#the way Willi was looking at his eyes but then dropped his gaze to his lips and than back up

[lis-likes-fics]

aaron hotchner drabble

tw: none, fluff. 750 words

Aaron is a light sleeper. It just comes with being in his line of work. When he married you, sleep became a little easier to indulge in. He loves holding you as he sleeps, an arm around your waist, his nose nuzzled in your hair. You're a warmth he adores, and one he welcomes.

And you're also really funny.

Sometimes in a worrying kind of way.

The bed dips next to him sometime in the middle of the night, and Aaron is warmed by the movement and the chill that follows. His eyelids part heavily as he orders them to open like the agents he orders on the field. His sleepy gaze follows you out of the door of your bedroom, closing it behind you as you do. He lets out a groggy sigh, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Aaron shuffles the covers off his body and stands to his feet. He opens the door you closed and walks after you.

He comes up carefully behind you as you stand in the living room with a pillow in your hands. You're tapping on it like it's a tablet, giggling about something under your breath and then “typing” something out.

“Hey, honey,” he whispers, setting a hand on your waist so gently and he turns you to look at him. Your eyes are open, but you seem to look right through him, even as you snake a hand around his own waist. “What did you find?” he asks as he takes the pillow from you.

For a moment, he gets worried. Because as soon as you hear him, your smile drops and you look annoyed.

“I don't want to hear your excuses.” You give up the pillow, staring past him as you shake your head.

Oh?

“I'm sorry,” is what he says, wanting you to elaborate without accidentally upsetting you.

“You can't just give me wet-willies.”

Oh.

If the pillow hadn't proved it, your reprimand just did. Never in his life has he ever given you, or anyone for that matter, a wet-willy. You're sleepwalking again.

“Okay,” he chuckles lightly. “No more wet-willies.”

He rubs your back as you lean into him. You make no move to walk, so he just holds you.

“What about the baby?” you ask randomly.

He raises a brow, wondering what's going on in your head. You could be talking about Jack, but you've never called him “the baby” before. “What about the baby?” he counters.

You tilt your head. “Did you tell them?”

“Tell them what?”

You scoff, blinking strangely. “The goose bit a bug on the baby.”

Your nonsensical words amuse him to no end. Part of him feels guilty for finding this so entertaining. You've been a tad stressed lately, which is why you've been sleepwalking a little more than usual. But it's nothing the two of you can't handle.

“Is the baby okay?” he asks as he guides you slowly back to the room before Jack wakes up at the sounds of your voices.

You scoff again. “It's a baby.”

While that does answer his question, he takes it anyway. “Well, let's talk about it in bed,” he says.

You walk with him, though your words protest. “We can't.”

“Why not?”

“The zombies.”

Wow.

Aaron can't help the little chuckle that slips past his lips. He looks at you, “Where are the zombies, honey?”

“On the toaster.”

He loves you.

“How'd they get there?”

“Tap dance.”

“Tap dance?”

“On the sofa. Like this.” You raise your hand, wiggle your fingers, and then give a thumbs up. When you've finished, you drop it again at your side.

“That's really good,” he laughs, trying to be quiet as he leads you into the bedroom, closing the door behind him with his foot. You hum in response.

“Lay down,” he murmurs at your side of the bed.

“On the plank?”

He nods, his smile hurting his cheeks. “Yes, on the plank.”

“But there are sharks.”

He kisses your forehead fondly. “I'll protect you from sharks.”

“Okay.” You lay in bed, and he pulls the covers over your body and rounds to his side. When he's securely at your back, he wraps his arms around you once again and pulls you into his chest.

“Goodnight, honey,” he whispers into the back of your head. He kisses your shoulder, sighing gently. “I love you.”

“Love,” you mutter distantly, “like loaf. Bread.”

He smiles against your hair, rubbing your side. “Yes,” he says, lulling you back to sleep with soft touches. “Bread.”

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[crispywizardtale]

First of all Willi is gorgeous.

And now to my little ramble... it's the eye contact for me and the parted lips and the small eyebrow raise which you can barely see but I see it all too well! The way he dropped his gaze to his lips... He looks hazed and and lost in Focuses eyes or actually his presence, he is so I love with Focus and you can really see even if they have like 2 minutes of screen time all together

Focus not breaking the eye contact while having the biggest smile on his face. Tell me you are whipped without telling me you are whipped... and that small and slow blink... I can't do this

I know that Willi can kiss but I still had to pause when he kissed Focus because damn boy... I never kissed anyone so I won't talk about kisses much but that FELT deep! If I'm being honest Willi probably has one of the best kisses in Thao bl industry I said what I said

Between that hand that was on Focuses neck that moved to his leg and that other hand on his back I don't know which one is driving me more insane... Or perhaps it's the the fact that Focus is actually sitting on his lap??? Or or the fact that Focus had to groud himself by putting his hand on the wall???????

This one is just a gif I have nothing to say about it I have so much to say but I can't put it to words

Just gonna say holy shit Focus... But also his abs.. he looks amazing which isn't a surprise if his partner is Willi who love gym. I also wish we got more of this cut because Willi was about to put his head on his tiny waist and I just love seeing that

My God Willi that hand of your... that had is... from touching the lower belly to climbing up to his shoulder and back... there is something just so attractive about it and it's making me go insane. I am also not sure why they made Willi so wet they just started the activity he shouldn't be sweaty already but who am I to complain Willi looks even better

THE BITING?!?!?!?! THE BITING?!?!?! He was insane for that and I love it even more but not only the tiddies but the collarbone later...

I wasn't gonna include this gif but I had to when I rewatched it. The fuck me eyes Focus is giving and the parted breathless lips but also the moment he felt that Willi will pull him in he was ready.. Parting his lips even more and closing his eyes even before their lips touched. And the strong pull that Willi did on the back of his head which took him by surprise by what I see... I am not sure if that hand flying to Willis upper hand was scripted or not but to me it's more like Focus was trying to find balance after the neck pull...

Now this part was actually amazing, Focus being breathless and throwing his head back as Willi is kissing his way down?! And Focus flexing and moving away from Willi's lips????? That is some amazing acting! It's so realistic

And finally the collarbone biting while Focus has his hand pulling on Willi's hair and then Willi getting ready for another kiss... damn I was so not prepared but I enjoyed it. Willi can deliver amazing NC scenes hopefully this post won't get reported I spent over am hour on making this post

[lightsoutletsgo]

unpacking — ls.2 (18+)

pairing: logan sargeant x reader

word count: 1.6k of ✨ooooo they fuckin✨

warnings: smut!! creampie (don't be silly, wrap your willy!), squirting, light aftercare, blink-and-you'll-miss-it overstimulation, mentions of lingerie but no body descriptions, mentions of dom/sub vibes but no hardcore kink, reader is alluded to being in subspace at some points, names; sweet girl, baby

idk how I feel about this one tbh... but I have another logan smut in the works based on a request I got recently! as always, enjoy and feel free to request! happy reading! love mimi

“Fuck sweet girl, you feel so good.” You whined as you sat on Logan’s cock, his back pressing into the mattress. You weren’t quite sure how you’d gotten there. Well actually, you were.

You’d just moved in together and as you unpacked everything in your new apartment, Logan had found a box with all your lingerie in it. Safe to say he’d made you stop unpacking to wear it for him straight away. Nothing turned Logan on more than seeing you dressed in lingerie, especially in his team colours, patiently waiting for him as you looked up at him innocently. Ever since you’d started sleeping together, the two of you had easily slipped into more dominant and submissive roles. Logan relished in having control and you loved giving it up. Most of the time, Logan would give you instructions and guide you, but there were occasions where he would sit back and give you a little more control. Enjoying the way you'd lose it using his body for your pleasure So now here you were, desperately fucking yourself on Logan’s cock as he sat back against the headboard, hands behind his head as he watched you ride him. He groaned as you practically mewled. The need and desperation for him was making you slip further and further into that nice fuzzy head space. You whimpered as your thighs burned. It felt good but it wasn’t enough. It kept you teetering on the edge but wasn’t pushing you over. You didn’t want to ride him anymore, you just wanted him to take care of you. You leaned forward slightly, hands resting on his chest as tears welled up in your waterline, bottom lashes sparkling with the threat of them falling down your warm cheeks. Logan almost immediately noticed and was quick to sit up, wrapping one arm around you as he cupped your face with the other hand, thumb wiping the tears away, “What’s wrong baby?” You whimpered again as you felt him shift inside of you,

“Want you to take care of me…” You whined out, Logan cooed at you before turning the two of you over so you were led underneath him, 

“Oh baby, you want me to fuck you? You want me to fill you up with my cum?” You looked away from him at his lewd words, squirming and nodded shyly. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and one to your nose, making you giggle before he started to roll his hips into you again. You cried out as his tip pushed against that spot inside of you. His thick cock had barely breached your walls before he felt them clenching around him, squeezing and fluttering as your eyes rolled back and your thighs shook with a loud moan, “D-did you just cum?” He stared down at you incredulously, “Just from me sliding into you?” You gave an embarrassed whine, throwing one arm over your face to hide from his gaze. “Mhmm…” He stared at you in awe for a moment before his head dropped to your shoulder, kissing the bare skin there, “Fuck baby that’s so hot…”

He smirked down at you before nearly pulling out completely. You heard yourself whining again, desperate to feel him. You strangled out a choked moan as he plunged himself back into your dripping pussy, thrusting hard and deep. Your eyes rolled back as your hands flew up to tug at his hair, gasping when his head dropped to suck on your nipples. “My pretty baby,” he mumbled against your breast. Your hands fell limp either side of your head as he sucked on your nipples a little harder, scraping his teeth against them gently.

Logan growled as he looked down at your fucked out form. Your hair messy, eyes shut unable to keep them open, cheeks warm and drool spilling from the corners of your mouth as he sped his hips up, the sound of skin-on-skin filling the room. You finally found the strength to lift your arms, looping them round Logan’s torso. Your nails dug crescent marks into his shoulders and back as he carried you both higher towards the peak of your climax. You felt your legs shake as Logan picked them up, placing one on each of his broad shoulders as he pushed deeper, dragging the tip of his cock across the spots that made you shudder. His head was next to your ear as he grunted and growled out profanities, “Fuck sweet girl, your pussy is wrapped around me so nicely,”, “I’m gonna cum inside you, fill you up,” “Shit baby, I’m gonna cum,” Logan threw his head back as his hips sped up even faster, slapping against your thighs and ass as he pounded into you. All you could do was lie there and take it, head fuzzy. All you could think of was Logan. He was inside you, above you, all around you. Letting out breathy gasps and high pitched moans, you pulled him closer, “L-Logan! Gonna-gonna cum…” He kissed you sweetly, thumb moving down to rub soft circles on your clit. “Yes! Yes, fuck!” “Come on baby, cum on my cock… Good girl…” Your mouth fell open and your eyes rolled back as you felt your orgasm wash over you. Letting out a high pitched moan as your body shook, he carried on thrusting into you as he kept stroking your clit, the sensation starting to overstimulate you, thighs shaking as they wrapped around his waist. Logan groaned as your walls contracted around his length, pussy squeezing him tightly. The sight of you cumming underneath him and the way you still fluttered around him pushed him over the edge. He growled as he came, hot thick ropes of his cum filling you up before he collapsed on top of you, hips still rutting into you shallowly. The feeling of Logan cumming proved to be too much for you as you tumbled headfirst into another orgasm, this time releasing a gush of wetness. Logan’s mouth gaped as he looked down at you, “Baby, did you just squirt on me?” You hid your face, an embarrassed noise escaping out of your mouth once more. He laughed at your reaction before peppering kisses all over your face. “No, it’s cute baby!” He got up and slowly pulled out, causing you hiss at the sudden emptiness and feeling of his cum dripping out of your sensitive hole. He licked his lips at the sight, “Damn baby…” You shook your head and found the strength to pull your legs together. “No more Logan please!” He laughed softly, “I know baby, I know, I just think you look so fucking delectable.”

He gently poked your nose. You rolled onto your side, hiding your face in the covers at his words, feeling shy. He stood up from the bed and retreated to the bathroom and soon after you heard the sound of the bathroom tap turning on and water hitting the bottom of the bathtub. You felt your eyes slowly start to close as the exhaustion hit you. Logan entered the bedroom again with a glass of water, holding it out to you in one hand as his other hand gently stroked your cheek. He made you sip it slowly, smiling softly at you. Once you’d finished it you looked up at him, hands reaching out to him, “You still feeling a little fuzzy there, baby?” You nodded just wanting cuddles with him. He smiled at you fondly, “Cuddles in a minute sweet girl, need a bath first okay?” Huffing but nodding, you let him guide you to the bathroom. He helped you sit on the toilet before he turned to the bath to check the temperature and add your favourite bath bomb. He held you up as you washed your hands, eventually helping you step into the bath. With shaky legs, you climbed in.

“I’m gonna go and get you something to eat okay?” You shook her head, grabbing Logan’s wrist, “Want you to stay.” You pouted, eyes glassy,” “Okay, okay, I’ll stay.” He hushed you gently before climbing into the bath behind you, pulling you into his arms, fingers gently tracing up and down your arm as he soothed you. He rambled to you softly about anything and everything as he patiently waited for your head to get a little clearer. A little while later, you had calmed down and you were happily lazing with Logan in the bath, “We should get out now baby, you’re going to get cold.”

You looked up at him, pressing a kiss to his jawline before he untangled himself from you and stood up, getting out of the bath and wrapping a towel around his waist before he helped you out, wrapping your towel around you. He left the bathroom whilst you dried off and came back with a clean pair of underwear and one of your favourite big soft t-shirts. He helped you get dressed before he pulled on his own underwear and a pair of sweatpants and once you were dressed he led you to the living room where he sat down with you on the sofa. Immediately cuddling into his side, he looked down at you, kissing the top of your head with a fond smile, chuckling at the way you pressed your cold feet against his legs to warm up. “What do you want to eat baby?” You hummed thoughtfully for a moment, “Can we order pizza?” “Pizza it is!” Logan grabbed his phone with his free hand and placed the order whilst you grabbed the tv remote, “Put on whatever you want baby,” “Even a k-drama?” He laughed, poking your cheek gently with a grin, “Even a k-drama.” You sighed contentedly, snuggling up to him once more, safely wrapped up in his arms in your new home

The unpacking could wait another day.

₊˚❀.ೃ࿔*:･₊˚❀.ೃ࿔*:･₊˚❀.ೃ࿔*:･₊˚❀.ೃ࿔*:･

[mafiaanomaly]

"Can't wait any longer"

Tw: Smut, PUBLIC smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (Don't be silly, wrap your willy), quickie, swearing.

Summary: You and your husband Miguel can't seem to wait until after dinner to get each other alone.

"Ya'know, you've always looked so sexy in red."

You smile softly, fixing your earrings in the mirror one last time before turning toward where he was seated on the bed.

His gaze is already on you, filled with so much desire and love that your panties almost drop. You forgot how good he looks in a suit. Hair slicked back and the first two buttons of his black dress shirt undone. Not to mention his ass looked wonderful in those black slacks. Under any other circumstance, you would've had him laid in the bed immediately. But you hold it together.

Miguel watches you walk to him, hypnotized by the sway of your hips and the confidence of your walk in those damn heels.

God, he wanted those red bottoms in the air. Sitting pretty on each side of his head as he fucked you.

You can see the way his thoughts are headed by the way the red in his eyes seem to darken.

"No. Miggy, you promised." You playfully grabbed his cheeks and gave them a soft pinch. "You said we wouldn't miss this reservation. You swore. I got the shit on camera. We are not missing this dinner."

Miguel cursed under his breath. He doesn't regret the promise.

After all, you two had been trying to find the perfect day to have a date. But with Miguel so busy keeping the multi-verse intact and being the leader of the spider sociaty, and you were busy with running missions and leading other groups, there were hardly any days where the both of you could make time for each other.

Except for today. And you were not missing this opportunity.

"I know, sweetheart... Fuck, who bought you that dress? I might just kiss them."

"Well, I'm done using the bathroom if you need a minute with the mirror." You giggled as Miguel rolled his eyes, standing from the bed and offering you an arm.

"I'm guessing that means you're ready, mi amor?"

You smile softly at him and rise on your tiptoes to plant a small kiss on his lips.

"Only if you are handsome."

You should have taken Miguel's offer.

The whole dinner, you're forced to stare ahead of you at this chiseled, muscular, sex god.

You don't have to worry about Miguel, who remains on his best behavior. You have to worry about yourself.

You try, you really try, to listen to Miguel as he cracks joke after joke about his countless experiences. But you can't ignore the sticky wetness in your panties and the continuous throbs of your clit.

Miguel seems unaware of your distress, laughing out at his own jokes and wiping away invisible tears.

The heat gets so unbearable to the point to where you're one push away from ending this date early. And that push finally happens when Miguel looks up at you and flashes the overconfident smirk you fell in love with all those years ago.

You need this man right now.

Carefully slipping off one of your red bottoms, you raise a foot, hesitantly running it up Miguel's leg.

He cuts himself off with a slight flinch before looking at you, his eyes widened in surprise.

You bite your lip and peek at him through your lashes, hiking your leg up high enough to rub along his inner thigh.

His face becomes bright red and he clears his throat, straightening up and looking around in embarrassment.

"Mi amor? What are you doing...?"

You don't answer him immediately, letting your leg graze his semi-bulge that protrudes from his slacks. He lets out a soft grunt, trying to cover it up by swiping a hand down his face.

You lick your lips, red lipstick staining your tongue.

"I kinda have to use the restroom, Miggy..."

The grip you have on this sink honestly could have broken the thing.

You stare into the mirror in front of you, watching your husband's face as he fucks you from behind.

He'd lifted the back of your dress to rest right above your ass and slipped his cock out of his slacks for easy access before bending you over the restroom sink of the restaurant.

You both have a hard time keeping quiet. You muffle your moans and whimpers by biting your arms, nails uselessly scratching at the porcelain material of the sink as you hold onto it for dear life.

Miguel however, doesn't care much for quietness as he groans low without restraint, pounding into you with so much fervor that a loud slapping sound resounds around the small room. Your and his skin contacting with each hard and deep thrust, leaving red marks on your ass.

He stares at you through the mirror, cooing at how adorable you look.

"Oh, look at you Mi Corazon. You love it so much you're drooling all over that pretty dress. Making such a mess, pussy so drenched it's getting my pants wet. Oh no- Don't cry, sweetheart. You're doing so good for me. You can take it for a little longer, can't you?"

God, he makes you such a fucking mess.

Your body's on fire, drool and tears are drenching your dress, your pussy feels so worn and stretched it may never recover, and you're covered in sweat.

Yet you can't be bothered to care because your husband, Miguel O'hara, is rocking your fucking world right now.

You feel yourself getting close and are reduced to nothing but a desperate, babbling mess. You beg him, demand him, tell him you'll do anything if he'll just give you that sweet release you've been waiting for.

And when his hands grip your hips tighter and his thrusts become sloppy, you know he's about to give you exactly what you want.

And so he does. He cums with you and inside of you, throwing his head back. His voice cracks as a loud moan is released from deep within him. His entire body shudders and he takes a moment to catch his breath.

And you do too, spent and slumped on the clean restroom sink, drool and tears drying all over your face and dress.

You're pretty sure he just slutted you out.

There's silence as he pulls out of you, his release dripping from your poor hole.

The two of you make brief eye contact before bursting into quieted laughter.

"What the hell happened to having a 'proper date', hun?" Miguel asks, cleaning you up and fixing your dress for you. "I mean, not that I'm complaining-"

Before he can finish his sentence, the sound of banging startled you both.

"Hey! Whoever is in there needs to come out right now! You're both officially banned from this establishment!"

You and Miguel both look at each other.

"Well, shiet."

[fettuccin-e]

A Little Show

Kinktober Day 10: Stripping

Tags: Steven Grant x Reader, afab!fem!reader, lap dance, grinding, unprotected piv (don't be silly, wrap your willy), reader is a former stripper, a little bit of possessiveness from Steven, precious husband Steven is so lovely (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: So I know I'm late with this day, but it took me like forever to come up with something, and then I remembered our collective husband Steven Grant. I adore writing him so much so I had such a grand ol' time writing this. (I am using these prompts for Kinktober from flightlessangelwings!)

When Steven found out about what you used to do for a living, you’d braced for the worst.

Marc already knew, because of course he did. He probably conducted a full background check on you the moment Steven got the idea of asking you on a date. There was no hiding your old life from him, including being a stripper, just as he wasn’t able to hide from you, including Steven and Jake.

You’d known that Steven wouldn’t react badly. You knew he’d never yell at you, call you horrible names, kick you out of the flat. But it didn’t stop the paralyzing fear from kicking in. Of him letting you down easy, telling you that the two of you were just too different, that your morals just aren’t the same. So when you’d told him, you’d braced yourself for the first relationship you’d ever truly loved to go up in flames.

But fuck, you couldn’t have predicted this. For Steven’s eyes to darken as you describe what you used to do for an audience, his gaze dragging down your body in a way that has heat flooding down to your core. He’s silent for a few moments, and it makes you squirm in your seat. He mumbles something under his breath, definitely to himself, but you need to hear it.

“What, Steven?” you ask, steeling yourself against his inevitable rejection.

“Will you show me?” he chokes out, his cheeks flaming red, before he thinks better of himself, his eyes going wide. “Wait, shit, sorry love, no. God, it’s fine, of course it’s fine. I love you, yeah? Nothin’s going to change that anytime soon, I’ll tell you. ‘M just a bit jealous, y’know, in spite of myself, but fuck, shouldn’t have asked that. Just ignore that, yeah? I-”

“Steven,” you cut off his nervous rambling. “You want me to show you?” You can’t help how your voice dips a little deeper, a little raspier, in a way that you know gets Steven all hot and bothered.

“Um,” Steven clears his throat, fiddling with his hands. He won’t meet your eyes. “I mean, who wouldn’t, yeah? Got the most beautiful girl in the entire world, and-”

“You want me to strip for you?” you whisper, nudging his chin up with your hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, and you watch the motion of his tongue as it just barely wets his lips.

“Please, love,” he rasps, and God, when he begs for you like that, who are you to refuse him?

You rise above him, and his eyes follow you, unable to tear away for a moment. As you stand, you take a long look at him, at the way his cock bulges in his slacks, the way his hands flex helplessly at his sides. Steven doesn’t have the control that Marc or Jake have, he’s fucking desperate for it. 

There’s no music, no pumping bass of the club you used to work at, but God, you find that you don’t need it. The heat of Steven’s gaze is more than enough, watching you with bated breath as you undo the buttons of your shirt, one, by one, by one. You let it carelessly drop to the floor behind you, leaving you in just your bra. You don’t own the same frilly bras you used to, from your old life, but Steven looks at you like you’re wearing the sexiest lingerie he’s ever seen.

You toe off your shoes, grateful for the fact that you just wore flats today, and slowly unzip your jeans. There are so many ways that this is so different from how it used to be. You never started your dances in jeans, never danced without music and dark lighting, without the stench of sex and sweat hanging in the air.

You’ve never danced and needed the man in front of you, loved the man in front of you.

The feeling is heady, lust swimming through your veins and pooling in your cunt. You peel your jeans off slowly, letting them pool around your ankles, stepping towards Steven. Steven, whose mouth gapes open just slightly, watching you like he’s starving for it.

You straddle him on the couch, moving your hips over his crotch in a slow grind that has you both gasping. Grinning at the way he watches your body move like water over him, you reach behind you and deftly unclip your bra in a practiced move. You slide it down your arms, throwing it somewhere behind the couch. You grip onto Steven’s shoulders to hump into him harder, and Steven’s hands flex at his sides as if he’s unsure what to do with them.

“You know what’s different about this than what I used to do?” you murmur, your lips nearly brushing his.

“Hm?” Steven hums absently, watching your body undulate above him.

You smile down at him. “You actually get to touch.”

Pulling his hands into yours, you mold his hands to your skin, nearly shivering at the feel of them. It’s like Steven snaps out of a trace, groaning softly under his breath as he greedily runs his hands over your naked skin, cupping your breasts and thumbing at your nipples in a way that makes your head spin. 

“So- so fucking gorgeous for me, love,” he murmurs, tilting his head up for a kiss. You meet him without hesitation, slipping your tongue into his mouth and drinking him in. You hump into him harder, shamelessly grinding your clit into the obvious bulge tenting the front of his pants. "Can I fuck you?” he gasps into your mouth, “Please tell me I can fuck you, darling.”

You’re nodding before your brain can even think of a proper response, and Steven takes his hands off your body to fumble at the zipper of his slacks, tugging himself out without any kind of finesse. It feels like you’re both teenagers, desperately clawing at each other, trying to get closer, as close as you can possibly get.

You haphazardly tug your panties to the side, letting yourself sink down on his cock, slow enough to let you feel the stretch as he breaks you apart. The moans you both let out as you sink to the hilt are borderline animalistic. The both of you are strung too tight, too needy to take this slow.

“God, you’re so-” Stephen punches his hips up into you, making you claw at his shoulders, “so tight for me, my love.” You can only press your forehead to his, meeting his lips in a sticky kiss as you bounce desperately on his cock. He stretches you so perfectly like this, reaching deep inside and the tip of his cock pressing into your g-spot with every thrust. The moans you’re letting out are downright embarrassing, but God, you can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

“How many of them wanted you like this?” Steven grunts against your mouth, meeting you thrust for thrust. “How many of those men you danced for wanted you just like this, bouncing on their cocks like the needy girl you are?”

“Steven, oh my God,” you whimper, letting him guide you as he fucks up into you, his thick hands braced on your hips, holding you tight enough that your skin pales beneath his fingertips.

“You’re mine, darling, no one else gets to have you,” he snarls, in the way he gets when he’s with you, when he’s lost in the feel of you. “This little cunt is mine, yeah? My perfect girl, can’t believe we found you.”

He thrusts into you once, twice, and you’re curling into him, barely able to hold yourself up, as you gush down his cock. You sob his name as he leans forward to press hot kisses down your neck, and you curl your fingers into his hair as you shake through your orgasm. 

Steven isn’t far behind, plunging deep into your pussy as it contracts around him, filling you up, claiming you in the most primal way he can.

He holds you on his lap as you both try to come down, keeping you afloat. You lean up to press a gentle kiss to his lips as you finally feel your mind come back to you.

“Have you ever actually been to a strip club, Steven?” you ask, smiling.

“Don’t need to,” he sighs. “Don’t want to.”

You hum. “You might change your mind once you see what I can do on a pole.”

[strawberriescherrieskiwi]

Love language of each Timmy character?

Had a lot of fun doing this.

Paul- Word of affirmation.

Paul lies on his side gazing at your sleeping form. He doesn't know what he has done in a past life to deserve you. To be worthy of you, but he is forever grateful. Your eyes flutter open and you smile warmly at him.

His chest tightens and he moves closer to you. "My life is yours. I will love you until my heart stops beating. I will live, die, and love for you, my love."

Laurie- Quality time

"Laurie, I am just going to take this pie to the Jones and I'll be back. You didn't need to come," you said, one of your arms lopped through Laurie's as you both walked.

Laurie laughed, leaning over and kissing your cheek. "I know I didn't have to come, but I wanted to. I have nothing to do today but spend time with you."

"My days are quite boring," you warned him.

He hummed happily, walking even closer to you.

Hal - Word of affirmation & Physical touch

You lounged in the bath in your chamber with your eyes closed. Your handmaiden added more hot water before standing back. "You can leave," you said softly.

When she leaves you sigh happily. The door opens again and footsteps come your way. Clothes hit the floor and then Hal was getting into the tub with you. His chest presses tightly against your back and he drops kisses to your shoulder.

"Long day, my king?" You asked, rubbing your hands along his thighs.

"A very long. It is worth now that I get to be with my Queen. All the rubbish and scheming is worthless when I get to be pressed against you. I feel whole."

Lee- Physical touch

You sat on the ground in your empty apartment looking over newspaper ads for a job. Lee leaned against the wall staring at you with a small smile on his face. He couldn't believe he had a place, a home with you.

He got on his knees and crawled over to you, rubbing his nose into your arm.

"Lee," you giggled running your hand through his hair. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. I just want to be close to you," he said, moving to bury his face in your stomach. One of his arms wrapped around your waist and you laughed again.

"I'm trying to look for a job," you said.

He closed his eyes. "I won't bother you. I just want to be near you."

Wonka- giving gifts.

Willy opened the front door to your house, tripping over his own feet and almost dropping the things in his arms. "Flossy, I'm home," he calls out happily.

When you round the corner his eyes fill with love and adoration. You chuckled at the armful of things he has. "I see you went shopping," you teased taking some of the bags and helping him into the living room.

"Well I went with Noddle to get more Goat milk and we passed this little shop and I saw this little bear that I thought you would like. So I went in and there was this scarf and this wool jumper that I knew would keep you warm on nights I work late and next thing I know, I have 10 bags. All for you, my sweet."

Kyle-acts of service

You groaned waking up just thinking about the mountain of things you had to do today. You made a list last night and were not looking forward to it. Getting out of bed, you looked over at Kyle's side of the bed, but it was empty, and reaching out to touch it, you could tell he'd been gone a while. Looking at your nightstand, you frown seeing your list is gone.

Climbing out of bed you leave the bedroom and walk into the living room where Kyle is hunched over his Bass. "Morning," you mumbled sleepily. "Have you seen my list? I need to get started or it will take me all day."

"Kitchen counter," he mumbled back lowly.

Nodding, you kiss his cheek as you pass and go to grab your list. Only go see everything crossed off the list. Clothes washed, meal prepared for the week, gift for your best friend order, car washed.

You glanced over at Kyle, but he still was deep into his music. Grinning happily you bounced over to him. "Did you finish my list?"

"Nope," he said, but a hint of a smile was on his face.

[beenbaanbuun]

top hat and cane w/ arriba!mingi

words - i don’t know…

genre - smut

warnings - arriba!mingi, mean dom!mingi, degradation (slut, dumb), semi public masturbation, cane fucking (i’m so sorry), clothed sex, p in v, no protection, cum eating, choking kind of??, restraining kind of?????, cumming inside, please send help :D

——————————————————————————

watching mingi fumble round the stage dressed as willy wonka wasn’t exactly something you found yourself attracted to

the man underneath was a different story

you quite often fumbled under mingi’s sharp gaze that stares you down like he’s a lion and you’re his prey

but the top hat and the cane? you’d have to pass up on that opportunity

at the end of the song he comes rushing off the stage in his usual mingi way; all gangly and sweet and with zero evidence of the persona he’d just been flaunting

but then his eyes land on you and he straightens up before strutting towards you

you feel the cold metal of his cane pressing against your chin and tilting your head up to look at him, and before you know it your mind is blank

he whips his sunglasses off and folds them up, trailing them down your neck to hook them over the neckline on your tshirt

you gulp as you feel his finger linger on the fabric for a few seconds, just tugging it down ever-so-slightly before releasing it

“what do we have here?” his voice has dropped an octave and it goes straight to your core

you squeeze your thighs together and hope he doesn’t notice

by the way he quirks his brow, you can tell he does

if you didn’t have a cane holding you in place, you’d have dropped your gaze by now but instead you have no choice but to let him stare you down

“pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he mutters as he lets his face dip in closer until his lips graze against your earlobe, “a dirty little slut by the looks of it too. you’re fooling no one, sweetie.”

his words completely numb your brain until all you can think is mingi, mingi, mingi again and again

but just as he forces your mind to take a nosedive into nothingness, he pulls away

his lips are gone, and the cane is gone, and all of a sudden your boyfriend is standing in front of you with his usual wonky grin

“i have to go back on stage soon, sunshine,” he pouts as he takes his hat off and places it gently on your head, “look after that for me until i’m finished, okay?”

and you nod, because there’s no way you can even begin to farm a coherent sentence when your brain is still uselessly chanting his name

“good girl,” he giggles as he spins and passes you his cane before running off towards the stylists

you don’t watch the rest of the performance

you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold it together if you do

so instead you find an abandoned room somewhere backstage with nothing in it other than an old leather couch

you sit there, letting your short skirt lift up as you do so

your wet panties press directly against the leather, but you can’t find it in you to care about the mark it will inevitably leave

no, the only thing on your mind is the ache that sits low in your stomach

you could ignore it, but the longer you do the greater it gets

your clit is begging to be touched at this point, but you don’t know if you should

you don’t know how long you have left until the show is finished, and you have to be out front again to great your boyfriend and pretend that his stupid willy wonka cosplay hasn’t sent you spiralling into the depths of depravity

but judging by the noise outside, you assume that you maybe have 15 minutes until the show is over?

and you can be quick if you really want to

skip the self-foreplay and just go straight for the orgasm that you so desperately desire

with a sigh, you let your hand push your panties to the side and you relish the feeling of the cold air against your wet folds

you whine into the empty room as your fingers begin to rub against your slit, spreading the moisture up and down until you decide your clit is suitably lubed up

your fingers focus there next, rubbing gentle circles against the throbbing bundle of nerves that had been desperately begging for some relief ever since mingi called you a slut

he was kind of right, though

only a slut would be so desperately desperately playing with themselves in a public room, with a door that doesn’t even lock, on a sofa that isn’t theirs

the thought makes you moan, a mixture of anxiety and arousal bubbling up inside of you and causing your fingers to increase their pace

you’re quickly approaching your high, but it’s not enough

it’s on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t quite push yourself far enough to reach it

you need something inside of you

your eyes flicker to the side, landing on the cane

the head of it is a bulbous orb, and upon studying it for a few seconds, you reach the decision that it’s probably about the same width as your boyfriend’s cock

you whine at the thoughts rushing through your head, but before you can push them away, your idle hand is rushing forwards the grab the stem of the cane and pull it closer

the cold sphere is pressed to your core before you know it, and all it takes is a little pressure before it slips inside with a squelch

it’s cold and big, and it almost makes you squeal as you push it further inside, but god does it feel good

it stretches you open perfectly and you were right about it being the same size as mingi

it pushes at your gooey walls just like he does, and when it brushes against the squishy membrane that feels so fucking good, you finally let go

your orgasm is long and hard and leaves you deaf for just a few seconds

it would be fine, except for the fact that it means you don’t even notice the click of the door opening

“my, my,” a familiar voice grabs your attention and you turn your head quickly to where your boyfriend is shutting the door behind himself, “what do we have here?”

he walks to the corner of the room where an empty desk chair sits and grabs it

you watch as he takes it back the the door, using it to barricade the only way into the room

“dumb slut didn’t even make sure no one else would walk in,” he grunts as he turns to you, stalking closer and closer until he’s able to wrap a hand around your slack jaw, “although i bet you would’ve loved it wouldn’t you?”

you whimper as he crouches down just low enough to wrap a hand around the stem on the cane that still sits inside of you

he twists it once, letting it brush against your g-spot ever so gently

the way your eyes roll into the back of your head just makes him bark out a laugh

“you really were desperate, hm?” he tugs at the cane once more, pulling at it until he manages to completely pull it free

the pyrex ball glistens as your wetness coats it, dripping down it slowly

mingi studies it for a second before lifting it up to your face

“lick it clean,” he orders, “you messed it up so it’s your duty to clean it up, right?”

and you can’t argue with that logic, so you don’t

you let your tongue dart out and lick a stripe up the orb before fully wrapping your lips around it

you cheeks hollow out and you try your hardest to maintain eye contact with your boyfriend

but as you dip your head forward, the hat slips and covers your vision

you whine and lift your hand to take it off, but a sharp stinging sensation rings through it and you pull it back

“i thought i told you to look after that until i’m finished, slut,” he pushes it firmly back to where it sat before, “be a good girl and listen.”

mingi pulls the cane free with a pop

part of you expects him to just put it to the side and forget about it for a while as he fucks you into the couch

but instead you feel the thin base of it press against your chest as he pushes you back against the leather

it travels up to your chin so he can lift it once more

and when your eyes settle on his, all you can see is lust

pure, unadulterated lust

the cane retracts briefly, just long enough for mingi to undo his trousers and drop them along with his boxers

and then it’s back at your neck, only this time he’s holding it lengthways between his two hands and using it to pin you down

it’s gentle enough not to hurt you, but there’s still enough pressure for your breath to catch every time you inhale

“now, my little slut,” he grows as he straddles you, hard dick slipping against your folds, “use your pretty little hands and slip me inside, hm?”

you nod, well, as well as you can with a cane pressed against your throat

“y-yes, mingi,” you whimper as your hands go to grasp at the heavy appendage that’s leaking precum against your already stretched out hole

“good slut,” he spits out as you line him up so he can push inside, “let me fuck you just as good as my cane did. let me stretch you out and and fill you up, sweetie. it’s what little sluts like you deserve, isn’t it.”

he begins to thrust rhythmically into you, hips smacking against yours with such vigour and desperation that it reminds you of how you were playing with yourself not too long ago

it’s clear by his pants that he needs it just as bad as you do, and when his pace quickens, you realise that you are the cane in this situation

he’s just using you to get himself off, and fuck that’s hot

the thought makes you clench around him and he grunts loud and deep in response

“f-fucking play with yourself,” he says through clenched teeth, “wanna feel you c-cum around me, sweetie. always feels so good.”

and you do as he says as though it’s law

desperate fingers find your clit, just as they had earlier, and begin to rub sloppy circles against the wet bud

it’s still sensitive from your little self-pleasuring session and you can’t help the way your hips jerk up to meet his own

if his hands were free, you had no doubt he’d pin you down, but for now all he can do is glare

“did i say you could fucking move?” he says through gritted teeth, although the whine that follows it undercuts the domineering tone slightly, “f-fucking stay still or you won’t get anything.”

and you know that isn’t true - mingi’s never left you high and dry before, and you doubt the big softie is about to start now - but it still sends a wave of fear down your spine

sure, you’d already cum tonight, but there’s nothing wrong with being a little greedy

so you focus your mind on keeping your hips glued to the couch as you continue to chase the high that’s getting closer and closer

it happens a lot quicker this time, with an already sensitive clit and your boyfriend’s heavy cock pressing against your cervix again and again

before you know it, your body is quickening slightly and your walls are tightening against your boyfriend

the sensation makes his hips still against yours, and with a breathy moan, he releases his own load deep into you

the pressure of the cane is gone before you know it, quickly replaced by the pressure of mingi’s overgrown body as he lays down on top of you

his hand is quick to knock the top hat off of your head, and you watch as it bounces off of the couch, landing on the floor

fingers lace themselves within your hair and begin to rub against your scalp in a weird, half-hearted massage

“you did so well,” he finally mumbles against your ear, “such a good girl for me, sunshine.”

you nod, tiredly against his neck

“you were hot,” you mutter, “m’sorry i couldn’t wait for you to get here.”

he just chuckles

“you’re kidding, right?” he pushes himself up so he can see you properly, but you can’t help but whine at the loss of contact, “walking in on you fucking yourself with my cane was probably the hottest thing i’ve ever seen. i’ll be cumming to that memory forever.”

you giggle

“now come on, sunshine,” he slips out of you and stands up onto shaky legs, “let’s get you up and back to the hotel, okay? i need to take care of you and i’m sure as hell not doing it here.”

he pulls his pants back on and watches as you slip your panties back into place and smooth out your skirt

“good girl,” he whispers, “my good girl.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 9: Clarence House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, Adventures with Aegon (ft. Sunfyre the Ferret), Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, and no more hints for you, start reading!!!

Word Count: 8.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰🧁

He returns in an afternoon of inescapable golden sunlight, hot and muggy, bumble bees and ladybugs wheeling lazily above tall grass, cumulus clouds like tufts of cotton in a sky the color of Aemond’s eye. You hear him talking to Cadi—she’s out in the front yard making mud pies, earth for sugar and sprinkles of stray pelican feathers—and then the weight of his footsteps on the sinking, sloping porch. He opens the door, never locked, and walks through the living room into the kitchen. From behind, his arms circle around your waist; and you’ve missed him so much—dreaming of waves and storms, chains and blood—that you have nothing for him but softness, gentle smiles and a voice hushed with relief.

“How was Norway?” you ask as you roll out dough on the counter. You’re making a buttermilk pie.

“Fine,” Aemond says, resting his chin on your shoulder. But he sounds tired, low.

You turn around to look at him, raising your fingertips to his unscarred right cheek; he won’t tolerate you touching the left. You leave a dusting of flour across his skin like snow, which you have never seen in person and likely never will. The air conditioner is humming. The little pink Panasonic boombox is playing Africa by Toto. “Did something happen?”

“I just missed you.” Then he brightens. “But I was greeted by some very welcome news when I got back to the house this morning.” He’s wearing his neon teal duffle bag. He drops it to the floor and unzips it; inside you glimpse several Nintendo game cartridges, presumably for Cadi. And you think: I’m always here making things, he’s always bringing them from far away. Aemond takes two small dark blue booklets out of a pocket in the inner lining of the duffle bag and gives them to you. On the front of each is embossed in gold lettering, along with an emblem of a bald eagle: Passport, United States of America.

“…Aemond?!”

“There’s one for you and one for Cadi. I submitted the forms a month ago, but even with expedited processing it took this long. Ridiculous. What does the government do all day besides hunt down social programs to defund?”

“But…but…” You open one of the booklets. A photograph of your own face gazes back at you, serious and serene, taken against the white wall of your bedroom before you knew about Aemond being a Targaryen, or Christabel, or Amir’s exodus to San Franscisco, or the profound futility of everything, it seems. “How…?”

“I took the pictures, obviously. The rest was easy enough to find. You store birth certificates and social security cards the same place where you keep the business records that Amir showed me. Typically people have to go to a passport agency in person, but Criston and I have ways around that. Your signature might have been forged on the applications…but I suspect you won’t be filing any police reports.” Aemond grins, pleased with himself. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s definitely surprising.” You stare down at the passports, amazed. “Aemond…this is a lot. But you already know that.”

“The whole time I was gone, I was wishing you could be there too. And now I can take you anywhere.”

Your heart is pounding, helpless childlike exhilaration. “Where are we going?”

“Clarence House in London.”

London: it’s another world, a distant planet, a constellation whose name you don’t know, the lost city of Atlantis.“Clarence House? Is that a hotel?”

“It’s a royal residence,” Aemond says, amused. “It’s officially the home of the Queen Mother, but the whole family goes to Balmoral in Scotland every summer, and while they’re gone they often rent out one wing to guests, not just anyone, trusted people like distant cousins or longtime, aristocratic friends. And the Targaryens…”

“You’re marrying Christabel, and she’s nobility. So you’re basically nobility now too.”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, a little guiltily, perhaps. “But you’re the person I’m inviting.”

“And Cadi.”

Now he’s genuinely puzzled. “Of course. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

Maybe I can handle this. Maybe I can make this work.

And you climb onto your tiptoes to circle your arms around the back of his neck, embracing him, thanking him, thinking: Christabel will have his ring, his last name, his family’s mansion, his acquiescent kiss at the altar of the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens…but I have what he’s made of, dreams, soul, bones in the abyss of an ocean of blood. Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~

First class, cheerful stewardesses, an array of magazines purchased from a gift shop in New Orleans International Airport: the National Enquirer and Food & Wine for you, The Face and Smithsonian for Aemond, and National Geographic Kids and Zoobooks for Cadi. The Zoobooks animal this month is the eagle, how quintessentially American. You are served antipasto Italiano, shrimp cocktail, Perrier, and champagne (Cadi gets a Shirley Temple) over the Atlantic Ocean. Aemond shows you and Cadi how to chew gum to pop your ears as the pressure builds to pain. When there is turbulence and he leans in close to tell you everything is fine, Aemond smells like Wrigley’s Doublemint, cologne, Marlboro cigarettes like the logo on his red and white jacket. You press your palm to the cool window, and clouds float by through the gaps between your fingers. The world is older than anything you could fathom; the world is brand new.

There is a black limousine waiting outside Terminal 3 of Heathrow Airport. The driver gets out to load the sparse luggage: Aemond’s teal duffle bag, a frayed and battered rolling suitcase that you borrowed from your mother, a Super Mario Bros. backpack that you found for Cadi at Kmart. Aemond doesn’t have much time to spare, only 4 days, practically a long weekend; but it feels like an eternity stretches out in front of you as the limousine zooms through the narrow, winding streets of downtown London, Starship’s We Built This City piping from the radio. You have never had more than a few uninterrupted hours with Aemond before. Now you will have a hundred.

The London air is cool, grey, misty; fresh rainwater bleeds into puddles, dark pools of mirrorlike reflections. With the windows rolled down and clean slate-colored air unfurling in your lungs, Aemond points to the landmarks you pass: Gunnersbury Park, Chiswick House and its gardens, cathedrals, museums, shopping districts, centuries-old cemeteries, stations of the London Underground, the River Thames, Hyde Park, the Ritz Hotel, Buckingham Palace, Saint James’ Palace, and at last Clarence House. It is a boxy white four-story townhouse with columns at the entranceway that remind you of the Targaryens’ estate on the shore of Lake Verret, the beautiful yet temporary home they call The Last Desire.

Aemond says that the entire first floor will be yours for the duration of your stay. There is the Lancaster Room, red and gold, and the Morning Room of creams and weak watery blue. There is the Library, the Dining Room, and the vibrantly pink Horse Corridor named for its ample equine paintings and sculptures; Cadi immediately proclaims this to be the best part of the house. She lingers in the hallway examining the art pieces as you and Aemond proceed to the Garden Room, which looks out upon a sea of lavender and shrubs meticulously shaped into a maze no higher than your waist. It has a golden harp and a grand piano, and a vast bed large enough for at least five people, in your estimation. I wonder if Aemond has ever tried that, you think distractedly. I wonder if there are temptations I can’t satisfy for him.

“You and Cadi can have this room,” Aemond says. He keeps wincing and bringing his hand up to the left side of his face; you doubt he’s even aware of it. “I’ll sleep on one of the couches.” Of course he will; Cadi thinks you’re just friends, and she’s aware he’s getting married to someone else. He knew exactly what it would mean when he bought a passport for her. “Queen Elizabeth and her husband Philip lived here before she ascended to the throne. They loved it so much that at first they refused to move to Buckingham Palace, which is the traditional residence of the reigning monarch. But their insolence was worn down. No one gets to break the rules.”

I shouldn’t be in this place, you keep thinking as you gaze around at the portraits on the wall, the stiff unnatural photographs of royals, the vases, the chandeliers, the fireplaces, the plush intricate rugs, the garden on the other side of the windows. People like me don’t belong here. “Aemond, are you alright?”

“It’s my eye,” he confesses with an uneasy, apologetic smirk. “Sometimes flights…the altitude changes…it aggravates the nerve damage. It’s like needles in my skull. But I’ll be okay.”

“You fly a lot for work, don’t you?” You hurt yourself for Viserys, in body and soul.

“I do,” he agrees. He unzips his duffle bag and produces a bottle of Percocet. “Why do you think I carry these around?”

“Take one,” you say. “Lie down, rest. Cadi and I can entertain ourselves for a few hours.”

He’s relieved, he’s grateful. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You can even borrow the bed.”

“Back between your sheets, huh?” Aemond says, in pain but smiling through it. He draws a semicircle from the part in your hair down to your chin, a weightless sweep of his fingertips like a kind breeze. “You are incurable. You can’t resist me.”

“I have my own scheme in mind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” You grab the front of his Marlboro jacket, appropriate for the overcast London weather. He belongs here, this house, this city, this way of life. He wasn’t made for the primordial heat of the swamplands. You fold into him, close enough to tease, to quicken his heartbeat and momentarily clear the wounded furrows from his brow. “I want my pillows to smell like you. I want to breathe you in all night. It’s how I sleep best.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint,” Aemond says, a little stunned; but he’s elated too. For a moment, you’ve distracted him from his suffering entirely. “I’ll roll around all over them. I will mar the bedding irrevocably, the Queen Mother will never invite me back.” And he watches as you leave, his gaze transfixed and meditative and—more than anything else—hopeful.

“Hey, honey,” you say when you find Cadi in the Horse Corridor, poking a 100-year-old oil painting that she is definitely not supposed to be touching. “Let’s go explore and grab some dinner. Aemond isn’t feeling great, but we’ll hang out with him later.”

“Is it his face?”

You are startled. She knows so much. “Yeah, actually, it is.”

“He showed me,” Cadi says casually, still peering up at the horse; and you remember the day when he took her out to the front yard after she said she wished you were more like her friends’ mothers. “He even let me touch it. Radical, right? It’s so gross, but super cool too.”

Aemond couldn’t stand for me to see how he was maimed, but he forced himself to endure it for Cadi. “What did he tell you?”

“That I should appreciate having a good mom, because not all parents treat their kids right. He said his dad let his eye get crushed. And he told me he’d bet $1 million that you’d snap someone’s neck if they hurt me like that.”

You reach out to skim your fingers through her dark disheveled hair, smiling faintly, fondly. Cadi doesn’t seem to mind. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Can we get fish and chips?”

“Totally. I have 50 British pounds in my wallet, I assume that’s enough for dinner.”

“Wow! How much is 50 pounds in dollars?”

“I have no idea,” you say. “Let’s go spend them.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the evenings, you, Cadi, and Aemond gather around the television in the Lancaster Room and help yourself to the extensive VHS collection stocked for guests. You let Cadi pick: Raiders Of The Lost Ark, The Terminator, Firestarter, the Karate Kid, Aliens. You make popcorn in the extravagant kitchen in the basement of Clarence House and the three of you devour bowlfuls of it as you giggle on the couch, engulfed with throw pillows and playfully kicking at each other beneath the blankets. One night at Cadi’s request you bake Betty Crocker’s Party Rainbow Chip cupcakes with mix purchased at a Tesco down the street; on another you make hot chocolate to sip from antique tea cups. Each day, Aemond has new destinations picked out to tour. You ride the Underground like true Londoners to the Hampton Court Palace, the British Museum, Westminster Abbey, the Natural History Museum, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, Tower Bridge, the National Gallery, the Kew Gardens, Imperial College where Aemond received the petroleum engineering degree he never wanted.

As he shows you the classrooms where he attended lectures and seminars—you aren’t sure what the difference is, though you can sense that there is one—Aemond doesn’t talk about math or oil drilling. Instead, he tells you and Cadi about the people he learned about in the history classes he managed to slip into his exacting schedule like splinters into flesh: Sir Harold Gillies who pioneered plastic surgery in his treatment of World War I veterans, Phillis Wheatley who was enslaved as a child and became a renowned poet and abolitionist, Boudicca who led a rebellion against the Roman invaders and upon her defeat succumbed to some tragic, enigmatic doom. Aemond loves stories like this, you can see the light that sparks into the crystalline blue of his right eye. There is nothing he deems more heroic than people who took circumstances beyond their control and made something worthwhile out of them.

The night before the flight back to New Orleans, you’re staring at the crown molding of the Garden Room as Cadi snores softly from the other end of the massive bed and silvery moonlight covers the world. You can’t stop your thoughts from roiling like the North Sea; you can’t stop thinking about desks and chairs and books and clever blue-blooded girls jotting down in their notebooks not cake orders but mathematical equations or dates of conquest. When you breathe in the smoke and cologne Aemond left on your pillows, it tastes dark and forbidden. You climb out of the bed, roomy Bob Dylan t-shirt, pink cotton shorts, hair loose and wild, bare feet.

He is outside pacing around the sundial in the center of the garden, puffing on a Marlboro cigarette and pondering the full moon. “Can’t sleep?” Aemond asks, exhaling smoke as he glances over at you.

“You must think I’m stupid.”

“What?” He stops pacing. “Why?”

“Imperial College,” you say. “And the sorts of people who go to places like that. You must have known a lot of women who could recite Shakespear and name all the kings of England, all of Jupiter’s moons. Things I never learned. Things that I have no use for. I don’t write books or design machines or study the secrets of the universe. I bake cupcakes.”

“And they’re brilliant,” Aemond says, smiling. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“No?”

“No,” Aemond insists. “I think that if you’d been born where I was, you would have done far more with it.”

“Aemond…” You walk across the wet cobblestones to meet him by the sundial. It’s been raining again. The night air is chilly, foggy, painting you with goosebumps. “You still have time to become who you want to be.”

“No. I don’t.”

It’s coming from somewhere, distant but still audible, a parked car or a nearby building: Kyrie by Mr. Mister. Aemond chuckles, flicks the end of his cigarette into the lavender bushes—surely against the rules—and takes your hands in his.

“I remember this,” he says as he dances with you slowly, clumsily; you don’t know the steps. Still, you don’t want him to stop. “In your kitchen.”

He remembers everything. “Right before we went to Olive Garden for the first time.”

He sighs, pretending to be exasperated. “Of course that’s the part you committed to memory.”

“I’ve held onto a few other details too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like how small the back seat of your Audi Quattro is.”

“A limousine would be far more comfortable. I should invest in one.”

You laugh as he twirls you and you trip over your own feet; he pulls you upright before you can fall to the slick cobblestones. And you think: This is real. No matter what happens between him and anyone else, what we have is safe and extraordinary and real.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cupcake,” Aemond murmurs through your hair, holding you without seeking more. “You and Cadi.”

You want him again, or you’re so close to wanting him that the line is less of a boundary than a quagmire, indistinct edges and quicksand that can drag you down to drown in it. “I never knew that this was possible. Thank you, Aemond.”

“It can be like this all the time.”

Not all the time, you think, knowing that there will always be Jade Dragon, the Targaryens, the stock market, the world, the past and the future, Christabel. But some of it.

Is that enough?

~~~~~~~~~~

Willis agreed to you and Aemond taking Cadi out of the country on one condition: that you return her to him the second you arrive back in Napoleonville. It’s late Tuesday afternoon when the plane’s wheels hit the runway and squeal to a halt. Aemond has left his red Audi in the Park-and-Ride lot. You collect the car and soar west on Route 10 into the red-gold horizon, chasing the setting sun.

“Daddy!” Cadi bellows when she throws open the front door of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office, waving his gift bag excitedly. Inside is a refrigerator magnet, several packages of McVitie’s Digestives in different flavors, and a miniature red-coated Queen’s Guard to keep on his desk, perpetually covered with disorganized papers and crumbs from innumerable desserts. From her poster on the wall, Heather Locklear simpers at you. At the center of the dartboard, poor Tommy Lee is impaled in four different places.

“Comment ca va, cherie?!” Willis opens his arms to hug Cadi when she barrels into him. He guffaws, his eyes are shiny; he has missed her. “Ya had a real good time, I reckon?”

“It was totally tubular. But I’m glad I’m home now. Can I get a horse? His name is Patches and I love him.”

“Huh? What the hell ya need a horse for?” He peeks around Cadi to look at you, a curious blue gaze beneath the thick dark bangs of his mullet. “What’s she talkin’ ‘bout, sugar?”

Beside you, Aemond groans irritably. Then you hear a voice from one of the holding cells, almost always empty: “Hey, cake lady.”

“Aegon?!” you and Aemond say at once, and sure enough, when you check the last holding cell there he is: unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, blue shorts, rainbow flip flops, hair like he’s been in a hurricane, a new eyebrow piercing.

Aemond asks Willis: “What did he do?”

Willis picks up a clipboard from his cluttered desk and begins reading. “Possession with intent to distribute cocaine—”

“I told you, I wasn’t distributing anything! It was for me!”

“Aegon, shut up,” Aemond pleads.

“Possession with intent to distribute marijuana, possession of drug paraphernalia, possession of methamphetamine less than 28 grams, operatin’ a vehicle while intoxicated, possession of MDMA, possession of alcoholic beverages in a motor vehicle, operatin’ a vehicle with a suspended license, resistin’ an officer…” Willis flips the page. “Speedin’, reckless drivin’, disturbin’ the peace while in an intoxicated condition, possession with intent to distribute Xanax, theft—”

“What the hell did you steal?!” Aemond demands.

“Burritos. I forgot my wallet at home.” Now Aegon is indignant. “But I saidI’d get them back! They didn’t need to call anybody about it!”

“Aegon, Taco Bell does not offer payment plans!”

“I can release him to ya, I guess,” Willis tells Aemond in a slow drawl.

“I really appreciate that. I’m so sorry about him, I’m absolutely mortified, I’ll pay whatever fines you want—”

“Wait, no,” Aegon says, panicked. His hands are gripped around the iron bars. “I don’t want to leave.”

Aemond stares at him. “You’re asking to stay in jail…?”

“I can’t go home. Stephanie’s there.”

“Of course she’s there. You knew she was flying in for the wedding.”

“Please let me stay here until she goes back to Monaco.”

“Definitely not. How’s everything else?”

“There’s something wrong with one of the Lake Verret rigs. Viserys mentioned a…a…I don’t remember, a dirt dump or something.”

“A mud pump?!”

“Yeah! That’s it. That’s what he said. It exploded.”

“Fuck,” Aemond hisses, then remembers that Cadi’s still there. She gives him a sly grin. You messed up, she means. Aemond looks to you, apologetic, disappointed. “I’m going to have to drop you off and then head straight home. There are messes to be mopped up.”

“No,” Aegon moans as Willis unlocks the holding cell and then wrestles him out of it when Aegon resists. “No, I’m a felon! I’m a danger to the public!”

“Don’t,” Aemond snaps, and this time his brother listens.

You say goodbye to Cadi—she barely notices—but as you go to follow Aemond and Aegon out of the Sheriff’s Office, she has a question. “Aemond?”

He stops. “Yeah, Cadi?”

“Can I go to the wedding?”

“Weddin’?!” Willis exclaims. “Already?!”

“Not mine,” you say.

“You really want to go?” Aemond asks Cadi with some reticence. But he seems to be considering it.

“Well, yeah. Mom said she and Amir are going. You’ll be there. Lots of cake will be there. And I’ve never been to a wedding before. I want to see what it’s like.”

Aemond turns to you, then to Willis, searching for permission. “It’s alright with me,” Willis says. “As long as someone there is keepin’ an eye on her.”

“It’s your choice,” you tell Cadi. “If you’re interested, I have no objections. But you have to be nice to Christabel.”

“Christabel?!” Willis says.

“That’s Aemond’s fiancée.” And there is a collective uncomfortable silence: Willis nodding slowly as he squints at you, Cadi chewing on her thumbnail, Aemond looking down at his Adidas sneakers, Aegon staring vacuously at the Heather Locklear poster on the wall.

With Aegon squeezed into the back seat, Aemond drops you off at the home Cadi calls the Fall-Down House. The new house hasn’t closed yet, but probably will in the next week. The adolescent gator is sunbathing in the last of the daylight in one corner of the yard; you can hear the pink Panasonic boombox inside playing Another One Bites The Dust.

“Ho, you’re back!” Amir cries, jubilant. He hugs you energetically, staining you with the flour on his hands; he’s been watching the bakery while you’ve been gone and keeping every cent of the profits in recognition of his labor, as agreed upon. “How was London?”

You give him his souvenir: a purple t-shirt with Princess Diana’s face on it. “Rainy. Wonderful.”

“Did you have any kinky sex in the royal grandma’s bed?”

“No,” you say, laughing. “But it was…I don’t know how to describe it. Calm. Normal. Easy. Like we could live that way forever.”

“So you’ve decided to be his Camilla.”

“Some moments I have. Other times I haven’t. But more and more, I just…” You try to decide what you mean. “The thought of giving him up feels impossible. And Christabel…they’re so distant with each other, so disconnected, so platonic. Their relationship doesn’t feel real. Maybe I can ignore it. Maybe this is the best I can hope for.”

Amir pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose and raises an eyebrow. “It might feel more real in three days.”

The rehearsal dinner is on Friday; the wedding is only 24 hours later.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You really should consider writing a cookbook, dear,” Alicent says from where she sits across from you. The dining room table is covered with flickering pink candles, bouquets of wildflowers, drinks garnished with cotton candy and Pop Rocks. Balloons bump against the ceilings, their long ribbons streaming down like the tentacles of a jellyfish. The stereo is thumping out Caught Up In You by 38 Special. Everything is pink and red: the colors of love. Yet just like at the engagement party, no one is talking about the couple getting married tomorrow. You could almost forget that there’s going to be a wedding. That makes it easier; and if denial is the terrain you live on now, so be it. That is far less agonizing than the alternative.

“Oh, no,” you demur, taking a sip of a cotton candy cocktail. You exchange a glance with Aemond, sitting several seats down from his mother. He is in a suit—black and white, fitted, faultless—and smiling, proud of you. “A book?! I couldn’t. Not in a million years.” I never even finished high school English.

“But all of my friends from home are captivated by your recipes, darling, and it would be so much easier if I could simply send them a copy of a cookbook rather than trying to describe every dish to them! Please consider it. Do you promise?”

“That I’ll think about it? Not too taxing a commitment. I suppose so.”

“Good,” Alicent chirps, then turns to whisper something to Criston, who drapes an arm briefly across her shoulders and gives her a reassuring little embrace. Amir is chatting with Aemond about San Franscisco. Christabel is talking to Helaena, who has been forced into a voluminous, magenta taffeta dress that she clearly despises; her chameleon Dreamfyre lurches around the table, occasionally stealing tastes of people’s food. Daeron, with Tessarion perched on the back of his chair, is trying to discuss something called seismic testing results with Viserys but getting ignored. Viserys is deep in conversation with Christabel’s father, the marquess, a large loud man whose booming voice drowns out everyone else. The two of them seem delighted, celebratory, very much in their own world. Their schemes have come at last to fruition. Christabel has several younger sisters in attendance—her bridesmaids—but no mother. You gather from pieces of dialogue you’ve overheard that her mother died when she was a child, a terrible and irreparable loss. Otto is so bored he’s flipping through a picture book about Kiribati. Aegon’s wife, Princess Stephanie of Monaco, is a headstrong, charismatic, and rather critical woman with short dark hair. She notifies Aegon each and every time he fails her, which happens frequently: You’re using the wrong fork. You missed a button on your shirt. You haven’t fucked me properly in over two years. You didn’t send flowers to my grandma’s funeral. This is evidently Aegon’s worst nightmare; he has disappeared upstairs in an effort to escape her.

Dinner is finished, and dessert has been brought by the servants. It turned out more like a crepe cake than a Napoleon cake—the layers of puff pastry didn’t want to fluff up as much as they should have—but no one seems to notice. This time, you and Amir knew the dress code expectations. You are both wearing black to fade into the backdrop like shadows, like distant memories. You are invited guests, but you are also locals, inferiors, recipients of charity.

“Where’s Aegon?” Helaena says. “He has to try this cake, it’s delicious! The cherry jam cuts the heaviness of the cream and pastry dough and makes it a perfect dessert for summer! And the color is delightful! It looks just like blood!”

“Where the hell is he?” Viserys demands, looking around, twisting in his chair. “It’s his brother’s rehearsal dinner, for Christ’s sake. One night of this importance and he can’t handle it? I swear to God, if he’s snorting or smoking anything up there I’ll have him committed to an institution—”

“I’ll find him,” you offer as you stand from the table. You have to visit the bathroom anyway, too many glitzy pink cocktails; two birds, one stone. You depart from the table and Aemond’s gaze follows you, a low heat that is building towards incineration, a baiting promise of dark euphoria that you can no longer pretend you don’t want desperately, defenselessly. Christabel gives you a sweet little wave. She is dripping in gold—dress, heels, jewelry—and seems happier tonight, more self-assured. Perhaps with the wedding so close, her trepidation concerning Aemond’s commitment has evaporated. Surely it is too late to call off the ceremony now. Tonight they feast, tomorrow they recite their vows, and then…

But no, you don’t think about the honeymoon. You will not allow yourself to. It can’t exist to you, and that is how you’ll survive this. Christabel will be in one universe, you in another, two timelines that never cross like something out of Star Trek. And the way she and Aemond interact is so impersonal, so untactile, that it is not so difficult to treat anything beyond chaste pecks on cheeks as an impossibility.

At the top of the staircase, Vhagar is lurking. She wags her long twiglike tail when she sees you and licks the knuckles of your left hand. You give her a pat on the head—and then several more when she whines as you try to leave—then at last she lopes off down the hallway.

Aegon is exactly where you’d assumed he’d be. He’s in his bedroom hunched over his computer and hammering furiously at the keyboard. There’s white powder on his fingers and in his thin mustache. On the screen, bizarrely, is what appears to be neon green grass and an ox-drawn wagon like the ones from the pioneer days. Sunfyre the ferret is stretched out across the bed napping, his angular face resting on his paws.

Aegon whirls around to face you. He is wearing a lime green satin suit but has forgotten to put on a shirt under it. “What? What? What do you want? I’m playing Oregon Trail. I have dysentery.”

“You have what…? Never mind, it’s not important. You need to come downstairs and eat some dessert. People are wondering where you are.”

“I’m busy.”

“If you don’t make an appearance on your own, Viserys will come looking for you. Also there are some Cap’n Crunch treats I left on the kitchen counter that you might be interested in.”

“Consider me tempted. I’ll be down momentarily.”

“You better be,” you tell Aegon, then retrace your steps back to the kitchen. Amir and Christabel are both there getting cans of Pepsi from the fridge and making very cumbersome small talk…or perhaps only Amir thinks it is that much of a burden. Christabel is chattering blithely away about different types of wildflowers. He gives you a look like Oh thank God, an excuse to escape and wastes no time heading back to the dining room.

“Did you notice what’s playing now?” he asks you just before he vanishes, then points towards the stereo in the grand foyer. You listen; it’s Money For Nothing by Dire Straits. “You think they know this song is about class warfare?”

“You should tell them,” you joke.

“Yeah, if I want to end up on Unsolved Mysteries.” Then Amir is gone.

“How are you doing?” you ask Christabel to be polite. You open the refrigerator and start hunting for your own can of Pepsi. “Excited? Nervous? You seem a little more relaxed than the last time I saw you. Are the wedding jitters finally dissipating?”

“They are,” she says, and when you glance back at her she is wearing a bashful sort of smile. It’s not an expression you can read. You resume digging through the refrigerator for a can of Pepsi; Amir and Christabel might have taken the last ones.

“That’s good,” you say noncommittally, hoping she’ll leave. But Christabel doesn’t leave. She seems to have something she needs to say. Just as you spy a lone can of Pepsi at the very back of the refrigerator and lean in to grab it, she proceeds to unburden herself.

“Well, you know, I was so concerned about me and Aemond before. I had no conviction that he especially liked me, and we never had anything to talk about, and he was so dreadfully undemonstrative…I was just beside myself, truly. I didn’t know what to do. But I feel much better about everything now. Norway was so good for us.”

Norway?

You close the refrigerator, your ice-cold Pepsi can clutched in your hand. You’re going cold all over. Slowly, you turn towards Christabel, glittering in her gold dress.

Norway???

“He took you on the North Sea trip.” You hear the words, but it doesn’t feel like you’ve said them. They sound flat and dazed.

“It’s a bit of a secret,” Christabel says; and again, her smile has no cruelty or sharp awareness in it, but her cheeks are pink. She’s blushing. What does she have to be embarrassed about? “My father doesn’t know. He wouldn’t approve. But I just felt…I felt ready, you know? I’m sure you understand what I mean. You aren’t so clinical and aloof about everything. I had to know if Aemond and I really had something between us before we got married.”

“You felt…ready?” Ready for what? Ready for WHAT, Christabel?

“I asked Aemond to take me with him. I begged, actually.” She giggles. “I won’t try to be proud about it! And finally he said yes. We stayed at a lovely hotel in Bergen, and during the day he would have to fly by helicopter out to the rigs, but at night…”

You’re staring blankly at her. You can’t believe what you think she’s going to say. Surely it must be something else, anything else—

“It wasn’t my plan to ever be intimate with a man before marriage, but sometimes…things change. Minds change, circumstances change. And I knew I wanted it. And it went so well! Now what do I have to be nervous about? All the uncertainties are resolved. Now we just sign the paperwork and start our lives together.”

He took her to Norway.

He slept with her in Norway.

“I hope it was just as good for him,” Christabel muses, a compulsive sort of oversharing. But she has had a few cocktails and she thinks you’re nonjudgemental and there’s probably not a single other soul she feels she can be truthful with…so why not the girl who got knocked up at prom and had a baby at seventeen? Surely she’s in no position to judge. “It’ll be even better once we can…you know. When we’re officially trying for a baby and there’s no need to worry about any precautions. I want Aemond to enjoy himself as much as possible. I want to be a good wife to him.”

You feel dizzy; you feel violently ill. And now you see everything: Aemond kissing her with his mouth open and ravenous, his hands between her legs, his hips pressed to hers, peeling off her clothes and learning how to make her moan, make her wet, make her come, and you think of how careful he must have been with her, a girl with no past, no ex-husband, no childbirth that nearly killed her, no stretchmarks and no baggage, just a smooth pristine rivulet of flesh that was so pure and uncontaminated it was weightless, and you can hear—though you don’t want to, though it feels like it will kill you—how tender he was, how encouraging, not a dominant who drinks down fantasies like a vampire sustained by blood but just a man, and a man who has at last found a woman he doesn’t need to grab, bite, bruise, handcuff to a bedpost to feel satisfied with.

He took her to Norway and he never told me.

You are saying something, and Christabel is nodding appreciatively, accepting the sage wisdom of a tarnished life. Your words don’t matter. They are folktales and charms, the croaks of bullfrogs, the whispers of the wind through Spanish moss, the Morse code of ripples in the water of the bayou. You are a novelty and your counsel is a souvenir; one day when she is living in California or Argentina or Australia or Alaska or her ancestral castle back in the U.K., Christabel will tell Aemond’s children: Once I met a nice single mom from Napoleonville Louisiana, and she told me to follow my heart and not let anyone shame me for wanting to be close with my soon-to-be husband.

Vhagar trots into the kitchen and begins nudging her massive head against Christabel’s bare knees. “Hi, big girl!” Christabel coos as she pets the blue merle Great Dane, clearly accustomed to this. “Who’s a giant gorgeous girl? You are!”

What did I expect? I knew they were getting married. I knew they were going to sleep together.

Yes, you knew it, but you hadn’t felt it, and now you have.

I can’t do this, you realize. I thought I could but I can’t.

“Christabel?” Alicent is calling like a windchime. “Darling, there are just a few more things we have to discuss before tomorrow, will you come back to the table please?”

“On my way!” Christabel replies obediently, and she gives you a quick, impulsive hug before vanishing.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to have a heart attack. I’m going to drop dead right in the middle of this fucking kitchen.

Leaving your can of Pepsi forgotten on the countertop, you escape to the living room and then out the French doors into the garden. You run past the pool all the way to the pond full of multicolored fish you once hadn’t known were koi. You drop to your knees, then lie down on the cold cobblestones, and when it hits you again—Aemond touching her, Aemond loving her—you rupture into sobs that are breathless and shuddering. You try to stifle the noise with your palms; you clasp them over your mouth and smother your wails. It feels like you’re being ripped apart; it feels like you’re in labor, but there is no end, no consolation of a new life, no point at which your body chooses whether you live or die. It is only a razored wheel that turns in you again and again and again, shredding muscle and splitting bones.

There is a hand on your shoulder; someone is patting it awkwardly. You look up to see Aegon standing there. “Sorry,” he says. “You look…not good.”

“I’m really not good. I’m fucking terrible.” Your face is soaked and stinging with tears, your voice is strangled.

“Do you want some coke?”

“No, Aegon.”

“Do you want a ride home?”

“From you? Yeah, for sure, getting impaled by a stop sign would be a great next move for me.”

“I’m totally fine to drive.”

“Can you just pull Amir aside without anyone else noticing and tell him to say his goodbyes and then meet me in the driveway, please? He drove me here. I need him to take me home.”

“Okay,” Aegon says, and then: “Thanks for the Cap’n Crunch Treats. Thanks for remembering something I like and caring enough to bring more. No one really does that around here.” And he’s gone before you can think of a reply.

To get to the driveway without going though the house, you climb over a 5-foot wrought iron fence swarmed with rosebushes and ivy, no easy feat in a black Kmart dress and matching ballet flats. You acquire a dozen shallow gashes on your hands and forearms, but make it to the Ford Escort just in time for Amir to meet you under the full, cloudless moon, tossing his car keys from one hand to the other.

“What did—?” Then he sees your face. He gasps, knowing how bad it is. He’s never seen you like this. He didn’t know it was possible for you to look like this. He unlocks the Ford Escort and joins you inside, turning the key in the ignition. “What the fuck did Aemond do to you?!”

“I have to go home. It’s over, it’s over, I can’t do this.”

Amir is spinning out of the driveway. “Did he hurt you, did he—?!”

“He fucked Christabel in Norway,” you say, sobbing uncontrollably. “And I know I have no right to be jealous, I know we don’t have a conventional relationship, I thought I could handle this but I can’t. I can’t stop picturing him with her, and hearing it, and I…I…I don’t understand why this hurts so goddamn bad.”

“Babe,” Amir says gently, a palm on your trembling thigh. “You’re in love with him. That’s why.”

“This is killing me,” you whisper. You’re shaking all over. You feel like you’re battling for every breath.

Your best friend—your only friend—is quiet for a long time. “Don’t go tomorrow,” Amir finally says. “You don’t need to see the wedding. You shouldn’t put yourself through that. I’ll go, I can handle the cake alone, especially if Cadi’s with me to help with carrying plates and stuff.”

You don’t say anything. You stare out the nightscape window and mop tears from your face with McDonald’s napkins you find in Amir’s glovebox.

“Did you hear me? I don’t think you should go to the wedding tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you agree hoarsely. “I can’t watch them have my wedding.”

“Willis is dropping Cadi off in the morning, right? I’ll pick her and the cake up from your house and bring her back when it’s over. You can tell her whatever you want…you have another cake order to work on, you’re sick, you’re injured, your mom needs a ride to the doctor, whatever.”

“Okay,” you whimper.

“Hey, look at me.”

You do, sniffling, shivering, in agony.

“You don’t deserve this. You deserve better than this.”

I don’t think I do. I think if I did, it would have happened by now. But you know Amir will not accept this answer. “Okay,” you say again, trying to make yourself believe it.

In the gravel driveway of your sinking house, Amir asks if you want him to say. You tell him no, you want to be alone, you have to think, you have to plan. Really, you just don’t want anyone to see you this shattered. It’s humiliating, it’s like you’re an animal, like something less than human needing to licks its wounds in a dark place. You walk into the Fall-Down House and flip on the kitchen light, artificial yellow luminance. You don’t start the air conditioner. You don’t touch the Panasonic boombox. You stand there mindlessly in the sounds of the bayou: cicada screams, owl hoots, the far-away hissing of gators. The wedding cake is in the refrigerator, banana bread, cream cheese frosting, a kaleidoscope of wildflowers painted by Amir’s expert hand. He’s leaving. Aemond’s leaving. Everyone is leaving.

There are tires crunching on gravel in the driveway, there are footsteps on the sloping porch. He is able to yank the door open because you never lock it. He blows in like a storm that kills.

“What the hell happened?!” Aemond shouts. “Why did you leave?! You didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye to me—”

“You took her to Norway.”

Aemond’s face goes from furious to lost. “Why would she tell you that?”

Not That’s not true, not Let me explain, not It didn’t mean anything. Your stomach sinks, a basket full of stones. “Because she thinks I’m her friend.”

“It wasn’t…” Aemond sighs. “It was a last-minute thing, and it was her idea. She really, really wanted to go to Norway, and I figured…you know…what’s the difference between the wedding night and a few weeks before it? So yeah, it happened—”

“Oh God,” you whisper, starting to sob again.

“And then I came home to your house, to your doorstep, because I missed you the entire time. The entire time, every hour, every minute, and there are no exceptions, okay, are you listening to me? I took her to Norway because I had to. I took you and Cadi to Clarence House because I wanted to. What I do with her is a reflex, an obligation, I’m on autopilot, I’m thinking of you to get myself hard, I don’t know how else to express to you how completely different these situation are in every single goddamn way.”

“She said it was good,” you say huskily, tears snaking down your cheeks that are raw from trying to dab them dry.

“Of course it was good for her!” Aemond flings back. “I’ve had a lot of casual sex, I know how to make women come, it’s a math equation, it doesn’t mean we’re soulmates!”

“I know I have no claim to you, but I…” You gaze out the kitchen window, dark and still, nothing to see but stars and lighting bugs. “I can’t do this.”

Aemond asks, kindly now: “What do you want?”

I want to not have to beg you to choose me. “I want this to be over.”

“No,” he says, panicking. “No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You’re going to give this up as soon as it gets painful? I’m not worth fighting for, what I can do for you and Cadi isn’t worth a little pain? Because I’m no stranger to it either. You think I’m not hurting, you think nothing ever keeps me awake at night?”

“You could leave your prison any time you want to. But instead you built a brand new one around me.”

“You don’t understand what the kind of responsibility I’m beholden to feels like.”

“Yeah, a town named after Napoleon is the right place for you,” you seethe, enraged. “You’ve felt so fucking small your whole life that now you’re starving for what it tastes like to be in control. But I can’t let you destroy me. I can’t let my daughter grow up watching me settle for less than I need from a man. She’ll learn to live the same way.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Aemond,” you say, and you wait until he looks at you. “Do you really want children?”

When he answers, his voice frayed and his right eye misty. “I love Cadi.”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want children of your own with Christabel?”

“I have to,” he says, miserable.

“No,” you plead. “You cannot have a baby with that girl. You can’t, Aemond. You are going to ruin so many lives, not just your own.”

“I have to,” he says again.

“Then get out. Viserys owns you, and Viserys wouldn’t want you here. He would want you back at the mansion impregnating your child bride.”

“She’s a legal adult, she’s 19, and she wants me, she begs for me, I’m not twisting her arm—”

“Then go!” you roar, striking him hard, both palms to his chest. Aemond doesn’t budge. “Get out, go home, go have kids you won’t give a fuck about just like Viserys never cared about you. Go repeat the cycle all over again. I’m done. I can’t be a part of it.”

“I won’t be like him,” Aemond swears.

“You will be. You already are.” You shove him again, but still, Aemond doesn’t move. You know what he’s waiting for, you know the right word to say. But you can’t get it to launch from your lips; it catches in your throat like a blade through the windpipe. “Get out!”

Your fingers hook into the lapels of his black suit jacket and stay there; you can’t let go. You’re both breathing heavily; you can hear it, you can feel the heat in the air. You keep his jacket gripped in your hands, he can move no closer, no farther away. When he leans into you, you breathe in his smoke and cologne; when his hands cradle your face, you feel the benevolent power that once gave you peace.

I want him. I need him. Not forever, no, I understand that’s not possible. But just for right now.

You look up at him and Aemond kisses you, his lips and tongue claiming you like untouched land; he puts down roots, he slits the jugulars of trespassers.

Here. Now.

You drag him down with you. When you drop to the floor, you strike the back of your skull against the scuffed, sloping wood and bite back a yelp.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Aemond says, though it isn’t his fault; he reaches for your head and cushions it with his right hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You’re tearing open his white shirt; tiny translucent buttons go flying in every direction. Your palms glide over his chest, up to his throat, to his jaw, to knot in his hair. He reaches beneath your dress to slide off your panties, then buries his fingers between your legs. You moan helplessly, needfully, spreading your thighs wider for him. No man has ever been able to do this to you before: to make you forget everything, to make you feel—if only for a moment—beloved, worthy, chosen. He’s kissing you like he knows this is the last time. You’re touching the left side of his face and he doesn’t even notice, he won’t realize until later that there was a time when he was cured.

Aemond pulls his wallet out of the pocket of his suit pants, flips it open, and roots through it until he finds a condom. He starts to rip it open, moving with desperate speed, dire impatience.

“No, don’t,” you say. “Please don’t. I want all of you.” And I won’t get another chance.

He exhales in deep, ecstatic relief; he wants it too. You’re soaked, you’re ready, you’re aching for him like mending bones. He eases himself into you, gasping, and you are stunned by how good it feels already, how close you are, every rope of nerves and muscle glimmering with an opening heat that builds higher and higher, the reverse of a tornado finally touching down on earth. His hands are linked with yours and pinned to the floor above your head; he’s kissing you, he’s moaning into you, he thrusts deeper and harder when you beg him to do it.

Aemond untangles one hand from yours and reaches low to stroke you. Your fingers find his again and catch him, capture him, bring his hand back to the floor where it can be entwined with yours and his weight can hold it to the scraped wood. “I don’t need it, I’m close. Stay here. Stay with me.”

“I’m here,” he whispers, panting; and the friction of his body against yours overtakes you, and when you come it is blinding, bone-breaking, a whirlpool that traps you for what feels like over a minute, soaring highs punctuated by the illusion of fading over and over again until you think you can’t stand it, and only then does it end, Aemond collapsing on the floor beside you covered in your sweat and your wetness, you feeling the remnants of him bleeding down your bare thighs.

You drag yourself upright—muscles sore in your belly and back and thighs—and roll onto your knees so you can stagger to your feet. You tug on your panties so he doesn’t drip out of you onto the floor. Then you straighten the skirt of your black dress, turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox—it’s a U2 song, Where The Streets Have No Name—and begin washing a muffin tin that was left in the sink.

Aemond stands up and runs a hand through his hair, getting his bearings. He looks down at his pants and fixes his zipper and belt. He tries to close his shirt and then remembers you tore off the buttons. They lie scattered across the floor, useless.

As you scrub the muffin tin, you hear Aemond’s footsteps behind you. His palms begin at the small of your back and then skate around your waist to encircle you.

“Stop,” you tell him; and immediately his hands fall away. Aemond waits for you to say more, but you don’t. You don’t even look at him.

He walks to where the kitchen becomes the living room—you can tell by the creaks in the floor—and again, he waits. After a while he says: “I’ll call you when the new house is ready.”

“No. Have Criston handle it. I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

“You get that I’m in love with you, right?” Aemond forces out, and when at last you turn to him there is the metallic glistening of tears on his right cheek. “I never feel this way about anyone. I don’t know how to handle it, I didn’t even know it was possible. But it’s true.”

“It’s not enough,” you say simply, and resume scrubbing the muffin tin.

He waits in silence, thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes. Then the door opens and shuts—like the jaws of a beast—and he’s gone.

[riordanness]

for a moment — [w.wonka]

wordcount: 0.7K

warnings: reader has panic attack/ptsd

requested: yes! anon

Sometimes, the best things in life are free. Friends, family, laughter, chocolate.

I didn’t have a family anymore, but I had Noodle, and now I had Willy too. So I had both friends and laughter, and a lot of chocolate.

But sometimes the free things in life aren’t the best. Sometimes they’re horrible, like gut wrenching pieces of news, or an insult so severe it cuts you right to your core. Or sometimes, it’s just a panic attack.

My heart was racing, my legs felt like big lumps of air-dry clay, and my throat was tight and scratchy. I felt like I could breathe, and my body was crumpled and shaking, tucked away in a corner of an abandoned doorway.

I hear voices faintly in the distance, but they sound as if they’re filtering through many layers of water.

I feel disassociated from my own body, like I’m not even really here. I’m separated from the outside world, but also myself. It’s disorienting.

I feel somebody dropping to their knees beside me, warm, firm hands grasping my arms tightly. I blink the hot tears out of my eyes, and see Willy’s distressed gaze fixing on mine.

“Y/n?” he asks, his voice in that oddly high-pitched way it always is when he gets worried. I don’t know why I know this fact.

I can’t answer, so I don’t. I still have a completely irrational swirl of fear inside of me, spinning further and faster out of control, threatening to make me break down and cry again.

“Hey, hey.” Willy forces me to look at him again. “I’m here,” he assures. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I try to focus on his pretty eyes. His curls are dishevelled, a few falling in the way of his eyes in a way I know he hates, but he isn’t trying to fix his hair right now. All of his attention is directly on me.

His light fingertips hold my chin up, forcing my gaze onto his. I hold it, focusing on everything about him. He smells like chocolate, all the best kinds.

“Breathe with me,” he instructs gently. “In, out. In…”

I copy him, taking the deepest breath I can, although it’s shallow and shaky. I follow his lead as he breathes out, long and slow.

“Better?” Willy asks.

I nod my head a little. “A bit.” I inhale again, but my breath catches in my throat and I almost cry again.

“Can you sing?” I ask, tears in my eyes. “Please?”

Willy nods, and his arms circle me as he sits on the floor beside me.

“Come with me… and you’ll be… in a world of pure imagination…”

His voice, soft and quiet, takes me to a special place. I close my eyes and listen, feel his breathing underneath me as his chest rises and falls slowly, feel his arms as they hold me close.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispers into my hair. “I’ve got you, and you’re going to be okay.”

I smile a little, burying myself further into him. I feel so safe here, safe in his arms. I take another deep breath, and I thank my lucky stars for Willy Wonka.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asks again.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Thank you, Willy. Thank you so much.”

I slowly pull myself up, letting myself untangle from his arms. My hair is a mess, and I have dried tears on my cheeks, but I also have a smile on my face.

He reaches up, brushes my cheek, and smiles. “You’re welcome.”

I stare into his eyes for a moment, half in awe, half in love.

But then, before I can think or say or do anything, Noodle opens the door. “Y/n? Willy? What are you guys going?”

I glance up at her. “Hey, Noodle.”

“Hey.” She plops down on the floor beside me. “Are you alright?”

I nod once. “Willy helped me. It was another panic attack.”

Noodle nods slowly. She knows about my attacks. She’s known for ages; in fact, she was the first person I ever told about them. Noddle reaches over and puts her hand on my knee. “I love you, y/n,” she says gently. I smile, and put my hand over hers.

“And I love you, Noodle.”

Willy smiles, a little awkwardly, at us both. Noodle rolls her eyes. “We love you too, Willy.”

He grins for real this time, and Noodle and I both give him a hug at the same time. He has one arm around each of us, and he presses a quick kiss on my cheek.

Noodle sees, and gives me a look, but I choose to ignore her, and to just enjoy this feeling of being safe, being loved, and being happy. Because for a moment, life doesn’t seem quite so bad.

[ginnyluvstimmy]

his favourite chocolate (willy wonka x f.reader)

[ where willy wonka is exhausted and needs your touch ]

Willy is exhausted.

I could sense it before I saw it: from the way he silently dropped his hat on the furniture in the entryway, to the way he refrained from turning on the lights as he made his way to your bedroom; as if he were trying to minimize his existence, to muffle the sounds he leaves in his wake so that the world would finally allow him to rest.

Or maybe I just knew it from the way your heart clenched in his chest as soon as I heard him open the door to my apartment.

I had been worried about him all week, feeling that his soul was a little heavier to carry, harder to care for because of all the chocolate-making work heaped on him.

(Maybe he was still haunted by the oompa loompa, poor him).

I stand up quickly, meeting him halfway at the entrance to my room.

His gaze softens the moment he settles on me, with slightly puffy eyes and disheveled brown hair: he is beautiful, even when he is completely tired.

“Hey, Willy,” I greet him, opening my arms wide to welcome him.

He sinks into my embrace, sighing softly when his forehead presses into my shoulder blade.

I rub my hands over his back reassuringly, willing the tension in his body to dissipate, leave his bones and seep into mine.

I would do anything to lighten his load, even if it meant adding one to mine.

"You ate?" I ask after a while, as my hand strokes the back of his hair.

He just shakes his head against my body, a soft exhale escaping him and crossing my skin, like skipping stones through a still river.

"Let's eat together, huh?" I suggest, gently pulling away from him.

"I made you dinner."

He manages to respond with a tired smile, and the light in his eyes still seemed dull to me.

But if I kiss his cheek and the corners of his mouth lift a little more I would make a little progress.

I lead him by the hand into the kitchen, placing him on the stool before heating up the previously prepared meal.

I move quickly, plating the food and pouring him his favorite drink.

My hand silently brushes his shoulder as I sit across from him.

We both eat in silence, with his warm palm pressed against my knee. I didn't always need words to fill the house: my love spoke louder than the syllables created by the chocolatier.

"Thanks baby," Willy whispers when he's finished, a smile gracing his plump lips.

It's brighter and the light in his eyes shines even brighter when I kiss him back.

I can't help but press my lips against his again, and again, and again, hoping that with each kiss the lights will gradually come on inside him, one by one.

“You can take a shower while I clean up, okay?” I look at him smiling, lips still teasing close to each other. He tilts his head up, placing a kiss on my cold nose in gratitude.

Some time later, Willy climbs onto my bed, the smell of his shampoo tickling my nostrils.

He's wearing a black choker, the one I warmed up for him in advance.

I hoped the warmth of the soft material would seep into his soul, lighting candles where the rain seems to have finally stopped. I retrieve my moisturizer from the nightstand, before straddling Willy's lap.

He shifts slightly, resting his back against the headboard, allowing you to sit comfortably on his belly button.

I scoop up some cooling cream, before lathering it onto his skin.

His eyebrows are furrowed slightly as I massage them gently, I miss the way his eyes twinkle as he looks at me- the twinkling lights are on for me again.

He grabs my wrist, stopping my movement, before turning it over and placing a tender kiss on my wrist.

The ghost of his breathing sends shivers down my spine, and I respond by placing a small kiss on the palm of his hand, before moving up his arm, his shoulder, then his jaw. The chocolate maker chuckles softly as I shower kisses all over his face, making sure no inch of skin is left behind.

His face is moistened with moisturizer, a pink hue tints his cheeks from my kisses, and he looks so incredibly beautiful when I finally wrap my hand around the back of his neck, lowering my head to meet his lips in a tender kiss.

Seconds quickly turn into minutes, not that I can imagine as our mouths move lazily against each other, time no longer exists for the two of you.

"I love you," she whispers, as I pull away, slightly dazed.

I cradle his cheek gently, running my thumb tenderly from his temple to my eye,

"I love you too." I turn off the light, before settling myself against her chest.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me impossibly closer.

I can feel her heart beating beneath me, a steady rhythm that will be the backdrop to my dreams later that night.

Willy smells like chocolate chips and a faint whisper of his cologne that never leaves his clothes, even after laundry.

I disentangle myself slightly from his grip, moving until his face nestles in the crook of my neck.

"I want to hug you tonight," I whisper, as his fingers run through her slightly damp hair.

"Thank you," he says softly, pausing to kiss my collarbone.

“Thank you for being my favorite chocolate.”

His body is snug against mine, a comforting warmth emanating from him to me. Holding him in your arms is like hugging the clouds and sinking into velvet pillows, it's like coming home where all the lights are on, lazily waiting for him to return.

[viaoverthemoon]

Can't Wait <3

Leon x Fem!Reader

I am bored yet again. Time to write about my husband! ;)

Summary: You and your husband Leon can't seem to wait until after dinner to get each other alone. <3

18+!! MDNI!! Sexual themes ahead!!

Tw: Smut, PUBLIC smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (Don't be silly, wrap your willy), quickie, swearing.

Enjoy! :)

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"Ya'know, you've always looked so sexy in red."

You smile softly, fixing your earrings in the mirror one last time before turning toward where he was seated on the bed.

His gaze is already on you, filled with so much desire and love that your panties almost drop. You forgot how good he looks in a suit. Hair slicked back and the first two buttons of his black dress shirt undone. Not to mention his ass looked wonderful in those black slacks. Under any other circumstance, you would've had him laid in the bed immediately. But you hold it together.

Leon watches you walk to him, hypnotized by the sway of your hips and the confidence of your walk in those damn heels.

God, he wanted those red bottoms in the air. Sitting pretty on each side of his head as he fucked you.

You can see the way his thoughts are headed by the way the blue in his eyes seem to darken.

"No. Leon, you promised." You playfully grabbed his cheeks and gave them a soft pinch. "You said we wouldn't miss this reservation. You swore. I got the shit on camera. We are not missing this dinner."

Leon cursed under his breath. He doesn't regret the promise.

After all, you two had been trying to find the perfect day to have a date. But with Leon so busy escaping death, and you busy with running your newly successful company, there were hardly any days where the both of you could make time for each other.

Except for today. And you were not missing this opportunity.

"I know, sweetheart... Fuck, who bought you that dress? I might just kiss them."

"Well, I'm done using the bathroom if you need a minute with the mirror." You giggled as Leon rolled his eyes, standing from the bed and offering you an arm.

"I'm guessing that means you're ready, angel?"

You smile softly at him and rise on your tiptoes to plant a small kiss on his lips.

"Only if you are handsome."

☆

You should have taken Leon's offer.

The whole dinner, you're forced to stare ahead of you at this chiseled, muscular, sex god.

You don't have to worry about Leon, who remains on his best behavior. You have to worry about yourself.

You try, you really try, to listen to Leon as he cracks joke after joke about his countless traumatic experiences. But you can't ignore the sticky wetness in your panties and the continuous throbs of your clit.

Leon seems unaware of your distress, laughing out at his own jokes and wiping away invisible tears.

The heat gets so unbearable to the point to where you're one push away from ending this date early. And that push finally happens when Leon looks up at you and flashes the overconfident smirk you fell in love with all those years ago.

You need this man right now.

Carefully slipping off one of your red bottoms, you raise a foot, hesitantly running it up Leon's leg.

He cuts himself off with a slight flinch before looking at you, his eyes widened in surprise.

You bite your lip and peek at him through your lashes, hiking your leg up high enough to rub along his inner thigh.

His face becomes bright red and he clears his throat, straightening up and looking around in embarrassment.

"Sweetheart? What are you doing...?"

You don't answer him immediately, letting your leg graze his semi-bulge that protrudes from his slacks. He lets out a soft grunt, trying to cover it up by swiping a hand down his face.

You lick your lips, red lipstick staining your tongue.

"I kinda have to use the restroom, Lee..."

☆

The grip you have on this sink honestly could have broken the thing.

You stare into the mirror in front of you, watching your husband's face as he fucks you from behind.

He'd lifted the back of your dress to rest right above your ass and slipped his cock out of his slacks for easy access before bending you over the restroom sink of the restaurant.

You both have a hard time keeping quiet. You muffle your moans and whimpers by biting your arms, nails uselessly scratching at the porcelain material of the sink as you hold onto it for dear life.

Leon however, doesn't care much for quietness as he groans low without restraint, pounding into you with so much fervor that a loud slapping sound resounds around the small room. Your and his skin contacting with each hard and deep thrust, leaving red marks on your ass.

He stares at you through the mirror, cooing at how adorable you look.

"Oh, look at you angel. You love it so much you're drooling all over that pretty dress. Making such a mess, pussy so drenched it's getting my pants wet. Oh no- Don't cry, sweetheart. You're doing so good for me. You can take it for a little longer, can't you?"

God, he makes you such a fucking mess.

Your body's on fire, drool and tears are drenching your dress, your pussy feels so worn and stretched it may never recover, and you're covered in sweat.

Yet you can't be bothered to care because your husband, Leon Scott Kennedy, is rocking your fucking world right now.

You feel yourself getting close and are reduced to nothing but a desperate, babbling mess. You beg him, demand him, tell him you'll do anything if he'll just give you that sweet release you've been waiting for.

And when his hands grip your hips tighter and his thrusts become sloppy, you know he's about to give you exactly what you want.

And so he does. He cums with you and inside of you, throwing his head back. His voice cracks as a loud moan is released from deep within him. His entire body shudders and he takes a moment to catch his breath.

And you do too, spent and slumped on the clean restroom sink, drool and tears drying all over your face and dress.

You're pretty sure he just slutted you out.

There's silence as he pulls out of you, his release dripping from your poor hole.

The two of you make brief eye contact before bursting into quieted laughter.

"What the hell happened to having a 'proper date', hun?" Leon asks, cleaning you up and fixing your dress for you. "I mean, not that I'm complaining-"

Before he can finish his sentence, the sound of banging startled you both.

"Hey! Whoever is in there needs to come out right now! You're both officially banned from this establishment!"

You and Leon both look at each other.

"Well, shiet."

☆.｡.:*☆.｡.:*☆.｡.:*☆.｡.:*☆.｡.:*☆.｡.:*☆.｡.:*☆.｡.:*☆.｡.:*☆

I'm a little down bad...

[misshoneyimhome]

「2️⃣5️⃣0️⃣ FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION」

Sparks Fly - “My mind forgets to remind me you're a bad idea” I William Nylander

Summary; when you first met William Nylander, you had no idea what the universe was trying to tell you - but as you couldn't escape him, nor resist temptation, you ignored all that was supposed to feel right

Tropes & warnings; Strangers to lovers, cheating (kissing), Willy's mischievous smile and charm, romantic relationship, flirting, sexual thoughts, some nsfw descriptions

Other notes; did this turn out the way I expected? Nope - Do I regret it and want to write it all over? Also nope 🙃 please enjoy 🤍

Word count; 4K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

Go right. Turn left. Head down. Wait?

Your gaze keenly tracked the items on the shelves as you searched for the last thing on your shopping list – toothpaste.

Examining the aisle thoroughly, you attempted to locate the small tubes. Just as you finally spotted something that might resemble what you were after, you came to a halt. Scanning the array of products, you aimed to find your preferred brand. But unfortunately, it was nowhere to be seen. And as you continued your search, a large figure unexpectedly collided with you from behind, causing you to drop the items in your other hand.

“Shit,” you exclaimed involuntarily, bending down to retrieve your things and feeling the jolt from the minor accident.

“Sorry about that,” the voice apologised, and the person squatted beside you, attempting to pick up some of your scattered belongings, though you beat them to it.

Looking up at the face of the stranger who had rudely bumped into you, you were greeted by deep blue eyes, a light, almost pale complexion, a crooked smile stretching across pink lips, and a sleeked-back lion's mane of hair. “No worries,” you said softly, flashing a friendly smile even though you felt the fatigue and a hint of annoyance lingering in your mind. At least he had been polite enough to apologise and assist in gathering the items. “I guess I was just lost in thought.”

“Yeah, me too,” the man chuckled lightly as you both gradually stood up. He was dressed in loose trousers and a hoodie, paired with slippers – a rather casual yet suitable look for a late-night shopping spree.

Maybe if you weren't feeling so tired, given the lateness of your impromptu shopping trip, you might have found him rather attractive with his charming smile. However, fatigue had taken its toll, and the idea of engaging in a conversation with a stranger didn't quite appeal to you at the moment.

Yet, the man remained stationary for a moment longer, his captivating eyes almost scrutinising you as you offered a friendly smile.

“So, were you looking for anything specific? You looked a little confused…” he finally broke the silence hanging between you.

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckled lightly. “I’m just on the hunt for this toothpaste I always use… but I'm clueless about the layout of this place…”

“What’s it called? Maybe I can help,” he politely offered assistance, and you couldn't help but smile as you shared the brand. “Ah, I think it’s this one…” he pointed out, placed on the top shelf, a bit above your line of sight.

“Oh, thanks… sorry, I'm a bit tired,” you apologised with a sigh.

“You're not from around here?”

The handsome stranger flashed you a friendly smile.

“Is it that obvious, huh?” you chuckled with a rhetorical tone.

“Just a little,” the man responded, and you couldn't help but smile back at him. For some unknown reason, his smile was incredibly enchanting, and you had to mentally remind yourself not to get too caught up in the interaction. “Well, is there anything else I can help you with?” he offered, displaying a polite and overly confident expression across his face.

“Well, uhm,” you attempted to speak, breaking the gaze the two of you had been sharing. “No, no thanks… I mean, I better get going - it’s late.”

You heard yourself mumble as you compelled yourself to move away from the appealing stranger, grabbing a random toothpaste and slowly making your way towards the cashier. However, as you walked away, you couldn’t resist glancing back, and, of course, your eyes briefly met his captivating face.

A flutter occurred in your stomach, something you hadn’t felt in a long time. But you had to brush it off. And as you reached the checkout register and exited onto the street, you once again had to pause, looking around to regain your sense of direction.

You might have seemed a bit lost, because once more, a new, familiar voice spoke behind you.

“Lost again?” he chuckled, moving closer to stand beside you in the winter night of the city.

“Uhm, no, just have to find the way to the bus, you know,” you tried to act as casual as possible, facing him again.

“Which way are you going?”

It was odd. You didn’t even question why this stranger was so willing to help you, yet you easily gave him your address and the bus details.

“It’s just up the street,” he pointed out, once again with a broad, friendly smile, his eyes almost sparkling in the reflection of the city lights.

“Thanks… again,” you smiled once more, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you suddenly felt a bit drawn to him, unsure why. Perhaps it was his helpful nature or his handsome face. Or maybe you were just so tired and needed some rest.

“No worries… I’m Will, by the way,” he kindly introduced himself. “And if there’s anything else you need help with in the city, you can just ask me.”

You were taken aback by his sudden casual introduction, your eyes expressing a hint of surprise as he continued to flash his charming smile.

“I, uhm, I’m Y/N… and that’s very nice of you,” you replied nervously, still a bit thrown off by how nonchalant and friendly he was towards you.

“That’s a nice name. Maybe, if you’d like, we can talk more about the city over a cup of coffee someday?”

His invitation was even more surprising, and the way he presented it was so laid-back. You could hardly tell if he was flirting or just being friendly.

Yet, you were intrigued, you had to admit that. But you didn’t want to make any rash decisions. So, you decided to go with what you considered the wisest choice and politely decline his offer.

“Oh, that’s really sweet Will - and though I’d really like to, I should probably tell you I’m already here with someone…” you offered him a comforting expression, a little nervous about how he’d take your rejection.

But there was no need to be worried. Will merely smiled and shrugged.

“Fair enough. Just thought I’d give it try.”

It was the sweetest encounter you’d ever had with a stranger, and you couldn’t help but feel another flutter in your stomach as he continued looking at you.

“Well… but thanks anyway,” you spoke, once again forcing yourself to withdraw from the slightly intimate conversation.

“Anytime.”

And with that, you parted ways, and you slowly began walking to the nearby bus stop.

“Shit…” you muttered to yourself. This was so not what you needed right now.

**

As you woke up the next day, you finally felt like you'd regained energy and were ready to face the world again. The long flight had been beyond exhausting, but after finally getting a good night's sleep, you were filled with excitement about exploring Toronto.

Getting ready to take on the day, you hopped in the shower, letting the warm water cascade down your body. Your muscles relaxed under the soothing warmth, and your eyes closed as you gently massaged the shampoo into your hair. However, while rinsing the soap out from your locks, your mind wandered, and a sudden vision of the handsome stranger from yesterday popped up in your head – his content smile and his amazing chuckle.

You swiftly opened your eyes, shaking your head to force him out of your mind, and returned to your routine. And finally dressed and ready to hit the city, you made your way to meet up with Jason after a short train ride.

Walking into a hockey arena wasn't completely out of the ordinary for you, as you'd previously set foot in one, just not in Toronto. And as you walked through the corridors like Jason had told, you managed to get past security with a friendly smile, stating your name and purpose to the kind man.

Down the hallway, you were surrounded by blue and white colours, with motivational words like Pride, Honour, and Courage written on the walls. And finally, you saw him standing there, chatting with his colleagues. You flashed Jason a warm smile as you approached, and he enveloped you in a tight hug.

“I’m so happy that you’re here,” he whispered softly.

“Me too,” you flashed him a gentle smile before he introduced you to his co-workers.

It felt good to be with him again. It had been far too long since you’d been in the same city, but now you were finally back together.

As the evening progressed, Jason showed you around the hockey arena. But it wasn’t until you had the chance to meet some of the players that your heart suddenly stopped.

There he was; the handsome stranger from yesterday. His blonde hair and cheeky smile were unmistakable. 

Then, he slowly walked towards you along with four other lads.

“Hey Jason,” one of them greeted.

“Hey guys,” Jason flashed them a great smile. “Y/n, let me introduce you to the Leafs' finest; Auston Matthews, Morgan Rielly, Mitch Marner, Max Domi, and William Nylander.”

You felt your heartbeat suddenly rising. Your palms became sweaty, and it felt harder to breathe. And you knew you had to avoid his piercing blue eyes in order to remain focused.

“Hi,” you finally managed to speak. However, as you greeted all of the guys, you couldn’t help but gulp when your hand met William’s.

He was still as handsome as yesterday, perhaps even more so in this lighting. His broad smile across his lips was enchanting, and his sweet voice rang like sweet music in your ear.

It almost felt as if there were sparks flying between you, cutting out everyone else as your eyes held onto each other for a little longer than they should.

But then Jason’s voice suddenly interrupted.

“Guys, this is Y/N – my girlfriend,” he introduced, and suddenly you felt William withdrawing completely, as the truth came out: You were already taken, and flirting wouldn’t do him any good.

**

But what William didn’t know was that your relationship with Jason had been hanging on a thin thread for a long time now.

You had been together for five years, committing to a serious relationship when you were just in your early twenties. However, the past two years had been nothing but suffering for both of you.

Frequent fights over every little detail, your mood swings making it unbearable to be around each other for too long, and his constant changes in work, including working overtime, left very little energy to maintain the romance in your relationship. But despite the struggles, as you had been together for so long, essentially growing into adulthood together, you weren't ready to let it go. Instead, you decided to spend some time apart.

So, when Jason got the job in Toronto as an account manager for the MLSE, you chose to stay back home, giving both of you the time needed to figure out the future of your relationship.

It hadn’t been easy. While you enjoyed the freedom of being by yourself, rediscovering who you truly were as an individual, you also longed for the togetherness. You missed having someone to come home to, to share every moment with, the good and the bad. You missed the intimacy, the amazing sex, and the touch of another man, dedicating himself to your pleasure. And Jason missed you just as much, if not more. He practically begged you to join him in Toronto, and eventually, you gave in, deciding to give your relationship another try.

Which initially, it seemed like a great idea.

But then you met William Nylander.

Without even knowing who he was, the Swedish hockey star had completely swept you off your feet. His smile and eyes had created a spark within you, making you question everything once again.

Did you truly miss Jason, or did you just miss the comfort of having someone else?

Jason was a great guy, at least to most people. A good friend, committed family person, and a hard worker for what he loved. He never forgot a birthday, always told you how much he loved you, and even bought flowers once in a while. In many ways, he was the perfect boyfriend.

However, over time, you felt the need for something more. He no longer made you feel those butterflies in your stomach out of excitement. The sex was still good, yet it became familiar and almost routine. When talking about the future, he always spoke of 'you' as a whole. However, for the past year, you couldn’t imagine any of those scenarios with him. Even though you dreamt of the same, he wasn’t the person in your dreams anymore.

Suddenly, you were replacing his face with other men. And now, it was William.

His blonde, sleeked-back hair and his laughter echoing through the halls were slowly taking up space in your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, you imagined his face. You could see his pink lips forming a smirk, his eyes glistening as you stood closely, almost close enough to touch each other.

And the more time you spent around the team, the more William occupied your thoughts.

You would see him almost every day for the following weeks after you'd met, especially when they were in Toronto playing home games. Despite having your remote work with you, allowing you to work from home, Jason’s work took up more time. And often, you found yourself at Baking Street or at the Scotiabank Arena with the Maple Leafs.

Every time you passed William in the hallway, you'd flash him a friendly smile, hoping not to give off any wrong signals. And every time he returned your smile. But you just couldn’t get him out of your head, and you knew it wasn’t right.

It felt so wrong that whenever Jason wanted to touch you, kiss you, and make love to you, you envisioned William instead of him. You wished for William’s hands on your skin, his body against your body, and his lips connected with yours. You wished he was the one to pleasure you, to be inside you as you felt the peak of an orgasm. It didn't even have to be romantic; all you wanted was to feel him instead of the man you shared a bed with. 

Though you often shared laughter and smiles with William in the group of players and managers, you were sure he'd forgotten all about you long ago.

Little did you know, ever since your small encounter, William had not been able to get you off his mind either. The way you looked so tired and sweet in the grocery store had made his heart flutter a little, and your soft giggles had resonated as a sweet melody.

But then you turned him down. Which first, he thought was just fine. Although he wasn’t exactly used to being the one to get a ‘no’ from a girl, he figured that’s just how it is when you take chances.

However, what truly shattered William's heart into smaller pieces was when he saw you the following day, with Jason’s arm around you and him introducing you as his girlfriend.

For the first time in his life, he felt fragile. Like you had every bit of control over him, and he could do nothing about it. He was captivated by you, there was no denying it.

And William knew it was wrong to think about you like that, to imagine that you’d break it off with Jason immediately just so he’d have a chance with you. To touch you, let his lips explore yours as he enveloped you and held you close. He wanted to feel your naked chest against his as he explored your body with his hands and tasted your sweet tongue on his. He wanted to make you moan out in pleasure as he let himself sink into your warmth and have you wrapped around him.

But he knew he couldn’t. Yet his mind kept forgetting to remind him that you were a bad idea.

Although he sensed that you weren’t truly happy. That was probably the worst part. If you were truly happy, you'd have said you had a boyfriend from the very beginning, not just 'someone'.

And he could see how you always tried to maintain a façade and a guard when you were around everyone. But you didn’t fool William. He saw right through you.

Your smile was fake, and your voice spoke in a tone that didn’t seem close to real – almost AI-created. The way you stood stiff next to Jason, not even reflecting a tiny amount of love, made William wonder why you’d waste your time with someone like him.

No, William knew these weren’t your true feelings. He’d seen just how gorgeous and wonderful your true smile was. He'd seen it on the very first night you ran into each other and then every time you were around the group of players and their significant others, and Jason wasn’t there because he was still working; that’s when your true colours were showing.

You didn’t love Jason.

**

Every moment around William was killing you. You were drawn to him like a magnet, and all you wanted was to run to him and tell him how you felt.

But you acted casual, almost like friends around each other and everyone else. Yet only a brief touch of your fingertips could make you both feel the sparks between you.

It was a slow form of torture, and for weeks, you walked up and down the corridors, seeing him shirtless after a game, and later having wet thoughts about him in the evening as you pleasured yourself.

But then one night, it became too much. You were watching the match from a few rows behind the players' bench, and your eyes kept following the number 88 on the ice, even when he wasn’t around the puck. You even forgot to cheer when the Leafs managed to score goals, and it wasn’t until the final buzzer sounded that you were snapped out of your trail of thoughts.

In the hallway, you forced yourself to smile and chat with the rest of the team's company. But in the back of your head, all you wanted was to congratulate William on the win. So, the moment you saw him, you couldn’t restrain yourself. It was like your body was running from your mind towards him.

In all of his equipment, William instinctively enveloped you and lifted you into his embrace. You wrapped your arms around him and met in a rushed, eager, and spontaneous brief kiss.

It was wrong, you knew that. Yet it felt so right.

His lips felt so good on yours, and you never wanted to untie from his arms. You wanted to freeze this moment and just enjoy him wrapped around you. And as he slowly put you back down, you let out a soft sigh.

“Sorry about that,” you chuckled a bit nervously, unsure how he felt about the kiss.

But William felt nothing but good. “You don’t have to be sorry, Y/N… you have no idea for how long I’ve wanted that.” His voice came out as a rough whisper, aware that no one around should hear him - in case they’d tell Jason.

Gazing up at him, his face a lot taller due to his skates, you couldn’t suppress a smile.

“Me too…” you softly admitted. But again, you had to force yourself out of the tender moment, and William left to finish up in the locker room. 

Not long after, you were all by yourself in the hallway as the players and their partners had left, and you were waiting for Jason to finish up for the night.

“What are you still doing here?” A voice behind you echoed in your ears, but it wasn’t the voice of your boyfriend. It was William.

Turning around, you faced his smug expression, your eyes again meeting and not able to pull away.

“I was just…” you softly muttered. You couldn’t even speak the words. You didn’t want to mention his name, not even think about him as you stood alone in front of William.

“Waiting for…” he continued your sentence, avoiding the name of the man you belonged to.

“Yes…”

A silent moment settled between you as your eyes remained locked, and William gently nodded.

“I should leave you alone then…”

But he didn’t move. He still stood before you, and you felt your heart beating faster, your pulse increasing.

“I don’t want you to leave me alone,” you whispered softly, yet loud enough for him to hear, a tear almost settling in the corner of your eye as guilt wanted to rush over you. But you ignored it.

“Me neither.”

And as William took slow strolls towards you, your mind raced, and your feet automatically moved in an attempt to meet him halfway. As soon as you came in close proximity, your breaths almost shared, you couldn’t control your own body’s behaviour. Like an instinct, you gently wrapped your hands around William’s neck as his found your waist, pulling each other in for another kiss. However, this time, it was deeper.

You let each other explore one another, your mouths sharing warmth as your tongues intertwined. You let yourself sink into his body, feeling him against you as his hands wandered further down, cupped your cheeks, and effortlessly hoisted you into his grip.

It felt so good. With every taste offered, you wanted more of him, and as he pressed your back against the wall, you felt his chest pressed against yours. You let your fingers run through his hair, all sense of guilt vanishing from your rational mind.

It was just wrong enough to make it feel right.

But you had to pull apart to refill your lungs with air, panting as you held your faces close.

“I’m sorry,” William chuckled lightly under his breath.

“Don’t be.”

The kiss with William had been nothing short of amazing. However, as you heard steps in the hallway, you swiftly disentangled and pulled away. Regret filled your mind, but not about the kiss - about the fact that you couldn’t do more because you had a boyfriend.

So, as soon as you got back to Jason’s apartment, you knew you had to address the subject, no matter if William wanted more or not. You couldn’t carry on in a relationship you weren’t devoted to.

**

The breakup hadn’t been really bad. Jason had almost seen it coming, given your distant behaviour. Though he was sure you’d tried, there was just no way you could save what had been between you, and he had to accept that.

Your only problem next was to find accommodation for the night. Jason had naturally offered you the guest room as the gentleman he was, but you felt more comfortable with checking into a hotel.

And just as you’d tossed yourself onto the queen-size bed, you decided to let William know. Maybe he cared, maybe he didn’t, but just as he’d taken a chance on you, you wanted to take a chance on him as well.

‘It’s over – Jason and I are over.’

A simple text, but the message was clear.

Only a few minutes later, you heard your phone vibrate.

‘Where are you?’

Without hesitation, you texted him the name of your hotel.

‘I’m coming over – is that ok?’

‘Yes, of course.’

It didn’t take long before William let you know he was nearby. And it was as if a spark within you felt like you were in a romantic movie or something, so you jumped out of bed, ran down the four floors, and practically jumped out of the front doors. You didn’t care about it raining; it fitted the idea of a movie scene perfectly, especially when you saw the familiar face of the handsome Swede.

Both walking determinedly towards each other, you almost fell into his arms as he wrapped them around your body, and once again connected you in a deep heartfelt kiss.

You couldn’t help but giggle at how dramatic it all seemed. Pulling apart, you shared a laughter, both completely soaked by the pouring rain.

“Willy,” you spoke softly, with a great smile across your lips. 

“I know, baby,” William chuckled. “Finally.”

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the paint

lilac, chapter nine

a/n: hi! I'm back after taking a short break to obsessively work on this year's kinktober, but now i'm finally back to writing this beloved story. it feels so good to get back into it. it's only been a few weeks, one month max, but i've missed my lumberjack so much.

summary: “oh please, there’s only one guest staying here right now, and even so, people know this room is under construction, who in their right mind would just willy-nilly waltz in here?” 

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, smut, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, renovating an inn, painting, kissing, semi-public sex, oral, fingering, dirty talk

word count: 1922

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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A faint ache began to bloom in the muscles of your face from how hard you were smiling. You simply couldn’t help it. Every time you thought you’d gotten it under control, your eyes would just flutter back up to the man beside you as he stretched, reaching the paint roller in his hand far enough up to kiss the taped-off crown moulding that framed the ceiling, and each time he’d do so, his flannel would ride up just enough for you to catch a sliver of his skin before it dropped back down, giving you just enough of an unintentional tease to remind you of what he looked like beneath it. 

“You’re laughing again,” Frank pointed out the soft giggle that bubbled out of you as your glance washed over him.

“I’m not laughing,” you gushed, straightening back up to your full height as you finally stopped rolling over the one low spot you had absentmindedly been painting over and over again for a few minutes or so.

Eyes briefly flickering your way, his feet carried him closer to you, “well, what’s so funny then that you can’t stop laughing?” 

“Nothing’s funny,” you tried to keep your eyes on the wall as you felt his broadness brush against your shoulder. 

“Oh, no?” 

“Nope,” you playfully bumped your hip lightly against his, childishly angling your roller dangerously close to where his was glazing the wall a soft blue tone, an action that quickly developed into a juvenile game of chasing him across the wall. 

To your amazement, Frank played along, keeping it going till he suddenly changed tactics and caught you by surprise, rerouting his roller down to collide with your own, however, it never got the chance to strike as you, in the midst of a giggle fit, retracted your brush from the wall, fearing that he would roll right over you and make your arm all sticky with paint. Though in the end, not noticing exactly where you were hastily withdrawing your paint roller to, it ended up being him that got smeared and not you. 

“Oh my god,” your eyes grew wide at the sight of the blue that coated over the dark brown of his plaid sleeve, “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Oh yeah?” he glared back at you, grin crinkling up his eyes, “you didn’t?”

“I swear, it was an accident.”

“Ah, sure it was, just like this,” you felt his roller glide down the length of your top, making it look like you’d hugged a smurf.

Letting out a shrieking gasp, it only took approximately two seconds before you pouched in an attempt to get him back. Though the former soldier’s swift hands caught your roller before you could manage to seize your revenge, settling both yours and his own down on the covered floors before playfully wrapping his arms around you, halting your attempts at retrieving it. 

Laughter mingling and mixing into one, your feet then left the ground as Frank lifted you up. As your gaze now rose to be at the same level, the silly game swiftly vanished from your memory as you stared back into his brown eyes, both of your glee fading away as if it was never there to begin with. 

You didn’t know who initiated the kiss, but that part couldn’t be less important as your arms curled around his neck and one of your legs blissfully bent, softly flicking your foot upwards as you felt his tongue sweep across your own. 

Lowering you back down to the floor, his touch dragged up your form till his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging at the very roots in such a way that made you purr against his lips. Feet shuffling, the far wall you hadn’t begun on yet soon collided with your spine, though you weren’t pressed against it long before Frank surrendered to your enthusiastic efforts in spinning him around and switching places.

As your lips then detached, you slowly began to drop down to your knees, a wide grin warmed Frank’s features as your fingers hooked into his belt, “what do you think you’re doing, huh?” his head gently fell back to collide with the wall as he stared down at you in adoration. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” you blinked up at him as you bit down on your giggling lips, palm nuzzling against his blossoming hard-on as you undid his belt, his excitement created an impressive imprint against the fabric of his dark jeans. 

“I think we’re in an inn full of people and someone could walk in here at any moment,” he narrowed his eyes almost in a daring fashion as you tugged his zipper down. 

“Oh please, there’s only one guest staying here right now, and even so, people know this room is under construction, who in their right mind would just willy-nilly waltz in here?” 

Not tearing his eyes off of you for even a second as you freed his heavy length, he muttered softly, “you’re trouble…” utterly hypnotised as you wrapped your fingers around his girth. 

“Nuh-uh,” you smiled up at him, “I’m adorable,” before you swiped your tongue softly over his tip, visibly sending a shiver down his spine.

“Yes, you fucking are…” he uttered enchantingly, mouth falling agape as you began to plant sweet kisses all the way down towards his base, your dazzling eyes never leaving his, “holy shit…”

As your slobber began to gloss him up, your palm exploited it as you slowly twisted your enclosed fist up and down his length, keeping your movements up as your lips soon wrapped around his bulbous head, flat tongue fluttering like a gentle sea against his throbbing underside. 

Looking like he had died and gone to heaven, you felt as Frank’s fingers reach down to ghost over your features, his broad thumb caressing the outline of your face as your head began to bob, drool slowly dribbling down from your efforts and adding to the mess already painting the front of your shirt.

“Atta girl,” his fingers tenderly combed through your hair, “fuck,” lips stretched, his tip hit a place in the back of your throat that caused your eyes to squint, tears nearly appearing before you settled back to slobbering around his head, “you're so pretty like this.”

One hand steadily pumping the latter half of him, your other wandered over your own thigh. Like a magnet, your fingers pressed down on your clit through your pants, the astonishing relief causing a muffled moan to vibrate against Frank’s cock, a sensation he clearly enjoyed by the sounds of his own eager groans. 

“Oh, just like that,” he grunted, eyes lightly fluttering as you gurgled around his cock, “don’t stop,” fingers flexing and balling up into a fist in your hair as he twitched in your mouth, soon stifling a mesmerising moan as he came down your throat, “fuck…” 

Letting go of him with a soft pop, you swallowed as you gazed up at his hazy visage, feeling yourself drip and drench your panties from the borderline meditative motion of giving him head. 

Hands still fast in your hair, Frank kneeled down to your level and pressed his lips to yours, the teasing touch you had going on over your pants quickly grew into something more desperate. 

“Could you–…” you breathed heavily, “god, I feel like it’s been forever since you touched me…”

A warm chuckle rumbled out of him as he looked back into your blown pupils, “we fucked this morning,” he noted, rising back up and scooping you with him. 

“Exactly,” you bit down on your smile, “it’s been like three hours.”

Slipping beneath your waistband, your grip fastened in the front of his open flannel as his fingers grazed through your wetness. Eyelids fluttering at the foggy sensation, Frank manoeuvred your frames, spinning you around and pressing your back against the wall. 

“Well, I’m sorry that you had to wait that long,” he entertained your quip, rubbing your puffy clit just right, “whatever can I do to make it up to you?” his free hand securely snaked around your middle. 

Sharing his breath, your nose nudged against his, “seems to me like you already have a pretty good idea of what could suffice.”

“Oh yeah?” he chuckled like a crackling fire, “could this maybe make you feel a bit better?” your hold on his shirt tightened as he gently slid one finger inside your dripping heat.

“Mhm,” you nodded hazily, one of your knees briefly lifting to graze against his leg. 

As you readjusted your arms, draping them around his neck, “or how about this?” his lavish pace then intensified as he eased his ring finger in beside his middle one, curving them a bit as the root of his palm nuzzled firmly against your throbbing clit. 

“O-oh, fuck!” your head fell back and collided with the wall, your fluttering gaze glued to his. 

Leaning in to muffle your breathy whimpers with his kiss, the sensual soppy sound his efforts produced echoed throughout the half-painted room, those only growing in their volume as he rocked his digits within you rougher.

Moans melting against his tongue as it danced against your own, it didn’t take long before your pussy clenched down around him, clambering and inadvertently pulling his fingers in that much deeper as he slowed back down, rendering it a demanding task for him to get his hand back with the way you blissfully clung to it. 

Head resting a moment against his broad shoulder as you caught your breath, your puffs gradually morphed into the same blissful giggle you hadn’t been able to shake just moments before.

“You know what?” you lifted your head. 

“What?” he chuckled through his smile. 

Tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, you rose up to your tip toes and uttered, “I don’t know if I can wait another three hours,” before you captured your lips in another heated kiss, your hands swiftly travelling south on a mission for more. 

But just as Frank hoisted you up, your legs tangling around his hips, a booming voice from somewhere else in the inn cut through your haze. 

“I did it!” you heard your father shout, his jovial stride caused the staircase he hastily ascended to creak just as loud as his boisterous words boomed, “I finally did it!” 

“Shit,” you hissed, nearly pushing Frank away as you scrambled to hide any evidence of what the two of you had just done. 

“I’m a genius! I think I’ve finally cracked the code to croissants!” the moustachioed man burst through the doors just as you rushed to pick your paint roller back up as if it had been glued to your grip for hours. 

“Dad!” you skurried to roll some more blue on the wall, hoping he wouldn’t notice just how flustered you were, “hey!”

“I think I was handling the dough too much while laminating,” he rambled, flour tinting his apron a lighter shade of green, “also why I’ve never been great at pies, I fiddle with it too much, but I think I finally got the hang of it! Just pulled some out of the oven and they look amazing,” darting his dazzled gaze from you to Frank, he offered, “you kids want one?” 

“Uh,” you glanced back at the man, still standing close to where you’d blown him just moments before, “sure,” you stiffly heard yourself agree, “that sounds lovely, dad.” 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[necromaniackat]

Cruel Summer

Chapter 12: The Great British Horror Show

Word Count: 2.3k

Cw/tw: heavy voyeurism, p in v, praise!kink, incest, military!kink, uniform!kink, size!kink, belly bulge, breeding!kink, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), mommy!kink/daddy!kink implied, sub!Brahms, sub!reader, dom!oc

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brahms seethed with rage; hands balled up into tight fists and face red with anger. It wasn’t fair. He was supposed to be the one to pull those delicious sounds from you as the scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the hot summer night air. But there you were, folded in half with your knees touching your shoulders. Felix’s large hands pinning you down by your knees as he slammed himself into you over and over; earning the sweet moans and gasps and cries that were coming from you.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t look away. Brahms was addicted to you in every sense of the word. You were his first thought in the morning and last thought at night. Even when he was mad at you for breaking his rules, he couldn’t get enough of you. Always close behind. Always observing. One day he will show himself to you – you deserved to know of his presence. Even though you already knew he was there; he was just a ghost in a lonely mansion with only his niece to keep him company.

His niece. You were his niece. You were blood.

The mere thought of you being his niece excited him. His mother would never allow him to date anyone; even now that she’s gone. He didn’t want just anyone. He thought he wanted Greta, he really did. But when you stepped foot in Heelshire mansion five days ago, Brahms knew that you were the one he’d been waiting for. You were perfect. And to find out you were his long lost Evie; his heart couldn’t take it. He’d essentially moulded himself a place in your life from a young age. So maybe showing himself to you wouldn’t be that much of a shock because you already knew he was there.

Brahms’ icy gaze couldn’t be pried from the scene unfolding in front of him as he peered through the peephole. He couldn’t believe how bendy and durable you were. Felix was in no way small, or even average. No, he sported a long girthy dick that stretched you in ways Charlie could only dream of. You were taking Felix’s cock like a champ. And judging by the cock drunk expression that read pure untainted ecstasy and bliss that flushed your usually pale face, you loved every moment his cock was inside you.

Jealousy coursed through Brahms’ veins – he so desperately wanted to be the one mounted on top of you, pumping his own cock in and out of your gushing cunt like a man possessed. He laid claim to you the moment you stepped foot in the mansion five days ago. Felix is just a pest that needed to be gotten rid of.

“Mine,” Brahms hissed through gritted teeth as he watched you get plowed on his recently deceased parents’ bed. If that didn’t stir up so emotions for Brahms then nothing would faze him.

“That’s right, take this cock like a good girl,” Felix purred in your ear but loud enough Brahms could hear it from across the room. His brows furrowed in confusion; why did Felix just call you a good girl? He wasn’t wrong but Brahms had never heard someone say that during sex. Then again the only people he’s seen have sex were his parents a couple of times. Brahms learned real quick not to invade their bedroom.

Brahms’ jaw dropped when in return for calling you a good girl you let out a long, shaky moan. He took note that you liked that. He also took note of how your body reacted to every movement and purr of encouragement.

God you looked beautiful. You looked like an angel in his eyes. You always have. Which was why he nicknamed you Eve when you were little. Brahms had a lot of time to read; his mother suggested he read the Bible. Brahms plowed through the book in a week. That’s why he nicknamed you Eve. You were so pure and delicate. Even now, as you were getting railed in your dead grandparents‘ bed, Brahms thought you looked so pure and innocent.

Your dark hair was sprawled across the bed wildly. Your porcelain skin almost glowed in the dim light of the nightstand lamp. Besides the moth tattoo on your lower back, not a mark could be found on you. Your breasts bounced with every thrust as you clung onto Felix’s arms for dear life. Your knees were pinned against your shoulders, opening you up for his assault. The expression on your flushed face told him you had little to no brain function; you were cock drunk.

‘I should be the one to make her like this. It should be me,’ Brahms bitterly thought. His anger turned to rage. His entire body felt like it was set ablaze. Brahms couldn’t stop himself from raising his fists and slamming them against the wall as hard as he could without breaking the wall, causing a loud bang to sound through the house.

The choir of moans and praises, as well as the sound of skin slapping stopped. Brahms felt ice run through his veins when he realized what he’d done. He lowered his head in defeat, listening closely.

“What was that?” Felix’s voice broke the silence.

“Don’t know, don’t care. Keep going,” you ordered breathlessly. With that, Brahms lifted his head in disbelief and peered through the hole once again. No, he couldn’t have just heard you say that. You knew Brahms was there and you choose to ignore him? No one’s ever dared do that before. He couldn’t believe it.

Without a second thought, you and Felix went back to it. Brahms could only stare in awe. He didn’t know what else to do. He’s made himself known to you and you voted against his protest with that knowing. Only one person’s ever done that; Haydn. During one of your visits with your grandparents your dad figured out that Brahms was still lurking in the mansion as a spirit. But one day when you were two your dad cut Brahms’ music time short because you were getting fussy and tired. Brahms retaliated not letting your dad sleep that night.

But there you were, defying his rules and protests. Brahms was furious as he plotted revenge.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pry his eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of him. You and Felix had swapped positions; you were now on top, bouncing on his cock like a pro.

Mindlessly, Brahms’ hand snaked down the wall to the hem of his trousers. Fingers dancing over the hem until they unfastened the button effortlessly. He dragged the zipper down to the end of its track before fishing into his trousers – freeing his erect cock. Brahms shivered at the contact despite his skin feeling like it was on fire. A quivering whimper escaped his lips as he began to stroke his shaft.

Not once did Brahms’ gaze waiver from you. You looked so determined but at the same time so cock drunk. You appeared to be barely conscious as you rode Felix. Brahms tried to keep in time with you as you bounced and rode him – imagining it was him who was under you getting the best fuck of his life.

Brahms’ hand worked his shaft as his imagination ran wild with aid from the scene in front of him. His heart felt like it was about to explode out of his chest as a wonderful electric sensation radiated from his crotch.

“Fuck, Ev. Good girl,” Felix moaned unevenly with his hands on your hips, guiding you up and down his length. His words pulled a high pitch moan from you. Your beautiful blue eyes rolled in pleasure; sometimes crisscrossing.

“Good girl,” Brahms repeated in a raspy whisper.

Then something caught his eye. He couldn’t help but notice the disappearing and reappearing bulge in your lower stomach. Brahms examined it closely, trying to figure out what it was. He’s never seen you with a bump in your lower belly that magically disappears and reappears.

That’s when it struck him; he knew what that bulge was. It was Felix’s cock inside you. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He’s never seen such a provocative sight in his life; he swore his soul left his body for a moment and he got to experience pure, unaltered heavenly bliss for a fraction of a second.

Brahms’ hip stuttered into his fist as a shaky moan passed his lips. His eyes fluttered as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through his body; radiating from his groin. Brahms was roughly the same size, maybe a little more girthy, as Felix which meant that when Brahms has you on top of him he’ll be able to see his own cock poke through your belly.

His hips stuttered again at the thought; his grip tightening slightly and his hand working his shaft in time with your thrusts. In his doped out mind he believed he was actually fucking you. His steel blue eyes never leaving your form.

“I’m gonna cum,” you declared between pants. Brahms staggered back a bit in awe. He knew boys climaxed but he didn’t know girls could too. Why didn’t his dad tell him this when they had the puberty talk? His dad told him that in order to make a baby or just wants to get off, a guy needs to orgasm; said absolutely nothing about women being able to orgasm too.

After a split second to recover, Brahms was back to peeking through the five pence sized hole.

You were still rhythmically riding him; your moans came out as high pitch squeals. Felix had his hands on your hips, guiding you up and down and singing you praises such as:

“You’re such a good girl.”

“Such a good little cum slut.”

“Be a good girl and cum on daddy’s cock. I know you want to.”

Brahms studied what got you off; he noticed you liked to be called nice names, and mean names as well. You wanted roughness to complement your sweetness. You were quite the paradox. Unlike Greta or any of the other nannies before you. You were very vocal about your wants and needs, and desires. He’s never met someone quite like you before. You puzzled him greatly.

“I’m cumming!” You cried before a loud squeal passed your lips; followed by a slurry of curses. You lifted yourself off of Felix as you gushed all over his lower half. Felix’s hand left your twitching hip to rub your cunt as the clear fluid gushed out of you.

Brahms’ eyes were wide as he watched you. He just learned that woman can orgasm too and now he’s getting to see it in person. You made him want you even more now. He wanted you to squirt all over him as you came.

Brahms’ eyes rolled mindlessly as his own climax began to creep up on him. His hand went even faster; pumping his cock at a mind dizzying pace. He heard you instruct Felix to put it back in – it was followed by sloshing sound. His eyes snapped onto your form once again.

You had switched positions once again. This time you were laying on your front, facing Brahms’ direction. Your legs were closed and Felix was straddling your ass; thrusting his hips into yours.

Brahms watched as Felix reached down and wrapped his hand in your hair – pulling by the base of your hair. You were forced to look directly at Brahms; or at least that’s what he believed. You hazy blue eyes stared in his direction – he felt like you could see him instead of a blank space on the wall.

“Fill me with your cum.” Your voice came out in a high pitched, breathless way. Brahms’ heart palpitated and his hips jerked and twitched into his hand. He had to look away from you so he could keep it together – he didn’t want to orgasm yet. He wanted to relish in the sight of you getting fucked from behind.

You were barely conscious; not in the least bit coherent. Blush gathered in your cheeks, dusting them a dusty rose colour. Your swollen red lips were parted slightly as your icy blue eyes were half closed. You were a moaning and squealing mess.

The sounds of sloshing skin hitting skin and the smell of sex hung heavy in the night air. Brahms was finding it hard to focus – his body so desperately craved a release but he wanted to savor this.

The jealousy, the rage, the horniness; it all pulsed through his veins like magma in a volcano. The heat from the day almost felt cool against his ablaze skin. Sweat seeped through his white wife beater as it made many rivers down his body. His breath was fast and shallow – barely getting any oxygen to his hazy brain.

He could feel his climax building; egging him to go faster than he already was. It was creeping up on him quickly. He was so desperate for release – especially after watching you get yours. There were a few things Brahms was; the main thing is needy. Brahms was very needy and greedy. He was a spoiled little boy with a silver spoon in his mouth. He couldn’t get enough of a good thing. And right now you were the centre of his focus. He needed you. He wanted nothing but for you to touch him forever.

Brahms’ mind couldn’t help but wander; imagining how you must feel. Soft. Warm. Wet. You must feel like heaven.

That was the final string holding Brahms back from his climax snapped. His entire body shook violently as thick, white ropes of cum coated his hand and the wall directly in front of him. He had to bite his knuckles to prevent the loud moan from gaining your attention. Brahms didn’t even notice that Felix was currently filling you with his cum as he reached his orgasm.

Brahms’ mind completely blacked out. It was overrun with chemicals that sent him into a tizzy. Brahms’ body went limp; plummeting him to the floor between the walls with a loud thump.

“What was that?”

[gassyandnasty]

The Jock Formula - Flashback

Andrew had complicated days before. Wedgies, wet willies and swirlies were the tip of the iceberg of all the torture he had to endure, he thought after school things would get better, but studying on the same campus with the most gross frat ever was a challenge, and being an easy target was even worse, nor his flail arms or his whimp friends could help him out.

That's why George came up with the 'jock formula', there was no escape. But his research led to peculiar ingredients, some were easy to find, but others…

George had the brilliant idea to sneak in the locker room and collect some of their sweat, but they were having a match, so all of the gear was being used, and the sweat was being produced.

"I have been observing them for a while now, nobody uses this and that locker, let's stay in there and wait for them to come back. They always forget dirty socks and… underwear, but those have enough material to the formula… at least I believe" George planned.

"What if they discover us?" asked Andrew.

"They won't. A football team is loud enough, nobody will hear anything, and… they are so dumb." Underestimated George.

"I know… It's just… if they spot us, we are screwed."

"Everything will come to plan… now shush, because the match is almost finished, soon they will come."

And with a loud bang, all the football team came loud and obnoxious into the locker room. Soon a strong smell invaded their space, too much sweat and testosterone in the air. Andrew observed them through the cracks of the door, all stood proud, bulging muscles everywhere, true alphas... but one contrasted out of the bunch: Josh.

Josh was a true UNIT of a man. Dark hair covered his face and many parts of his body, that looked like it was sculpted by a god: defined biceps, back and abs, his pecs appeared to be made of stone, bulging out of every shirt he put on, while his legs could sustain an empire, huge thighs and two mounds of the plumpest ass Andrew has ever seen. On top of that, he got an intimidating and charming look at the same time, where he passed, you could hear people swoon over him. If the "jock formula" worked, he would be happy to be even a third of all this.

"Alright guys, let's pack it up" Josh's voice boomed through all the room. "Got so much gear that I need another locker."

Andrew spine freezed, what if he picked his? There was no way to run, and being locked with a bunch of stinky jocks was proving to be lethal. While he gazed through the cracks, he spoted George trying to collect some drops of sweat on the floor while they weren't looking. He sneaked a syringe by the cracks of his locker while Josh was looking for a place to put the rest of his gear.

The scene was terrifying. The overpowering lights reflected on the white tiles and camouflaged the transparent syringe, but what George couldn't see is that Josh was approaching, and when he least expected, the syringe was crushed by Josh's heavy feet.

"Yo! what is this?" Josh questioned as he stepped on something. He noticed that the syringe found it's way back to the locker and asked: "Hey! Who's in there?" he complemented with a powerful kick in the door, making everyone pay attention to what was happening.

All of the boys turned their eyes to the locker George was in, and he was in MAD trouble now.

"What is that, dude? Chill" Sal said. Andrew knew this voice too well. Sal was a very famous playboy, he got all the chicks with his 'latin spice', as his tanned skin and eternal smirk were fine additions to his perfect body. One of Andrew's nerdy friends said that his gas was fiery, and burned his eyebrows once.

"Maybe it's just another of the rival team's prank" added Jongho, the new exchange school guy. He came from Korea and quickly got along with them cause he is so good at everything: best grades, top athlete and a very toned body. This time Andrew seen himself, as he tried to share some thoughts on math class, and was greeted with the longest belch he ever heard of.

But his thoughts were interrupted when Josh's threatened the locker again. "Reveal yourself or I'll rip the door out!"

Slowly, George surrended and opened the door. He was even wearing a lab coat, accessorized by his big glasses and slicked back hair. He was truly ridiculous. He was greeted with a choir of laughs by all the sides of the room, George was almost pissing himself.

Andrew thanked God it wasn't him in that place, but George pretty much asked for it. He could have waited till they left the room, and now...

"Oh, look what we have here!" Josh teased, ensuring more laugh by the other boys. "Taking notes, loser?"

"Ugh...I was... hiding from P.E...erm..." George didn't know what to say. He couldn't give away about the formula, but the broken pieces of the syringe on the floor pointed out that he was doing more than hide.

"Huh, I see..." Josh inspects, and spots the puddle of sweat that George was trying to collect from. He connects the dots, syringe, lab coats, samples... He didn't get to any conclusion cause he is too dumb for that, but it was sufficient to pick on the nerd for anything he was doing.

"Were you trying to do experiments with us? Where are those samples going, huh?" Josh intimidates, through the gap of the door, the Andrew could only see his toned legs towering over George.

"No, no, those were my homework... It got nothing to do with-" George was trying to explain himself as he was cut of by the alpha jock:

"Nothing on that bullshit, nerd." Josh said as he turned around. Now he was facing Andrew, the tiny locker that George was hidden was on the bottom line, so Josh started to bend over.

"Why don't you collect this sample?" Josh teased as he put his ass inside the locker George was. Andrew saw him scrunching up his face and clench his fist, with a loud grunt, Josh released hell on George's face.

"HNNGG... PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT"

That has got to be the most powerful fart Andrew ever witnessed. Even if it was inside the locker, was loud and clear, so deep that even vibrated the locker walls. It simply exploded for so long that Josh's veins were bulging out for forcing it, and on a final wet note, his ultimate demonstration of power ended.

"Aaaaaah, god DAMN! That was a monster! Don't you think, nerd-" Josh sighed in relief after almost exploding the room, and is surprised by the sight of George completely passed out.

"Haha, couldn't even that take, loser?" Josh worked up a huge wad of spit and fired on George's uncouscious face, making all of the jocks laugh and high five him.

"King! King! King! King! King" his friends chanted, while they got out of there. One day, Andrew wanted to be 'King' too.

And boy, it STANK. The pungent smell invaded Andrew's nostrils like no other, and he carefully got out of his locker to help his friend. He came next to him and his situation was miserable. But out of all that humiliation, Andrew collected the spit that was covering all of Josh's face so they could proceed with the formula.

When Andrew tried to get his friend out of the locker, he noticed that George indeed pissed himself.

[autisticrosewilson]

Euthanasia: Aftermath

Characters: Willis Todd, Jason Todd (mentioned), Bruce Wayne (mentioned), Sheila Haywood (mentioned), Joker (Mentioned)

Warnings: Death, violence, implied/referenced torture, Willis loves his son but makes a lot of questionable choices, he also explicitly blames Bruce for Jason's death, this story can be read within the same universe as Spotlight Overture but like WAY in the future

Willis stares blankly at the grave in front of him. The weeping angel looms above, wings relaxed and stone gaze piercing. The sword it's holding looks real, almost out of place on a silent mourner. A vigilant protector, a sentry to look after it's charge.

He hopes she's more successful than he was. Than the Bat was.

He's surprised Wayne buried Jason in a public graveyard, but maybe he shouldn't be. Men like him don't react well to failure. Why would he want a reminder in his backyard?

Willis would scoff, but he's here to pay respects, and his little boy deserves better. Slowly, he reins in the cold anger simmering in his gut, the grief settling cold and heavy on his skin like mid morning fog.

"Hey kiddo," his voice is gruff but he doesn't care, he's honestly impressed he can speak at all around the lump in his throat, "it's been a while." What's it been, six years? Seven? He'd like to say he's been counting the seconds, but mostly it's been a struggle to make it to the next day.

Jason was supposed to be safe. He'd been content to never see his son again, as long as he was being taken care of. Jason wasn't supposed to die anyway.

He'd had so much ahead of him. School, and college, and marriage, and kids and whatever else he damn well pleased because he was a Wayne, and Wayne's always got what they wanted.

It's not a Wayne's name on the grave. This is the resting place of Jason Todd, and Todd's have always had rotten luck.

He avoids making eye contact with the grave next to Jason's, the tall headstone with the little cherubs carved into it. Sheila was no mother, no matter what that plaque says. He knows two wrongs don't make a right, but when he held Jason in his arms the first time he'd been sure his boy was the exception.

And Jason was. Smart, and witty, and sweet, and brave. Maybe if he'd been born somewhere else, to someone else, he'd have had a little more time.

Willis doesn't notice when he sinks to his knees. Doesn't care about the mud staining his pants or the rain drops starting to beat down on his worn leather jacket. He traces the letters of his boy's name with numb fingers.

"...Cathy said you were named after a hero." He tells Jason absently. "Did you know Jason means healer? You...you told me you wanted to be a doctor once. And you always made sure we kept the first aid kit full, even when the cabinets were empty. And you'd stay up late even on school nights for me to come home so you could put dinosaur bandaids on all my little cuts and bruises." His voice breaks on a wheeze and his vision blurs.

"Oh my sweet boy," he chokes on a sob, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry m'sorrym'sorry-"

He wonders, distantly, who it was Jason called for. Who he considered his dad when he took his last breath.

Wonders who Jason would be more disappointed in, if he could see both of the fucking idiots he'd trusted now.

If he were a good man he'd say he was equally to blame, that he doesn't resent Bruce Wayne, that he doesn't care who the last person Jason thought about was as long as it brought him comfort.

Most would say that he is stubborn, vengeful, and possessive. He wouldn't argue with them. Wayne had possibly the easiest kid to take care of in the world, and had still fucked it up. Wayne had all the means to take care of Jason, and yet Willis is kneeling at his son's grave. His son. His little boy. The baby he'd held in his arms, the toddler he'd helped walk, the kid he helped with homework, and took on fishing trips. The boy he taught how to fix a car and throw a punch.

He loves Jason. Has always loved him, probably won't ever stop until he's in the ground right beside him.

But there is a debt to be paid. A life lost is a life owed. The Alley has rules, and although Willis has never been good with those, this is one he wouldn't hesitate with.

The clowns back in Arkham, cheerfully locked away with hands drenched in Jason's blood. The Bat will not protect it from him. Willis will hunt it down and repay every blow tenfold.

He unzips the duffel bag at his side, digging around until under autopsy reports and bolt cutters he finds the tool he's looking for. The crowbar is long, a little rusted but sturdy. More than good enough for this job, he decides, gripping it loosely.