guess that Chaeyoung didn't want Jeonghoon to stop at this time.

As if to show his sense of victory and excitement, Jeonghoon played with Chaeyoung's body. He asked Chaeyoung to kneel on the ground and raised her plump ass high. He pulled out the cock inserted in Chaeyoung until only the glans were left, and then pushed forward fiercely. Pushing deeply and hard, he grasped Chaeyoung's waist with both hands and pulled back, so that Jeonghoon 's cock was perfectly inserted deep into Chaeyoung's body again, and Chaeyoung's whole body slowly crawled forward a short distance.

Jeonghoon fucked her effortlessly, and the strong and intense numbing pleasure forced Chaeyoung to stuff the underwear that had just been taken off by Jeonghoon into her mouth, otherwise, Chaeyoung's uncontrollable moans would have been heard by Zion. T.

Although Chaeyoung's crawling forward had little effect every time, Chaeyoung unknowingly finally realized that the direction they were heading was exactly the chair where Zion. T was sitting. The strong panic and tension made Chaeyoung look back and want to stop it. However, Jeonghoon has long been addicted to tightening feeling from Chaeyoung's pussy that is several times stronger than usual.

"Huh ... It feels so fucking ogg ... " Fortunately when Chaeyoung's forehead was almost touching the leg of the chair. Jeonghoon cummed inside Chaeyoung's tight walls while grabbing her ass hard.  Jeonghoon let out a small groan from the satisfying pleasure that was even more exciting than usual.

Feeling relieved, Chaeyoung glanced at Zion. T, raised her foot and kicked Jeonghoon who was still behind her. His cock was forced to withdraw from her body,  without the clogging of the cock, a large amount of nectar mixed with white semen poured out of Chaeyoung's clit. No man wouldn't be excited to see this look.

"Snor! Snor!"

Chaeyoung was about to explain to Zion. T who was waiting for the hot towel, but Unexpectedly, Zion. T moved even faster, leaned forward and lay on the dining table, snoring loudly.

When Chaeyoung saw Zion. T moved, and her body tensed up immediately. When she saw he had fallen asleep, her body relaxed again. The instinctively tense and loose action makes more cum gush out of her pussy. Jeonghoon got up and wanted to run when he saw Zion .T was moving, Seeing such a lustful look of Chaeyoung, he came to Chaeyoung with his cock that was excited again.

"Let's make a deal... I'll let you cum once more and then you should go to sleep ... " How could Chaeyoung not guess what Jeonghoon was thinking? She looked at her boyfriend who seemed to be sleeping soundly and thought that he wasn't noticed even though they fucked such intensely. It is better to solve Jeonghoon 's desire as soon as possible, so Chaeyoung knelt down next to her boyfriend and looked at Jeonghoon with her face half raised.

Jeonghoon 's cock was so engorged and hard that it was trembling with excitement in front of Chaeyoung's face. Chaeyoung sighed deeply and stretched out her hands to hold the ferocious cock that was covered with veins tightly. Her soft lips gently slid over the huge pink glans, and then her small mouth completely contained the entire sensitive glans and sucked, her flexible tongue rubbed all over the glans from time to time, and occasionally she raised her head to look at Zion. T direction.

Chaeyoung looked at Zion. T, made up her mind again. She moved her hands, caressing and stimulating Jeonghoon's nipples and asshole, which are also sensitive points at the same time. Her small mouth took Jeonghoon's cock deeply and took the entire length into her mouth, and then pulled back the glans, then swing her head back and forth from the base to the glans, sucking back and forth.

"Ah ... ah ... oh ... oh ... " Chaeyoung's oral sex skills are really good. Jeonghoon was quickly defeated. He pressed the back of Chaeyoung's head with both hands and shook his legs rapidly, shooting out a large amount of hot cum into Chaeyoung's tight-sucking mouth.

Finally making her brother cum again, Chaeyoung sat on the floor and spit out a large amount of thick white semen in her mouth onto the underwear that had just been stuffed in her mouth. Jeonghoon also sat on the dining chair with a satisfied look on his face. Chaeyoung saw the expression on Jeonghoon's face, and she whispered to Jeonghoon to go to the room and rest. She turned around and knelt down on the floor with her underwear in hand, wiping the bodily fluids that had just been accidentally scattered everywhere.

However,  something she suddenly discovered lifted Chaeyoung's calm mood up again. The pants between his legs were held up by his erection. Chaeyoung looked at Zion. T in panic and confusion, thinking that the man would have a physiological reaction when he was sleeping.

[trashytracktales]

Fade to nothing | CL¹⁶

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none of my works are available for reposting on other platforms.

© trashy track tales, 2024

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𐙚 summary ──── Maybe the summer break on the French Riviera fried their brain cells, because they've finally decided to simply not care anymore if someone sees them together. But when she catches the wrong stares, she starts spiraling. Now, Charles has to switch her focus back on him.

𐙚 pairing ──── Charles Leclerc x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, secret relationship going public, fluff & smut, overusing French terms of endearment, descriptive language, mature/sexual content, unprotected sex, swearing, established relationship, lots of teasing, reader dealing with insecurities.

𐙚 word count ──── 5.5k

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 10, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Foaming at the mouth, because I find it so very offensive that I don't have my own personal Charles Leclerc. Anyway 😤. As Daniel Ricciardo said, enjoy the filth. Wait, no. That's me 🤍🎀

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THEIR DAY ON the French Riviera begun in a golden haze. Hand in hand, they strolled through picturesque streets, enjoying every moment together. In public. For the first time.

They walked across the town like they were the only two people left on Earth, passing by quiet art galleries and stylish boutiques. For the most part, all she focused on was the pure excitement of being with him, holding his hand had, taking pictures and making memories. But as the day went on, her awareness of the curious looks she caught grew stronger.

The sun is now slowly setting, painting the horizon in a warm orange glow just as they return to Charles' boat. As though nothing could possibly bother them here, Charles puts his arm around her and guides her on board. Then, he offers her a gentle smile, his gaze full of warmth while telling her he's heading over to make some drinks.

The girl watches him for a moment, allowing herself to take in the serene comfort he exudes, and wishing she could absorb even a small portion of it. She always feels it when she looks at him, and this time around, nothing is different. On the contrary, somehow, it's as if everything she feels for him comes together in a tiny, small point, a singularity so powerful that it makes her feelings collapse on top of each other.

She rushes to the cabin to change, but her hands start to shake halfway through, and she can feel the doubts weighing her down. She keeps thinking about the subtle judgment she saw in their eyes, which serves as a reminder that many people might believe they jumped into this too soon and that she is only a fling — a stand-in for his previous relationship.

Even though she tries to push the thought away, the sadness comes too quickly, and tears start to well up in her eyes. Suddenly, she feels small, so out of place, as though she’s a visitor in his life rather than someone who belongs beside him.

Which sucks, because she really, really likes him.

She was always confident; she thinks that was one of the reasons why Charles noticed her in the first place. But now, it is as if all her confidence has evaporated under the gaze of some random people she doesn't even know.

They both agreed to keep the relationship a secret in the beginning, just as they both agreed that today they won’t care if anyone sees them. They've stayed hidden from the world for far too long, but now she wonders if they should have waited just a little bit longer because, all of a sudden, she starts feeling too unprepared for the wave that is about to hit, which sends her spiraling.

Because it takes her too long to return, Charles comes to check on her, finding her in the cabin, sitting on the edge of the bed, half naked and clutching one of his shirts to her chest. Usually, he's not the type to intrude, but the soft sound of her quiet sobs fills the small room, piercing through him like a sharp, unexpected ache.

Without a second thought, Charles sprints over, kneeling down in front of her, his gaze steady, filled with raw concern, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She feels his hand on her thigh, which brings her back to the present moment, way too fast. Her breath is slightly shaky while her hands try to instinctively pull away from his gentle grip to wipe her cheeks, in order to hide any trace of her tears.

Looking down at him, she manages to let out a choked word that holds so much weight for her right now, “Us.”

“Us?” Charles raises an eyebrow. “What about us, mon cœur?”

She smiles, pressing the shirt closer to her chest, wiping the tears again with the back of her hand.

“I want you to have it all,” she admits, “And I'm starting to think that, maybe, I won't be able to give you what you need.”

He wants to immediately deny her statement, because in the four months they've been together, she gave him everything and more.

“What? What do you think you don't give me?” he asks, taking the same hand she wiped her tears in his palm.

She shrugs, “I just think… I sometimes think you deserve better.”

Better. The idea twists in his mind, disbelief and frustration tightening around his heart like a claw. He lets out a small scoff — not to mock her, but because it's hard for him to believe that she's doesn't think she's enough for him. It breaks his heart, because she cannot be further away from the truth.

“Where is this coming from?” asks Charles in a quiet, but firm tone.

She shakes her head, wishing she would've never opened her big mouth, “I was just thinking,” the girl repeats, letting out a dry chuckle. “It's nothing, really.”

Charles’ eyes travel across her face, taking in every micro expression, “You're crying, mon amour, so it's not nothing. Where is this coming from?” he asks again, “How much ‘better’ do you think I deserve?”

Her fingers start fidgeting in his grasp, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder, “Everyone loves you, especially your fans. You deserve someone who matches that, someone who belongs in your world, without feeling so small next to you.” She pauses for a moment, the words weighing her down, “I saw people staring today,” she explains, “I know we’ve both agreed to not care about what they think or if someone gives a fuck about seeing us together, but I realized how out of place I must look beside you. That’s all.”

Charles needs superhuman powers to ignore the frustration that’s slowly creeping around his shoulders. His eyes are intent, fixed on her, desperate for her to see what he does. He knows that her feelings are valid and very real to her, but that doesn't mean that they tell her the whole truth. At the same time, he doesn't want to make it worse by explaining why people's opinions shouldn't affect her the way they do. Instead, he gently grabs her hips, pulling her down to sit on his lap, so she's now straddling him, their faces inches apart.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice low, “You see me, beyond everything everyone else sees, and that’s why you are more than enough. You are the realest thing that has ever happened to me, do you understand? You're not just a phase, and I'm so sorry I didn't show you enough how important you are to me. Because you are, bébé.”

She bites her tongue in order to stop herself from contradicting her boyfriend. Deep down, she knows she’s flawed in ways she can’t easily mend, no matter how much Charles wants to reassure her. A part of her wants to believe him, but even now, wrapped in his warmth, she knows the doubts will find their way back.

Charles’ hands drop on her waist, resting there while holding her close on his lap. He feels her doubt, understanding that she's struggling with more than what she lets him to see — another dagger to his heart.

“I'm with you, love,” he adds, rubbing his thumbs in small circles on her bare skin, “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Not if I have any say in it, is that clear?”

His voice sounds far too bossy, which makes her flinch a little, recognizing too late that he is far too blunt for the situation they both find themselves in.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”

“No, don't apologize,” Charles rushes to say, pressing her head against his chest. “I’m glad you told me, but I want you to care about what I say, and not what people might say.”

He envelops her completely in his arms, and it’s like he’s just now realizing how small she feels against him, her body fitting perfectly against his. She feels that, too — the warmth and steadiness of his arms around her, the way he grounds her, making her feel safe.

“I never doubted you, you know,” she clarifies, “I was just thinking that, if I can't handle pressure, I don't think we should…”

He tightens his grip around her waist, refusing to let her finish her thought, his heart screaming in agony as she tries to move away. “Don’t go there, please,” he almost implores her.

“Why not?” she whispers.

“Because it’s not the case, I promise.”

“But—”

“Because you'd be so wrong. Because I love you,” he continues, as if it's the most casual thing ever. Like it is as obvious as tomorrow. As easy as breathing. As automatic as blinking. As if it's not the first time he ever says it to her face.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

The words are ricocheting against her skull like he just put a spell on her. Of course Charles loves her. He showed her this through every little gesture along the way, and she knows he means it, because for the first time since they got back, she realizes she doesn’t want to run from this, from him.

She was so blind, but the next time she looks at him, her fingers tracing his cheek, she simply knows. Charles lets out a small sigh, leaning into her touch, then taking her hand back in his, pressing a gentle kiss on top of her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Tell me you see it,” says Charles, exhaling a heavy breath.

His gesture makes her feel warm inside, “See what?”

“That you are everything to me,” he answers softly, caressing her hand with his thumb. “That I want you exactly as you are.”

For a moment, understanding dawns in her eyes — the realization that they are real, in spite of what she might think — like a light that is breaking through the doubts that had clouded her mind for so long.

“You are mine and I am yours, and I won't have it any other way.”

She exhales slowly, nodding in his direction. Even though he's able to see the relief washing over her face, he still needs a confirmation, so he can anchor himself to it.

“Say you understand.”

“I understand,” she parrots, sinking her teeth into her lower lip.

He sees the hesitation, closing his eyes for a moment. “You understand, but you don't believe me,” Charles concludes, his voice full of wonder. He sucks in a breath while freeing her lip, brushing his thumb against it. His eyes lock on hers, “You really think there is someone else out there who makes me feel the way you do, hm? Who else is going to be this responsive, baby?”

To show her what he means by that, he pushes his thumb inside her mouth, Charles' soft voice sending shivers down her spine. She opens up more, instantly, gazing back at him, realizing how right he is. Meanwhile, Charles is slowly pushing his thumb further, watching her lips closing around it.

His mouth curls up into a smile, “That's it, mon amour. Oui, see that? I don't think there is anyone else out there who can be this good for me, so eager to submit to everything I do,” he laughs, “Hell, I don't even have to tell you what to do, you just know, baby.”

She closes her eyes for a split second, sucking on Charles’ thumb, her hands gripping tightly on his forearm. It makes him feel in control more than usual, which awakens something primal in him. He ends up caressing the side of her face with his fingers as he pushes his thumb deeper, pulling it out with a soft pop, before shoving it back in.

“So fucking good for me, and you think I deserve better? What’s better than this, mon cœur?”

As a response, she moans slowly around his deliberate, slow movement. He finds it so satisfying to see how easily she listens, understanding exactly what she needs from him in return — patience, kindness, reassurance, and trust.

Charles pumps his thumb one more time before pulling out, using it to leave a wet trace down her neck. His hand tightens around it for a brief moment, bringing her back to him. She opens her eyes, still under the spell he put on her earlier with just three little words. Her eyes are dark as she looks up at him through her eyelashes, the desire in her eyes sparking like fireworks.

“You need this, don't you?” he asks curiously.

She nods, which makes Charles smirk. It’s easy to notice the subtle shift in her energy — the way she presses her body closer to his, and the way her breathing deepens. Charles sees the vulnerability in the way she looks at him, but he knows is different now; she’s not hesitating anymore.

Something flickers inside of him as her hand lightly but purposefully caresses his chest; she wants him to take the lead. She isn't seeking power or domination, but asking him to guide them both through this. And Charles understands she’s giving him the space to be the one to move them forward, because this is more than just a physical need. It's about how she decides, here and now, that she trusts him completely.

They stand inches apart, the air between them heated and taut with silent yearning. Every part of their bodies is tuned to each other in a way that feels so delicate yet urgent, and Charles can feel her heartbeat synchronize with his, both of them pounding in anticipation. Her lips are slightly parted as her eyes glide up to his, a silent invitation he cannot refuse. The outside world seems so far away, as if all that remains is this common understanding that neither of them is willing to let go of.

The kiss begins shyly and slowly. At first, his lips are gentle against hers, a slight touch that seems to carry the weight of all they have been resisting. She reacts swiftly, her hand slipping into his hair, drawing him in and intensifying the kiss.

Then everything changes — the pressure grows desperate, almost vital as the intensity increases. She melts into him, pressing every inch of her body against his as if she can't get close enough. It drives him wild, forcing him to tighten his grip on her. 

Slowly but surely, their make out session turns into a silent cry for something more profound, as her fingers tighten in his hair to pull him closer. Their chests heave and their foreheads rest against one another until they eventually split apart, panting for one more breath of air.

“Forgive me, mon amour,” says Charles, trying his hardest to regain his composure.

“Forgive you?”

“Because I made you doubt us. Doubt me, and how I feel about you,” he clarifies, breathing wetly above her skin. “Will you let me show you how sure I am about this?”

She nods again, smiling, her hands still resting on his chest.

He gets up to lay her carefully on the bed, positioning himself between her legs as he unbuttons his white shirt. Meanwhile, Charles’ eyes glide over her bare chest and the way her wavy hair spills over the pillows, making her look like an angel.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers as he leans over to kiss her neck, then going further down, sucking bruises all over her chest on his way to her stomach, claiming his girl with every flick of his tongue against her skin. He cups her breast in his palm, squeezing her enough to feel him all over her body, his lips reaching over her panties. “In case I wasn't dead fucking clear already,” Charles adds softly, almost like a promise, hooking his fingers on the lace material before pulling it down her legs, “I only want us. Like this. Always.”

She moans softly, anticipating his fingers to send her to another realm, far from any doubt. And her world does, indeed, change completely the moment she feels his tongue at her entrance instead. So hot and soft and warm against her, that her fingers curl instantly into his hair while his tongue slips between her folds, as if that is its rightful home.

“Charles,” his name comes out of her mouth in the form of a whine, sending little jolts towards his already hardened cock.

“Putain,” he chokes out, raising his head to look at her, “Nobody tastes like you do, baby. So sweet and wet for me.”

“Charles,” she whines again, her chest rising and falling with burning intensity. “Please…”

“Patience, bébé,” Charles chuckles, his voice vibrating hotly above her, “Let me worship you, so you won’t question me ever again, yes?”

He would have heard her agreeing with him, if Charles hadn't slipped his hands under her until his palms gripped her ass to pull her closer to his mouth. As a result, he hears her moan louder than before, smiling as he connects his lips back on her pussy, sucking on her clit with a newfound thirst.

His grip on her is so strong that even if she wants to push her hips further, she can't move an inch. Which drives her crazy, because his tongue works her with such frivolous movements, bringing her so close to the edge, but she still needs more.

“Baby,” she moans painfully, getting too agitated that it makes her get up, proppting herself on her elbows to watch him. “Fuck, Charles,” she adds, admiring how beautiful he looks between her legs, lapping at her with one goal in mind.

She tries to rock her hips back against the pressure again, which just reminds Charles of how good he makes her feel. The thought drives him mad and, even though it’s all about her right now, he can’t stop fucking his hips down so he can rub his aching cock against the bed, searching for any sort of friction.

“I feel you, baby. Don’t hold back,” says Charles, his voice sounding muffled between her legs.

His tongue is enough to make her come all over his face, he knows that, but he can't deprive her of his fingers when she needs him the most. So, he uses his hand to split her further under his mouth, making sure he touches her sweet spot again and again. And again, until a wave of pleasure hits her like a tsunami, shaking her to the core as she cums involuntarily. She tries to pull him out of her legs, because she knows how messy it gets when she comes that hard, but Charles drops his mouth back on her, driving her through her orgasm as his tongue finally stops at her entrance to catch the rest of her release. Then, he swallows her sweetness, letting his forehead drop on her thigh.

Their breathing is the only thing that can be heard in the entire cabin for a while, her palm resting on his cheek to caress him gently as they both recover slowly.

“So fucking hot, mon cœur.”

She sighs, still too sensitive from the pleasure that reverberates throughout her body, “Come up here,” says the girl, patting Charles’ head.

He pushes himself up, still half dressed and very much hard in his boxers. Charles lays his weight on her, exhausted, like he's came ten times by now. Gently, he rests his head on her chest while her arm wraps around him and his palm curves around her breast, pinching her nipple lazily between his fingers.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, enjoying the way she gets covered in goosebumps under his breath. “So perfect and so mine.”

She can't say anything to him without her voice shaking, so she gently grabs his chin, bringing Charles on top of her to kiss him. She feels her own taste as their tongues collide, causing her to moan softly into his mouth. Even if this kiss is much, much tamed than the previous one, just the thought that he was between her legs makes her pussy tighten, as if she's been set on fire from the inside out.

“Can I return the favor?” she finally asks in a breathy voice once their lips part.

Charles hums at the mental image of her mouth around his cock, but decides to push the thought deep into his mind, “Who said I’m done with you, mon amour?”

Charles' hand travels to her pussy once again, his middle finger gliding lightly over her wetness. Her eyes close in pleasure, while her arms wrap around his neck, before she realizes what he's actually doing. Her eyes snap at him as he reaches the letter 'R', Charles grinning proudly from above her.

Their faces are so close she can see the twinkle in his eyes, and their breaths blend together in a sweet warmth.

She laughs, “Did you just spell your name on my clit?”

His expression instantly lights up when he hears her. “Planned to do it with my tongue, but I didn't expect you to come that hard,” he admits, joining her in laughter.

She blushes at his statement, remembering how true it is. It's impossible for Charles not to notice that, but he loves it when her cheeks and chest become so rosy as a result. He also loves the sounds she makes when she's turned on, so he's not wasting any more time before teasing her wet entrance with his finger, pumping it slowly, until he feels her clenching around it. Just to make her forget the shyness, of course.

His flemish gaze sweeps over her entire body and, seeing her so vulnerable and willing beneath him, makes him want to run his tongue over every inch of her, to cover her in kisses and love marks until it's too much, so that he can come all over her pretty nipples just at the sight of her.

“Fuck, if you could see yourself right now,” says Charles, exhaling sharply. “You make me lose my mind, you know that? I almost forgot I still have to show you how mine you are. You want that, baby, don't you?”

“Yes,” she returns to whining, because apparently that's all she knows recently.

And she does it again, when his fingers pull out of her way too soon for her liking. She follows Charles, getting rid — fucking finally — of his shorts and boxers with a quick movement, poising himself again in his place, right between her legs.

She swallows hard at the sight of him, her mouth drying up in record time. She remembers the first time she saw Charles naked and how it didn't even occur to her that they would even fit. Of course, he made it work, because that's what a man with a huge cock does — it makes it fit.

The girl follows Charles as he wraps his dominant hand around the base, then runs his hand along its length, massaging the tip to spread the pre-cum. He made her feel so good, she didn't even take into consideration how torturous it must have been for him. But the little hums he lets out as he positions himself at her entrance are enough of a signal for her to push her hips against him.

Unfortunately, the man meant every word when he said he wasn't done, so he won't simply let her have it, just because she’s so willing to take him. She has to understand, once and for all, that this is it — she is it for him.

Slowly, Charles taps the head of his cock at her entrance, teasing mercilessly. It's almost like a punishment for thinking so low of herself, for doubting him, his feelings for her and what they've built together so far.

A lot can change in four months, especially feelings.

He lets out a shaky breath as he parts her folds with his tip, but instead of pushing inside, he fucks his cock up between the lips of her cunt. Once. Twice. Three times, until he's leaking on her clit, coated in her wetness. It is a sinful feeling that makes them both moan in unison, an ecstatic duet between two souls who found each other at the right time, no matter what people would say about it.

Fuck people. All of them.

She throbs against him, the feeling of skin on skin settings her atoms on fire. His hardness feels so good between her folds that she needs to anchor herself to something, and the sheets are far too fragile for her grip.

“Yeah, you feel that, ma vie?” asks Charles rhetorically when he sees her losing herself. “Of course you do. The question is, did you feel it before?”

“Charles…” she whimpers, pushing her hips against his length in order to find the sweet friction she craves. “Need you. Please.”

Her eyes are watering as she feels the knot in her stomach, waiting for a release that seems so far away — he’s not even inside, fuck's sake.

“So pretty,” hums Charles, ignoring her pleading. “You're gonna look so pretty taking me, ma belle. You always do.”

She raises her head only to let her eyes wander down Charles’ body, from his flushed face to his toned abs, down to where his cock rests hardened between her pussy lips. His eyes are locked on where they're making contact, the image so intimate and powerful it makes him want to scream. She realizes that this is a punishment for him as much as it is for her, but he enjoys it more since he's the one in charge.

She gasps in surprise when Charles grabs her thighs, her head falling back down on the pillows. He pulls her closer as he leans over to seal his lips with hers, having no intent to be soft this time, the passion that burns between them pushing him so close to the edge.

Charles’ tongue tastes her in a rush as he pushes forward, his cock pressing deliciously on her clit, making her break the kiss with a pathetic whine.

So predictable.

“Can you, please, fuck me already?” she says, frustration evident in every word she utters.

Her pleas are so close to get him, wanting nothing more than to bury himself so deep inside her, until he feels her coming on his cock all over again. But Charles groans loudly, hovering above her chest to take one of her nipples in his mouth, biting her gently.

At that, her frustration only grows bigger, forcing her back to arch against him.

“Charles,” her tone is demanding now, motivated to make him understand she's done playing.

“Don't worry, I’ll fuck you so good, baby. Turn over for me,” he replies, anticipation tugging at the edge of his patience.

She does as instructed without saying another word, feeling his hands grabbing at her waist to pull her against him. Then, Charles pushes his palm gently between her shoulder blades until her face is buried between the silky pillows. She lets a muffled moan while his knees are pressing down into the mattress on either side of her thighs, his cock resting hard against her ass.

“Did I mention how pretty you are?” he asks, not expecting an answer in return, while he finally guides himself toward her needy cunt. He pushes in, slowly at first. Deliberate and calculated, as if their initial contact is meant to gather as much data as possible, so he can choose the perfect setup for what's about to come — the position, the angle, the pace. “Such a pretty girl,” he adds with a tamed moan, “Opening right up for me. Every single time, baby. Taking me so well.”

She tries to get up by doing a weak push-up, but her head drops heavy between her shoulders as she fucks back against Charles' length, the pleasure overwhelming her.

The feeling of having him like this makes her squeal, failing to find a single thing worth more in this world than Charles thrusting from behind.

“Oui, have my cock, baby, like that,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss on her shoulder, managing to hit her deeper from this angle.

Charles' touch is still gentle, though, like he's testing the grip, desperately wanting to find the perfect balance as he eases into a rhythm made just for them. He takes every gasp and every shiver of her body as signals, relearning what makes her pulse race and using everything in their favor.

She turns her head to the side when Charles leans over to clasp the edge of the mattress, his knuckles whitening with the force he's putting into it. The veins on the back of his hand look like they're about to pop at any moment, bulging from his skin and snaking up his forearm, finally out of her view as they reach his elbow.

He's so hot and she is so turned on that she could come again just by looking at his arms.

Charles' pace begins to build, the intensity in his breathing growing more labored with every thrust of his hips. Each one is bolder than the last one, like he's reaching the apex of a corner, pressing into her just enough to feel the thrill without losing control. As a response to his movements, she starts breathing in short spasms, the world around them becoming a blur.

“That's it, bébé. You're so fucking good for me, I'm not… fuck,” his voice almost gives out, feeling how close he is to cum from fucking her like this, so he decides to pull out completely in order to prolong the feeling.

Charles learned from an early age that every race is unpredictable, so he has to adapt to any condition.

It makes her cry at the emptiness, her pussy clenching wetly around nothing while he looks down, curious too see how bad she needs him.

Her head falls back between the pillows for the hundred time, too exhausted to scold Charles any more. So, she guides her hand between her legs, firmly massaging her clit, feeling her thighs start to shake. However, the pressure is not nearly as good, which makes Charles chuckle at her weak attempts.

Patiently, he grabs both of her wrists to keep them pinned to her lower back as he uses his free hand to rub the head of his cock against her throbbing hole.

“Chaaarles,” she whines loudly, pressing her cheek deeper into the silky fabric under her, mind too numb to protest further more.

He buries himself back in with a strong thrust, making her gasp at the fullness. Somehow, it feels so much better than before, her body so sensitive in all the places they make contact.

With every shift in pressure and pace, Charles reads her reactions as if they are telemetry data on his steering wheel.

“Please don't... Don't stop again, please,” she lets out another cry, feeling her walls clenching so sweetly around him. “You feel so good, fuck, I… I'm so close.”

He knows that. That's why he stopped in the first place. But now he's ready to give her exactly what she needs, freeing her wrists as he watch them fall next to her body as if they're lifeless. Charles then grabs her waist with both hands, thrusting into her so hard that the sound of their bodies slapping together drowns out both of their moans.

“Want to fuck you for the rest of my life, amour. Please, let me fuck you for the rest of my life,” he implores, panting aggressively.

“Oh, yes,” she agrees, squeezing her eyes in pleasure.

Charles pulls out again, making her grunt at the loss. But before she gets the chance to protest, he flips her over, shoving his cock back in while searching for her eyes, a smug smile hanging from the corner of his mouth.

She moans in relief, pulling him closer, wrapping her hands around his neck to bury her fingers in his messy hair.

“I almost started barking at you,” she admits, rolling her hips with his.

“I know, baby. Just wanted to see your face,” he explains, finding his pace once more.

“Oh, yes. Yes, feels so good,” she begins to moan uncontrollably under his weight, just as Charles leans down to rest his forehead against hers.

“I know, I know. I've got you, my love,” he kisses her again but it doesn't last this time.

Their mouths remain parted, breathing heavily against each other as she comes around his cock, gazing into each other's eyes as if they could see what shape their soul have. Seeing her face changing in pleasure, makes Charles fucking into her faster, following so closely after her.

His moans sound so melodious in her ears while he rides their orgasms, that she starts believing honey is dripping from his lips, because he cannot be real.

Charles is about to pull out when she stops him with a hand on his lower back.

“I only want us, too. Like this. Always,” she repeats his words from earlier, more determined than ever. “And I think I love you a tiny bit more,” she continues, running her hand up his spine. “That's why I was so scared.”

Charles shivers under her gentle touch, “You still scared?”

“Terrified,” she replies, giggling, pulling him in to capture his lips in a loving kiss.

The kind that makes the rest of the world fade to nothing.

thank you for reading!

reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

[silverlining-ships]

Music comms are CLOSED!! Check out the waitlist here!!

Ok y'know what, screw it. My brain seems to require three-four pieces at one time (genuinely cannot figure out why that is), and with the fact I only have two queued up right now and the game I'm composing for doesn't need any tracks at the moment, I'm getting composer's block again. So we're OPENING my music requests!!

I'm actually stunned at how many people seemed interested in getting a piece of soundtrack music for their f/o. I'm opening it to non-mutuals, and it's totally free! If you're concerned about paying/tipping for work, I'm always happy to receive content for my selfship, but I will not accept any money, and there's no pressure to tip content anyway. Again, this is for fun!

This is how it works:

Fill out this google form with the title of your ship, some songs you like, instruments, etc etc.

You can message on Tumblr or Discord (@/slipperson on Discord) on top of submitting the form too! I'll reach out myself once I get started on your piece.

I'll sketch out a draft, which is exactly like sketching out a basic pose for art - it'll typically only use piano/minor percussion. Sometimes I'll even give a simple concept before I flesh out a draft. I'll send it to you for approval.

If changes are needed, I'll refine the draft and re-update. If not, I'll go on to fleshing out the instrumental - this means adding instruments, changing volume (for example, in my first example, I used a lot of "dynamics"/volume changes to simulate the swelling of instruments). This is like adding the flat colors in a piece of art!

I'll send it to you again - I'll make changes upon your request, but if approved, I'll finally go ahead and mix the final draft. This means putting it through an audio program (audacity if you're curious!) and polishing the sound. This is like rendering the lighting!

After it's done, I'll send it to you for once last listen. Upon approval, I'll post it to Soundcloud, link it on Tumblr, and tag you in the post!

Important bits:

No comship/proship/aged up-or-down/RPF ships. Live action characters are fine as long as it's not the actual person. Familial/platonic ships are totally okay!

If you are a minor/ageless blog, I'm willing to write a piece for familial/platonic content, but not QPR/romantic.

Downtime is 1-2 months after I first open your request. I may finish it sooner, but no later than 2 months. This is because music generally takes awhile--30 seconds of music can take me 4-5 hours to concept! I also tend to work on 3-4 pieces of music at a time.

I will give frequent updates. Don't be afraid to reach out if you're curious on the status!

My work is never cleared to be used commercially or in AI programs. We're a bunch of selfshippers on Tumblr, so I know we all hate AI, but it's worth the mention. I tend to be strict on copywrite - it'll stay under my name, all rights reserved - however, you are free to use your piece wherever you'd like as long as it's not commercial use, used in a monetized campaign/video/form of media, and not used in AI.

I may put these tracks on a streaming service at a later date - not on Spotify, as the service is TERRIBLE with allowing their work to be remixed into AI. Something like Bandcamp or Soundcloud for Artists. If you are uncomfortable with this, please let me know.

Examples:

I will have my queue/completed list on my carrd here.

Thank you so much for your interest!! I'm actually so stunned I got so much love for this, and I'm excited to celebrate your ships with you!

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[slaaverin]

One of the things that confuses me about jikook possibly being a couple is they don’t read very romantic to me these days. They absolutely do love each other, I have no doubt about that, and multiple times they will do things that are bizarrely sexual and wouldn’t fit well in a purely platonic relationship but there’s still something missing imo. It’s funny, they used to come across as more romantic when they were younger (particularly 2017-2021) but not so much in 2022 and 2023. Maybe it’s that they’ve known each other for so long that some of the romance has died down the same way it does with other couples or idk maybe they’re just better at hiding it now?

I half agree with you and half not.

I think they still read romantic.

As you said, maybe not like before.

But I think our vision is skewed because before chapter 2 we saw them more too. We had interactions almost every day. Jikook jikooked all the time. So to us it felt more, whereas after the start of chapter 2 we saw them way less, but in my mind I have no doubts those interactions were still happening behind the scenes.

I don't think the romance has died down or that they are hiding per se.

I think that simply after a certain amount of years in a long-term relationship the affection is shown in a more quiet and simple way. It shows they are very secured in the relationship.

They kept saying "this is romantic" "this is romance" and all, so I'm sure they had this idea in mind during those trips.

Of course it would be romantic, they are together and they share a romance. I don't see two friends saying something like this, it wouldn't even cross their minds.

I think during AYS they shared very tender moments. Very affectionate moments. There was also a lot of flirting and weird sex jokes. I don't think their romance is dead at all, simply that they didn't have to scream it on rooftops. Those trips were for them two above all.

I also would like you to keep in mind that they showed only a limited amount of hours per day. And were also mindful to what they showed or not. I believe they were somewhat careful not to show too much in front of camera (even if some things that was shown were already really shocking to me).

I think jikook see each other a lot outside of schedule, and that allows them to be a normal couple. They've come a long way. So now in front of cameras they have nothing to prove anymore, not to themselves or to us, because they've already shared everything that was politically correct to share with us during all those years.

Now they can simply be casual in their interactions, with a sense of deep love and care that breathes normalcy without any need to show off, because they don't need to. They both know where they stand. They both know what they mean to each other.

I personally didn't see their relationship having less romance than before in AYS, in truth I saw that their relationship evolved into something even deeper and more certain than ever.

It's like going from new couple to married couple, there is a different feel to it. But it's not less. It's a love that is more profound but doesn't need to be as loud.

I don't think there is anything missing, they've given us everything I personally wanted and more. Yes in 2022-2023 we saw them less but the times we did they were jikooking as usual. It's safe to say the relationship didn't change behind close doors and with what we saw in AYS I think it evolved way more than any of us could have expected or imagined.

During all this time they were still on their journey as a couple even if we didn't see it.

And the cherry on top is MS, they were the only one enlisting together, going to great length to remain together.

I'm not saying that MS is romantic in any way, I don't believe they would be much in a romance mood in there at all. But the act of enlisting just to be sure they can have each other's presence and support is a very romantic move to me, very telling of how much they really care. Which is a lot.

Wait until 2025 to hear them incessantly yap about all their military stories and all the behinds of AYS, wait for all of their insides jokes that will turn into flirting as usual and you'll tell me again if they are not as romantic as before lmaooo

We're going to see them way more and the jikooking will be back full force and I pray the lord that people will stop constantly doubting them and we can go back to regular program

Some romantic shots to finish off:

Straight out of a romance movie 🥺

Take care anon 💜

[melkyt]

LawLu roommates

Law who inherited a large mansion from when his family passed away. He is a small town doctor who has been there for a year. It is to big for him to afford the upkeep, but he doesnt want to sell it as its his families legacy. So he puts out a flyer that he is giving a room to anyone who can look after and tend to the lands, and find tenants for the smaller houses on the property.

Yet nobody takes it as there are rumors that it is haunted, that Law, who has not made an effort to be anything but abrasive in his grief. He doesnt care about people which only fuels rumors, so everyone in the town avoids it

Luffy, new to town, as it is close to his trade school/apprenticeship has no money to his name and sees the flyer. Free lodging and all he has to do is garden? Plus he can bring his friends who do have money but not much, and the rent Law mentions is cheap enough for them.

Luffy doesnt care about the rumors, and neither do the majority of his friends. Nami and Usopp are the only ones that balk at the idea of ghosts, but go anyway since it is a good deal, the house is right by the ocean and some tlc will make it a great place to live. It has all the ammenities a mansion would have, its just run down. Nami immediately sets to making a plan how they would fix it.

Law deals with her at first, signing the lease, giving keys and the like while Luffy runs through the mansion, exploring it top to bottom, calling dibs on a room

Law tries to put his side of the house off limits but Luffy is not listening. He asks a million questions as he walks from an empty room to Law's large room that is mostly unused, he spends most of his time st the clinic in town. Luffy touching every little thing and saying how cool it is, though dusty. He pulls the curtains aside, which makes Law flinch at the bright lights.

Luffy coughing as he opens a window. "Wow, a pool"

Law rubs at his temples as Luffy chatters, but is somewhat glad that the house is alive. It has been quiet for so long but now there is an air of happiness that Luffy brings with his smile.

There is music playing in the halls as Luffy and his friends get to business opening and airing out all the rooms.

Though Nami having the contract does tell everyone to not touch the two rooms that belonged to Law's family, and even Luffy despite his intent to explore every little corner, listens. He isnt going to disturb anything thats truly important.

Law is suprised, despite their ages and chaos that they brought into his home, they do respect his space and move around in a way that is not as much a disruption as he thought.

Luffy at most pops in now and again to drag Law out of his room if they are having a bonfire, or a party. Tells him to relax all the time.

Law who finds himself sitting down in the old gazebo that has been cleaned up, next to Luffy. As the night wears on, he finds himself in the younger man's lap.

They don't really talk about getting close but everyone notices. Luffy treats it as though they were always together and slowly with his presence, the rumours change and people start trusting this new odd doctor, that has such a sunshine boyfriend xd

[124ndm]

villain!deku rambles.. eeerrmmm

i rlly want to start a comic about villain!deku, but im a little hesitant because i feel like it would be WAY too big of an undertaking for me..

but if ur at all interested, my ideas are below the cut. ^_^

My concept would start with the sludge villain incident. Other heroes get to saving bakugou before both midoriya or all might. This, in turn, means that he never gets OFA.. and never joins the hero course (yadada im sure this has all been written before). However I DO think that he would still join UA. Thats really my main motivation behind making a comic like this. In a lot of villain!deku stuff I see, he tends to abandon hero work altogether.. which i just dont think he'd do!! midoriya is VERY determined when he has his mind set on something, so I feel like he'd find some way to go to UA one way or another.

So, what would make him a villain then?? Well, it would definitely be a gradual build-up overtime. Assuming he takes the support-course route (which ig would make this a mashup of two aus, LOL), I think it would start with him helping vigilantes. Low-level illegal heroes convince him that by making support items, midoriya can advance in his field. He keeps doing these sorts of favors, knowing its unethical, out of a desperation to feel useful and help the 'heroes.'

I also think as a sort of parallel to bakugo, he'd start hanging around bad classmates like bakugo did during middle school. Being in a support course as opposed to a hero course means a very different demographic of students. We see a lot of instances IRL of students going into engineering good intentions, only to throw away morals for higher paying jobs (i'm sure yall have seen those Lockheed Martin tiktoks, need I say more 💀). We know characters like mei hatsume are very honest and dedicated to their craft, but what are the lower-level students like? What about the other classes? We don't really see much of that, so I think it'd be fun to explore the morally gray students of UA.

I think his final breaking point would be when he gets in kahoots with Giran. I don't think giran would immediately clock midoriya as a potential recruit, but instead would change his mind later: seeking out midoriya after Shigaraki shows interest in bakugo. (sure, they aren't in the same class anymore, but both of them being in UA works as a convenient connection).

After midoriya gets with shigiraki, I believe he'd certainly get a quirk (whether or not midoriya actually wants it, Im sure theyd give him one anyways. more power to their organization, and more leverage over midoriya). Soon after, the LoV would get into an altercation with class 1-A, which would probably get him expelled. Although, in-turn, fuel a stronger disproval towards hero society (and also compel izuku to get better at using his quirk, knowing that he has a lot of catching up to do).

And duh as the cherry on top, there'd be bkdk angst.. bakugo only realizing that midoriya got into UA after seeing his association with the league. The weird guilty feeling bakugou would get knowing that a kid he bullied ended up becoming a villain, but also pure anger at knowing that he even got into UA in the first place. And also, the inevitable midoriya/bakugo fight that would happen when the league and class 1-A have more encounters.

I haven't exactly decided on how to end it, but I feel like it would end with either a redemption or something similar to the whole togachako situation. More likely a redemption because, lets be for real here, midoriya is so kind-spirited that even as a villain: he'd probably fold when faced with a genuine bakugo apology or heart-to-heart All Might encounter LOL.

anyways im deffff yapping here, I did NOT intend for this post to be so fucking long HELP. I just really wanted to get my stupid ideas written down. Like i said earlier, this has prob been done before if we're being quite honest.. but I still I think making a comic like this would be sooo fun. But godd i am NOT a good writer so I worry that I would start and then never finish. aaaaah 😭😭

I'll just have to see if my motivation sticks around these next few weeks. If so, I'll probably start drafting this out!! If I do lose interest, well then.. this'll be the last you hear of my villain!deku rambles LMAO. I rlly hope I don't lose interest because this would be the first time ive written since like, early high school, and I really want to get back into writing again. Even in comic form, any kind of writing would be great practice for me. Dx

[fuckitupfelix]

congratulations...? [pt.2]

read part one here! hope you enjoy!!

atsumu miya x male reader

word count: 1.1k

it always ends with him apologizing somehow. you always know.

FEM ALIGNED DNI

when (name) walked back to meet with karasuno again, everyone had noticed the change in his demeanor. he had left the team with a grin on his face, only to walk back completely silent. nobody said anything at first, leaving him alone for a bit, at least until they got on the bus to head back to the hotel.

maybe atsumu was just being childish like usual! he's always been kind of stupid and competitive like that, with how he always butted heads with osamu. but he was usually different with (name). usually he'd listen to (name's) advice after getting into a fight with osamu, as he let himself get patched up. usually he'd ease up when he noticed that (name) was around, scared that he might say something he wouldn't mean.

"(name)! the bus is here now! come on!" nishinoya snaps him out of his thoughts, and he blinks.

"oh. yeah, yeah, sorry." (name) nods, shoving his hands in his pockets.

as the team slowly files onto the bus, (name) tries to pick a seat by himself. as much as he loves the team, some of them were a bit too loud for his liking. he just wanted to go to sleep.

just as he puts his headphones into his ears, noya plops himself down into the seat next to (name). he fights back a grimace, and shoves his headphones back into his pocket.

". . . what d'ya want, noya?" (name) asks, side-eyeing the libero.

noya frowns at that. "dude, what's up with you? i get you're tired, but we won! did something happen with atsumu?"

when (name) freezes up at that, he connects the dots surprisingly quick.

"ooohhhh, you're having issues with your man!" he says, a little louder than (name) would have liked. he slaps a hand onto noya's mouth, glaring at him.

"dude! ya don't gotta announce it for the whole freakin' world t'hear! shut it!" (name) snaps. noya just shoves his hand off of his face, frowning.

noya points an accusatory finger at (name). "but you are, aren't you? what happened? was he being a dick?"

(name) lets out a huff, leaning back in his seat slightly. ". . . kinda. he was bein' pissy about us winnin'! can ya fuckin' believe it? i get he lost 'n all, but seriously! a 'congrats', or a 'i'm so proud'o ya, babe' would'a been fine! but hes actin' like a toddler! for nothin'! fuckin' nerve of that cunt—"

"oh. woah. he sucks, dude!" noya remarks, leaning over your shoulder to be impossibly closer. (name) shifts over closer to the corner of the seat, not really appreciating his personal space being invaded.

"he's not that bad, honestly. . . he's just a lil' shit sometimes. ya know?" he just shrugs at that. that wasn't helpful to (name) at all.

"i'm not good at relationship advice. . . hold on." noya turns to the aisle, and, to (name's) horror, shouts, "ENNOSHITA!!"

said second year turns around rigidly in his seat, and is met with noya's far too eager expression and (name's) disturbed one.

"(name) needs help! come here!"

"shut up, noya, jesus—! it's fine, ennoshita, seriously—"

by this point, ennoshita had already shifted down to sit in the next seat over from the duo, switching seats with tanaka. "what's up, (name)?" but before he can actually speak, noya butts in again.

"he's having boy problems!" "shut it, noya!" (name) huffs, shoving his head down to actually see ennoshita.

"seriously? well, you should just talk to him, no? communication is always healthy."

". . . nahh, i'll wait for him t'apologise." (name) shrugs, removing his hand from noya's head. "how are you sure he's gonna?" hinata chimes in, leaning over the back of his seat.

"oi, hinata! don't butt into (name's) business!" kageyama huffs, yanking the ginger down by his shirt.

"if he doesn't, 'samu'll make him do it. i give 'em two days, tops." the whole group collectively sweatdrops at that.

when the bus finally pulls up to the hotel, (name's) body feels significantly heavier than it did five seconds ago. he wants nothing more than to shower, eat, and sleep. with a stretch, he stands up as the rest of the team files out. in his pocket, his phone buzzes, and his face grows warm when he sees who it's from, opening the messages a bit too eagerly.

atsumu

give me ten mins babe       19:22bus is running late

pls. its important i promise 19:23

(name) felt oddly nervous at that, the little voice at the back of his head spouting nonsensical fears. what if he was breaking up with him? over a volleyball match? ‘tsumu’s not THAT much of an idiot, right?

when he notices a few of his teammates still standing outside, seemingly waiting for him, he waves them off with a small smile. "could ya guys tell coach i'll be a minute, please? i gotta take care'a somethin'."

once they all head inside, (name) pulls his phone out again to respond to atsumu's text.

(name)

ok. im waiting out front

you have ten minutes maxor im leaving 19:27

he turns his phone off and shoves it into his pocket, rocking back and forth on his heels. after a while of pacing in front of the hotel doors, the thought to leave briefly passes through his mind. as soon as he turns towards the doors again, a figure turns the corner of the block. it's atsumu. he’s panting as he’s hunched over, trying to catch his breath. he clearly ran to get there.

“what’d ya wanna talk about, exactly?” (name) asks, crossing his arms. atsumu looks up at him through hooded eyes, his face morphing into a frown.

“i wanted t’apologize to ya. obviously. i was actin’ like a child earlier.”

(name) huffs at that. “i could’a told ya that much.” the blond lets out a ‘tch’.

“‘m not finished, jeez! i was actin’ real stupid, and yer right to be pissed at me,” atsumu grumbles. he shoves his hands into his pockets, and it looks like he wants to say something else.

“quit it with that face, ya look constipated.” atsumu lets out an indignant scoff at that before (name) continues. “what else did you wanna say, ‘tsumu?”

“. . .congratulations. ya did amazin’.” he breathes out. it’s the first smile he’s cracked in hours. (name) deems it acceptable. he walks over, rubbing atsumu’s shoulder. “thank you, baby. now, i swear to fucking god,” he starts, squeezing his boyfriend’s shoulder a little tighter— atsumu yelps at the grip, chuckling awkwardly.

“if ya ever act like a whiny bitch over somethin’ like this, i’m breaking up with yer sorry ass.” (name) hums with a tight smile.

“love ya too, baby,” atsumu grins, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek. meanwhile, a few karasuno members were watching the encounter from the window of the inn.

tsukishima grimaces at the whole exchange. “how does their relationship even work? they’re both so. . . pigheaded.”

part two of this done finally !!!!!11!!!!1!!!!!1!!1!1! never doing this again tumblr tweaked out every time i tried to save this draft.

dividers by @/plutism !!

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Thank you for the tag @iolaussharpe-24 🫂💜

Something that terrifies you:

Having kids. I feel out of place when my friends start topics about having children, one says she wants 6 or more, the other says 1 or 2 and another one says maybe 1. That's when I come around the corner and say:

"Nah I don't want kids."

They all completely have no problems with that but because we're all in our early 20's, they think I will change my mind later, but I always tell them I'm 100% real not wanting kids.

Don't get me wrong, I like kids, but I feel like I'm not the right person to have some. Plus I'm an only child, thus I have never experienced what it feels like to take care of a little one for example a little sibling. The rest of my family lives in another country and the sister of my mom has two younger kids, but we couldn't visit them much and her kids have gotten older now, so there's that.

Something you love unconditionally:

Cats. I am a total cat lover. I used to spend so much time with the cat of our neighbor.

Something you hate unendingly:

Bad written characters like:

Rey from the star wars sequels. I love Daisy Ridley but Rey is so op its sickening. She even had the audacity to call herself a Skywalker when all she did was being a mary sue. Daisy tried her best to make Rey likeable but sadly she couldn't do it for me.

I'm getting slamdunked for this.

The best interaction you've had on tumblr:

Reblogs I guess...

The strangest ask you've ever received:

Not necessarily an ask but rather bots starting chats with you, asking them to join certain adult websites.

Something nice about yourself:

I am as loyal as it can get. I have alot of sympathy for others even if I seem like I don't show them.

Something nice about someone else:

@iolaussharpe-24 @nekoyin @steven-grants-world You guys are top tier friends on this site💜🫂

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction Fen you're also top tier!!!🫂 plus some of those reaction pics we reblog eachother are wild, I love them, hehe.💜

No pressure tags:

@nekoyin @iolaussharpe-24 @steven-grants-world @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

tag game!

Something That Terrifies You:

deep water and having children. pregnancy causes dysphoria, deep water is spooky and there might be a shark in there (I am landlocked) (never know though)

Something You Love Unconditonally:

Slightly melted ice cream. the best. my partner leaves it on the counter for ten minutes before bringing some to me and I love him for it. soft serve is amazing too but only if it's chocolate.

Something You Hate Unendingly:

People who drive stupid. It's so dangerous and for what, to beat me to the red light? We're both stuck at the stop now, fuckhead.

The Best Interaction You've Had on Tumblr:

I remember vividly when Mushi first reblogged one of my fics (it was a blue j fic of course) with like a whole slew of compliments and I about exploded because I'd been reading her fics and stuff for literally forever and i was like w o a h. and now I abuse her with apocolypse 😘❤️ besties

The Strangest Ask You've Ever Received:

literally had no verbs just a bunch of nouns. was like "character x character smut no violence angst." and nothing else. ??? not even a character I wrote for either.

Something Nice About Yourself:

I think my hair is a pretty shade of red.

Something Nice About Someone Else:

@ominoose! very kind and funny and a good person to have on this hellsite.

tags, no pressure: @iolaussharpe-24 @bulletgoth @llumetrii

[spywhitney]

How I sleep knowing I'll never trust anyone that hates Sydney but worships Richie:

[fobnsfwdoodlesbackup]

Hi y'all, I just wanted to talk a little about the behind the scenes of what I've been up to, to give y'all a little transparency and to open myself up for any tips or input! 🙏 Thank you for your continued support and for taking the time to look at my art 🫶

First and foremost I wanted to give some transparency about my art capacity.

As og followers may remember, I started this blog when I was doing art full time. Eventually my living expenses grew and I had to go back to work. I find myself in a cycle of "I'll make more art soon, once I get a job!" And "I'll make more art soon, once I am done with this job!" I lost my most recent job suddenly, having had an extension waved over my head until the last day(October 7th). Now I'm excited to have more time for art, but I am also feeling a rush to get a new job ASAP as I've been living paycheck to paycheck. I dream of doing this work full time, I'm just scared it's not quite there yet and I worry that I come off as scammy or dishonest when I anticipate more stability around the corner.

Second, I've been struggling with the Patreon. It's taken me a while to come to terms with this, but from what I've seen Patreon is not intuitive at all from the creator end. It doesn't do a good job of organizing addresses, emails, showing who or who isn't subscribed to me, or organizing and displaying the work I put on there. I've been really shocked by this experience, since lots of big names use Patreon. It's been a great way to streamline support, but it's been unhelpful in every other regard. I would like to continue using it, but I will most likely post more wips or process videos there in the future.

Which brings me to my third point, zines. I love making zines so much, it feels personal and fulfilling and fun! However the Patreon issues make it harder to keep information in order about where to send zines, or even where to message folks about them. In addition to this, the post office has been a big barrier to me, oftentimes only being open at the same time as my dayjob. Making zines can take days, then sending them out is a whole other monster.

This work is so important to me. Drawing peoples fantasies, representing body types, creating work around sexuality and the human experience feels like what I'm meant to do. I've made comics since I was a kid. This is the dream to me. The friends I've been able to make through this work are so important to me, and the conversations have been invaluable. Not to mention fun! I wanna doodle, I wanna draw hot stuff, I wanna thirst over these dudes! I want to play!

But I also just want to be transparent about the barriers I'm working around to share that experience. I'm completely self taught, both in art AND in running shops, building websites, running 8 accounts, etc. I take a lot of time to learn the logistics of these things, and try to make them make sense for my relationship with y'all (I do not want to paywall my art!! I don't want to!!!). This year my desktop broke down (the main one I use for all paintings and digital art). I've paused my Etsy shops and my Patreon to try to catch up with things. Trying to learn to paint in a completely different program. Then lost my job with no savings.

At the end of the day I don't want anything to come between me sharing my art with you. I wish I could doodle a thing, take a picture, and post it here. No third party site, no shop, no subscription. Just sharing my art with you. I promise I'm trying to figure out how to stay as close to that as possible, and I want to thank y'all for sticking with me as I untangle all of that.

So, what can you expect in the near future?

I'm working on a couple of painting commissions right now, which you should be able to see in the next couple of days! I want to catch up on kinktober and get those posted as well. There's a comic commission in progress which I'm very eager to work on, and which I think y'all will be excited for! To ease the weight of the Patreon I think I may do less zines/polls there and more wips and process videos! If possible, I want to do more full colored work too.

Thank you again for enjoying my work, and if you have any input or tips my inbox is always open 🙏🫶💕

[cranberrymoons]

.

[thissmycomingofage]

Tumblr update the icons faster challenge

[aberooski]

Luke's solo album really is just Chazz - the album - sometimes and I don't like how that makes me feel.

[anaalnathrakhs]

i currently have both hair bleach and curly girl method-approved shampoo & conditioner in the bathroom closet engaged in an epic cage match whenever i’m not looking to see which will end up on my hair first