#I would take the ride because I am lazy

[vintage-bentley]

can you imagine how bad crowley wanted to scream when he heard aziraphale saying he goes too fast after not making a move in 6000 YEARS??

Confession time: that scene has always confused me 🫣 Aziraphale honey WHAT DO YOU MEAN 😭😭😭 the man offered to be your chauffeur and you’re like “you go to fast for me” WHY BE SO CRYPTIC.

In other words I’m on Crowley’s page here. Screaming.

I’ve seen the suggestion that in season two, the war era will be expanded on. Which gives me hope that we’ll get context that will be like a missing puzzle piece for me.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

pillow princess

words: 1.3k

warnings: 18+ only, male receiving oral, riding, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rafe calls reader kiddo/kid

“rafey.” you whine, stepping into all the chairs circled around, filled with topper, kelce and some other guys you recognize as rafes friends.

“what is it baby?” he questions, giving you his full attention despite all the boys sitting around. he doesn’t care that they see him being affectionate with you. its not like his manliness is in question.

“i miss you.” you complain. you were bored sitting upstairs in your bed all alone. you knew it was boys night. first they watched a game, then sat around and talked and drank, but you wanted your boyfriend, feeling extra clingy today.

“aww, come here kiddo.” rafe leans back, opening up his arms, letting you slot yourself onto his knee. you immediately lean your head against his shoulder, snuggling your body into his.

rafe holds you tight to him, fingers drumming against your thigh as the conversation immediately starts up again. you only pay half attention to it, most being about the game they just watched, or their max bench, whatever boy stuff they usually spend the time chatting about.

your ears perk up when the conversation changes to girlfriend and sex. “man, my girl rides me like a fucking jackrabbit.” one guy laughs, making your nose scrunch up.

the rest chime in, except for rafe. you're not sure if it's just because you're there or if he prefers to keep your sex life private.

“alright, boys.” rafe says. “better get going, my lady clearly needs me.”

you smile and blush, cheeks flaring. you bury your head in rafes shoulder as he says his goodbyes, his friends filling out the door. rafe makes sure it closes behind them before scooping you up, holding you in his arms, not even questioning if you want to be carried upstairs.

“rafe?” you hum as he sets you down on his bed. “you know i would ride you if you wanted it, right?”

rafe lets out a sudden laugh, confused by your question. “what brought this on baby?”

“just the guys… talking about their girlfriends riding them. i never do that for you.” you shrug. 

rafe shakes his head. “i don't mind that you’re a pillow princess.”

you gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. “i am not a pillow princess!”

rafe chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “you are, but its okay. i like being on top.”

“but-but-” you stammer. “i’m not!” “okay, wanna prove it?” rafe questions, a smirk still playing on his lips, knowing exactly what he's goading you into doing.

“take your clothes off.” you challenge back.

rafe tugs his shirt over his head before pulling at his pants. he undresses quickly, watching as you stand up off the bed to take your tanktop and shorts off. 

rafe climbs onto the bed once he’s stripped, leaning against the headboard with a lazy smile on his face. you blink at his dick, still mostly soft, resting against his thigh. usually rafe will eat you out or finger you and by the time you’re ready to fuck, he’s already hard.

“come on, show you’re not a pillow princess. get me hard.” rafe beckons you over.

you finish taking off your underwear before climbing onto the bed, kneeling between his legs. you reach for his cock, taking it in your hand, starting to stroke it as you watch with fascination as he hardens right under your fingertips.

“gonna suck me off too?” rafe questions.

“maybe.” you hum. you bend down, wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, suckingling as your hand continues to stroke most of his length.

you work him until he’s completely hard before letting your mouth sink lower, taking as much as you comfortably can before setting a pace of moving back to just have the tip in your mouth to taking him fully.

“such a good girl.” rafe coos, placing a hand on the back of your head, but he doesn’t force you down, doesn’t help your movements. he lets you take control like you swore you could do.

you reach down between your legs as you suck him off. you’re a little wet, but it’s nothing like when rafe fingers you before sex, so you rub your clit as you flick your tongue over his length, his moans reaching your ears.

you pull off of his cock with a pop, already feeling tired of being in control. you wish rafe would have pushed himself down your throat, showed you just how he liked it, but he just watches you as you climb onto his lap.

you stroke his cock a few more times as you position yourself properly, hovering your cunt over his dick before slowly sinking down, letting out a moan as he fills you up, stretching slightly more than usual without as much prep. 

“it feels different from this angle.” you admit, looking shyly down as you sit on rafes fat cock. you feel it twitch inside you, and you know he’s desperate for you to move from the strained look on his face.

you begin to bounce, placing your hands on his chest. you wish he would grab your waist or your ass, helping you move on his length, but he leaves it up to you as you grind your cunt down.

you already feel your legs beginning to get sore, your muscles not used to this type of motion as you already begin to slow down, ashamed at how fast you are ready to give up, so you try to power through, but to no avail.

“fine.” you give up. “i’m a pillow princess.”

rafe flips you over suddenly, pressing your back into the mattress. “i told you so. should have just listened to me, kid.”

you whine as you wrap your legs around his waist as rafe begins to thrust. “i just like this better.” you don’t want to admit that you got exhausted after a minute of writing, and you really do like rafe on top of you better, his hair falling around his forehead as he looks down at you.

“you’re so pretty baby, i don’t care that i have to do all the work.” rafe says as he pumps into you. “not when your pussy is this tight.”

you grab at rafes shoulders, pulling him down into you so you can press your lips together. rafe grabs your tit with one of his hands, keeping the other around your waist as he kisses you, tongue pushing inside of your mouth as another show of his dominance. 

“gonna cum inside me?” you question.

“of course im gonna baby girl.” rafe says, sealing his promise with a kiss as he begins to move faster, digging deeper into your cunt.

“please.” you whimper, wanting to feel rafe release inside of you. you scratch your fingernails lightly down his back, making him shiver as his cock suddenly pulses, spurts of cum shooting into you.

“oh fuck, baby.” rafe moans as you clench around him, purposely milking him.

rafe collapses to the side of you, slipping out of your cunt, leaving his cum to slide out of your pussy onto the bedsheets.

rafe breathes deeply for a minute while you also try to get your breath back before he turns on his side, kissing your jawline and neck as he brings his hand back towards your pussy, but you shut your legs, squeezing your thighs tightly to deny him.

“but you didn’t cum yet.” rafe says with a pout, feeling like he failed if he can’t get you off too.

“i’m too tired, don’t wanna.” you admit with a shrug, feeling satisfied without the orgasm.

rafe can’t help the small chuckle that leaves his mouth. “you’re too tired from riding me for like two minutes? and you tried to argue that you’re not a pillow princess?” “yeah, whatever.” you roll your eyes. “just cuddle me.”

rafe nods, pulling you in with his big arms, letting you snuggle into his chest. “i love you princess.”

the words warm you, making your cheeks blush, never getting tired of hearing him say those three words as you tip your head up, letting your lips ghost over his. “i love you too.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[carmenberzattosgf]

OH MY GOD CARMY SMOKING WHILE YOU RIDE HIM walk with me…

maybe you’re at his place, or his office, and you’ve just been kinda needy all day. not to an ‘annoying’ extent, but carmen sees it because he knows you. so when he tugs his jeans and boxers down just enough for you, you pounce

he leans back in his couch/chair, pulling out a cigarette and lazily watches you go at it. maybe he’d tug your shirt up so he could ‘see his girls.’ his nonchalance just drives you fucking crazy and he lets you do it yourself, no matter how many times you whine for him to help because ‘you were fuckin’ gagging for it all day, who am i to interrupt, huh? jus’ keep fuckin’ me like that’

i don’t think he’d blow smoke in your face (intentionally) but if you find it hot he would. and once he’s done he puts out the cigarette, his lax grip on your thighs tightening as he starts snapping his hips against yours

Also includes this ask I got shortly after: Camry smoking a cig during sex has my mind going brrrrrrrrrrrrr. It's so lazy, too. just slow riding him while he lays back and watches. Maybe it's punishment for acting up???? You're just whining on his cock begging for him to help you cum.

I. YEAH. YOU GET IT. Time to expand on these thoughts. ( this ended up being 1670k words of filth)

You find yourself at Carmy’s apartment on his day off. Those don’t come around too often. You expected him to do something by now, but he hasn’t made a single move to get his hands on you. He kissed you when you came in, but that was about it.

You take matters into your own hands. Try to, at least. You are practically all over him, never leaving his side. When he’s standing at his kitchen counter that evening, pouring you a glass of wine, you quietly walk up behind him. Your arms wrap around his waist while you rest your forehead on the center of Carmy’s back. You let your hands gently slide over the taunt muscles of his stomach over his shirt as you speak.

“I’ve missed you, Bear. Missed your hugs. It feels like I’ve hardly seen you all week.” He sighs into your touch.

“I’ve missed you too, baby.” Carmy turns around to hand you the glass. “Work was extra crazy this week. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to see you.”

“It’s alright. I know it was out of your control…Maybe there’s a way you can make it up to me?” You flash him a look he knows full well.

A breathy chuckle leaves his lips. “Sweetheart, I’m exhausted. Can we just watch some tv?”

You don’t even attempt to hide the pout on your face as you settle next to him on the couch, leaning against him with his arm around you. Carmy put on a show he knows the both of you like.

You only keep your hands to yourself for one whole episode. Your movements start slow. At first you begin to trail your fingertips along his side. It’s not long before your hand slides up under the fabric of his white tee.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Carmen’s voice is smooth and calm. You lean up to press a kiss on his check, followed by a quick one to his neck.

“Oh. Nothing.”

“Let’s not play dumb now. I think you know better than that.” He leans back away from your body, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I’m going to let you try again. What are you doing?”

You fold instantly. “I need you, Carm. I really need you.”

“Yeah? Missed my cock, huh? Want it so bad that you don’t care about how tired I am?”

“No! No, that’s not it—“ you protest quickly.

“Fine.” Carmy begins to unbuckle his belt as he speaks. “But I’m not putting in any work.” He lowers his jeans and boxers just enough to free his dick.

Without a second thought, you stand up from the couch and pull down your pants and underwear. Once you straddle his hips, you reach down and pump his hard cock, spreading the precum over his length. Carmy takes in the sight of you as you gradually sink down onto him. Slowly, inch by inch.

Despite how many times you've been with Carmy, you still haven't gotten used to the stretch. In a position like this, it almost feels like he's in your stomach. Your eyelids squint shut while you take deep breaths and try to adjust. Though, at the sound of a lighter, your eyes pop right back open, staring down at Carmen with wide-eyes. A cigarette rests between his lips, having just been lit.

“W-what are you doing?” You’re expecting him to start guiding your hips, but he doesn’t. Carmy leans back against the couch, making himself comfortable. He lets his legs spread wide, forcing you to straddle higher up on his hips. The action presses his cock even deeper inside of you. He looks as though he’s having an evening cigarette, only difference is that you’re on top of him.

His tattooed fingers takes the cigarette from his mouth so he can blow out the smoke. Carmy turns his head to the side, blowing the smoke cloud away from you. The smell quickly fills up your nose. "I told you, l'm tired.” His voice is stoic. If it wasn’t for his cock pulsing inside of you, you wouldn’t think he’s turned on. “Go on and get yourself off. I'm going to enjoy my cigarette."

You start slow, grinding your hips on him. Your hands rest on his lower stomach for leverage as you rock against him. His abs are taunt and hard underneath your palms. The motion rubs your clit on his pelvis, causing a breathless moan to leave your throat.

Carmy remains still beneath you, watching you with lust-filled eyes. One of his hands rests on your thigh. His other hand tends to the cigarette in his mouth. He speaks up after a moment of letting you rock against him.

“Should have just let you sit on my thigh if all you’re going to do is grind on me. Thought you said you wanted my cock?” He waits for your response, bringing the cigarette back up to his lips to take a deep drag.

“I-I do—“ Carmy doesn’t let you finish your sentence, lightly blowing smoke into your face. He doesn’t miss the way you clench around him from the simple action, but he chooses not to tease you for it.

“Then fuck yourself on me. You’re a big girl. You can do it by yourself.”

You whimper pitifully. You want his strong arms to grab your hips and slam you down onto his cock, but that wasn’t going to happen. You rise up on your knees, letting his cock thrust almost entirely out of you. Your hips sink right back down onto him afterwards. The pleasure is unexplainable, sending electricity through your veins as he bottoms out.

You set a slow pace, not able to go as fast without Carmy’s help. His pupils are blown wide as he stares up at you, before his gaze moves downwards. He watches as his cock disappears inside of you with each slow thrust. You’re dripping, coating his dick with your arousal. The sight of his thick cock stretching you out hypnotizes him.

His lack of words and refusal to help is killing you. You need him to fuck you. Your thighs burn, growing tired from the repetitive movements. “C-carm. Need you to help. Please- please I need it.” You cry out.

“You were the one gagging for my cock all day. Why should I help? Just keep fucking me like this, yeah?” He’s nearing the end of his cigarette, only a couple more minutes of life left in it. You try your best to continue bouncing on him, but it’s getting more difficult by the minute.

“Carm— fuck!” You exclaim as his cock nudges against that spot deep inside you. Carmy ignores your cries. He takes his hand off of your thigh and tugs the material of your tank top up, exposing your tits.

“There we go. Now I can see my girls.” He still doesn’t go any further than that, letting his hand go back to resting on your thigh. Not even so much as rubbing a thumb over your breast. He goes back to watching you move, fighting the urge to hold your tits for you while you bounce.

The muscles in your legs begin to twitch, but not from being close to your high. Your legs are exhausted, and your pace shows it. You’re getting slower, not going as consistently.

Carmy reaches the end of his cigarette, taking one last long drag. He grabs your face with his hand. His thumb on your chin opens up your lips. Carmen exhales the smoke into your mouth, expecting you to inhale it. You do exactly that, letting the smoke fill up your lungs before blowing it out in the space between the two of you.

Now fully satisfied, Carmy reaches over to stub out his cigarette on the ash tray sitting on the side table. Without offering a single word, Carmy digs his hands into both of your thighs and starts slamming his hips into yours. Sounds of skin against skin echo against the walls.

“Shit! Fuck, Carmy—“ you moan, not even trying to control your volume. “I can— I can feel you in my stomach, shit—“ You take one of your hands and press beneath your navel, feeling his cock as it thrusts rapidly into your soaking cunt. “Feels so good, Carm.” You’re blabbering at this point, high on the feeling of him inside you. Your orgasm draws close fast.

“Yeah you needed me so bad that you couldn’t get off without me? Is that it? My little girl needed some help?”

“Yes—“

“Then what do you say?” Carmen is nearing his own high, too. His pace grows sloppy.

“T-thank you— fuck— thank you, Carmy.”

“There’s my respectful good girl. Just needed a little bit of punishment to get her back.” He detaches a hand from your thigh, moving it to your aching clit. He rubs tight fast circles on the bud with a calloused thumb. “Go on, baby. Cum for me. Soak my cock.”

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. Euphoria floods through your veins as Carmy fucks you through it. You collapse into his body, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. The sounds of your moans and whimpers muffles in the skin of his neck. Your body shakes from pleasure.

Carmy removes his thumb from your clit, not wanting to overstimulate you. You had already been punished enough. His hand rests at the back of your head, cupping it gently. The gentleness of his hands starkly contrasts the way his hips sharply thrust into you.

“Atta girl. Just a bit more—“ he groans, offering you some praise. With a few more powerful thrusts of his hips, Carmy spills inside of you, filling you up with his cum. You both remain wordless in each others’ arms for a moment, trying to catch a breath. Carmy is the first to break the silence. “You happy now?” This time his voice has a hint of laugh to it.

“Mhm.” You kiss his neck. “Very happy. Thank you.”

“I think you know I’ll do anything you want at this point.” He laughs. “Now, can we go clean up and go to sleep? I’m even more exhausted now, baby.”

[navstuffs]

How would Leon Kennedy and Carlos Oliveira react to a GN!Reader who gets lazy/tired while on top

author's notes: there is a meme around tumblr that says, "horse pretends to be dead every time it needs to go on a ride." so yeah, this is sorta where this idea came from.

(NSFW +18 UNDER CUT)

Leon Kennedy

Leon knows you will get tired as soon as you offer to be on top. He watches as your hips snap lazily against his, keeping a short set of pace that doesn't make his whole cock disappear inside of you. He is focused on your pleasure expression, eyes semi-open, and wrinkled forehead. You look adorable and irresistible, he thinks. Leon's hands hold lightly in your hips as yours hold into his shoulders for support.

You try to fasten the pace even with your legs complaining, be a good lover, and not get lazy. You got this. You are in total control and enjoying yourself as you ride your boyfriend's dick.

But you both know you need more friction, and Leon has noticed the pout forming on your lips.

"Honey? Can I move now?" Leon asks, and you are almost tempted to say no. But your sex is eager to be touched, and you know you won't be able to keep up much longer.

Poor Leon, you think, as he pleads with his eyes, begging you to allow him to take control.

When you nod, a little embarrassed of your performance, all thoughts vanish from your mind when Leon changes the angle of his legs and starts to hit a spot that makes you see stars. Again. And again.

"Feeling good?" Leon grunts, and you roll your eyes, mumbling a yes.

He doesn't stop, just snaps faster inside you, his thrusts not faltering for one moment. Leon likes to watch you melt in his arms, biting his lips as he continues hitting that delicious spot that makes you moan louder. It is with pride and possessiveness feeling on his heart that Leon knows only he gets you to feel like that. No one else.

His hands grab your asscheeks, and you have to hold tight to his shoulders, his shirt, anything, so you don't lose your mind. He leaves you a blabbering mess, with incoherent thoughts and desperate moans imploring for more, if it is even possible.

"That is it, honey. That is it" Leon whispers satisfied, your body just clay on his hands. You would let him do whatever he wants with you at this point. One of your hands goes instinctively to your sex, rubbing it, desperate to feel your release.

It doesn't take long for you to cum, Leon's whimpers of encouragement being the last straw. Your whole body shakes as you moan his name, and you feel Leon hiding his face into your neck, marking you as his as he cums.

You both remain like this until Leon licks the spot he bit, whispering close to your ear.

"My turn to be on top next."

Carlos Oliveira

Carlos's hands grip tight into your hips as you slowly sit on his cock. Your hands are on his chest, your eyes closed for better focus as you move down, his cock burying deep inside of you. Though lubricated enough, Carlos is still big. That's why he doesn't complain when you take him slowly, your hands using his chest as support. He doesn't mind, and he prefers like that until you get used to his size. The movements keep slow and torturous, and Carlos is confused if you are trying to kill him now.

"What are you doing? Are you okay?" Carlos asks, his voice expressing concern as he scans your face. "I am not hurting, am I?"

"No."

As you continue the slow pace, Carlos tests by moving his hip once, and you bite your lips. He does it again, making you moan.

"Do you want me to move?" Carlos tries because he seriously tries to let you do what you want but needs more. He needs to bury himself deeper inside you.

"Am I not doing a good job?" Your tone sounds hurt, and Carlos tries to explain himself.

"That isn't what I am mean-" That's when he realizes your big naughty grin. 

You don't answer, and Carlos wonders if that isn't exactly what you want. He pulls his legs up, bringing your body down into his chest, and thrusts his hips fast inside you, not stopping. Carlos adds more strength in every thrust. You want to move your hands for support, but Carlos uses one hand to grip your arms behind your back, and you can't move.

He keeps ramming into you, the headboard hitting the wall. Carlos likes to watch your eyes roll into your head, your leaking sex rubbing against his pubic hair, bringing him even more over the edge.

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

You can't even form a sentence to answer him, so close to your orgasm as you are. When you finally cum, screaming Carlos's name, it doesn't take long for him to follow you. He groans loudly, biting your shoulder and holding you tight in his arms, letting every drop of his seed inside you.

After taking a moment to relax, you flop to his side of the bed, gasping for air. Carlos gives you a side-eye as he wonders, curious.

"What was that?"

"Just trying to tease you," but Carlos knows there is more. He turns to your side, that face of his knowing you are hiding something. You admit, defeated. "Fine. I got lazy."

"You should have told me" Carlos brings you close to his body, kissing the top of your forehead. "I wouldn't have any problem getting on top."

You nod in answer, nuzzling into his chest happy and satisfied.

[thef1diary]

riddle me this: how would dirtbag danny react if you came home after a date with another guy? I can imagine him being so demeaning, pitying you since you thought you needed a safer and reliable guy, opposite of daniel basically

(also I’m the same anon from the beer chugging vid, can I be 👩🏻‍🦽anon <- that’s us after a night with dirtbag danny btw)

Nice Isn’t Enough | Dirtbag!Danny

— hi nonnie! so glad you’re back w more dirtbag!danny filth 🤭 yes you can absolutely be 👩🏻‍🦽anon, your reason made me giggle ngl

warnings: 18+, name calling, lotssss of degradation, dirty talk, thigh riding, cruel cruel danny but that’s expected atp

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your latest thoughts and click here for the rest of my blurbs/fics

You entered your apartment, kicking off your heels with a sigh, the ghost of a smile still lingering on your lips. The date had gone well enough—pleasant conversation, a sweet kiss at the door, and the comforting warmth of normalcy. But just as you let out another sigh, the calm surrounding you shattered the second you heard his voice.

“Aw, was it that bad?”

Your head snapped up. Daniel’s voice dripped with condescension, low and smug, like he’d been waiting for this moment all night. He’s sprawled across your couch—legs wide and spread, the hem of his shorts inching dangerously high on his thighs with every lazy shift of his body. One arm is draped over the backrest with a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. He doesn’t look at you immediately, his eyes fixed on the label he’s peeling off, but the smirk tugging at his lips is unmistakable.

“You didn’t even invite him in?” He finally glanced up, his honey brown eyes flicking over you from head to toe, taking in the silk dress that hugged your curves, the faint flush still blooming on your cheeks. His gaze lingered, slow and deliberate, before he raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t go as well as you thought, huh?”

Your heart stuttered for a moment—not from fear, but from the sheer audacity. You blinked, caught off guard by both his presence and the sting of his words. “What are you doing here, Daniel?” you asked, keeping your voice as steady as you can.

He leaned back into the cushions, utterly at ease in your space. “What am I doing here?” he echoed, as if the answer should be obvious. “You forgot about our plans for the night.” He shrugged, taking a lazy sip from his beer, the smirk never leaving his face. “And you’re very predictable with your extra key placement, by the way.”

Your stomach twisted. He let himself in. Like it’s nothing. Like you belonged to him—or worse, like your space does.

“I didn’t forget anything,” you lied, crossing your arms over your chest as if that can shield you from the pull of him. “Because we didn’t have plans.”

Daniel’s smirk widens as your lie hangs in the air. He knows. He somehow knows.

“Didn’t have plans, huh?” he murmured, setting the beer bottle down on the coffee table with a soft clink. He rises slowly with the kind of confidence that makes the room feel smaller. Every step he took towards you is measured, deliberate, and your breath catches in your throat despite yourself.

He stopped just a few inches away, the heat of his presence pressing into your skin, the scent of beer, leather, and something deeper—something rich, masculine, and entirely him—invading your senses.

“So,” he started, voice slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every word. “How was it?” His gaze swept over your face again, lingering on the faint blush still warming your cheeks before noticing the smudge of lipstick from the kiss at the door. “Your little date.”

You took a breath, steadying yourself, refusing to let him rattle you. “It was fine.”

Daniel chuckled softly, a low, mocking sound. “Fine,” he echoed the word like it’s a punchline. “Of course, it was fine. I bet he was a real stand-up guy. Steady job, clean car, probably held the door for you, didn’t he?” His grin widened as he brushed his lips against your ear, “real safe.”

You don’t rise to the bait. Not yet. “He was nice.”

“Nice,” Daniel repeated, almost whispering it like it was the dirtiest word he’s ever heard. His hands found your hips, fingers curling around them, the pads of his thumbs rubbing slow, lazy circles against the silky fabric of your dress. “Sure. Nice. Polite, respectful. Asked about your day.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, each word a carefully placed jab. “Took you to some boring-ass restaurant where the biggest thrill was picking between red and white wine, right?”

Your jaw tightened, and you could feel the heat rising in your face. His smirk only widened, feeding off your barely concealed irritation.

“But tell me something,” His voice lowered, rough and edged with something darker. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you just the slightest bit closer until the space between you is almost nonexistent. “Did he look at you like he wanted to tear this dress off you right there in the middle of dinner?”

You blinked, lips parting, but no words came.

Daniel’s eyes searched yours even though it seemed as if he already had the answer. “Did he make you feel it?” His voice is a murmur now, his lips so close to yours you can feel the ghost of his breath. “Like you couldn’t breathe unless his hands were on you?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath shallow, but you stood your ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words affect you.

“Or,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, “did he kiss you goodnight and send you home, like a good girl, with a pat on the head and a promise to call?”

Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms to prevent yourself from giving into his kiss, but you refused to look away. “Not everyone is like you, Daniel.” The words are meant to be defiant, but they come out softer than you intended, almost a whisper.

Daniel’s smirk returned, wicked and knowing. “No,” he agreed, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze fully. “Not everyone can be.”

The air between you crackled with tension, a push and pull neither of you wanted to admit to but can’t seem to escape. His hands remain on your hips, grounding you, teasing you, as if he’s daring you to break the silence.

“Let me guess,” he murmured. “He wouldn’t even know what to do with you. Bet he touched you like you were made of glass when he kissed you.” His eyes flicked back up to yours, daring, taunting. “Think he’d fuck you like you want? Like you deserve?”

Your cheeks flushed hot, and you hated the way your body reacted to his words, to the heat in his gaze, to the way his voice wrapped around you and pulled you in.

“Daniel,” you muttered, but it's weak, barely audible.

“Am I wrong?” Daniel stepped back, just a little, his hands falling away from your hips, leaving you cold in his absence. He gives you enough space to breathe, but not enough to escape the weight of his presence.

You swallowed hard, the absence of his touch both a relief and a frustration. His words lingered in the air, hanging over you, daring you to deny them. But you don’t. You can’t.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice low and lazy, like he’s already won. “When you get bored of nice… you know how to reach me.”

He turned, ready to leave, the air between you still buzzing with unspoken tension. But before he could take too many steps away, your voice cut through the silence, soft but firm.

“Daniel. Wait.”

He paused, his back to you, shoulders tense as if he’s waiting to see if you’ll take it back. Slowly, he turned, his gaze locking onto yours.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding, every nerve in your body on edge. “You’re right.”

His brow arched, the smirk growing just a fraction. “About what?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. Finally, you whispered, “Everything.”

Daniel takes a step toward you, then another, until he’s standing in front of you again. He reached out, his fingers catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, unreadable, the smirk on his face both infuriating and intoxicating.

“Gotta tell me more than that, sweetheart,” he drawled, his thumb brushing over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “Praise a guy, will ya?”

You inhaled shakily, your eyes locked on his. “I don’t want nice,” you admitted softly, the words spilling out before you could second-guess them. “I don’t want to settle, or something safe and reliable. I don’t want…him.”

Daniel’s smirk deepened, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. His thumb lingers on your chin, teasingly light, but his eyes—those dark, relentless eyes—hold you in place. “Yeah?” he murmured, the mockery evident in his tone. “Guess nice didn’t quite do it for you, huh?”

You shook your head slightly, the tension between you crackling like static. “It’s not enough,” you whispered, barely recognizing your voice.

He hummed in satisfaction, tilting his head as if to study you, figuring out just how far you’re willing to go. “Thought you might come around,” he said softly. “Nice is good for a Sunday brunch with your parents. For hand-holding and little promises that don’t mean shit. But that’s not what you really want, is it?”

You don’t answer, but your silence is enough. He sees it, feels it in the way you lean in ever so slightly, drawn to the heat of him, the pull you’ve been resisting for far too long.

“Come here,” he whispered, stepping back toward the couch and guiding you with him. His hands find your hips again, pulling you down onto his lap, your knees settling on either side of him. The intimacy of the position stole your breath, but you didn't pull away.

You hover inches away from his lips, your breath mingling with his, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. His hands grip your hips, firm and possessive, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. Your heart raced, every nerve in your body screaming to close the distance, to give in.

But before you do, you pressed your hands against his chest, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric of his shirt. “This doesn’t mean I’m in love with you,” you said sharply.

Daniel chuckled, low and mocking, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Good,” he replied, amused. “Because I’m not in love with you either.” His fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. “Why would I want that?” His voice is smooth, dripping with pity and condescension. “Love’s not really your thing anyway, is it? Or mine for that matter.”

Heat creeped up your cheeks, both from his words and the infuriating smirk on his face. You should push him away, should walk out, but instead, you do the exact opposite.

You kissed him.

It’s not tentative or gentle—it’s fierce, all-consuming, a kiss that feels like surrender and defiance all at once. His lips are warm, demanding, and he meets your desperation with his own, his hands moving from your hips to the small of your back, holding you tight against him.

Your dress was already rising, the fabric sliding higher as you shifted against him, your knees pressing into the couch on either side of his hips. His fingers slipped under the hem, pushing it up and over your waist with ease, leaving you bare save for the black lace of your panties.

He pulled back just enough to drink you in, his dark eyes roaming over you like you’re something he owned. Your thighs are bare and trembling against the heat of him. His gaze drops to the lace barely covering you, his smirk curling into something cruel, something wicked.

“Now,” he breathed, his voice thick with mockery, “why don’t you show me just how fucking done you are with nice?”

Before you could respond, his hand was already between your legs, rough fingers hooking under the delicate lace covering your pussy and yanking it to the side, baring you completely. The cool air hits your cunt, making you gasp, but it’s nothing compared to the way his eyes darkened as he took you in.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His fingers slide between your folds, slow and deliberate, parting you with a precision that’s designed to drive you mad. He doesn’t give you what you want—not yet. Instead, he toyed with you, dragging his fingertips through your slickness, barely brushing your clit before pulling away again, leaving you aching and desperate.

A soft, involuntary whimper escapes your lips, and he catches it, smirking like he’s already won. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and filthy. “Already dripping for me, huh? Guess nice really wasn’t cutting it.”

His fingers returned, this time rougher, sliding through your slick heat, spreading it over you, coating you in your own arousal. He pressed the pads of two fingers against your hole, teasing you with the barest hint of pressure before pulling back once again, making you grind your hips in frustration.

Daniel chuckled, dark and condescending, his grip on your hip tightening to keep you exactly where he wants you. “Patience, sweetheart,” he mocked, his lips curling into a cruel grin. “You want to get fucked like you deserve? You’ve gotta earn it.”

Without warning, he shifted your hips, forcing you down onto his thigh—his bare, tattooed thigh—and the heat of him against your slick folds sent a jolt of pleasure through you. He pressed you down, grinding you against him, the roughness of his skin dragging against your clit, making you gasp.

“Yeah,” he groaned, his voice pure sin. “Just like that. Go ahead—ride it. Show me how desperate you really are.”

You don’t even think—you just move, instinctively grinding down against his thigh, chasing the friction, the heat, the overwhelming need coursing through you. Each drag of your slick folds against the hard muscle of his thigh sends sparks shooting through your body, your clit throbbing with every rock of your hips. You’re a mess already, and you know it, but you don’t care. Not anymore. Pride, shame—none of it matters now. All you can focus on is the pleasure building inside you, desperate and raw.

Daniel knows it too, and he revels in it. His hands grip your hips, guiding your movements, controlling the pace as if he owns you.

“Look at you,” he sneered, voice low and dripping with disdain. His hands slid up your sides, rough and deliberate, until they reached the neckline of your dress. Without hesitation, he pulled the fabric down, exposing your bare tits to the cool air and his heated stare. His thumb brushes over one hardened nipple, making you gasp, before he pinches it roughly, just to hear the sound you make.

“Fuck,” he drawled, eyes flicking between your flushed face and your exposed chest. “Imagine if your date saw you like this—grinding on me like a desperate little slut.” His smirk deepened, cruel and knowing. “Think he’d still ask you out again? Or would he see you for what you really are? My filthy, needy little whore who can’t get off unless someone makes her earn it.”

His words cut deep, filthy and degrading, and they ignite something inside you, something dark and hungry. You can feel the heat of his thigh against you, the pressure building with every roll of your hips, and it’s maddening. He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear, his voice a harsh whisper.

“Bet he’d be fucking shocked, huh?” Daniel continued, his tone dripping with condescension. “Good girls like you aren’t supposed to act like this. But here you are—tits out, soaking my thigh, and fucking yourself like you can’t help it.” His hands tighten on your hips, forcing you down harder, grinding you deeper into him. “Such a fucking pretty mess. Keep going, sweetheart. Show me how much you love being dirty for me.”

Your movements grew frantic, driven by the overwhelming mix of sensations—the rough drag of his skin against your soaked folds, the burning heat of his thigh flexing beneath you, each hard muscle shifting and tightening as if made just to ruin you. He bounces it once, twice, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, and a helpless moan tumbles from your lips, loud and shameless.

“Yeah,” Daniel groaned, watching you with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “That’s it. Let me hear how desperate you are.” His hands roam over your body, possessive and rough, sliding up to cup your tits, squeezing them in his large, calloused hands. His thumbs flicked over your nipples, rolling and pinching the sensitive peaks, making you arch your back and grind harder against him.

“Go on dates with any guy,” he murmured, lips brushing against your ear, voice taunting. “But I know you’ll always come back to me for a good fuck.”

Your breath stuttered, every nerve in your body screaming for release, and you whimpered his name. His smirk deepened, a cruel, triumphant twist of his lips.

“You’re so desperate for a good fuck, aren’t you?” he asked, his eyes dark and full of sin. “You want more, don’t you? You want my cock.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, pressing down lightly. “Be a good, obedient slut for me, and maybe I’ll give it to you. I know how much you love it—how much you need it filling you up.”

The promise, the filth in his words, makes a loud whine leave your lips, his name spilling repeatedly. Your hips jerk against his thigh, chasing more, needing more.

“Mm, that’s right, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Say my name. Scream it.”

His thigh flexed again, and you rode it harder, grinding down with desperation, your wetness slicking his skin. You’re close—so fucking close—and he knows it. His eyes burn with amusement and something darker as he leans in, his teeth grazing your jaw before his tongue flicks out to taste you.

“Think he stuck around outside?” Daniel’s voice is a low rumble, thick with arrogance. “He probably heard you if he did. Every little moan. Every scream.” His words sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through you, the humiliation and pleasure intertwining, tightening the coil in your pussy.

“He should’ve come inside,” he continued, biting down gently on the curve of your neck, making you gasp. “Wanted to show him how you beg for me. How you fall apart on my thigh. How you’re mine to fuck.”

Your hips bucked uncontrollably, grinding against him with frantic need. His fingers dig into your waist, guiding your every movement, every desperate thrust. He bounced his thigh again, the rough drag of his skin against your swollen clit sending you spiraling over the edge.

“Look at you,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours, watching every tremble, every shudder. “Such a pretty little slut, using me to get off. So fucking wet—so fucking needy.”

Your vision blurred, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as you cry out his name, loud and broken, just like he wanted. His hands hold you steady, his thigh flexing beneath you one last time, drawing out every shiver, every whimper, until you collapse against him, spent and trembling in his arms.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, your body trembling as he dragged every last aftershock from you.

You shifted slightly, your head resting against his shoulder, heart pounding, breath shaky. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, cocky triumph.

“See?” he whispered, lips curling into a smirk that’s both dangerous and devastating. “You don’t need nice. You just need me.”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip one last time, slow and deliberate, before he leaned in close, his mouth grazing your ear.

“And you’ll be back, sweetheart,” he breathed, the promise dark and certain. “Because you always come back.”

taglist: @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @wobblymug @bokutos-babyowl @evasmlp @mycenterfold @uhhvictoria @kaorisakamotofan @alice-went-away @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @gxuh @67-angelofthelordme-67 @kigieri @lilorose25

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 9: The One Where You Choose Your Own Brazilian Adventure

My planned post – the “In Dedication of JVN” one where I fangirl over Jonathan Van Ness and what a fun and interesting piece of the Lukola puzzle he is – was derailed today because I was once again asked about Brazil. Well, more specifically, I was asked about whether I thought we were ever going to get those steamy, hopefully X-rated pictures, from Brazil. There’s pictures?!

In truth, I thought we’d collectively squeezed that grapefruit dry and left the rind somewhere between Italy and the Glamour Awards.

Alas, here I am writing about Brazil.

It’s funny because I’ve never thought much about Brazil. I know, I know! How could I possibly type those words without my nose growing six inches in front of my face? Well, it’s because it was always Australia that intrigued me. More on that later…

So why exactly do we believe there are pictures from Brazil? And, why do we think they are going to prove some kind of hot affair between Luke and Nicola? This theory is likely fueled by rumor; rumor born from how Luke and Nicola behaved towards each other while they were in Brazil.

I thought it would be fun to play a little game of “Choose Your Own Adventure” to determine if we’re ever going to see these alleged pictures. And, yes, I will be a very sarcastic bitch when doing this.

Before I start, though, I want to give a quick shout out to my dear friend, whom I shall call The-One-Who-Drops-Random-Pics-Into-Our-Group-Chat-and-Lets-Us-Sweat-Over-Them-for-Atleast-Three-Minutes-Before-Finally-Explaining-Them. She was a wealth of information about Brazil and even had a nice mother-daughter chat with me about the significance of a clean-shaven face (pardon me for never having dated a bearded man, which is odd because I find facial hair quite attractive).

Now, gather ‘round and I shall give you a little prologue to our adventure!

I’m sure most of you already know all about Brazil. In fact, many of you are probably self-described experts at this point. But, for those who are new here, let me go ahead and light the candles and set the ambiance for you. 

On May 19, Luke and Nicola were shuttled off to do their beach photoshoot in Brazil. You know, the one where Nicola was walking the dogs; Luke was strumming the guitar; Nicola was being all girlfriend-like fixing Luke’s jacket; Luke was gazing up at Nicola at the pub while she was touching his neck; and then there was that moment when we all thought they might kiss. Yeah, all that plus Luke’s scruffy face from the week prior suddenly appeared clean-shaven. Apparently, you can never be too “Casual” when you’re headed down south (pun intended – as was that Chappell Roan reference). And, about now is where I’ll “insert disclaimer that this is speculation only.”

The following day, we had the actual premiere. I’m not sure what those two were up to before the premiere but both were un-fucking-hinged by the time they made it to the red carpet. We had angel-face Nicola looking up at Luke like he had created the universe and Luke answering Nicola’s Little Red Riding Hood vibe with one sexy ass Big Bad Wolf persona. I mean, the bits and bobs that came out of Luke’s mouth that day! “There’s a carriage downstairs.” “I mean, in this heat, all I’m thinking about is when we didn’t have to wear clothes ‘cos that would be quite nice right now.” “I mean the show is proof that it is [okay to kiss your friends].” With Nicola whispering back, “This is true.” Then there was Luke taking that mic without taking his eyes off Nicola. We had Luke helping Nicola put on her bracelets because – God forbid! – she let go of him for 30 seconds to do it her fucking self. And, let’s not forget about the two of them holding on to each other behind that woman’s back (I’m sorry, I don’t recall her name and I’m too lazy to look it up – mainly, because I’m certain most of you don’t really care about that other woman).

We were also given snippets of Luke and Nicola at the premiere afterparty, looking like two people who, at a minimum, enjoyed each other’s company. They greeted fans outside the venue and, as they walked away together, Nicola seemingly put her hand on Luke’s lower back as if to guide him in the right direction (go ahead – let your imagination run wild – it’s a great opening for a FanFic).

Then, throw in the beach walk with the giant security guard; the interview where Nicola was wearing the fluffy pink skirt and the two of them talked about Chappell Roan’s “Kaleidoscope” (seriously, those two were listening to that song together?); Nicola couldn’t stop giggling about the “meat” of the Carriage Scene; and Luke appeared perhaps a smidge too interested in Nicola’s answer about what she looks for in a man (which fit perfectly into Luke’s “Like, how nice is it when someone notices, like, your kindness or your sense of humor?”). And, we can’t ignore them seemingly sharing a tea cup and Luke reaching for Nicola’s spoon after she’d sampled a dish. Don’t even get me started on over-analyzing Luke’s “manspread” that day.

Let’s also not forget about the rumor portion of this Brazilian escapade – because that is what fuels the sexy hot pictures theory and the central plot of our storied adventure.

Rumor has it Luke and Nicola spent a lot of time with each other in Brazil.

By themselves.

In one or the other’s room.

On the beach.

By the pool.

There were also rumors of them making out in the hotel hallway.

The only evidence we have of any “alone time” are some pictures that were dumped on X of them dining together alone, without any other members of their team.

Now that the backdrop has been set, let’s go on my little adventure.

During the summer between my 7th and 8th grade years, I was bored out of my mind. I grew up in the countryside. No neighbors. No sidewalks. No cable! Just fields, wooded areas, and my two sisters, both of whom had no interest in entertaining me that summer. My mother suggested I read. After boredom had dug itself so far into my being that I was left with no choice but to read, I finally ventured over to the bookshelf and grabbed the thinnest book I could find. It was a “Choose Your Own Adventure.”

If you don’t know what a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book is, then you (and your children) are missing out. Basically, you play the role of the protagonist and make choices to determine the outcome of your story. Sometimes you make the right choice and survive; other times you make the wrong choice and get turned into a little mouse that may or may not be eaten by a cat.

Here we go.

As the protagonist of our story, you are:

THE EMPLOYEE

You’re an employee of the hotel Nicola and Luke stayed at while in Brazil. You have sworn to maintain the privacy of hotel guests; you’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement of sorts to protect the privacy of guests, especially since you have access to VIP areas. You can be a housekeeper, a watchman, a concierge, a seven-foot-tall security guard, whatever tickles your fancy. Doesn’t matter – you’re all bound by the same provisions to protect the privacy of the hotel’s guests. But, in this story, let’s say you’re the housekeeper because – what’s that old saying – the only person who knows everything going on in the house is the maid?

You’re cleaning Nicola’s room and you find lots of signs of a man being in the room. In fact, you find a coat that looks exactly like the one Luke was wearing the night of the premiere. Oh my. As you’re leaving, you see two people making out in the hallway – headed straight towards the room you’re just leaving!  It looks like Nicola and Luke. What do you do?

Choice A: Well, you’re a pervy housekeeper so you pull your phone out and start taking pictures. I mean, those two are so into each other, they don’t even notice. You then run and play show-and-tell with your friends because you can’t keep a damn secret. Unfortunately for you, that gossip spreads faster than lice in a preschool, and hotel management tracks your ass down because, guess what, your friends can’t keep a secret either. So, congratulations on being fired. You’re meeting with the lawyers is first thing in the morning. Oh, we also need your phone and the names of all your friends.

Choice B: You respect the privacy of Nicola and Luke and simply turn and walk the opposite direction. Taking photos of them never even crossed your mind! But, damn, what a good story to tell your bestie when you get home, even if you don’t have “receipts.”

THE VIP GUEST

You’re a random guest staying at the hotel. In fact, you’re a random VIP guest staying on the same floor as Nicola and Luke. When you checked in, you signed a non-disclosure agreement. I mean, you want your privacy protected, too! And, heck, NDAs are thrown out like candy these days. You’ve seen so many at this point, you don’t even bother to read them.

You take the elevator up to your floor and, as you step into the hallway, you’re confronted with – goddammit, there’s two motherfuckers all over each other! The guy is trying to slide his key into the door, but the woman’s dress is so awkwardly large, he can’t seem to find the right slot! You realize the people look a lot like those two stars from Bridgerton, and your best friend, Effie, is a huge fan! What do you do?

Choice A: You can’t believe Effie is missing out on this excitement so, of course, you pull your phone out and start taking pictures!! I mean, that NDA you signed didn’t even cross your mind three minutes later when you were forwarding the pictures to Effie! And, because you can’t control what Effie does, she forwards the pictures to all her Bridgie buddies. The next morning you awaken to find the pictures all over X. Oopsie. You feel slightly guilty, and a bit peeved at Effie – but only until you’ve had your morning coffee.

Choice B: You take people’s privacy very seriously. Well, maybe you don’t take it that seriously, but it would be too difficult to dig your phone out of your handbag to take pictures. And, to be honest, Effie is the huge fan, not you. Plus, it seems the guy finally got that door open and damn, based on the sounds of it, he's unlocked something magical. Oh well. You’ll call Effie in the morning to tell her your story, if you remember it.

THE RANDOM STRANGER

You’re a random stranger taking an evening stroll along the beach. You love the sound of the ocean. It’s so peaceful…the sound of the waves… Ugh, what is that noise?! It sounds like – shit, it is! – two people snogging in a cabana about 10 yards away from you. Wait a minute – is that? Yeah, you think it could be! I mean, you were just at the Bridgerton premiere last night! What do you do? Without hesitation, you pull out your phone!

Choice A: You creep behind an umbrella and zoom in as close as possible with your camera! I mean, shite! You can’t believe this! How long have you been filming?  Probably longer than necessary but who cares? Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you, perhaps a seven-foot-tall presence, and you slowly turn around. Fuck! Who’s this guy?! He takes your phone, drops it to the ground, and stomps on it, shattering its insides.  Asshole.  You bend down to pick up the phone, but the man taps your shoulder and shakes his head, “No.” Well, umm, yeah, I guess you best be leaving.

Choice B: You use your camera to zoom in on the couple. Snap! Snap! Snap! Then you get the FUCK OUT OF THERE! You tell yourself you don’t look suspicious at all, even though you’re practically running and your heart is about to pound its way out of your chest! Oh, thank God, you’ve made it to your car. You start it up and, like I said, YOU GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE! You get home and take a look at the photos! Goldmine! So, should you drop them on X? Maybe be a little see-you-next-Tuesday and try to sell them to Nicola or Luke’s teams? But, hell, you don’t even know where to start with that! Or, should you just pocket them for your own pleasure? You tell me….

The End.

Yes, I am absolutely being a facetious little ass! The above scenarios were for (the most part) my own entertainment. I mean, there are so many situations where these alleged pictures could exist (these playful ones don’t even scratch the surface). But, do the pictures exist?

If we’re being logical here, you would think that, if anyone in the general public were in possession of these alleged sexy-time pictures of Luke and Nicola, or had seen them, it would be all over social media at this point. I mean, ALL OVER. So, what can we deduce from the fact that they aren’t?

That the pictures probably don’t exist. Don’t shoot the messenger! Seriously, watch where you point that thing!

But, let’s say pictures did exist. Who is the most likely person to dump them on, say, X? The hotel employee, the VIP guest, or the random stranger? I would place money on the random stranger, followed by the VIP guest. The hotel employee, who probably has the most access to VIP guests but the strongest legal barriers, would be the least likely to photo dump. What is the likelihood that someone from one of these three groups – for example, a random stranger – (a) had pictures of Luke and Nicola, (b) didn’t drop them on social media, and/or (c) didn’t share them with someone who dropped them on social media?

I’m all for a good conspiracy theory but I find this one to be a hard pill to swallow.

Maybe one person can act as a lockbox for this kind of secret, but when you start including more people, the ability to keep something (like illicit photographs of two celebrities) out of the public eye diminishes rapidly.

Remember what Benjamin Franklin said, “Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”

Unfortunately, this quote is incredibly accurate. The general public cannot keep secrets.

If the pictures exist, they are most likely in the possession of Luke and/or Nicola’s team (of lawyers). So, unless they’re going to sneak them on to X for giggles (I mean, it’s been known to happen), you’re probably never going to see them – and that’s assuming they even exist.

However, if you’re the housekeeper from our first adventure and you happen to have some candid photographs you’re just dying to share, just find yourself a printer – one that cannot easily be linked back to you – and print them out. Then, “accidently” drop them at the feet of someone who knows exactly what they are, and then give them enough time to take their own photos of them and send them to their best friend’s brother’s sister-in-law’s third cousin’s wife’s neighbor, who could drop them on X for us. I mean, you should be golden with seven degrees of separation.

[donatellawritings]

How would rafe react the first time you call him papi? I feel like it’d be a surprise because he’s never been called that before!!

already elaborated on this for sweetheart!reader so here is americana!reader bc she’s a cutie patootie <3

rafe cameron absolutely loved calling you pet names, and he had a laundry list of names he’d found himself calling you by: pretty girl, mama, baby, princess, angel, kid — the lists goes on and on. he reserved calling you by your full name for when he had to command your attention, it let you know whether or not he was upset with you. however, you’d been used to calling him by his first name, but there was a part of you that hated how not-romantic it came off, you wanted a pet name for him, because he was yours and you felt as though he should have one. i mean, sure, sometimes the name rafey fell from your lips, but you felt it was a lazy nickname and a bit too boyish for the man you call your lover.

you didn’t even realize that the new pet name for rafe had subconsciously slipped off of your tongue as you bent down to greet rafe with a chaste kiss to his pink lips, “hi papi,” you smiled, completely missing the way rafe’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the sound of his new name. frankly, he didn’t know where the fuck that came from, but he wasn’t questioning it either, he thought it was hot. catching onto rafe’s silence, you slightly pouted, your head cocked to the side as you parted your sticky and glossed lips to speak, “did i- did i do something wrong?” you questioned, your doe eyes cutely widening with feverish panic as rafe ran his hand through his greasy curtain bangs with a breathy and flustered chuckle.

bringing his gaze to meet yours, rafe shifted his hips as he leaned back into the couch, “papi? that’s new,” he questioned, his flexed arms crossed over his chest as you blinked with realization.

“oh! yeah, do you like it? s’just that you’re older than me, so i feel kinda stupid calling you baby,” you reasoned aimlessly, walking towards rafe as you carefully straddled his lap, your denim skirt riding up the curve of your plush ass as rafe nodded with a smirk playing on his handsome face. with an exasperated sigh, you bite back a blushing smile as you catch rafe’s eyes staring at your mouth, “do you really like it?” you press, suddenly overwhelmed and feeling a bit too vulnerable due to the externally close proximity between you and rafe.

“i love it, princess — it sounds even better than daddy,” he teases, nudging your tummy with his ringed finger, before sliding his hand up to the base of your throat, wrapping his long fingers around your neck in a gentle hold, “s’that what you think i am? m’your daddy, huh pretty girl?” he coos in a mocking tone, his lips pulling into a subtle pout as you nod, licking over your swollen lips as rafe watches you with lowly hung eyes.

with a cheesy smile, you nodded, “rafey, come on,” you whined.

“tell me, mama — who takes care of you?” rafe cooed, his handing gripping your throat just a bit tighter.

with a shaky inhale, you watched as rafe unbuttoned his khakis with his free hand, your mouth watering as he reached his hand beneath the waistband of his boxer, “you,” you sighed, licking over your swollen lips.

“who keeps that pretty little smile on that pretty face?” rafe breathes out, pulling his hardened cock out, allowing it to slap against his tight stomach, his thick mushroom tip leaking with sticky pre-cum.

letting out a needy whine, you lift your hips, reaching your small hand down to pull your dainty crème colored lace thong to the side, “you do, papi,” you slowly sink down onto rafe’s length, a throaty moan leaving your parted and puffy lips as rafe filled you to the hilt, his heavy balls pressed right underneath the curve of your plush ass.

staring up at you through his stringy curtain bangs, rafe leans his head back against the couch, gently pushing his large hand against the hardened part of your tummy, smiling in pride as he felt the slight bulge of his tip, “fuck — y’know i’ll always be your papi, princess,” rafe slides his hand to wrap around your back, pulling you into his chest as he slowly fucks his hips up into yours, “m’always gonna take care of my baby,” rafe groans into you ear, relishing in the sound of your squelching pussy as he maintains his disgustingly slow and deep pace, soaking in every sound of your pretty little moans as your nails dig into the side of his neck.

[lingulaca]

"I guess you're new to this too"

Wayne doesn't have a place to stay, so he joins your family for dinner.

៚ word count - 1,175

៚ author's note - i looove wayne so i had to write smut about him. what a delicious boy am i right guys ?

also reader is intended to be the nurse's daughter

"...cause it's like, obviously the better option but she wanted me to ask you since you're the guest." You shifted, getting comfortable in your spot right next to Wayne. He just sighs as he leans back, ice pack over his right eye. The leather couch squeaked. He'd gotten into another fight, you assumed. "Yeah..." He wistfully mumbles.

"That... wasn't an answer." You turned your head to glance at your mom. She was still in the kitchen, prepping carrots and celery. Her music only got louder every second. "Huh?" Wayne yawned. The car ride to your house went on for so long he was on the cusp of slumber. "Chicken or fish?" You scooted closer, looking into his eyes to make sure he hadn't completely dozed off. He gave a lazy smile, hands falling to his sides. "I'll just tell her you said fish." You got up before being stopped by Wayne's fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt. "What kind of fish?" He feigned curiosity, Truthfully, he didn't give a fuck about the fish, his appetite was non-existent as a result of whatever meds your mom made him take so he likely wouldn't eat. "It's... flounder." It was Wayne's turn to grin now. "I love flounder." He didn't. He loved looking at your boobs. The angle happened to be perfect.

"It's good, right? The rice? I didn't overcook it, did I?" You rolled your eyes at your mom's words. Luckily, your younger cousin says what everyone was probably thinking. "Auntie, nobody cares." You notice Wayne right beside you, chuckling as he shovels what's on the plate into his mouth. "Is the fish okay? I seasoned it." He nods eagerly.

Suddenly, you get an idea. Taking one last sip of your drink, you tap Wayne's arm a few times before rushing off to your room downstairs. Wayne turns, causing his chair to creak. His thought process is a bit delayed, but he's always been curious about you so because the only one on one conversation you two ever had didn't satisfy that curiosity, he follows you. "May I be excused, miss?" He groans, the pain medicine from before was starting to wear off. "Oh of course, of course! Bathroom's in the middle of the hall."

Wayne's startled when he finds you sitting on top of the dryer. "Jesus, fuck, you scared me." You laughed, moving to lie down instead. "Sorry, wanted to surprise you..." "Well, consider me surprised." He leans on the wall, eyes focused on the sliver of skin above your waistband. "You should probably lock the door. She'd freak if she found out you were here with me alone." He then clambers to do as you said, struggling a little. "Let me-" He shakes his head. "No, I got it. Your door has a weird lock." Oh, right. "It's broken. The original one, I mean. My mom, that crazy bitch, she destroyed the thing with a knife a couple years back." Wayne' looks concerned but he keeps his smile. His brain feels all cloudy. "Why the hell would she do something like that?" You shrug. It was too long of a story, and you didn't wanna scare your guest away. "Early menopause, I guess. How'd you get that uh, black eye?" Wayne sat on the stairs right in front of your washer and dryer. "Some guy was pickin' on some kid." "Wow..." Your legs swung while you sat back up. "Yeah." Wayne's fingers tap the wall rhythmically. "So, you got a boyfriend?" He asks to make conversation. You smile, tone lowering in a teasing way. "Hm...?" "Nothing I just, uh... y'know, girls don't usually do all this with a guy they barely know if they have a boyfriend waiting on them. You invited me into your room."

"Alright, you got me, I don't have a boyfriend. Satisfied?" You're towering over him now, making him speechless. He looks up at you with his big, brown eyes. "C'mon, I got a king size bed, no reason for us to be sittin' over here." Wayne follows you again, as mindlessly as last time. Your bed is comfortable, lots of blankets and pillows and the mattress isn't one of those too soft ones. "I like your bed." He realizes that he's probably too close, though he doesn't move. "I like you." You grab his hand which makes him jump. Your hands were gentle and warm in contrast to his rough ones, still cold from being outside all day. "What?" He mumbles. "What?" You reply, lips only an inch away from his.

He's sure he died and went to heaven when you kissed him. He gasps when you pull him close, nearly on top of you at this point. "Um, I uh..." He averts his gaze. This can't be real, he thinks. Oh, but he knows it is. He knows it's real when he feels your hands go to his hair, treating the strands with more softness than he deserves. "Wayne," You whisper to him. "It's okay, just do what you would normally do." He doesn't know what he would normally do. He's never gone this far with anyone, but he'll be damned if he reveals that information now of all times. "Y- yeah. Yeah, I will." His voice is full of meek confidence.

"Aww, you don't know how to?" Wayne's face flushes. "Don't..." He wants to tell you to stop talking to him like a baby, but all that comes out are wordless whimpers. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet vanilla scent. He grinds his hips against yours, making you bite your lip as to not let out any sounds. "What I... what I normally do, yeah." What Wayne normally does is stay in his room and jerk of maybe twice a day. He assumes he'll have to find a new daily routine now that he's your guest.

He finds your entrance after getting multiple layers of clothing off you, pushing your panties to the side out of frustration. He looks into your eyes as he slips his first two fingers in, he read somewhere that girls love that. "Wayne, fuck," Your eyes roll back as you grasp the sheets under you. His free hand slid up your skirt. "Already, huh? I guess you're new to this too..." His fingers push upwards, poking and prodding at that spongy part deep inside you. "Wayne, mmm... I'm oh my god, I'm cumming..." This makes his eyebrows raise briefly before getting right back to the task at hand. What he lacks (for now) in dirty talk, he makes up for in technique. His thumb comes up to swipe over your clit which makes you finally reach your peak.

Wayne pulled his fingers from you and scanned the room in search of a rag for only a few seconds before nonchalantly licking your juices off of his hand. "Sorry you didn't, uh..." You start, having just caught your breath. "Nah, it's fine." He grins, showing you his no longer soaking hand. "Squeaky clean."

[joonipertree]

Which Anime characters would let you win in a physical play fight

Yes, flirtatiously. They look up at you with big eyes full of mirth and love. Sometimes they pull you on top of them and give you kisses all over.

"my baby is so strong~"

You don't believe that for a second.

-Mitsuya, Ran, Shinichiro, Gojo!, Nanamin, itadori, Midoriya, Hawks!! Chifuyu, Yuuta, Mitsuya

Yes, because they're lazy. To be fair, sometimes you do attack them when they're sleepy so get ready for the stinkiest glare they've ever given you. But sometimes you're on top and they're....just too tired to move. Might ask you to ride them lmao.

-Ran (in both cases, yes), Wakasa, Geto, Aizawa, Dabi! Kenma, Megumi

No, competitively. Yeah it might be part fight reflex, part inner fire. they might not consciously mean it but they'd just pin you down because their brain is like no!!! Don't get them wrong...they'd never hurt you...just sort of.....restrain you.

-Mikey, Bakugo, Sukuna, Baji, Todoroki, Hinata

No, flirtatiously. Yeah, he's 100% taking this chance to have you under him with droopy dark eyes and a smirk. He might whine at you mockingly like "oh noo :( my baby's caught. What're they gonna do now huh? They're stuck :(" And ruin you so thoroughly like plEASE want them to spread my legs with their hips and make me whiny and weak.

-Ran (am i obsessed w him or what?) Rindou, Mean! Hawks because i love Mean Hawks, Hanma, Geto, Shigaraki, Dabi, Mean! Midoriya because Im also obsessed w him (i have a pattern)

[ellecdc]

Nsfw!

Moonwater is a bit new pairing for me and i love it too much but i always wonder how the dynamic are in the bedroom, i really dont think both men are anything other than rough.

I mean when needed the boys would be gentle but most of the time i dont think so? Remus, maybe? could be gentler but during full moon he’s an animal but regulus tho, i dont see him as the gentle type.

What do you think?

oooou ok ok I like it, I like it; let's discuss below

CW: discussing sex and dynamics, NSFW, mdni 18+

So, this first part is going to be my own personal opinion based off of who I am as a person, and my views may not be shared within the fandom. I personally struggle with super abrasive dom/sub dynamics where a male character is very overbearing, controlling, etc. THAT DOESN'T MEAN I DON'T LIKE ANY DOM/SUB DYNAMICS, just that fics where a male character is being super aggressive and demeaning and such really aren't my vibe, if that makes sense?

I personally struggle imagining our sweet, sad boy Remus as being super mean in bed? Doesn't mean I don't think he's in charge, especially in poly!scenarios because when there's that many people in bed, someone has to run the show lol, but I don't see him as super bossy and assertive.

Now, keeping in mind that this is my interpretation on a character who literally doesn't exist (which is so sad wtf), my version of 'dom!remus' looks more like a very assured, confident guy in bed; he knows what he's doing, he's good at it, and he knows how to get everyone where they're trying to go (i.e., orgasm city, obviously). He takes care of everyone in bed, and (in the case of poly!marauders or poly!wolfstar) he certainly redirects anyone's naughty (bratty) behaviour (read: sirius), but I think he'd also be super communicative and understanding that it's a dance, not a battle which adds to his assuredness and confidence in bed because people feel safe with him - they know that he knows what he's doing and can let go because they trust him with their safety and their pleasure - and he's in bed with his partner's, not his adversaries.

I've often imagined his love language (how he shows love) to be acts of service and physical touch, which I think goes hand in hand with how he is in bed; when he's in a relationship with these ships, he's making love, not just fucking

HOWEVER.....

I think you're right...some things definitely change around the full moon. I think leading up to the moon (depending on if it was a manic moon or if he was moonsick) there'd be a very noticeable change in him. For manic moons - he'd be a little more desperate, a little rougher (while still being our sweet guy as mentioned above lol), and I think there would be way more sex. He'd be insatiable and obsessed with you; "come on dovey, one more for me, yeah? you're so good, so good for me; i know you can do one more". Good luck trying to pry him from between your legs.

if he was riddled with moonsickness (immediately after every moon or leading up to a bad moon where he is sore and such), i think he might be a bit of a switch? He'd want to be held and cherished and taken care of - he'd nearly cry in awe every time you got on your knees to give him a lazy, gentle blowjob, or if you were in the mood, he'd lay back and let you ride him (he actually loved it - thought you looked beautiful up there)

Now for Regulus lolololololol

No one who grew up in the dynamics Regulus did is vanilla in bed, I'm sorry. (and I come from a place of authority in this - I relate a little too well to Sirius [though not as violent, obviously]). Honestly? I could see Regulus being mean. And not in a super demeaning way that makes you feel small or embarrassed (again, this is my preference), but he takes pleasure in surprising you by suddenly flipping you over and taking you from a different angle. By suddenly and without warning changing the rhythm of his thrusts from soft and slow to deep and punishing. He'd love marking you up - possessive af and making sure everyone and anyone knew that not only were you taken, but you were his. In the same vain, I picture him as a bit of a sadist/masochist but again, not in a super violent or demeaning way. He'd like for the fuck to be a little rough, a little hard; he loves the mixture of pleasure and pain - wants to be bit so hard he bleeds and wouldn't mind doing the same to you if you asked for it. I also think he'd be willing to try a lot of new things in bed, and some of his favourite sex is when you fuck him with a strap [if you're fem or afab].

Together?

I think Rem is still in charge - again, he's confident and assured in the bedroom and everyone trusts his authority and trusts him to keep them safe and satisfied. He would keep Reg from getting too rough or going too hard and would constantly check in to make sure you were still good with everything going on. He'd also be able to satiate any need in Reg regarding his masochistic tendencies. I believe Reg would bottom in the dynamic, but again, I think sometimes depending on the moon and how Rem is feeling mentally - he'd experiment more fluidly with Reg.

I've also mentioned before that I believe Purebloods have a breeding kink and with Remus' animalistic side due to his lycanthropy, that he would too. So I think there would be a lot of using cum as lube, taking turns filling you up with their cum, maybe some snowballing??? jesus christ I'm a sick fuck lmfao. anything to do with cum would send those boys spiralling, "no no babygirl, don't waste it" Rem would coo as he used his fingers to push cum back into your hole. or "whose do you want next, amour? Mine or Rem's?"

And I think you're right, when the time called for it, these boys would be so fucking good at making you feel nothing short of fucking worshipped. The soft, hungry gazes, the lingering and soothing touches, the praises falling from their lips as they gave you everything they got. I'd cry I think; they'd reduce me to tears for sure.

[gangplanksorenji]

Kinknuary Day 11: Riding

Pairing: NMIXX Haewon x Male Reader

Word Count: 4,359

[Kinknuary Masterlist]

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You’re making a fool of yourself, and Haewon too.

You tend to be an attentive person, capable of being aware of anything and tend to go straightforward but you’re just acting like you’re oblivious and god, you’re bad at it. Thankfully, Haewon is worse at reading your true emotions towards her and that’s a sigh of relief—you didn’t want it this way but it just feels uncanny being romantically involved in a relationship with her, even though you’re one of her close friends.

I guess, you’re just in the “friend’s zone” no matter what happens, but you could never be so sure because sometimes, she can be unfathomable.

“God, I've been so stressed lately.” Haewon thuds at your couch as she stares up at the ceiling, feeling a little exhausted from the earlier party the both of you attended.

“Maybe you’re just being too harsh on yourself, Haewon.” You remark as subtle concern emanates through you in which, Haewon jokingly teases you with that, not before rolling her eyes and letting off a scoff towards you.

“Wow, you’re concerned for me, hm? That’s not you—that’s not you!!” She changes her lazy demeanor into a lively one as she looks at you with a surprised face (knowing it’s genuinely sarcastic), rushing towards you and then holding your shoulders as she slightly shakes you, teasing you even more as her dorky personality shows.

“Yah, stop it!” You brush Haewon off with your arms as she pouts after you remove her hands all over you, a little bewildered with your possibly irritated approach. “I’m just saying that you’re maybe just overworking yourself on too much, that’s all.”

Haewon reflects for a bit, thinking that you’re maybe right in these circumstances as she takes this a little too seriously. Maybe approaching such deadlines and procrastinating too much isn’t going to do the job, and setting time schedules to do productive things would be the right call and you’re letting her know how she can be more efficient and she can do better than that. 

Of course, you’re thoughtful about her, even though you may act like a hypocrite sometimes and deny it, there’s still a heart inside you that values her as much as she does towards you. The sign of the hint of anxiety painting her face earlier as she overthinks about it is alarming for you, and you don’t want Haewon too feel like that everytime, even when there are times (like earlier) that she should enjoy and have fun but because of it, it’s going towards the opposite way.

“Yeah, maybe I am—sorry though…”

You paint a confused face from her nigh-melancholic remarks as you’re not used to seeing Haewon being down all of a sudden. “Sorry for what?”

“You know—how I acted a little off earlier, at the party. I know I should be enjoying it earlier and I’m sorry for that…”

Haewon is now being true and open to herself and it’s great to see that she’s vocal about it. Brushing off the whimsical atmosphere from earlier, you offered her to sit down onto the couch as you’re all ears on what she just said. You’ve never felt this serious about addressing your concern towards her and of course, you reassure her by stroking her hair and letting her know that everything is going to be alright because you’re there by her side, as always.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Haewon. You just need to plan things ahead and you’ll cope out of this, alright? I’m here to help, too.”

Haewon smiles at your reassurance, feeling genuinely thankful with your thoughtfulness even though you don’t really show it to her often. “Yeah, thanks though—maybe I needed that…” Not so long after, awkward silence ensues between the both of you as it’s clearly obvious that the both of you aren’t used to being thoughtful against each other but nonetheless, the both of you (especially Haewon) appreciated your kind words. “You know what? I wanna do something since I’m getting pretty stressed lately.”

Ah yes, the usual dodging and the turmoil of current topics—it’s a classic move by Haewon and with those words and that tone being uttered by her mouth, this can mean two things and it’s pretty straightforward: it’s either she wants to battle against you in an online game or basically, she wants to destress by having sex with you. The former is pretty obvious since she loves playing one-versus-one games with you whenever she is feeling competitive, or if she just wants to relax and chill out, then she’ll invite you to play some farming games yet the latter, is something interesting and somewhat, what piques you into this moment. Sex isn’t new for the both of you as you casually do it with whenever the both of you feel like it and it’s also the time where the both of you confess your kinks, wants and some experimental stuff that you both want to try. It even comes to a point where the both of you needed to take breaks because on how wild and exhausting you guys went into and also buying some soundproof foams just for your neighbor’s ears to be saved mostly from Haewon’s screams of pleasure—and it’s always bleeding your ear, every goddamn time but you didn’t care.

Well, I guess the both of you are the freakiest friends to ever exist.

“Just say you want to have sex with me, Haewon.” You’re straightforward and stern whilst Haewon is in utter hypocrisy and in denial. Even though she’s back at her usual roots when it comes to gaslighting you, you can’t deny that her eyes are glistening with lust as soon as you say those words and you're not oblivious nor stupid to not think about it.

“What if it’s not the case, huh, pervert?” You’re not affected by that knowing it’s just one of her tactics of another gaslight and soon, she’ll eat her words up.

“I highly doubt it, Haewon. I bet you’re wet as fuck right now imagining my cock ravaging your tight pussy—”

“Yah! Not too fast, idiot…” Haewon lightly punches your shoulders as she feels aroused at what you’ve said, crossing her legs a little as she can feel her urges finally turning her on. You know how to pick her locks and as much as she wants to deny it, she can’t help but voice out her needs as the inevitable desires that she’s been seeking for is now making her a different girl. “But you’re fucking right—I want it now~”

Of course, she’ll give in to her own desires in some time as she swiftly hops her figure to mount over your clothed nether region and rubs her hips greedily onto it. You, smirking in delight, finally caught her eye as you tease her with her needy state, her constant small whimpers and biting of lip is a good reason behind it. 

“See, I know you’ll give in soon, Haewon—I know you.”

“Fuck you—just shut up and let me do my thing.” Haewon continues to grind onto your crotch in which you loved the feeling because of how mutually arousing it is for both parties. You and your hands didn’t become idle as you encouraged her with more dirty talk and your hands caressing the slender finger that her outfit shows, your eyes lighting up in admiration as her body is simply the epitome of perfection. Of course, with both your desires needed to be attended as soon as possible, the both of you didn’t waste time to strip off your the clothing that has been preventing the both of you with such enchanting touches as Haewon starts the show and you, picking up the scraps and following her steps. 

With the hot scene being taken in place, you want both parties to be busy with something torrid and—there you go, pull her wrists to initiate such an intimate kiss and she eagerly reciprocates like always. The kiss was full of profounded fervor as every second finds vigor in every peck and neither of you chose to even pull out, not even Haewon herself because she just fonds herself indulging into it further. Knowing how you’re insatiable and delectable at her end, she wouldn’t dare to act tough and push you just to pull out and say that she doesn’t want it—you’re pretty confident that she won’t retaliate as it’s working effectively so far but you could never be so sure. Why is this such a big deal? Well, there are a couple of things why and here are those: firstly, Haewon wants to go straight to where she wants her needs to be unattended, no matter which hole or whatever she may think of; second, kissing Haewon this intimately like this is like finding a needle in the haystack as you know that she doesn’t really indulge into deep kisses like this and that’s why you’re a bit perplexed that she’s not pulling out of your lips’ warm embrace and lastly; Haewon doesn’t really want to share her true feelings as she’s afraid of spilling something out of her mouth that could make both of you uncomfortable. Some of these conclusions are mostly correct as with years of knowing her, you knew that these are the possible reasons but you could never be so sure.

Speaking of the devil, it didn’t last that long as she pulled out and as much as you want to indulge further, that wouldn’t be possible as the both of you untangle each other’s lips and hurriedly catched breaths, chasing oxygen. While you were utterly satisfied that you got to taste her luscious lips, Haewon, on the other hand, isn’t really a fan of it—and again, peak hypocrisy is possessing her and obviously, she’ll deny that she felt more than greatness making up a torrid kiss with you.

“We’re not going to make love with all of these kisses—I want you fill me up, nice and easy—”

“Stop acting like you didn’t love it, Haewon.” You roll your eyes out as you express annoyance and a hint of disappointment towards her hypocrite actions. You know she loved it, considering how her hands involuntarily coursed it’s way onto the back of your neck, stopping her from stripping her outfit and with that, she can’t help but embrace defeat as she doesn’t have a strong weapon up in her sleeve to fight back.

“You’re so annoying! Maybe I did because you’re a good fucking kisser—there, happy?” Of course, Haewon expresses her discomfort with your sudden intimacy as every word is laced with sarcasm as every isn’t genuine because you could feel and you know her too well. You know she isn’t seriously angry in any means and meant to just annoy you and tease you, so you didn’t find her “furious” demeanor too serious.

“Hah, come on, Haewon, you’re no fun! But honestly, I’ve been wanting this all along, not gonna lie to you.” Helping her strip away her clothing with the dexterity of your hands, you get rid of it one by one as you can see Haewon’s face getting curious and puzzled, wondering what could be the real cause of your wants.

“To kiss me intimately, hm? ‘Cause all I really know is that my lips are as addicting as my tight pussy, isn’t it?” Opposite from Haewon’s hypocrite approach and repudiative personality in terms of vocalizing each self’s wants, you, on the other hand is more straightforward and optimistic, always lying onto complimenting people as it gets better for both parties and you still keep the persona even with Haewon, but teasing and mocking is inevitable as it’s such a guilty pleasure to see Haewon being annoyed or angry at you.

“Well, you’re definitely a clever girl with that judgment, Haewon.” 

You can’t lie about that as every feature Haewon has is pure art as you all love them equally but one must prevail and it’s pretty obvious for you since you love the thought of just mindlessly hammering her tight, warm cavern until she submits into full submission and lust. As she completely undresses the possibly hectic clothing out of her scrumptious body, you were met with a simple yet lethal look that complimented the slender curves of her body: a white-laced bra followed by a set of white panties in which, would be deemed useless once the show starts over. You don’t want her hanging by a thread, leaving her almost naked as you undressed your clothing off, unbuttoning your pants as quickly as possible and yanking it off you and then throwing it out on wherever it lands on the living room, as well as removing your polo shirt off within a speed of light. Leaving the both of you with only a single defense left before you drool on each other’s bodies, the both of you didn’t even hesitate for a single bit as you removed the last bit of your iron walls and immediately, your eyes collapse onto each other’s remarkable features: you eyed her perky breasts and her taut nipples, as well as her probably wet cunt from all of the dirty talk from earlier and Haewon eyed your fully-erect length like it’s a meal to be savored and used, her eyes getting lit up with lust in every throb it does.

“I’m just going to say this again, because I’ll know you’ll tend to forget it—” Haewon gets dangerously close towards you as she’s inches away from feeling her touch but she has other plans, and tends to whisper such factual claims that you’ll absolutely agree on. “—I’ll rock your world today to the point that you’ll forget anything except my tight pussy around your rock-hard cock.”

Well, she isn’t wrong, because whenever the two of you had sex, it always ends up with both of you succumb onto your needs as the moans of satisfaction is enough as an evidence and also on how much arousal and stimulation the both of you are into whenever you fuck each others’ brains out. In your words, she’s truly the epitome of a switch but now, you’ll let yourself be the meal that she’ll devour but she has more thoughts kept in her sleeve.

“Well, Haewon—how do you want me today, hm?”

“You know, since you’ve been so good on me lately and I’ve been wanting to do this with you…” You set off a puzzling look as Haewon softens her tone, wanting you to be all ears on what she has to say as curiosity fully sets you off onto asking her what she wants for now.

“What would you want to do, Haewon?” 

Haewon fixes her position as she lets you lay down onto the couch, relaxing yourself as you fully immerse yourself onto what she’s going to be up to and she utters, “I want to ride the living fuck out of you—that’s what I want to do.”

Well, that wasn’t much of a hard guess since the position and her mounting onto your crotch is indeed an obvious sign that she wants to ride you. Well, this wasn’t new on your watch as she rode you for like months ago and would love to experience it again and here you are, fulfilling that dream of yours. This wasn’t anything you’d really want to do with her as you find this unorthodox on your own words because you’d rather fuck her and gain the better leverage and dominance to handle her body in which, she fully submits to.

You won’t complain since it’s also an arousing thought with Haewon having to ride your cock like it’s her last and you’ll give her what she wants.

She started off with such leisure strokes that made you groan in pleasure, such sensual sensitivity also adding to the twist and making everything better. Not so long after, she teases her glistening lips onto your throbbing shaft, as you can already feel the wetness enveloping your tip and soon enough, you grew impatient with her antics, and you need to let her know about it.

“Aren’t you going to ride me or just tease the living fuck out of me?”

“Just wait, you horny fuck—” Haewon glares at you with an intent to faze you but it was the opposite. The anticipation is too much to handle and you can’t take anymore, and neither does she. “—foreplay is an important element so chill your horny ass down.” 

But you know she can’t resist feeling your entire length inside her and you can sense it even if she tries to deny it, like how she always does. So, without any time to waste, she slowly hops on your cock as it sluggishly engulf her tight walls and the feeling is just too good to be true, making the two of you moan in need and pleasure. She slowly sinks in your whole length as it didn’t take long before her butt meets the skin of your thighs and ensues at such a slow pace that’s pleasurable enough to make you feel butterflies. As she’s fully indulging towards her own desires, she finds herself picking up the pace as she grinds her hips onto a moderate pace and inevitably, she tends to moan out her satisfaction as your whole length makes her feel good.

“Not gonna l-lie—ahh, y-your fucking cock is so big that makes m-me feel good…”

“And your wet cunt is so tight that it’s j-just too good to be true.”

Again, feelings are mutual and you won’t dare her to stop even if you can’t take it—you just find yourself wanting Haewon to ride you until your balls are fully drained. Feeling euphoric, Haewon’s hands course its way onto your chest as she aids herself on a better pace as she caresses it from time to time, reassuring you on how great it feels. Just with her touch, you could sense and read how she feels at that very moment and it’s all just peak pleasure at its finest. She expresses such a smug demeanor, confident on how great she’s riding you even though it’s not even a minute that you’re inside her—you know how she loves it genuinely when shows such emotions of confidence and pure lust, her assertive demeanor letting you know her primal desires and her satisfaction.

Thanks to her wetness, it wasn’t really the hardest to take her all as she maintains her pace and eases herself up with every thrust she does at your raging length. She just finds herself moaning too much as your cock does wonders all over her body, constant pleasure surging in her veins and with all of those events occupying your mind, Haewon is now trying to accustom herself onto this new profound pace. Every clapping of her cheeks onto your pelvis sends vibrations all over the living room as the sound adds up to the sinful symphony the both of you composed a while ago—and god, her hypnotic bouncing really sends you into overdrive as her pussy just feels so great that you just wanna bury your entire length inside it all day.

“You’re riding me so well, Haewon—keep that pace just like that—fuck!

Of course, you encourage her well in order to maintain the incredible feeling that has been coursing down your veins. Haewon’s hips now slam hard in every time she fucks herself onto you and it’s an incredible feeling, especially when your hand course its way onto her supple butt and give her hard spanks and as a response, her velvety walls clench tightly and you groan in a hint of pain because of it. 

“You like that, huh—you like me riding this fucking dick like it’s my last? You like how my pussy clenches? You like filling myself up balls-fucking-deep? Shit—I fucking—I can’t stop riding this dick!”

“Yeah, Haewon—I never though this will this fucking good—ride me harder and faster!”

You can’t really stay idle and just relax while Haewon is gyrating her hips like her life depends on it. So, encouraged with her wetness enveloping your entire cock and the squelching of it in every thrust she do, your hips starts to oscillate such a pace that increases the fire of lust between the both of you as the trajectory of both bodies muster such libido that’s unstoppable. Her hands are now gripping your shoulders as the pace is now the wildest she could ever imagine, uttering such erotic moans that blesses your ears and arouses you into oblivion. Haewon still maintains her wild pace as you increase yours too, your balls now wildly slapping against her puckered hole as her juices are now staining the couch as everything doesn’t matter right now except the paramount of delighted sex—you’ll probably regretting having a sensual intercourse with her on your couch as it’s going to stained enough for you to maybe change it. 

You could never ask for more when every man’s wish is fulfilled at this moment and god, Haewon is one of a kind when it comes to her sexual masterclass and as the top of the pyramid, her scrumptious, insatiable body is all for you to feel and use. With all of the monstrosity the both of you went into, it wasn’t long until Haewon felt herself inching closer to the promised land and wanting herself to go near it. In the point of no-return, she conveyed such profanities that can outstand the most sinful discordants as her thighs quiver and voiced out her nearing high to you.

“No–oh god! I’m g-going to cum s-so soon! Shit—your cock makes me feel so good!”

“Hah—and you’re bickering earlier that I cum so prematurely, huh?”

Haewon shows off an irritated disposition from your mocking remarks as she retaliates, articulating such a mindful response even though her mind is being clouded with sex and pristine pleasure. “Shut the fuck up and m-make me cum sooner, how about that?”

That, you won’t be denying to do. You’ll please her as much as she does to you and finding such a better way to opt for a climax, you ram your pelvis onto her pulsating cunt harder as her walls clench even harder than ever before. If she’s going to achieve her high this euphoric, might as well add up to the sensation she’s feeling as your fingers directed onto her emanating heat, swiping her folds in a rhythmic tempo in aims to stimulate it further and help her chase her own high sooner. 

Whenever her pitch reaches the crescendo, it’s the point where everything ascends and your ears wish to fall deaf as her throat escaping such lustful symphonies comes to a halt, voicing out her climax and Haewon fully succumbs onto her orgasmic trance. With such an unstoppable approach as lust fuels Haewon’s mind, she further penetrates herself deeper and harder onto your whole length as a rivulet of her own nectar stains your pelvis and onto the couch and god, it’s rich and volume which makes you think on how euphoric she felt at this given moment. When the pace of her hips gradually decreases, you can find yourself doing the job by thrusting upwards and chasing your own orgasm too as the high-drunken Haewon helps you with your own reward too, riding you with an incredible pace as she didn’t mind the sensitivity that comes right after.

“What the fuck, Haewon—you came so much… You better find money to change this fucking couch ‘cause fuck—you stained this so much.”

“What do you mean—god, I fucking hate you but fuck—I can’t r-resist your cock!”

Such oxymoron is laced within that sentence as she cursed herself to submerge onto her devilish desires to the fullest, finding her wild pace again as you relaxed yourself and let her do the work. Even though Haewon may love the fact that she’s riding the living life out of your whole length with her walls begging a healthy load to be deposited deep into her cunt—yes, the fulfillment of your orgasmic trance will soon be near as you stop Haewon with her current remarks which earns an irked disposition painting her face.

“Why the fuck—”

“You want my cum deep in your pussy, right?” She nods without any question as her face quickly fades into a delightful one as she anticipates your load in the fullest of manners. 

“Gosh—just ram my pussy like y-you meant it—oh god—f-fuck! Just shoot i-it deep in m-me—fuck, harder!!”

Now switching another position, her legs now hug around your waist as you carry her and ravage her tight, snug pussy like it’s your last, every thrust meant to make her forget about anything except you and your cock. Within a few more thrusts, the inevitable will soon come and there’s no one or nothing on earth that can stop this monstrosity. Within the vigorous pumps and the numerous moans she’s letting out to encourage you more, you let go of your grip on hers as you push your entire length in her, burying it balls-deep as you groan with your anticipating orgasm and god, it’s so fucking much.

Haewon finds this endearing that you’re this stimulated with another position she loved trying. Her mind comes back into being clouded full of sexual desires as you shoot ropes of thick, warm semen that filled her up to the brim in which, she damn treasure as every second that passes is just being closer onto the paramount of every delight possible—your mind now full of bliss as it does wander all over your mind. The both of you fall limp on the couch after such a steamy session and an ecstatic orgasm of yours as silence ensues but ragged breaths fills the air, and suddenly, no one talks as exhaustion envelops all over your bodies and drowsiness doing its job.

You never thought that she’ll be into this more than what you expected and you just want to rest and maybe, opportunity seeks its victims tomorrow or possibly, even later—who knows how fate can make your destiny?

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch.6

WandaNat x Raeder

Word Count: 2.4k

Ch. Notes: Rising tensions

Summary: The after math of the fallout between Wanda and her family leads to an all too important business meeting the next day.

An: haha I didn't almost forget to post today... And don't hate me for the next chapter please

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“What um… what number are you guys staying in? Do you know?”  You ask, finally breaking the silence as you arrived at the building.

“220,” Natasha answers for them.

You nod, “I’m in 216, we’ll be right across from each other.”

The ride in the elevator was as silent as the car ride. The anger that was permeating off of Wanda had slightly reduced, but not by much. When the elevator opens, you escort the women to their apartment.

You point across the hall then say, “Well this is you and that is me if you need anything you can always knock."

You attempt to walk away, but a soft grip around your wrist stops you.  Your gaze slowly rises to meet Wanda’s. She pulls you into her and the warmth of her embrace let’s you know that she’ll be alright.

“Goodnight little krolik,” she kisses the top of your head before making her way into her new home.

“She’s going to be ok right?” You ask Natasha and she smiles softly at you.

“I’ll make sure of it lisichka. Go rest, you've had an eventful day. “

Its like her words trigger a yawn from your lips. Exhaustion is finally catching up to you properly.

“Goodnight, Nat.”

Once you go into your condo you sigh. The quiet finally getting the best of you. Though you were exhausted your mind was racing. Car chase, Wanda, Natasha, dinner, it all hit you at once.  Despite your thoughts you attempt to get ready for bed.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand as soon as your head hits the pillow. It’s a text from Dragos calling for a meeting tomorrow at 9am. You put the phone back down and shut your eyes. This would all feel easier to deal with in the morning.

When your alarm rings at 7 am, you are quick to shut it off. Your sleep had been restless, and you feel the previous nights events weighing heavily on your shoulders. Nonetheless you stumble out of your bed.

After you brush your teeth, you throw on a pair of sweats to get your morning run in before the meeting. Usually, you’d do a run followed by a more rigorous workout, but you were short on time.

Your mind is clear as you begin to run away from the condo. Your only thoughts are focusing on your breathing.

Gloom hadn’t yet left the city. Though it wasn’t raining yet you wouldn’t be surprised if it started up later. Traffic seemed light, not a lot of cars were passing you on the road. The cool air was welcomed against your face as your body temperature slowly rose with each stride.

For a small moment in time, you were at peace. Part of you wished to skip the meeting and just take a lazy day. However, that wasn’t an option because you didn’t work in a regular job field. The non-negotiables of your profession were few but harsh. While you knew the Maximoff’s were lenient with you, you never craved to take advantage of that.

When you arrive back to your building, you quickly shower and dress. You had just finished doing your hair when your doorbell rang. Opening the door, you are met by a familiar red head, who seems to be in a better mood than last night.

“Morning little krolik, I come with coffee and a bagel.”

You smile, “The occasion?”

“I was hoping we’d carpool to work.”

You nod a few times, “Of course, just let me grab my coat and we can head out.”

Quickly you grab your belongings and follow Wanda to her car. You quietly munch on the bagel during the car ride.

“No Natasha today?”

She shakes her head, “Papa is still unsure of her role in the company, so he doesn't want her at the meeting.”

“Speaking of Dragos, are you feeling any better from… yesterday?”

Wanda takes a deep breath. You see her hands clench around the wheel and her demeanor shifts slightly.

“I assume the meeting will further address what happened last night,” she speaks flatly.

“Wanda, you have to keep calm.”

You see her jaw clench, “I will reflect whatever mood is brought unto me.”

You shake your head, “You and I both know that nothing gets solved with that kind of behavior.”

“So, what, you want me to bow down and apologize?” The irritation in her voice doesn’t phase you.

“That’s not what I said. I’m saying you can’t get into a yelling match, and you can’t put your hands on anyone.”

“If they were honest with me from the beginning I wouldn’t have-"

You cut her off, “I didn’t ask for an explanation Wanda. I’m telling you something that I know you are already aware of. If you want to head this organization, you have to keep your emotions in check.”

She mumbles underneath her breath. You raise an eyebrow at her childish antics, “What was that?”

“I said, it’s easier to keep my emotions in check when the lies aren’t about you.”

You fumble with your words briefly before speaking, “Well I told you truth, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but- “

“Well, there you have it. If you want to know something about me, it’s best to ask me. However, if I tell you, and you don’t like what you hear you have to deal with that on your own time,” you glance at her.

She chuckles softly to herself, “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to how much you’ve grown.”

You smile, but then it falters as you recall the argument from last night. Wanda had made Pietro and Dragos retreat instantly when mentioning something that revolved around you. You want to know what it is.

“Wanda, what are they hiding from me?”

You can visibly see the woman pale, “Do you trust me Y/n?”

You nod slowly.

She sighs, “When it’s the right time, I’ll tell you.”

You want to argue more, but you don’t. You trust Wanda, you know she has your best interests in mind. So, you fight the urge to be upset for the rest of the car ride.

When you get to the office, the two of you ride straight to the top floor. Dragos, Pietro, and Flora were already there. The room is tense as you both sit across from them. Usually you’d sit by Pietro’s side, but you weren’t going to let Wanda feel alone in this.

“You can disagree with me if you want, but your actions yesterday proved why keeping you in the dark about the situation with Y/n was the right thing to do. You’re hot-headed now, but back then you were even worse,” Dragos looks his daughter in the eye when he speaks.

You can feel the anger radiating off of Wanda’s body and for a moment you think she is going to have an outburst. Instead, she puts her elbows on the table and leans forward, never breaking eye contact with her father.

“We are a family and I thought that we agreed on having no secrets from each other. In this business a secret is the most dangerous weapon that could be used against us. My potential reaction aside, keeping this secret from me is breaking the rules you set in place. Or do the rules only apply to me?”

Wanda’s response was damn good in your opinion. Although she was angry you saw her hands clasping each other for dear life as a sign of restraint.

“Can we just move on from this? It was 5 years ago, and Y/n is fine now,” Pietro tries to defuse the tension.

Wanda shakes her head, “As much as this is about Y/n, it’s also about not respecting me enough to keep me properly informed about our family and our business. It’s unfair for you all to sit here and claim that I’m solely in the wrong. We can’t move on until all parties take responsibility for their part in this,” Wanda holds firm.

It's weird being in a meeting about yourself, but almost having nothing to do with anything being discussed.

“Have you ever considered the possibility that Y/n didn’t want us to tell you?” Dragos states and your body tenses.

“No,” Wanda says nonchalantly, as if his question was unimportant.

“What if she…”

Wanda’s glare hits her father like an ice pick to the back, “This isn’t a hypothetical, papa. If in some universe out their Y/n wanted you to keep it a secret from me, then that would be fine. However, this isn’t that universe, now is it Y/n?”

She doesn’t look at you, but you answer her question firmly, “No, it isn’t.”

“The best way to move forward from this is an apology from both sides. Wanda has just returned and we’ve dwelled on this matter for too long,” Flora stops the argument in it’s track.

You thought it was a civil solution. It would be for the best, but just by taking a quick glance at Wanda you can tell that she doesn’t want to apologize. It was her rigid posture and her hardened eyes. She felt like she did nothing wrong, but you were hoping she would stand down for the greater good.

“Wanda, I’m sorry we intentionally kept this from you. It is not the way we do things around here. Forgive me, docha,” Dragos speaks sincerely as he looks at Wanda.

She doesn’t seem to be budging. You make the judgment call by discreetly placing your hand on her thigh. This causes her to look in your direction and you speak to her with your eyes. Your features are telling her to apologize. You see her posture relaxes and her eyes soften a bit.

“I’m sorry for the way that I acted last night. It was uncalled for, regardless of my feelings,” she speaks with an equal amount of sincerity.

“Good, now that we’ve settled that I’m going to cut to the chase. Natasha, what assets does she bring to the table?” Dragos moves on to business fairly quickly.

Wanda follows his suit, speaking highly of her wife, “Natasha is a hands on kind of employee. She thrives being where the action is and that doesn’t just mean in a fight. She’s a highly trained assassin, her accolades are insurmountable, and there’s quite literally nothing that she can’t do.”

“She can start as head of security, and we can see what she can do from there,” Dragos offers, but even you think the role is undercutting Natasha’s abilities.

Wanda seems frustrated, but she is going to agree to these terms.

You speak up, “I think she should be in charge of field operations.”

“You and Pietro handle the field operations just fine, why add a third?” Dragos questions with curiosity not animosity.

“To avoid things like what happened yesterday with Mr. H. Right now, the way we operate is that Piet comes and gets me when needed and we just go from there. It’s not strategic at all, I’m usually in the car before I know what exactly it is that we’re doing,” you argue your position.

“It always works out,” Pietro fires back.

Your eyes lock on his, “But it could work better. With me running numbers for the company and for our business, I don’t always have the time to sit and plan out these operations. We all know that Piet doesn’t believe in planning. It’s field operations, it shouldn’t always just be Piet and me. We should have men out there with us incase things go south, but there’s never a plan for that.”

“And you think the addition of Ms. Romanoff will add…” Dragos leads off his sentence.

“She’s going to add structure and power by organizing this department into an actual department rather than just Piet and I doing deliveries in car. She’s experienced and we should be using that to our advantage, especially with us potentially being undercut at the moment.”

Dragos ponders, which is a good thing. It means he believes there is something to everything you’re saying.

“Give her a week on field operations and if you don’t see any type of benefit, she can be head of security,” Wanda offers a compromise.

“Only a week?” His disbelief is hidden in his voice, but you know it’s there.

“It’s all she needs,” Wanda says with confidence.

“Alright, that’s everything for today- “

“We’re not going to address the Kingpin situation?” You stay planted firmly in your chair.

Dragos sighs, “I will deal with Kingpin personally.  I had Kate set up a meeting at neutral territory.”

You shook your head knowing what Dragos was insinuating, “You’re trying to have a one-on-one meeting with this bastard? Everyone in this room knows that idea sounds like shit.”

“It’s not an idea, it’s happening in a few hours,” Dragos counters.

“Papa you’re going to have someone tailing you right? You don’t trust him to keep true to his word,” Pietro looks at his father in disbelief.

Dragos’s hand trails through his thick gray hair, “I’ve dealt with Kingpin before. I’ve known him for a long time, and I will be prepared for whatever he has coming.”

“Papa you can’t be serious?” Wanda has features akin to Pietro.

The arguing is about to continue, but then Flora speaks up, “Your father knows what he’s doing kids. Have some faith in him, he’s got a lot of experience for all of you. If he thinks this is the right call, then it has to be. Now, you’re dismissed.”

Suddenly there was no room for arguing with her. You try to keep calm but your feelings on the matter aren’t well hidden as you storm out of the room. Wanda and Pietro leave after you, both with the goal of trying to comfort you. However, their moods weren’t much better than yours.

When it was just the husband and wife in the office Flora let her nerves show. She was unsure about this plan. The lack of support from the group only heightened her anxiety for her husband’s well-being.

“You better prove them wrong Dragos. If anything were to happen to you I-"

The older man is gentle as he reaches for his wife’s hand, in the way he is always gentle with her. He places a kiss to the back of her palm, “Nothing is going to happen to me, moya lybov. I’m going to take car of this business and this family like I always have.”

Dragos wasn’t going to show his nerves. He never did, but to think they didn’t exist would’ve been ignorant. There wasn’t a reality that Dragos saw where the meeting went sideways. It had to go well, or a war would tear across the city. That thought protected him like a bullet proof vest. He was going to protect the industry he worked to build because that was the only option.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy

[realhotgirlshitah]

Hii, love your vlog!!!

So I was thinking about bimbo!reader giving hints to Ethan about how much she wants him, but him being clueless, because he doesn't think she can be into him. Until one day reader loss it and says something like 'can you stf an fuck me?!'

If you're not comfortable it's okay, no problem girl, just a brainrot ❤️❤️

Thanks for the request anon, I’m actually a slut so I had no problem writing this! Unfortunately I am also a lazy slut which is why it took me a week to release this, my bad!

Hints and misses 🎀💋

Warnings: Oral (fem and male receiving) facesitting, subby Ethan, missionary, riding, Ethan is a bit of a loser but he is also a MUNCH because I said so and my word is law.

You weren’t really the “studious” type, and everyone knew it. Sure, you just about passed your classes, but economics? Yeah, that wasn’t your thing. Honestly, you had no idea what was going on half the time. So when Chad suggested his nerdy roommate Ethan help you out, you jumped at the chance. Not because you were desperate to understand supply and demand curves, but because you had the biggest crush on Ethan. There was something about his awkwardness that you found absolutely irresistible.

It wasn’t just that he was smart—like, really smart—but he was the kind of guy who didn’t even realize how hot he was. Ethan Landry was a virgin in every sense of the word and had clearly never felt the touch of a woman and it turned you on beyond belief. The way he would stumble over his words, run his hands hurriedly through his curls when he was nervous, the way his cheeks flushed when you got too close to him… it was all too much. You had been flirting with him for months, making it blatantly obvious that you wanted him. But for some reason, he never seemed to get the hint no matter how hard you tried.

And trust me, you tried.

Hard.

For example, one night, the group was talking about “types” during a chill hangout. When Ethan made a self-deprecating joke about how “nerds aren’t usually anyone’s type,” you decided it was the perfect opportunity.

“I love nerds,” you declared, looking right at him, resting your hand on his arm for emphasis. “Like, so much. I mean, smart guys are, like, totally my thing.”

Ethan gave a shy smile. “Oh, that’s nice! Nerds are great, right? They’re super focused… like when they’re playing Dungeons & Dragons or calculating statistical probabilities.”

“Yes!” you said, inching closer. “I love a guy who’s, like, super focused… and intense… and maybe even obsessed, y’know?”

He grinned, eyes lighting up. “That’s awesome! You should totally play D&D with us sometime. It takes hours, but it’s so fun.”

You opened your mouth, ready to explain that the only dungeon you were interested in involved a certain bedroom vibe, but he was already lost in thought, excitedly talking about character stats.

Or that one time when you convinced Ethan to go for ice cream with you. You wore your shortest denim skirt and leaned in every chance you got, licking your ice cream cone with obvious intent.

“So, Ethan,” you said, licking the ice cream slowly and giving him a very suggestive look. “Do you like… really sweet things?”

He smiled, nodding enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah! I love sweets. Did you know the chemical structure of sugar is actually super interesting?”

You blinked, holding back a sigh. “Uh-huh… fascinating. But what if, like, someone sweet wanted to… share ice cream with you?” You held out your cone, winking.

Ethan just looked at you, confused. “But we have our own cones…?”

At this point, you just stared at him, open-mouthed, while Mindy fell off the bench laughing behind you.

“Oh fuck you, Mindy, go suck a dick or something,” you glared witheringly at your friend.

“I’m literally a lesbian but at this rate, I have a higher chance of sucking a dick than you have hooking up with Landry,” she snorted from the ground.

You were sick and tired of Ethan not catching your very blatant hints. You wanted that man and TRUST, you were going to have him.

You glanced at yourself in the mirror before he came over, adjusting your low-cut pink top, making sure it showed just enough cleavage. You tugged at the hem of your skirt, smirking at how short it was, and checked your lip gloss one last time. You weren’t here to actually learn anything tonight. You had a much better plan in mind.

When Ethan knocked on your door, you could already feel that familiar flutter of excitement in your stomach. You opened the door, beaming at him. “Hey, Ethan! Thanks sooo much for coming over to help me. I’ve been, like, totally lost in this class.”

He smiled nervously, awkward as ever, and adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. “Uh, yeah, no problem. Economics can be a bit tricky if you’re not used to it.”

You led him inside, swaying your hips a little more than usual, knowing full well he’d notice. His eyes flickered to your outfit for a split second before he quickly looked away, his face already turning pink.

“Let’s sit on the couch,” you suggested, sitting down with your legs crossed in a way that showed off just enough thigh. “I’ve got, like, all my notes, but I don’t really get it. You’re, like, sooo much smarter than me, Ethan.”

He sat beside you, setting his textbook on the coffee table, his fingers twitching nervously. “You’re not—uh, you’re smart. You just need someone to explain it differently.”

You blinked at him, twirling a strand of your hair around your finger. He was cute when he tried to be nice. “You’re sweet. But seriously, I don’t get any of this stuff.”

Ethan opened his book, flipping to a page covered in graphs. He started talking about supply and demand curves, how prices shifted when supply or demand increased. You were trying to focus—you really were—but the way his voice rumbled softly as he explained things, the way his curls flopped over his eyes every now and then, made it impossible for you to concentrate on anything other than how hot he looked.

You leaned a little closer, pretending to look at the graph he was pointing to. “Mmm, yeah, sure. That makes sense, I guess,” you mumbled, not even paying attention to what he was saying anymore. Your eyes were glued to the way his lips moved when he talked, and you felt heat pool in your stomach. You bit your lip, completely distracted by the way his hands moved across the page, how his fingers flexed as he explained some concept you were completely ignoring.

Fuck he was such a loser, you needed him CARNALLY.

“And so, when the price of a good increases…” Ethan continued, completely oblivious to your internal meltdown.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You had been dropping hints for months—months! And he still didn’t get it. He still thought you wanted his help with homework when all you really wanted was him. The frustration built up until you snapped.

“Ethan, can you shut the fuck up and just fuck me?”

The words left your mouth before you even realized it, and suddenly the room was dead silent. Ethan froze mid-sentence, his hand still hovering over the page, his eyes wide as he turned to look at you.

“Wait… what?” His voice cracked slightly, his face flushing bright red. He looked so bewildered, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer to you. “I said, shut the fuck up and fuck me, Ethan.” Your voice was firm, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “I don’t care about this stupid homework. I’ve been dropping hints for ages, and you’ve been completely clueless! I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out, but you’re, like, so dense.”

His eyes widened even more, if that was even possible. He stammered, “But—but why would you—I mean, you’re… you’re you, and I’m just…”

“Oh my god, stop,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “You’re smart, you’re hot, and I want you. I’ve wanted you for months. How have you not figured this out?”

Ethan looked like his brain had short-circuited. “You… you want me?”

“Yes! Duh!” You were getting impatient now. “Look at me, Ethan. I don’t dress like this because I care about economics. I dressed like this for you. I’ve been flirting with you, touching you, sitting as close to you as possible, and you just… never got it.”

He blinked rapidly, looking completely dumbfounded. “But… I thought… someone like you would never want… someone like me.”

You groaned in frustration. “Why the hell not? You’re cute! You’re smart! And you’re, like, sooo sexy when you talk about all this stuff. Do you know how hot you are when you start explaining things? It gets my pussy so wet all I wanna do is fuckin ruin you!”

Ethan’s face was a deep shade of red now, and he still looked like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. “I… I had no idea.”

“Well, now you do,” you said, your voice softening as you grabbed his hand and placed it on your waist. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

He stared at you, his hand trembling slightly as it rested against your waist. “I—I don’t know what to say. I mean… I’ve never…”

You smirked, leaning in until your lips were barely an inch from his. “You don’t have to say anything, Ethan. Just kiss me.”

For a second, it looked like he was still processing everything, but then, finally, he leaned in, his lips crashing against yours. The kiss was messy, nervous, but filled with all the pent-up tension that had been building between you for months. You moaned softly into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, pressing your body against his.

Ethan’s hands were tentative at first, unsure of where to touch, but you guided them, placing them on your hips and encouraging him to explore. His touch was hesitant, but it sent shivers down your spine all the same. He pulled away from the kiss, breathless, his eyes wide with wonder.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You grinned, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “Believe it, nerd. Now, stop thinking so much and just fuck me.”

“Can I- can you- please teach me how to make you feel good?” The way the question filled the empty room caught you off guard, you weren’t expecting your innocent friend to ask something like that! But the grin that spread across your face was practically sinister. You wanted this bad.

Before he knew it, Ethan was being dragged to your bedroom, still in complete and utter shock at how this was happening and how your clothes were already coming off.

You lay back against the pillows, watching as Ethan hovered between your legs, his breath shaky but his eyes filled with a nervous determination. He looked at you, clearly waiting for more instruction, his fingers trembling slightly as they rested on your thighs.

You smiled, your voice soft but teasing. “Don’t be so nervous, Ethan. Just do what feels natural.”

He swallowed hard, then nodded, leaning down until his mouth was just a breath away from you. His first kiss against your skin was gentle, almost tentative, but the sensation sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

Ethan paused, his breath warm against you, then he dove back in, his tongue tentatively exploring you. His movements were slow at first, unsure, but you could feel how eager he was, how desperate he was to make sure he got it right. His inexperience didn’t matter—what mattered was the intensity of his focus, how every little sound you made seemed to spur him on.

“Just like that,” you moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his hair, guiding him. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

The praise seemed to light a fire in him. You could feel him getting bolder, his tongue moving with more confidence as he began to lose himself in the moment. He was so eager, so focused on your pleasure that it made your head spin. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he licked and sucked at your core, his pace quickening.

Ethan’s breath was coming in quick, desperate pants between strokes of his tongue. You could hear him whimpering softly against you, his lips wet and swollen from the effort, but he didn’t stop. In fact, he only grew more frantic as you moaned and gasped above him.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure began to roll through your body. “Ethan… yes…”

His response was a low, needy moan that vibrated through you. His enthusiasm was overwhelming, his tongue moving faster, sloppier, as he became more desperate. He was whimpering between kisses, his grip on your thighs tightening, and you realized with a jolt that he was grinding against the bed, trying to relieve some of the tension building inside him.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” you gasped, your voice shaking as you felt the heat building inside you. “Keep going… don’t stop…”

Ethan let out another whimper, his tongue working you over with renewed intensity as you praised him. His hips rocked against the bed, his moans growing louder, more desperate. He was lost in it now—lost in your taste, in the feeling of your body responding to him, in the need to make you feel good.

“T-Thank you,” he mumbled against your skin, his words muffled by the wet sounds of his mouth on you. “You taste… so fucking good…”

You glanced down at him, breathless and dazed by the sight. His face was flushed, his lips glistening with your slick, and his eyes were heavy-lidded with lust. He looked completely wrecked, and it only made you want him more.

“Oh my god, Ethan,” you moaned, your fingers tightening in his hair as your hips bucked against his mouth. “You’re making me… oh fuck…”

He groaned in response, his movements growing even sloppier as he chased your pleasure with an almost frantic urgency. His whimpers were constant now, his entire body trembling as he worked himself against the bed, desperate for release. But even as he lost control, he never stopped focusing on you, on your pleasure.

You could feel the pressure building inside you, the heat coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke of his tongue. Ethan’s hands were gripping your thighs so tightly that you were sure there would be bruises, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way he was making you feel—the way his eagerness, his desperation, was pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Oh god, I’m gonna come,” you whimpered, your entire body trembling as you neared the brink. “Ethan, don’t stop…”

He didn’t stop. In fact, he only grew more frantic, his tongue working you over with a kind of raw desperation that made your head spin. He moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your body, and it was enough to send you spiraling over the edge.

You came with a loud cry, your body arching off the bed as pleasure crashed over you in waves. Ethan kept going, his tongue relentless as he worked you through your orgasm, his whimpers of pleasure blending with your moans.

But even as your body began to relax, as the pleasure ebbed, Ethan didn’t stop. He was still going, his tongue slower now but just as eager, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. You could feel him trembling, hear his soft whimpers, and when you glanced down at him, you saw that his lips were swollen, glistening, his eyes half-closed with lust.

“Ethan!” you finally gasped, tugging gently on his curls to pull him away, your own body still trembling. “You need to stop…”

But he looked up at you, completely dazed, his lips covered with your slick, and there was a desperate need in his gaze. “No, please,” he whined, his voice thick with desire. “I want more… let me do it again. Sit on my face, please.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, completely dazed. He looked unrecognisable—his hair messy from your hands, face smeared with your juices and his eyes blown wide with lust. And yet, he was still begging for more, desperate to make you feel good again.

You smirked, your heart racing as you considered his request. “You want me to sit on your face, huh?”

Ethan nodded eagerly, his hands already reaching for your hips. “Please,” he whimpered again, his voice filled with need. “I want to make you feel good… let me do it again. I need it.”

The desperation in his voice was almost enough to send you over the edge again right then and there.

You could see the desperation in Ethan’s eyes as you teased him, and it only made you want him more. He lay back on the bed, breathless and dazed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, lips still glistening from his relentless efforts. His eyes tracked your every movement as you slowly climbed back over him, hovering above his face, watching the anticipation build in those wide brown eyes.

“God, you really can’t get enough, can you?” you murmured, your voice sultry and teasing as you dragged your fingers gently through his messy curls. He whimpered, his hips already jerking up into the air in a needy, helpless motion, like he couldn’t control himself anymore.

You relented, lowering yourself down until you were back on his face, and the second he felt you against his lips again, Ethan moaned like a man starved. His tongue immediately dove back in, more eager than before, licking and sucking with reckless abandon, as if he was addicted to the way you tasted. He groaned against you, his hands gripping your thighs tight enough to leave marks, pulling you down harder against his mouth.

You bit your lip, suppressing a moan as you started to rock your hips against him. The way he moved beneath you, the way he whimpered and moaned like he was getting drunk off your taste, was driving you wild. He was a mess, absolutely lost in you, and you loved every second of it.

“You’re so fucking good at this,” you breathed, your voice trembling as pleasure built inside you once again. “It’s like you were made for it… made to make me feel good.”

Ethan whimpered in response, his tongue pressing deeper, flicking wildly against your clit. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think straight anymore. All he could do was focus on you, on the taste of you on his tongue, the feel of your body rocking against his face.

You felt the shift in him as you began to pick up the pace, grinding harder against him. His hips jerked up into the air, desperate for any kind of relief. But he had nothing to grind against, nothing to alleviate the intense need that was building inside him. He was humping the air, whining and whimpering beneath you, his body trembling with the sheer force of his desire.

“Poor baby,” you cooed, your voice dripping with mock sympathy as you looked down at him, watching his face disappear between your thighs. “You had no idea, did you? How badly I wanted this… how badly I wanted you.”

He moaned again, his hands trembling as they gripped your thighs harder, trying to pull you down further onto his mouth. He was completely lost in you now, his tongue moving sloppily but enthusiastically as you rode his face. And the way he was so desperate, so utterly consumed by your pleasure, only made you want him more.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been fantasizing about this,” you continued, your voice breathy and filled with lust. “I’ve thought about you so many times, Ethan. Thought about how good it would feel to have you between my legs, thought about teaching you… showing you everything.”

Ethan whimpered beneath you, his hips jerking up even harder, humping the air like he couldn’t help himself. His tongue flicked faster, sloppier, as he devoured you, his whole body trembling with the force of his desperation.

“You’re so fucking hot,” you moaned, your pace picking up as you rode him faster, your fingers tugging on his curls. “God, I never thought I’d be into nerdy guys, but you—fuck, you drive me crazy. I couldn’t stop thinking about you in class, about what it would be like to have you like this… to make you mine.”

Ethan’s response was another desperate, muffled moan, his lips swollen and slick as he licked and sucked at you with reckless abandon. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was humping the air helplessly, completely lost in his desire for you. His eyes fluttered shut as he moaned into you, his whimpers growing more frantic the faster you moved.

“I’ve been fantasizing about you for so long,” you continued, your voice trembling with lust. “Every time we hung out, every time you were so oblivious to how badly I wanted you, it drove me insane. I wanted to drag you into my room and just… fuck you until you couldn’t think straight, until you knew my body better than any of those fuckass econ graphs.”

Ethan’s hips bucked wildly beneath you at that, his whimpers turning into needy, broken sounds as his tongue worked you over with even more desperation. He was completely at your mercy, unable to do anything but whimper and moan as you used him for your own pleasure.

“And now, you’re here,” you gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair as you rocked harder against his face. “Now you’re mine… my good boy… making me feel so fucking good…”

Ethan let out a muffled cry beneath you, his whole body trembling as he sucked and licked with wild abandon, his desperation palpable. He was babbling incoherently, thanking you between gasps and whimpers, his voice barely audible against your skin.

You could feel the tension building inside you again, your body trembling as you rode his face faster, harder. The way he was so desperate, so eager to please you, was driving you wild. You could feel him practically worshipping you with every stroke of his tongue, every moan that spilled from his lips.

“You’re amazing,” you gasped, your voice breathy as you neared the edge once again. “So fucking amazing…”

Ethan’s response was another needy whimper, his tongue moving frantically as he tried to push you over the edge. His hips were still jerking up into the air, humping desperately as he sought any kind of release. But he didn’t stop—he couldn’t stop. He was completely consumed by his need to make you come, and the desperation in his movements only made your pleasure intensify.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, your head falling back as you felt yourself tipping over the edge. “I’m gonna come again, Ethan… don’t stop…”

He let out a desperate groan, his lips swollen and slick as he licked and sucked at you with everything he had, his hips still humping the air in helpless need. And with one final, frantic flick of his tongue, you came undone once again.

Your body shook as your orgasm ripped through you, your hips bucking wildly against his face as you cried out. But even as you came, even as you trembled and gasped, Ethan didn’t stop. He kept going, his tongue working you over with desperate, wild enthusiasm, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

By the time you came down from your high, your legs were shaking, your body still trembling from the intensity of it all. You glanced down at Ethan, your breath catching at the sight of him—his face was a mess, his lips swollen and slick, his eyes dazed and wide with lust. And yet, he was still going, still licking you like he was addicted to the taste of you.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, breathless and dazed as you looked down at him. “You’re a fucking mess…”

He moaned in response, his hips jerking wildly as he humped the air, his whimpers growing more frantic as he continued to devour you. He was completely lost in it now, utterly consumed by his need to please you.

“God, you really want it bad, don’t you?” you murmured, your voice teasing as you looked down at him. “You’re so desperate for me… and I love it.”

He whined again, his hands gripping your thighs as he tried to pull you down harder onto his face, his babbling incoherent as he thanked you again and again, practically worshipping you with his mouth.

As you pulled yourself away from Ethan’s face, he let out a desperate whine, his hands twitching as if he was already mourning the loss of your taste. His lips were even more swollen, and his eyes, still dazed with lust, blinked up at you, wide with need.

He opened his mouth to beg, but you silenced him before he could utter a word, sliding down his body with a smirk. His breath hitched in his throat as he watched you, wide-eyed and trembling beneath you as he realized what you were about to do.

“Now it’s my turn,” you whispered, your voice dripping with lust and amusement as you looked down at him, dragging your nails lightly over his heaving chest. “Let me show you how it feels…”

Ethan’s breath came out in a ragged gasp as your hands slid lower, his body jerking beneath your touch. When you finally reached him, you paused, your fingers lightly grazing his hardness through his boxers, and you couldn’t help the look of surprise that crossed your face.

He was big.

For a moment, you just stared, slightly taken aback, before a wicked grin spread across your lips. “Well, well,” you teased, slipping your hand beneath the fabric and wrapping your fingers around him. Ethan let out a sharp gasp, his entire body shuddering at your touch. “You’ve been hiding this the whole time, huh?”

Ethan’s response was a choked whimper, his hips bucking up into your hand as you slowly stroked him, your touch light and teasing. “Oh, fuck…” he groaned, his voice shaky and ragged as he trembled beneath you. “I—fuck, I didn’t…”

You cut him off, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of his length, your lips brushing over the sensitive skin as he moaned loudly, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Jesus, this feels incredible,” he gasped, his head falling back against the pillows as you began to stroke him in earnest, your hand sliding up and down his length, feeling him throb under your touch. “Holy shit, that feels so good…”

You moaned around him, your own arousal spiking at the sound of his voice, at the way he was completely unraveling beneath you. You could feel him throbbing in your mouth, his length twitching as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder. His hips bucked up again, and you had to steady him with your hands, your fingers gripping his thighs as you began to bob your head, taking him deeper with every movement.

Ethan was losing it. His breath came out in ragged pants, his hips jerking up into your mouth as he swore under his breath, his voice shaky and desperate. “Oh my god… I… fuck, that’s so good, I can’t—fuck, I can’t…”

You smirked around him, your hands stroking the parts of him you couldn’t reach with your mouth, feeling him pulse under your touch. He was so responsive, so utterly lost in the pleasure, and it was driving you wild. You loved watching him fall apart, loved knowing that you were the one making him feel this way.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ethan moaned, his voice a mess of broken curses as his hips bucked up again, his body trembling beneath you. “I’ve never… I didn’t know… oh my god…”

You took him deeper, your tongue swirling around him as you moaned again, the vibrations making him shudder. He was babbling now, incoherent sounds spilling from his lips as he tried to hold himself together, but you could tell he was close—his breath was coming in ragged gasps, his body tense, his hips jerking up into your mouth with every movement.

“Please…” he gasped, his voice barely audible as he whimpered beneath you, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly it looked like he might tear them. “Please don’t stop, I need—fuck, I need you…”

You didn’t. You kept going, your pace quickening as you took him as deep as you could, your hands stroking him faster. His reactions were driving you wild—the way he was falling apart beneath you, the way he couldn’t stop swearing and moaning your name. His hips were out of control now, jerking up into your mouth with every bob of your head, and you could tell he was teetering on the edge.

“Oh fuck… I’m so close, I’m so fucking close…” Ethan’s voice was high and desperate, his whole body trembling as he gasped for breath, his hips bucking uncontrollably. “I’m gonna—”

You pulled back slightly, teasing him, licking slowly up his length as you watched him writhe beneath you. His eyes flew open, wide and glazed with lust, and he let out a loud, desperate whimper, his hips jerking up into the air in a futile attempt to chase your mouth.

“Please,” he begged, his voice shaky and desperate. “Please, I need you…”

You smiled wickedly, your hand still stroking him as you leaned down, your lips brushing over his tip as you whispered, “You’re so fucking hot when you’re falling apart like this.”

Ethan moaned loudly, his head falling back against the pillows as his hips bucked up again, his entire body trembling with the force of his need. He was so close, teetering on the edge, and you could see it in the way his chest heaved, the way his voice cracked with every moan.

“We have plenty of time for you to cum in my mouth Landry. But for now, the only place I want your cum is in my pussy,” you grinned wickedly as you crawled back up his body and grabbed his shaft to rub through your dripping folds. “You want this, baby?”

When all you received in response was a rushed nod, whimper and jerk of the hips, you tutted disapprovingly, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

“Cmon pretty boy, I know you can do better than that. I haven’t even put your cock in my pussy yet, there’s no way you’re too fucked out to speak, use your words,”

“Please- I need to feel you around my cock, need you so so bad!” He whimpered in desperation, jerking his hips up to nudge against your entrance. The movement made you giggle before finally relenting, sinking down on his thick length in one go, prompting a string of curses to fall from both of your lips. You bit your lip and mewled at the full feeling that overtook your body, feeling full from finally having that sexy clueless nerd balls deep in you.

You could feel Ethan trembling beneath you as you began to move, his hands gripping your thighs with a hesitant touch. His nerves were obvious, the way his breath hitched in his throat, the way his body stiffened every time you sank down on him. He was trying so hard to hold it together, but you knew he was on the verge of losing control—and you were going to push him right over the edge.

You smirked as you started to rock your hips, your movements slow and teasing at first, just to watch him squirm. His eyes fluttered shut, and his mouth fell open with a shaky gasp as you took him in deeper. It was almost cute, the way he was trying to hold on, but you were far too impatient for that.

“Aw, look at you honey,” you cooed, your voice dripping with amusement as you leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear. “Is this too much for you? Already falling apart and I’ve barely even started.”

Ethan let out a choked whimper, his hands gripping your hips tighter as his body trembled beneath you. “I-I’m sorry,” he gasped, his voice shaky and breathless. “I just—fuck, you feel so good, I don’t… I can’t…”

You laughed softly, your nails dragging down his chest as you rocked your hips a little harder, a little faster. “I know, baby,” you purred, your voice low and teasing. “I know it’s your first time, so I’ll take it easy on you… for now.”

He whimpered again, his hands trembling as they slid up your thighs, gripping you tightly as if he was trying to ground himself. But you weren’t about to let him off that easy.

“You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you?” you murmured, your voice sultry and playful as you leaned in closer, your breath hot against his ear. “All those nights you were too shy to even look at me, thinking you didn’t stand a chance. But now look at you—finally getting what you’ve been begging for, and you don’t even know how to handle it.”

Ethan let out a strangled moan, his hips jerking up into you as his whole body trembled beneath you. “I… I didn’t think…” He could barely get the words out, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “I didn’t think you’d ever want me like this…”

You grinned wickedly, your hands sliding up his chest as you moved faster, your hips grinding down against him. “Oh, baby, you have no idea,” you whispered, your voice dripping with lust as you started to ride him harder. “I’ve wanted you for so long… watching you get all flustered around me, trying to hide how much you wanted me… It drove me crazy.”

Ethan moaned loudly, his head falling back against the pillow as he arched into your movements, his entire body trembling. His eyes were half-lidded with lust, his lips parted in breathless whimpers as he struggled to keep up with your pace. He was so close, and you could tell he was doing everything he could to hold back, to make it last, but you weren’t going to let him.

“You’ve been so good, though,” you teased, your voice a low purr as you dragged your nails down his chest. “Begging me with those puppy eyes, thinking you weren’t good enough for me… But look at you now, baby. Look how good you feel inside me. You’re doing so well.”

His eyes flew open at your praise, wide and dazed as he looked up at you. He whimpered, his body trembling beneath you, his hands clutching at your thighs as if he was trying to hold on. “I… I want more,” he gasped, his voice desperate and pleading. “Please… I want more…”

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “You want more, baby? You want me to ride you until you can’t take it anymore?”

Ethan nodded frantically, his breath coming in ragged pants as he bucked up into you, his whole body trembling. “Please,” he begged, his voice shaky and desperate. “Please, I need more… I need you…”

You smirked, loving the way he was falling apart beneath you. “Such a good boy,” you murmured, your voice dripping with praise and amusement as you started to ride him faster, harder, your hips grinding down against him with every thrust. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. I didn’t think you’d be able to handle this, but you’re proving me wrong.”

Ethan let out a loud, broken moan, his hips jerking up into you as he whimpered beneath you, his body trembling with every movement. “I… I’m trying… fuck, I’m trying so hard…”

“Of course you are,” you purred, leaning down to nip at his earlobe, making him shudder. “But you don’t have to try so hard, baby. Just let go. Let me make you feel good.”

He let out a desperate whimper, his hands shaking as they slid up your sides, gripping you tightly as if he was afraid to let go. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can last…”

“Good,” you breathed, your hips grinding down harder as you felt him start to lose control beneath you. “Don’t hold back. I want you to come for me.”

Ethan’s breath hitched in his throat, his eyes rolling back as his whole body tensed beneath you. “I… fuck, I can’t… I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, baby,” you whispered, your voice commanding as you rode him harder, feeling him throbbing inside you. “Fill me up.”

With a loud, desperate moan, Ethan finally tipped over the edge, his hips jerking up into you as his whole body convulsed beneath you, trembling with the force of his release. You could feel him pulsing inside you, his hands gripping you so tightly it almost hurt, but it only drove you further, riding him through his orgasm as he gasped and whimpered beneath you.

“Such a good boy,” you purred, your voice dripping with praise as you slowed your movements, letting him come down from the high. “You did so well for me, baby. So, so good.”

Ethan’s breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling beneath you as he blinked up at you, his eyes wide and dazed. His cheeks were flushed, his hair a mess, and he looked completely gone—and it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice shaky as he looked up at you with wide, awe-filled eyes. “That was… I can’t even…”

You grinned down at him, your fingers brushing through his messy hair as you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his. “Don’t worry, baby,” you whispered, your voice a low purr. “We’re just getting started.”

As Ethan came down from his high, still panting beneath you, you could see a spark ignite in his eyes. His gaze shifted, taking in every curve of your body as if he was seeing you for the first time. You leaned down, brushing your lips against his, teasing him with every movement as you felt him start to regain his composure.

“Okay, let’s switch it up a bit,” you said, your voice sultry and playful. “I want to show you how to make me feel even better.”

He looked up at you, a hint of nervousness still lingering in his expression. “How do you want me to… uh, you know, do it?”

You grinned, loving how eager he was to learn. “Let me show you,” you purred, sliding off him and turning around so you were both on your knees, facing each other. “Just like this. Get ready to take me in missionary.”

Ethan’s eyes widened with anticipation as you positioned yourself under him. You could see the nervous energy coursing through him, but you were determined to help him embrace this moment. “Just relax and let me guide you,” you said softly, your voice warm and encouraging.

As you settled yourself beneath him, you took a moment to enjoy the way his body looked beneath you. He was handsome, with those sweet, boyish features that drove you wild. You could see the tension in his muscles, but the way he gazed at you with those wide, innocent eyes made your heart race.

“Now,” you said, your voice sultry as you leaned down closer, brushing your lips against his. “I want you to push into me. Just like before, but this time, you’re in control.” You slowly guided him into you, letting him feel how warm and inviting you were, watching his face contort with pleasure.

Ethan’s breath hitched as he pushed in deeper, the sensation igniting something primal in him. “Like this?” he asked, his voice thick with need.

“Exactly,” you replied, encouraging him with a sultry smile. “Now, I want you to find your rhythm. Just focus on how good it feels to be inside me.”

He nodded, his eyes locked on yours as he began to move, cautiously at first. With each thrust, he grew more confident, his movements becoming faster and more deliberate. You could feel the intensity building between you, the way he filled you completely driving you wild.

“That’s it, baby,” you encouraged, your voice low and filled with desire. “You’re doing so good. Just like that. Harder.”

Ethan responded to your words, his thrusts becoming more enthusiastic, more urgent. The way he looked at you—his eyes dark with lust, his lips parted in a breathless moan—made your heart race even faster. You couldn’t help but revel in the heat of the moment, every sound, every movement sending a shiver of excitement through your body.

“God, you’re so hot,” you said, your voice dripping with lust as you leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I can’t believe how well you’re handling this. You’re making me feel incredible.”

His breath hitched at your words, and you could see the way they spurred him on. “I… I love this,” he gasped, his thrusts becoming more frantic, his confidence building with every word of praise you offered.

“You love making me feel good, don’t you?” you teased, your hips rolling against him as you encouraged him to go deeper. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I love making you feel good!” he exclaimed, his voice strained but filled with enthusiasm. The way he focused solely on your pleasure made you even more aroused, and you could feel the heat pooling low in your belly as you pushed him further.

“Good boy,” you praised, a sultry smile gracing your lips. “Now, tell me how much you want this.”

“I want it so bad,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly, his eyes locked on yours. “I want to make you come. I want to feel you around me.”

Your heart raced at his words, and you felt a rush of desire surge through you. “Then don’t hold back, Ethan. Show me just how much you want it.”

With a renewed sense of urgency, he began to thrust faster, his movements becoming more confident as he lost himself in the rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, and you couldn’t help but cry out, your body responding eagerly to his every movement.

“Yes! Just like that!” you moaned, your voice breathless as you leaned down closer, feeling his warm breath against your skin. “You’re doing amazing, Ethan. Keep going.”

He nodded, his expression one of pure concentration mixed with lust. “I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promised, his voice thick with desire. You could see the determination in his eyes, and it only made you want him more.

With every thrust, he grew bolder, and you could tell he was getting lost in the moment. The way he gazed at you—filled with awe and desire—only fueled your own excitement. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice trembling as he lost himself in the pleasure. “I can’t believe I get to be with you like this.”

“Just focus on me,” you urged, your voice sultry and commanding. “Let yourself go. I want to feel you completely.”

His breaths grew ragged, and you could see the pleasure building in him, his movements becoming more frantic as he tried to keep up with your pace. “I’m so close,” he gasped, his voice thick with need. “I don’t want to stop. I want to feel you come with me.”

“Then don’t hold back, baby,” you said, your voice dripping with lust. “Come for me. I want to feel you inside me.”

With those words, you pushed him over the edge, feeling his body tense beneath you as he let out a deep, guttural groan, his hips bucking up into yours as he finally let go. The pleasure washed over you both, and you couldn’t help but cry out as you felt him fill you completely, your body trembling in response.

Ethan’s face was flushed with desire, his lips swollen and parted as he gasped for breath, and you couldn’t help but grin at the sight. He looked utterly gone, and it was the most intoxicating thing you’d ever seen. “You did so good,” you praised, your voice low and sultry as you leaned down, brushing your lips against his. “I knew you had it in you.”

As he came down from his high, a blissful smile spread across his face, and you felt a sense of pride and relief. Well that pining hadn’t been for nothing and you finally got your perfect boy.

Oh Mindy was gonna eat her fucking words.

I feel like I should make an Ethan taglist? Lmk if you would want to be on it!

[kissitbttr]

OH! but imagine riding miguel in his office likeeeeeeeeee 🤯🤯🤯🤯 his strong hands helping guide your hips and his tip is hitting that sweeeet sweeet spot in you and he’s so close. like really close.

he would literally be like “almost there mi princesa, almost almost almost—” until one of the spider people opens the door and sees y’all…

yall ovulation cycle are on the same month or what???🤨🤨

BUT HELL YEA?!

-

“come on baby, come on” he grunts against your ear as his large hands move around your soft cheeks. slapping and squeezing, encouraging you to go faster. “feels good, hm? daddy’s cock filling you up just right? such a pretty mami, look at you.”

and he means that. he wonders how the hell did he get so lucky to have an angel looking this pretty when she rides him? how did he get lucky to watch her ass moves in a way he has never seen on a girl before?

most importantly, he’s so fucking lucky that he gets to be the only man who can see you like this up close.

with a nod, you begin to snap your hips against him even harder and faster. his praises never fail to make you mewl as you feel yourself getting even wetter.

“s-so good, daddy, I-“ you cut yourself off with a yelp when he lands a hard smack on your ass. “fuck you feel so good inside me. so big i almost can’t take it”

his lips stretches into a lazy smirk, loving how you continue to feed his ego. his hand then travels upwards to softly grip around your throat, just enough to make you choke a little.

he admires the way you sound when he’s deep inside you. especially when you’re bouncing up and down on his hard shaft because it means that you get to be in control. and he has no problem with that. he loves it when you’re on top. but it’s just makes it harder for him to hold on a little longer.

“almost there mi vida” he heaves out a heavy groan, leaning his back comfortably against his office chair. “fuck, i’m gonna—“

before he gets to finish his sentence—and actually finishes inside of you—he hears the sound of his office door opens, and it’s none than other the person he despises for always seem to be invading his privacy,

“hey Miguel, I’ve got some—oh shit!” Peter shrieks when he almost got hit with a small lamp, that’s when he realizes what’s going on. his eyes go wide as his cheeks turn red. “shit shit, I’m so so-“

“get the fuck out, now!” Miguel barks at him, pointing his finger at the door looking absolutely irritated and angry that a man catches a glimpse of his girl naked. you aren’t stopping though. you continue to ride Miguel even faster and keep on moaning like a bitch in the heat.

“fucking knock, next time you piece of shit!”

feeling embarrassed, Peter only nods as he look away. “right! got it!” before he quickly shuts the door, not wanting to make the boss angry even more,

“you’re so mean, baby” you say pretending to be upset, looking down at him with heavy breathing. “he didn’t mean to see me like this.”

“you like it when I’m mean” he growls, knowing that it turns you on and it does. he reaches up to grab both of your tits, squeezing them harshly. “you’re mine and in no fucking way i am sharing”

-

[writingjourney]

Small Beauties

Life at court while beneficial to your station is above all else one thing – unbearably lonely. With a youth spent in unreciprocated longing, the trap of an unhappy marriage, illness, loss and untimely farewells there is one thing that does not change throughout the years – your infatuation and blossoming friendship with Otto Hightower. After all is said and done, are you not both deserving of the very thing you never allowed yourselves to have?

pairing: Otto Hightower x fem!reader // rated E, 18+ MDNI

content: 19k words in five parts + epilogue, pining, forbidden romance, mostly gentle!otto, talks about pregnancy/infertility, minor character death, grief, religious themes (faith of the seven), smut (thigh riding, hand job, oral sex f!receiving, p in v, unprotected, coming inside, mild hand kink)

This story is available on AO3, split into five chapters ♡

1 The Maiden Days

Otto Hightower lifts the ornate cup to his lips, taking a lazy sip before he slowly lowers it yet again. A crimson stain lingers on the soft skin, the Dornish wine momentarily painting them red. You are transfixed by the sight. No matter how often he repeats this simple action it never fails to incite a war in your chest – heart beating rapidly, your lungs fluttering with every breath.

You fold your hands in your lap to ground yourself, observing him from your spot on the cool stone bench that sits at the far end of the balcony. Around you, a handful of other young ladies has erupted into lively chatter, most of them a few years younger than you.

“Ser Alister is so very handsome,” one of them chirps, giggling under her breath as they all turn to look at the man. “A fine knight, tall and strong and most honourable. His blue eyes are captivating.”

“Have you seen Ser Matthos? I hear that he has never lost a battle, the strongest knight in all the Riverlands.”

“Who do you admire, my lady?”

The voice resounds close to your ear – your friend, the Lady Emeline. You answer in a low hum, feigning contemplation. But your eyes still follow his every movement. Often times the lord will keep to himself, observing these gatherings more so than participating. His auburn hair shimmers golden in the warm sunlight and you are so very grateful to behold him outside of the gloomy chambers of the castle.

“Ser Otto,” you whisper.

They all burst into laughter like you told a hilarious joke, guffawing quite unladylike which garners the attention of the entire balcony, including the man you have been speaking of.

“I am not jesting,” you inform them.

Their laughter stops at once. Emeline’s hand wraps around your forearm. “But, you cannot be serious?”

Your eyes stay on the Lord whose solemn gaze still holds you captive. “The Lord Hand is handsome and tall, he is intelligent and experienced in life. An honourable man who serves our realm most faithfully. Any young lady would be lucky to be wed to him.”

“But he is… old,” she whispers now.

“And he is the Lady Alicent’s father,” another girl adds.

You decide to end your rhapsody, if only because you know they could never understand your infatuation. The Lord Hand is not older than half of the men your father is considering as a match for you, even though he certainly appears to be wise beyond his years. Recently widowed and in no want of a new wife, you are well aware that all your dreams of being with him are hopeless. However, this knowledge does nothing to quench your desires as his eyes remain fixed on you for longer than is appropriate. You confidently hold his gaze, even as your heart threatens to burst from your chest. Finally, he averts his eyes, just as the red stain slowly fades from his pale lips.

✦ ✧ ✦

Your father has been pacing since the sun began to wander westwards, his arms crossed behind his back as he fiddles with the rings on his fingers. You’ve seen this nervous gesture plenty of times in your life, only this time his distress has been inadvertently caused by you. Not even the splendid view over the prospering gardens of King’s Landing seems to calm his agitation. “She is of age, she has been of age for long enough that anything but a swift betrothal would be considered shameful, especially now that we are here.”

“Surely that should not be an issue, my lord?” your mother asks. “I hear from the other ladies that she has many a handsome suitor.”

“Suitors, yes, but no promising match. We have to entertain the possibility of sending her to the Riverlands or even the North, though I would prefer for her to stay in the capital. It is always useful to have a direct line to the crown.”

“Perhaps a Lannister?” she asks. “Or Ser Alister? All the young girls seem enamoured with him and his father sits on the king’s council.”

“What about Ser Otto?” you interject.

“The Lord Hand?” Your father barks out a laugh. “He will not have you, girl.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are not important enough, child, and most certainly not handsome enough to tempt a man like him. If he harboured any interest in you he would have already expressed it.”

“My lord.”

You startle at the sound of the deep voice that haunts your very existence these days, followed by the crunching of heavy footsteps on the gravely path. Your face instantly drains of all colour until you can feel the blood rushing back to your cheeks tenfold. You and your mother are seated underneath a rose-colored pavilion but the shade does nothing to cool your heated skin. At the arrival of your guest, you both stand for a polite greeting. From your spot close beside him you make out a familiar pair of leather boots and the ornate hem of a set of dark green garbs, the elaborate pattern of which you could describe in great detail from memory alone.

You cannot bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“My Lord Hand,” your father greets. “To what do I owe the honour of such an unexpected visit?”

“I was informed of your arrival, my lord. I deeply regret that I was kept busy for most of the day – as you well know from your own time in the capital the council never truly rests.” He stops for a moment when your father chuckles, then his voice softens. “My ladies.”

“My lord, what a pleasure to see you,” your mother replies. “It has been nigh a decade.”

“Indeed, my lady. I trust that your lord father is in good health?”

“He is,” she says with a playful smile. “The only ailment he cannot quite soothe is his growing ennui. He so loved to meddle in politics, now all he gets to dictate are his servants while my brother commands his army.”

The Lord Hand gives a kindhearted chuckle and you can almost feel the deep rumbling of his chest vibrating against you, a quake that has your own body trembling helplessly. You realise that every second of silence raises the risk of appearing unseemly to the lord, and so you finally glance up at him, only to find his green eyes already resting on you.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” you say, wishing the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

“My lady.” The corner of his mouth bends into a kind if not sympathetic smile. He must have heard his name coming from your lips upon his arrival and you cannot help but suspect that he finds the suggestion pitiable.

For the remainder of their conversation you stay quiet, withdrawing into yourself to nurse your deep embarrassment and sneaking glances at the lord only when you’re certain that his attention lies elsewhere. Soon your father follows the Lord Hand back inside the keep for a private audience and you remain seated in the gardens with a broken heart. Your mother inquires about the knights and lords you have met in your time in King’s Landing, riddling you with questions about potential marriage candidates.

She does not ask about Otto Hightower.

✦ ✧ ✦

The lady Alicent pulls the book from the shelf ever so cautiously in the way that she was taught to handle the ancient tomes that reside in her lord father’s library. You stand by her side, reading the spines of the books in the collection that his lordship as well as his predecessors have accumulated over the past centuries. Storybooks and fairytales are scarce, you are quite certain that you have read all of them thrice at this point, and so you and your friend have moved on to the historical accounts that the septa never taught you about.

The Lord Hand is eyeing you from his desk where he is taking care of his correspondence, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as the quill scratches the ink into the parchment. Alicent, who has retrieved the book by now, presents the title to him.

“Hm, a good pick, my daughter.”

You both smile at him and his eyes stay on you for so long that you are inclined to stall your departure even as Alicent makes her way to the door. You have never been very subtle about your feelings for the lord and for the past few moons he has indulged you by meeting your eyes more often than would be deemed appropriate should anyone notice.

“A word, my lady?” he asks, sensing your apprehension.

You glance at Alicent who merely gives you one of her kind smiles. “I shall wait for you in the godswood.”

A nervous sensation spreads in your limbs, numbing your fingers as you link your hands behind your back. His lordship stands and beholds you for a moment, his gaze betraying none of his thoughts as it flits between your face and the rest of your form. You stand still, meeting his eyes as you are wont to do, trying to uphold an air of confidence and maturity beyond your years.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your betrothal, my lady,” he says eventually.

“Thank you, my lord.” You hesitate for a moment in surprise as he is the first to bring up the subject since your father presented you with the news. “I was not aware that it had been announced already.”

He sits down behind his desk, neatly folding his long hands on its surface. “I assisted your father with the arrangements. The match was my suggestion.”

“Oh.” You feel your limbs trembling, the realisation like a knife in your chest. “I see.”

“I know he may not be who you dreamed for yourself,” he continues with a knowing expression that softens his features in a way that makes you want to weep.

“My lord has a keen, observant eye.”

“Indeed I have noticed your glances, my lady.” His brows pull together in a display of almost fatherly sympathy but it only makes the knife twist and sink in deeper. “And while I am flattered by your… infatuation, I must point out that this arrangement spares you a life by the side of a man much older than yourself. Ser Alister is in the prime of his youth, a well-favoured knight, and he will make a fine husband for many years to come.”

You nod, swallowing the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “I am fortunate to be betrothed to such a brave and noble knight. And yet **I feel that I must point out that you are being most unkind to yourself, my lord. Your age only adds to your character, your wisdom and gentle disposition are unmatched by any knight I have met in my life. If you ever chose to marry again, the lady would be most fortunate indeed.”

“Your generous words are appreciated, my lady.” He gives a smile that feels more genuine than the ones you have seen before. You refuse to get lost in the way it makes his eyes glow in the light of the candles. “May the Seven watch over you and bestow you with a prosperous future.”

You swallow around the tears that are painfully forming in your eyes, willing the corners of your mouth to return his kindness. “Thank you, my lord. I am certain with your blessings they will.”

2 The Wedded Days

“Seven blessings on your hunt, my lord. May your arrows fly true.”

You press a kiss to your husband’s pale cheek, the courtyard a cacophony of neighing horses, shouting men and clattering weapons in your ears. The hour is early and yet the keep is already alive as it prepares for a day that promises fresh game and other spoils of the woods.

He mounts his horse with a chuckle. “Can you not hear the deer already bawling? They are quivering with fear.”

You fight off a grimace, feeling sorry for the poor animals, and wave after the party as they depart for the Kingswood. A few other ladies who have bid their husbands farewell are waiting with you, waving until the last horse is out of sight and quiet settles in.

Your husband of three years recently inherited his father’s titles and has risen significantly in the king’s esteem ever since. As a proficient hunter since his childhood days it is no surprise that he was invited to join the party. You are surprised, however, when you encounter the Lord Hand on your way back inside, the quiet of the keep’s interiors enveloping you most welcomely.

“Are you not joining the hunt, my lord?” you ask when he stops to greet you.

“No, my lady, it is a small party.”

“His Grace would leave without his most trusted advisor?”

“His Grace has little use for me in the Kingswood, my lady. I am tending to important matters of the realm during his absence.”

You nod in understanding. Naturally the Lord Hand knows to prioritise his tasks but that does not mean you cannot tempt him to a small diversion. “Perhaps his lordship would allow me to keep him company, then?”

He scoffs mildly. “I hardly think that is appropriate, my lady.”

“Why not?”

The lord stops in his tracks, his gaze suddenly softening. “My lady.”

You raise your brows. “Are you concerned about matters of propriety?”

“I am concerned about the matter of your propriety, my lady, yes.”

“If you are alluding to…” You pause and he quirks an eyebrow, almost as if in amusement. “If you are alluding to my childish infatuation with you, my lord, I can assure you that it has long since passed. All I wish is for some company. It has been quite some time since I had the chance to enjoy the sunrise on a morning walk and I merely wish to share the beautiful view the gardens offer at first light.”

For a brief moment, the lord regards you as though he is trying to decipher one of his books. Eventually he tips his head to the side, locking his arms behind his back. “Very well, my lady. Since you are so fond of the gardens, I shall let you lead the way.”

You chuckle good-naturedly. “That is only because his lordship is so busy with politics that he hardly leaves the council chamber. Something he has in common with my husband.”

“There are duties that require an environment free of diversions, my lady.”

“Beauty is a diversion, then, my lord?”

“It most certainly is.”

You exit the keep onto a rather large balcony, the view opening up to the gardens that are still draped in deep shadows as the sun slowly rises above the horizon. A clear sky stretches out in purples, pinks and oranges, their pastel hues blending into each other with the soft brushstrokes of an artist. The sight takes your breath away for several seconds and when you come to, you notice that the Lord Hand is observing you.

“A marvel, don’t you agree?” you ask.

Otto Hightower smiles softly, his eyes crinkling beautifully in their corners. “A marvel indeed.”

The pink on your cheeks must mirror that of the sky when you descend the stairs and tread along the path. The cool air is not unwelcome even though your gown with its southern cut is not meant to keep you warm. You have only known the warm climate of the capital, hardly remembering your time before you were sent here as a ward, but you imagine that this is what the earliest signs of fall would feel like further up North.

“I don’t think I have properly conversed with anyone but my own servants in over a fortnight,” you muse as your footsteps lead you past flowering bushes, their blossoms still closed from the night. “Not even my lord husband has any time to spare for me these days, so busy is he with the council and his… lordly activities.”

“My lady, if you suffer from feelings of loneliness, I am sure we can make some arrangements to ease that affliction.” The tall lord's footsteps are heavier than yours, a reassuring sound that follows you along the path. “Perhaps we can send for one of your sisters.”

“I do not wish to talk to my sisters who I hardly know and hardly remember.” You pause, trying to hide your disdain as you let your hand hover under a particularly beautiful flower. “My lord, I so long for easy conversation or even just the silent companionship that being in the mere presence of a familiar person offers. Since becoming a wife my social circle has only grown smaller which I find quite odd.”

“Perhaps it simply lacks the carefree nature of childhood,” he says wisely.

“Perhaps it simply lacks another intelligent being to converse with.”

“In which case you flatter me, my lady, by seeking my companionship.”

You cannot hide the small smile that slips onto your face. “I have always enjoyed listening to you, my lord. Your insight and wisdom in any conversation over a shared meal has taught me more than my septa during her lessons.”

He rewards you with a deep chuckle and you glance at him, the way his usually stoic face lights up in a smile. “I should think that your septa did a fine job in raising a knowledgeable, kind-hearted young lady.”

“She did, you are quite right. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” You continue to walk, trying to focus back on the sun that wanders along with you. “However, I cannot deny that I regret the ways in which time has passed. I have lost my friends to motherhood while I myself have been less than fortunate in this area. I now suffer the consequences of these shortcomings.”

“There is still time, my lady. You are quite young.”

The smile you give him is tinged with sadness, even though you appreciate his kind words. In truth, you are close to giving up all hope to ever conceive. You have been married for three years now and in all that time you have not once been with child. Not for a lack of efforts from your lord husband nor from your unwillingness to endure said efforts, no matter how unenjoyable you found them. As of late, however, he has shifted those efforts to other recipients, if your staff is to be believed who has spotted him frequent certain establishments in the city. You are not sure if that is a blessing or a curse.

“You speak very kindly, my lord, and yet deep in my heart I can feel that this marriage will not be as prosperous as anyone would have hoped. Perhaps the Gods did not intend for me to be a mother, as much as it pains me to entertain this possibility.”

“My lady, let me assure you that it is not necessarily the fault of the mother,” he says, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Many good men have not sired a child in all their life.”

You consider his words, consider their implications that perhaps the fault of your childless life is not yours alone. “You may be right, my lord, and yet if the purpose of a woman is to bear her husband’s children then I cannot help but feel like my worth has been impaired by my failure to give him an heir.”

“Some narrow minds may view it like that, yes, but I cannot agree. My own lady wife was much more to me than just the bearer of my children and I miss her dearly to this very day.”

You cannot help the wave of pain this opens in your chest, your eyes stinging the faintest bit. “How beautiful it must be to be loved and cherished as you did her.”

“Do you not feel cherished, my lady?” he inquires.

“I never expected to be blessed with a happy marriage, my lord,” you confess truthfully. “And yet the reality of it disappoints me greatly. They say a lady may not love her husband but that she will love his children. It fills me with great sorrow to find that there is no love in my life when my heart is overflowing with all that I have yet to give.”

He halts right beside you and you do the same, the view from the edge of the retaining wall quite spectacular now that the sun has risen above sea level.

“I know my lady is visiting the city’s orphanages quite frequently,” he finally says. “And that she is very fond of my own grandchildren, generously helping my daughter in her care for them.”

“Indeed and it may not be quite the same as having a child of my own that I can spoil as I please but it brings me a few moments of domesticity now and again that I deeply cherish.”

He nods sagely, his sombre gaze meeting your own. “Seeing that you find yourself lacking for company perhaps I may extend an invitation to join us for supper more frequently, my lady? With or without your lord husband, as his schedule allows.”

You find yourself smiling freely at him, awakening sensations that are altogether too familiar, too intimate. If only he had not married you to a man incapable of such affections. “I shall gladly accept your kind offer, my lord. It would please me greatly.”

There is no pity in the expression he gives you this time but a gentle friendliness that you cannot remember seeing in his eyes before. You resume your stroll through the gardens, the increasing warmth of the sunlight invigorating your cold limbs the further you go, and when you reach a fork in the path that leads either further down or back towards the keep you do not wish to turn around.

“Shall we keep going, my lady?” the lord asks.

You cannot help but smile when you agree.

✦ ✧ ✦

Otto senses some reluctance as he glances at the names of staff that is working for your household, if only because he is keenly aware that the findings of his current research may upset him in ways that will tempt him to folly. However, if your husband is mistreating you then he simply must know. His net of spies within the palace is tight as it is in the rest of King’s Landing but the proximity will make it much easier to have him observed.

It instils amounts of regret in him that border on a stomach ache. Marrying you to Ser Alister had been a logical decision at the time but he cannot deny that keeping you in King’s Landing influenced his judgement severely.

A handsome young knight, to inherit his father’s titles and possibly even his seat at the king’s council, Ser Alister was an easily agreed upon match for your father, easier still for Otto who felt like he was doing you a favour after he had noticed your attentions for a while – attentions he could not return at the time, for your protection and out of the overwhelming grief he still felt after the death of his wife. Even so, Otto has to admit to himself that your very openly displayed affections have always flattered him, that you are a true beauty with a comely face that is not just a joy to look at but also a delight to listen to. You are educated, intelligent, sweet, bold in private but shy in the company of others. Endearing even to his old and fractured heart.

Alister did inherit the title as well as the seat on the council within the next three years after your wedding, having wrapped the king around his finger with his open support for the Princess and his Grace’s adamancy in keeping her as his heir. Otto can see now where he went wrong – a severe lapse in judgement of his character, to think him respectful and harmless despite their political disagreements. To think him even remotely worthy of you.

The questioning of your staff as well as a few of his spies in the city reveals quickly that the man he had you marry is a well-known customer in the Street of Silks. Otto cannot, will not believe that anyone would discard a woman like you so foolishly and after only three years of marriage. Such disrespect to the Maid and the Mother of whom you are such a striking image, deserving of nothing but reverence and adoration and a family to love. There is no honour in men like Alister, in men like Daemon Targaryen and so many others who do not know how to cherish their wives as they vowed before the Gods.

A vivid feeling of contempt takes hold of Otto, at himself as well as your husband. He cannot alter what he did in arranging this match but he can make sure that you are comforted in knowing that you deserve more.

✦ ✧ ✦

The Tower of the Hand has not changed much over the past few years, the narrow staircases, the cool stone walls still caging you in. To be summoned now makes you wonder what his lordship could possibly need from you. When you enter, the Lord Hand swiftly dismisses his guards and they close the door behind you. The chamber is dark, only a few candles flickering from his desk and the mantelpiece of his unlit hearth, and yet you can make out the lines of worry on his handsome aging face.

“My lord,” you address him.

“My lady, I am afraid that I have requested to see you on a rather… delicate matter. Please, have a seat.”

There is hardly enough time to scan the circular room before you sit at a small desk with his correspondence spread over top, the wax still melting over a candle. You can see his bed from the corner of your eye – his private quarters.

“My lady, after our conversation in the gardens…” He stops himself, making sure that you are meeting his gaze. “I could not help but look into matters that you have hinted at, in genuine concern for your well-being, and I am afraid that I have uncovered a concerning truth.”

“Pray tell, my lord, what truth? You do not have to spare my feelings.”

“I got word from a trusted source that your lord husband has been seen in… certain establishments in the Street of Silks.”

“I am afraid that this is not news to me, my lord,” you say and he regards you with surprise.

“You are aware?”

“If it please, my lord, I would prefer for this to remain private. It is already shameful enough without the entire court knowing.”

“Of course, my lady, I merely wished for you to know the vicious acts–”

You have to suppress a dry chuckle, wondering why he seems so astonished by your husband’s ways. “Vicious? My lord, I am hardly the only lady bound to a husband who seeks his pleasure elsewhere.”

Otto’s voice drips with venom. “That does not make it any less despicable.”

You nod, conceding to his point. “May I be truthful, my lord?”

“Certainly.”

“I would rather he takes his needs elsewhere than continue to…” You pause, trying to phrase your thoughts without leaving respectability. “I have given up hopes on a child of my own, so there is no need to continue our efforts. I find no enjoyment in them and with no remaining purpose I find myself incapable of putting my body through the pain.”

His gaze changes now, sympathy perhaps. The crease on his forehead is deeper. “Pain, my lady?”

“Were you not aware that it is painful, my lord?”

“You say this as though it is a fact.”

“Is it not?” you ask, confused as to his meaning.

He looks at you as though there is something weighing on him, something he is desperate to share, but when his mouth opens no words come out. The lord spreads his palms on his desk as he sits up straighter, his hands pale and broad, adorned with rings that reflect the light of the candles. “My lady, I fear that the continuation of this conversation will lead us beyond the realms of propriety.”

You nod, averting your gaze in shame. “Please forgive me, my lord.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my lady. I understand there is a… curiosity that grows upon the discovery of such intimate matters.”

You fight back the tears that have gathered in your eyes. “No matter, he is not requesting my presence anymore. I just wonder–” Again, you have to pause, feeling like a child again and not like a woman of two-and-twenty years. “Is it true, my lord?”

He furrows his brow. “Is what true, my lady?”

“Am I not handsome enough? My father–”

“Your father should never have spoken to you like that,” he interrupts, only catching his tone after the words left his mouth. You are surprised he still recalls that conversation. “I can assure you, my lady, that your beauty is greatly admired at court and certainly not the reason that your husband is disrespecting you in such a way.”

“And yet, perhaps he cannot find it.” You swallow the tears of irritation that are threatening to spill. “Please forget that I ever mentioned this to you, my lord. I hope you can forgive me for my transgression. I am aware that my intent is one that does not befit a lady of my station and that you cannot give me counsel in such matters. I thank you for your concern and for looking out for me when no one else does.”

“My lady.” His voice is soft, hardly more than a whisper and when you meet his eyes you see a glimmer in them that is akin to the longing you feel in your heart.

Perhaps it is this notion that gives you the courage. You place your delicate hand on top of his, feeling the lines and ridges, scars of a long life spent with a sword in his grasp. He does not pull away, not even when you smooth your thumb over his skin in a tender stroke. You repeat the movement, his eyes fixated on your joint hands, and round the table without letting go.

Once you are in his lap, you let go of his hand to toy with his doublet, tracing the chains around his neck, the brooch that shows the world that he is the hand of the king, the second most powerful man in all the Seven Kingdoms. And yet the power he wields over you far surpasses that of anyone else. Your faces are at the same height now, your noses brushing together before you lean back. You take his hand in both of yours, admiring how large it is, how you have to use both hands to fully grasp it. For a brief moment you bring it to your lips, breathing a kiss to his knuckles. The silver ring on his finger feels cool against your mouth, his skin softer than you expected.

“My lady,” he warns, the hesitation evident in his eyes.

You place his hand on your waist and to your delight he curls it around your shape. When you reach for his other hand he meets you halfway. They settle over your hips, holding you in place, and you rest your own hands on top of them for a moment to feel the warmth of his skin. This is how a lover’s touch should feel, you think. Gentle and warm. Safe.

“This is foolish,” he comments but his voice is too soft to convey the sentiment.

“Perhaps,” you agree. “Let me be foolish for once, my lord. I want to know what it feels like to follow my desires, to have a memory that I can retreat to when I need it.”

His throat constricts as he swallows, his gentle gaze fixed on you as you inspect the soft wrinkles on his face, the discoloured skin below his eyes that crinkles when they move. You lift a hand to caress him, shy fingertips exploring the shape of his face. Your lord stays still for you, allowing you the innocent touch even as his heart tightens at the intimacy of it all. He has not been touched by a woman in so long that he quite forgot the reactions it lures from his body, the want, the need it stokes when such a sublime creatures offers him the tenderness and comfort he so craves.

You shift forward and suddenly his thigh is pressing against that soft part between your legs. The pressure sends a jolt through your body. You gasp and his eyes flutter closed for a moment. You move your hand to comb his beard, your fingertips grazing the skin underneath until you can cup his cheek. The lord leans into your touch, eyes still shut, and breathes a burdensome sigh.

“Let me adjust you,” he finally says as his eyes open, waiting for you to give a nod before his grasp tightens. He lifts you enough that your leg slides between his, shifting his hips forward to give you more space. You are straddling his thigh now, the fabric of your dress bunched up high enough that you can feel him pressing against your core through your shift and your linens.

“My lord,” you whisper.

“Move your hips,” he instructs. “Gently, and tell me when you feel it.”

“Feel what, my lord?”

“You will know, darling girl.”

With your eyes on his you do as he says, rocking your hips clumsily at first. His hands guide you into a more fluid rhythm and you find more confidence when you feel the first sparks of pleasure his firm leg sends through your body. Your gasps soon fill the room, even as you try to hold them back. You recognise the feeling and the heat, you have felt it at times when your husband happened to touch certain parts of you, when you tried to touch yourself but weren’t courageous enough to continue. Only now the intensity is tenfold, especially with the lord’s keen eyes so focused on your mouth, on every sigh that leaves your lips.

“My beauty,” he whispers. “Carved from marble, a face that even the Gods must envy, and yet he does not see it, does not treasure it. What a shame to be gifted such a beautiful flower and to let it wilt in neglect.”

His words hardly register as he bounces his leg to meet your rhythm. The sparks of pleasure that spread in your body feel wrong, almost shameful, and yet you want to chase, need to chase them. But then the pressure slowly becomes uncomfortable, a tension that you don’t recognise but that is bordering on painful. You whimper, stopping your efforts, whispering that it is too much.

“Keep going,” your lord orders, gripping your hips tightly to drag you across his leg. “Do not stop.”

“I c-cannot–”

“Shhhh,” he coos. “Trust me, my girl.”

You cry out softly, picking your rhythm back up as he helps you with strong hands, the hands of a knight, a powerful man that you have wanted since you knew what wanting really meant. The tension pushes you towards an invisible edge and then you fall–

“My lord. My lord.” You wail as if in pain, your face falling against his as your breathing becomes more shallow and the pleasure tears through your body. He does not stop you as you hide your face, his beard soft against your cheek as he drags out the sensation by moving his leg back and forth, pressing against that spot again and again. The fabric of your linens as well as his pants feels damp against your core.

Your body goes slack and his arms wrap around you, cradling you against his broad chest as you catch your breath. Even as your body stops trembling the warmth and contentment stay trapped within you, your muscles slowly relaxing now.

“My darling girl,” he whispers, breathing a kiss to your hair. “And how well you did.”

“What have you done to me?” you ask breathlessly.

“What you are owed, my lady,” he says with a chuckle. “I have given you pleasure”

“Pleasure.” The word tastes sweet on your tongue but it comes with a sting. How cruel to give you a crumb of bliss only to pull it away again.

You lift your head to look at him, a softness on his face that lets you believe he holds a warm affection for you, at least for this fleeting moment. The desire to kiss him is overwhelming and you place your hand on his other thigh. Immediately you feel the hardness between his legs against your arm and you flinch back in uncertainty. “My lord.”

“Pay it no mind,” he says.

You ignore him and place your hand on his stiff member, feeling the outline clearly even through the fabric of his garbs. The gasp that leaves him sounds like music, the first sign that this is affecting him beyond what he is willing to share. You want to kiss him still, your face inching closer on its own accord. His hand moves up to cup your chin and he places his thumb on your plump bottom lip, only allowing you to hover above his own mouth. It is but a futile attempt at restraint, at keeping up the illusion that nothing here is untoward. You move your hand to stroke him through his pants and his hips buck to meet your movement.

“Gods have mercy,” he breathes, his voice raspy and barely audible.

You wonder how long it has been since someone touched him like this. Mesmerised by his reaction, you do it again and his eyes flutter closed, his unkempt brows furrowing so tightly that they almost meet. After only a handful more strokes he releases a scarcely concealed groan and you feel him kicking against your hand, the thick fabric turning wet as it soaks up his spend.

His ragged breathing betrays his state, even as he controls any other sound that leaves him. You are still trapped in the haze of your own bliss, in the newfound sense of power you have gained from whatever it is that you just did to him. He still won’t let you kiss him, his thumb firm against your lips. Perhaps it is better that way, you think, the only skin of his you have touched being that of his hands.

“My sweet girl,” he says after a moment, clearing his tight throat with some effort. “We can never speak of this again.”

The words tear you back down from your high, their reality so evident, so clear. You nod and allow the pain to spread in your heart, expected but all the more severe. Of course nothing has changed, not in truth, even though you feel like you will never be the same again.

Otto removes you from his lap, making sure that you can stand on your own and waiting patiently until your legs stop wobbling, his hands firm on your hips. His face betrays his regret – he cannot hide his emotions from you anymore, not after what you just did. He is such an honourable man, valuing propriety and respect above all else, that this must pain him more than you can understand.

You make sure your gown sits correctly and smooth out the strands of hair that have fallen into your face from moving so erratically. The door-handle feels cool against your warm hand, a feverish sensation spreading within you. You spare the lord one last glance, your eyes meeting his for a burning hot moment, and then you slip through the door, a profound sense of loss slowly settling in your bones.

3 The Lonely Days

Your handmaiden carefully adjusts the sleeves of your gown, a deep blue fabric with golden accents to match the colours of your husband’s house. Bejewelled earrings and a bracelet complete your look, dainty jewellery with blue stones just like he once told you he prefers. You stare at your reflection in the polished metal for a long moment, struggling to recognise yourself even after years of wearing his colours. You are almost ready when the door to your chambers opens and a footman enters with his gaze lowered.

“What is it?” you ask impatiently.

“His lordship has requested to stay in bed tonight,” he says. “He is not feeling well enough to accompany you to the celebration, m’lady.”

“He is unwell?”

“He has been sleeping for most of the day, m’lady, complained about a headache.”

“Why have I not been informed?”

The servant simply stares at the floor and you sigh as you realise that the signs point to a long night down in the brothels more so than an acute illness. It would certainly not be the first time that he is leaving you to your own devices to nurse the ailments of a night spent drinking and– You clear your throat.

“Send for a maester should he not feel better in the morning,” you tell him. “And inform me of his condition the moment it changes.”

A nod and the door softly closes. Another event you will have to attend by yourself. You would be glad to avoid a night of his indifference were it not for the fact that his absence must appear even more worrisome to the other houses. You are anything but a strong unit and talks about your childless marriage never cease – you see them whispering their rumours from ear to ear whenever you enter a room, followed by pitiful glances.

“Anything else, m’lady?” your handmaiden asks. “Perhaps a shawl in case you feel a chill?”

You falter for a moment as you look down at yourself and suddenly detest your whole attire. Why are you dressing for a man who disrespects you at any chance he gets, who cannot even exert himself to appear by your side when it truly matters? “Apologies, Malena, but I have decided that I will wear the green dress tonight after all.”

She bows and you begin to undress as she fetches the garment. There is only one pair of eyes that you want to feel on your body tonight and it won’t be drawn to blue fabric.

✦ ✧ ✦

The hall is filled to the brim with people of all houses – a banquet to which not only the capital’s nobility has been invited but any noble who was willing to commit to the journey to King’s Landing. It is a celebration in honour of the Prince Aegon’s nameday but Otto insisted on the opulence – the prince has to stay on their minds, his grandson, namesake of Aegon the Conqueror, and as far as Otto is concerned the future regent of the Seven Kingdoms.

Noisy chatter fills his ears as he watches his lovely daughter introducing Aegon as well as the Princess Helaena, her second child, to the lords and ladies who have not had the pleasure yet. His Grace is watching them with a gentle smile on his face and Otto cannot help but feel a hint of complacency. Thanks to Aegon the mess the king created in naming his daughter his heir can be mended, if he plays it well.

Even though he feels a deep affection for his grandchildren, two innocent infants who are blissfully unaware of the role they are going to play in securing peace and order in the realm, Otto’s eyes are drawn to the entrance. You are late, a few minutes of tardiness that Otto spends wondering if you decided against attending after all, perhaps in favour of staying with your lord husband. He was informed just an hour ago by one of his little mice that the lord is feeling rather unwell this evening, that he has been complaining about different symptoms for a while now. Otto is not surprised by the news. These may well be the first signs that his increasingly frivolous whereabouts are affecting the man’s health and, therefore, his accountability.

When you do arrive at last, Otto is quite struck by the sight of you entering the hall – so much so that Alicent rouses him with a concerned look on her face. He gives her a reassuring smile, then trains his eyes back to your form. It is quite distracting, the way your dress accentuates your womanly figure. His colour, he notes, the dark shade of green he usually wears. A mere moment later you eye him with a gentle smile playing at your lips and his suspicion is confirmed that you’re wearing it for him. Gods, he finds that your beauty is taking his breath away even more so than usual. Not that he did not admire you before, you have always been a sight for the Gods, but now that he knows what you sound like in the throes of your pleasure you fully and irrevocably occupy his mind.

Perhaps tonight, then, he thinks, toying with the small box he has been keeping in his pocket for a few weeks now. You are tempting him to folly, evoking emotions of a strength he has not felt in years. Even his work is impacted by this attachment. He finds his hands forming fists underneath the table whenever your lord husband speaks up during council meetings, most days still half drunk from the night before. Pathetic, with no sense of honour, besmearing your good name in the process. Seeing you now without this worm hanging by your arm is most welcome, wearing his colour no less, a beautiful deep green. It seems that you are well aware of who you truly belong to.

No, who you should belong to, Otto must correct himself. A constant reminder of a mistake that caught up to him faster than he would have wished for. A mistake that calls for more mistakes that he cannot allow to happen.

Dinner passes with stolen glances and timid smiles. Ever since the moment you shared in his quarters you seem to blush and turn away whenever you catch sight of him and yet it seems like your gaze never strays too far. It is quite endearing, the shy glances, the rosy cheeks that no one else knows are just for him. As daring as you were in the privacy of the tower, you have respected his wish to never mention it again. It is for your own protection, of course, although Otto fears what it would do to his own integrity if word spread about an illicit affair, no matter that what occurred between you hardly deserves the name. He has been meticulously crafting his reputation for decades now and he cannot allow these foolish desires to taint it.

Soon, the dancing is in full swing. For a brief moment he indulges in the fantasy of asking you to do him the honour, to see the cheerful smile on your face he has not seen since he married you to Alister. Judging by the expression on your face as you observe the dancery, he imagines that you long for a partner to share the delights of a joyful evening. Young as you are, it is a shame that you should sit in your chair all night. Another reason to loathe your husband, not that he is lacking for those.

Perhaps this is the reason why you slip away the moment the steady flow of wine and musical distractions allows you to do so unobserved. It is his only chance. Otto rises as soon as he can without arousing suspicion. The hour is late enough to justify a reprieve.

“Excuse me for a moment, your Grace,” he says without waiting for an answer.

The castle is abandoned and his steps echo loudly, bouncing off the stone walls of the keep. He finds you in an empty hallway halfway back to your chambers, gazing out of a window that overlooks the gardens that he knows you are so very fond of. The two guards who are closest pay him no mind, yet he dismisses them with a nod and they take station at a more unobtrusive spot.

You turn as his steps approach, confused momentarily as to who could be following you. When you recognise the figure as him your expression visibly softens and your guard is let down once more. The effect he has on you should alarm you but on the contrary, you seem to be eager to welcome him in your presence.

“Are you tiring of the festivities, my lady?” he asks, approaching you with cautious strides.

“I do not have much to celebrate, my lord. You might have heard that my lord husband is feeling rather unwell.”

“And yet you are not with him, no?”

You eye him with barely hidden annoyance and he chuckles lowly, satisfied. There is hardly any cause for jealousy when your disdain is so very obvious. Otto approaches, closing the distance cautiously to make sure that you remain comfortable in his proximity. He stops about two steps away from you, a towering and broad figure compared to your shorter frame, and you have to look up to meet his eyes. He drinks you in for a long time, not lustful but in admiration, letting his gaze wander over your body in a way that has goosebumps spreading all over your skin. He would count every single one of them, if he had the time.

“You look beautiful tonight, my lady,” he whispers. “A new colour?”

You meet his eyes, boldly this time, in the way that makes him want to pull you into his arms and ravish you. “My favourite colour.”

“Is that so?”

A timid smile. “I know, I should not, I cannot… But, my lord, you know that it is true.”

“It is alright, my sweet,” he assures you. “Indeed, catching you alone allows me to do something I have been avoiding for too long and I do not mean complimenting your beauty.”

“And what would that be, my lord?”

“I do not wish to offend your sensibilities, my lady, I know it is not my place to lavish you with gifts and you may find it presumptuous, but… I have something that I wish to offer you.” Your eyes widen, so he quickly continues. “I am in no position to put a claim on you and yet it would please me greatly to see you wearing it on occasion. I am certain that you can think of a plausible explanation as to how it came into your possession.”

Before you can protest he retrieves the small box from his pocket. Taking off the lid he reveals a  finely crafted ring with a sparkling green gemstone – a real emerald. He must admit the choice of colour was quite on purpose, green as the beacon of the Hightower when his house rides to war. A war Otto cannot win, he knows, but it is a war he is fighting every day nonetheless. To see you fighting it with him, if subtle, would be a great source of comfort.

“My lord, but this is…” You admire the beautiful piece of jewellery, your eyes drawn to the way it shimmers in the moonlight, subtle and delicate but breathtaking nonetheless. “It is too much.”

“I am afraid that no gemstone will ever suffice to express what I truly wish to say, my lady,” he says. “And yet I hope you will honour me by wearing it.”

You nod and stretch out your hand. The lord takes the ring and carefully slides it onto your finger. A perfect fit of course, he made sure of that. His larger hand gently holds yours so that he can admire the jewel and you briefly rest your other hand on top of his. His skin is warm and weathered. It is all you want to feel for the rest of your life.

“Forgive me,” he says and you’re not quite certain what he means until he lifts your hand to his mouth and places a reverent kiss on the back of it. He lingers, his beard tickling your soft skin as his lips travel along your knuckles and finally rest on the gem.

“I shall think of you whenever I wear it,” you supply. Then, with a softer voice: “Though, in truth and in shame I must admit that I already think of you more than is proper, my lord. You occupy my mind and heart at all times. You always have.”

He smiles, a tight-lipped, pained smile. “You honour me, my lady, in ways that I fear I do not deserve.”

“It matters not what we deserve, my lord.” You lift your hand and cradle his face, stroking his cheekbone tenderly with your thumb. “I shall find comfort in knowing that you return my affections at last.”

“My darling girl,” he whispers and the words sound like a prayer from his lips.

You close your eyes for a moment, trapped in the sensation of his lips on your skin, the feeling of his beard against your fingertips just like he is trapped in the gentleness of your touch, in the longing for more of your simple comforts that he has to deny himself over and over again. You both pray in silence that the moment never ends, and yet he has to let go of you eventually and come to his senses. How cruel to ache for a love that he denied himself in the first place.

✦ ✧ ✦

Your sitting room is illuminated by burnt-down candles, the hour late as you have reclined on a settee to read in your book. Truth be told, you should be sleeping, but you cannot bear to let your mind wander as it tends to do in the quiet of your canopy.

To your surprise, the door opens and your husband stumbles in. Even from afar you can tell that he reeks of wine and the fumes of the city. He sits down in a chair and stares at you in a manner that has always made you rather uncomfortable. Rare as it is, you do not enjoy his company.

“I overheard a most interesting conversation in the council chamber,” he says out of nowhere, a smug smile playing at his lips. “About the Lord Hand, Otto Hightower.”

You pause, closing the book as you gaze at your husband in interest now. He is not in the habit of discussing politics with you and certainly does not bring up the council on his own accord.

“He was dismissed as Hand to the King,” he continues, standing now to pour himself a glass of wine from your private pitcher. “Finally, thank the Seven.”

“Pray, what do you mean?”

“The king finally had enough of his little schemes. He does not wish for Aegon to be his heir, he insists on keeping the Princess in the position and rightfully so. Your lord got too bold with his endless attempts at installing his own grandson as heir, spreading rumours about the Princess. His greed for power is so obvious even our blind king can see it now. Perhaps you should go and bid your lord farewell before he departs.”

“He is not my lord, whatever are you talking about?”

He sets the glass down, turning to you with a withering expression. “Do you think I am not aware that you are wearing green more often? That you’re suddenly wearing emeralds instead of blue stones? That your lord continuously eyes me with disdain when I speak up during council meetings and dismisses any of my suggestions, even proceeds to work against them? How his eyes linger on you when we are invited to sup with the king and his family? I may not be the most devoted of spouses but I do have eyes in my skull.”

“Unlike you I remain in control of my desires. As does he,” you reply coldly. “The Gods see what you are doing in the Street of Silks, what you are doing to your own wife.”

“Perhaps,” he admits. “But my sins do not absolve you from your own and, let us be frank, my dear lady wife. The difference between thought and action matters little to the Gods when it comes to corruption. Whether it festers on the inside or the outside you end up rotten. I might as well take what life offers to me instead of pining after someone who could be my own father. It makes you look pathetic and not just in my eyes.”

You bite back a reply. His provocations mean little to you, especially with the knowledge that the Lord Hand has been dismissed from his position. If it is true then he may leave King’s Landing for good.

Leave you.

Without another word you abandon your book and exit your chambers. In the quiet of the old hallways of the keep you take a few deep breaths, the tightness of your dress suddenly suffocating you. This cannot be true, you think, His Grace would never dismiss such a trusted advisor, such a devoted servant of the realm. But then you know Otto is ambitious, that his plans at times may be unpopular and that the peace of the realm has always ranked higher for him than the will of the king. The Princess threatens the delicate balance between the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, threatens the loyalty of many houses to the crown who will not accept a queen where there is a male heir to be had. And while you always loved the Princess and considered her to be a worthy successor you can see why he may have tried to sway the king in Aegon’s favour. He is his grandsire, after all, and he knows the ways of court politics.

As soon as your racing heart beats a more bearable rhythm, you hurry to the Tower of the Hand. However, the guards inform you that you cannot enter as it has been abandoned not long ago. You are unaware as to when this conversation your husband overheard took place and the hour is late, or perhaps too early, when you finally decide to retreat to your own chambers.

You see nothing of Otto over the next day, even though you are pacing the hallways of the keep in a way that must make even the guards nervous. You all but give up on ever seeing him again until from a window you spot Queen Alicent by the gate across the courtyard with a rider who you can only assume is her father.

He is leaving, you realise.

Heart pounding anew you hurry down the stairs, nearly tripping over your dress as you run faster than is deemed appropriate for a lady. But you care not, even as your feet begin to ache and you finally reach the courtyard. It is pouring, the rain mercilessly beating down from the skies above but you cannot wait for anyone to fetch you a coat. When you approach the gate you hear the clicking of the hooves on distant cobblestone but the rider has already left.

You don’t, cannot, stop, not until you are by Alicent’s side, your Queen, your friend, who falls into your arms in painful, shaking sobs that vibrate deep within your chest. Something inside of you breaks with a finality that weakens your very bones. You cannot hold back your tears either, letting them mix in with the rain until you cannot tell them apart any longer.

4 The Widowed Days

Every morning, you observe the murky water rushing down the river and mouthing into Blackwater Bay – a steady, endless stream with harsh currents as well as the occasional softer tide when the weather is more agreeable. Time passes in much the same way.

It has been nearly ten years since the first symptoms showed, made memorable by the night of Prince Aegon’s name day celebration. While the illness progressed slowly at first, with years and years of mild symptoms, your husband’s health has been declining rapidly over the past two years. You take care of him to the best of your abilities but as a proud man he does not wish to be fussed over and more often than not he sends you away. The maesters are clueless as to his condition, perhaps the repercussions of his drinking excesses that would not cease even as his affliction progressed. Whenever you look at him you see a withering face, the face of a man much older than the years he truly lived. Even though you don’t hold much love for him it pains you to see him succumbing to such an undignified illness.

You have not much to hold onto besides the fantasies your mind conjures up in the quiet hours you spend in the keep, a weak attempt at comfort. The years have not diminished your love for Ser Otto, or rather the desire for a love that could have been. He comes to you in dreams, fragments of memories of the feel of his weathered hands in yours, the scratch of his beard against your fingertips.

Alicent knows about your affections for her father as you spilled your heart to her the very moment he had left and you found comfort in each other’s arms upon his departure. Ever since, your bond is as strong as it used to be in your childhood, perhaps even more so with years of hardships added to its weight. Thanks to her you know that he is in good health, that he is safe in Oldtown, and as much as you long to see him again you are comforted in knowing that he is faring well.

You spend much time helping her raise her children, especially the Princess Helaena, an intelligent but misunderstood girl who struggles with the life she was forced into, not unlike her mother. Alicent’s role as queen is demanding and you notice how she is changing, becoming more and more like her father, a clever woman forged by court politics and increasing responsibilities as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Life at court has become tense with rumours about the legitimacy of the Princess Rhaenyra’s offspring, with tensions between her children and those of the queen as well as the notable decline of the king’s health. You do not envy her.

The night he left, you found a letter from Otto on your bed, delivered to you in secret – a brief message that was written in haste before his departure. My lady, I regret to inform you that my time at court has come to a premature end. However, I remain hopeful that we will meet again under improved circumstances. Know that it pains me to leave you without as much as a spoken farewell. In my absence, I ask you to remain by my daughter’s side, if not for the affection that I hope you still hold for me then as her loyal childhood companion and friend. May the Seven keep you in good health, Otto.

You know it by heart, the parchment old and scarcely readable by now. Since then, some letters have been exchanged between Ser Otto and you in which you have informed him about the whereabouts of his grandchildren and he thanked you for your support of his daughter and family. Even so, you remain a married woman and regular correspondence with a man who is not your husband raises too many questions, too many rumours on top of an already strained reputation. So you keep the exchanges sparse, hold the replies he sends you as dearly as you can, and tell yourself that he must be thinking of you fondly still or he would not write to you at all.

With your husband bedridden and often unresponsive, you find yourself a widow in all but law. Though your life feels even lonelier than during the first few years of your marriage, you found solace in frequenting the gardens, supporting the capital’s orphanages as well as keeping the queen’s company. Every morning you go on a lengthy walk, reminiscing about the time you spent here with Otto, following the exact route you took with him the morning of the hunt. It feels as though centuries have passed since then – the bushes have been replaced, the paths altered, even you yourself don’t feel like the same person anymore. What never changes, however, is the beauty of the sunrise over Blackwater Bay, though the colours vary and are never quite the same – every morning a welcome but familiar surprise.

When you return one morning, the Keep is more alive than usual at this hour. Servants are running past you almost as though you are invisible. Perhaps they prepare for the arrival of some noble guests, you think and head to the nearest window facing the outer courtyard. You cannot see any larger wheelhouses, nor do you spot anything out of the ordinary. That is, until one of the riders by the gate lifts his hood.

You scarcely believe your eyes. It must be a trick, an evil one at that, but you could swear that he looks like Ser Otto. It would not be the first time that you see him in someone else’s face, that your mind deceives you so cruelly into believing that he is near. Missing him has been one of the harder burdens of the past decade and sometimes relief means delusion for just a few precious seconds. However, as you continue to observe the man, you cannot help but see Otto in in his shape, his height, in the way he moves.

Of course you know that Lord Strong and his son Ser Harwin recently perished in a fire at Harrenhal but you had not assumed that Alicent would send for her father to replace the Lord Hand. It is entirely possible, however. Suddenly invigorated, you storm down the stairs and head outside in what may be unseemly but entirely necessary for your own sanity.

You nearly stumble when you finally exit the keep, though fortunately the lord does not notice your ineptitude as he gives orders to a footman. Seeing him in the flesh feels like a dream, his tall stature only slightly more slumped with age but not diminishing his dignified presence in the slightest. Your heart begins to hammer in excitement, in relief, and you have to hold back the tears to feign an indifferent politeness.

“My Lord,” you say. “How it delights me to see you back in the capital.”

He turns to offer you his full attention. Within a split second recognition flits across his face. “My lady.” A soft chuckle. “Well, you honour me. How lovely to be greeted by a welcome, familiar face.”

“It gladdens me to see that you are in good health,” you say happily as your eyes meet the very face you have not seen in near a decade. “In fact you have not changed at all, except perhaps for a few grey hairs.”

He smiles at your mild teasing and you wonder if the years away from court have softened him. “As a wise lady once told me: My age only adds to my character. And the same appears to be true for you. You have…” He pauses, weighing his words. “… matured.”

You give a soft laugh. “It has been ten years, I should hope so. Or are you implying that I look old, my lord?”

“I would not dare suggest such a thing,” he says. “Let me rephrase, my lady. The years have served to enhance your beauty.”

Warmth blooms in your cheeks at the first openly spoken compliment after so many years and for a moment you feel like the little girl that used to admire him from afar. If she were here now she would be floating on saccharine clouds for the rest of the day, daydreaming about him reciprocating her hidden desires. But you are not that girl anymore. The past decade has left its ugly marks on you and coveting what you cannot have has only brought you the deepest misery. You vow to protect your heart, no matter how much it wants to beat out of your chest and land in his gentle hands.

“Thank you, my lord,” you say. “I trust that we will see each other more frequently now.”

“I should hope so, my lady, since I am reassuming my position as Hand of the King.”

You perk up in delight at the news, your suspicion confirmed. “I do not wish to keep you, my lord, I am sure you long to be reunited with your family and acquaint yourself with the current state of affairs. I do hope we will get the chance to speak in more depth.”

“I will make sure of it, my lady.”

His expression gives you hope that his promise is sincere.

✦ ✧ ✦

“A green dress,” you order, dabbing some of your scented oils to your neck and wrists.

“Which one, m’lady?”

“The darker one with the lower neckline, I think. Or the green-gold one?”

Your handmaid smiles to herself; you think she must be amused by your antics. “I think he would like the lower cut, m’lady, if I may speak so freely.”

As always she can read your thoughts and you have to agree. “Then that one it is, Malena. And don’t forget to bring the emerald ring.”

You hope his lordship won’t be cross with you. He did not seem opposed to your initiative the last few times you were alone together, even if that was over a decade ago, so you hope he won’t mind you paying him a visit so soon. He has been rather occupied since arriving but tonight Alicent invited you to sup with their family and you are quite certain this means the Lord Hand must be ready for company.

The hour is still early, the sun has only just risen and you are getting ready to start your day with a visit to the Tower of the Hand before your morning walk. You are not sure you could sit through supper without having seen him for yourself first. The past days have been filled with anticipation, the sheer prospect of being in his proximity enough to keep you awake at night.

As your feet carry you up the stairs after many years of absence, your heart is beating mercilessly against your ribcage. You carry a small basket, clutching it tightly to your front so its content comes to no harm.

The men of the Hand’s household guard allow you to enter without a second glance, announcing you briefly. Otto Hightower stands from his chair, surprise but no dismissal in his features. He easily rounds his desk to approach you and you are once again struck by his tall frame, the grace with which he moves.

“Good morrow, my lord,” you say, trying to find your courage. “I have come to deliver a welcome present for you. I thought you might still be weary after your long travels and–” You pause, looking at him and his tired eyes. “Forgive me for being so forward. I am certain that you are quite occupied and–”

“No need for apologies, my lady, I would have sent for you shortly.”

“I wanted to give you more time to arrive, my lord, but I simply could not–” Again you pause, your heart hammering so fast that it drowns out the thoughts in your head. “I could not fight the urge to see you.”

The lord takes a step in your direction, an untamed emotion in his eyes now, and he only falters for a moment before he fully closes the gap between you. His hands grasp your wrists and wander up your arms, careful and slow, as though he is trying remember the shape of you. With a tender expression he finally captures your face and while his openly displayed attention confuses you you can’t help but melt into his touch. The lord leans forward, his beard and nose brushing against your cheek as he inhales, taking a deep breath to have his fill of you. All of his senses satiated, he releases a wistful sigh, the depth of which sends heat pooling into your lower belly.

“I brought you some oils, my lord, lavender for sleeping a– and–” You pause when his lips trail along you jaw, so soft you hardly feel them. “My lord–”

“Tell me,” he urges. “Tell me you feel the same, my sweet girl. That you did not forget me. You must let me know.”

You can’t help but whimper, his insistence making your skin tingle with need. “I have missed you every single day, my lord,” you whisper as if in silent prayer, the truth spilling out despite your resolution to be cautious. “No day would pass that your vision did not haunt me. I have dreamt of the day that the Gods would return you to me, begged for it in the darkest hours of my existence.”

Another deep breath, shakier than before, and he looks at you with a fire you have never before seen in the calm lord’s eyes. “The Maid herself sent you into my arms all those years ago, the sweetest girl I had ever seen, and I was fool enough to refuse her gift. To this day it is my biggest regret.”

“Regret not, my lord, please.” You set the basket down on his desk right by your side, then you place your hands on top of his, gently grasping them where they are still holding your face. “You did what you thought to be right and honourable.”

“And doomed you to a life by the side of a man who could not cherish you as I wished to do.” He huffs out a breath, two long thumbs stroking over your wet cheeks. You are unaware as to when you started crying but now you can feel the tears burning in your lash line, pearling onto his fingers. As you grasp his hands tighter his eyes are caught by the sparkling emerald on your finger and his expression softens with sentimentality. “You still own it?”

“It is my greatest treasure.”

The lord closes his eyes, his brow furrowed tightly in a way that betrays his pain. “I shall make things right, sweet girl. I promise this to you.”

“But my lord, I am still ma–”

A loud knock interrupts your words. You break apart just as a servant enters the chamber and you are certain that you must be red and hot as the flaming tips of dragon’s breath. The servant appears to be quite winded, as though he ran up the many stairs of the tower in quite a hurry.

“Excuse me, m’lord, m’lady,” the man says. “It is urgent. I was sent to come looking for you.”

“What is it?” you ask, brow furrowed in increasing confusion. You look to Ser Otto for help but his expression is filled with sympathy, almost as though he knows what the man is going to say even before you do.

“It is your lord husband, m’lady. He passed in his sleep.”

✦ ✧ ✦

An orange sunset coats the roofs of King’s Landing in its golden light as you let the evening fade out on a balcony with Alicent by your side. You were supping with her family just earlier, for the first time in a decade joined by her father as well. Even though you had to push the occasion back, caused by the recent news of your lord husband’s passing, the evening was pleasant and a welcome distraction. You had not seen the Lord Hand since visiting him in the Tower and though not many words were spoken between you this evening you found comfort in the way he would meet your eyes so reassuringly.

It has only been little over a week since the Silent Sisters took Alister for cleansing, to prepare him for his final goodbye. Since then you have received many offers of commiseration, in letters as well as from people here at court. You wanted to spend your period of mourning alone but your queen forbid it after a mere four days of isolation. She said she needed you, having received her own news of loss, and that you should spend each other comfort in these times. Now, watching the sunset for the first time after you lost him you are glad that she is here with you.

“The Stranger has visited us again and so soon,” Alicent says, pouring you a glass of wine. “First your husband and now Laena Velaryon.”

You accept the wine, even though you don’t drink before your queen has taken her first sip. “And they were both too young, though I am afraid my husband won’t be as direly missed as the Lady Laena.”

“Perhaps he sensed that my father came back, that it was his time to go knowing you would not be alone in your grief.”

“He would not have done me the kindness of letting go so that I could be with your father,” you reply, no emotion in your voice as you speak the words frankly for the first time. “If he had known he would have made sure to live another decade, just to make me miserable. He once said that my feelings for the Lord Hand made me pathetic and I doubt he ever changed his mind. He was always too fond of the Princess.”

She regards you hesitantly, the monotony in your voice no doubt unsettling her. “No matter, he is gone now, a blessing after all the pain and suffering he had to endure. May he rest with the Gods.”

She finally drinks and you take a sip as well, tasting the sweetness of the wine in contrast to the bitter reality of your life. A childless widow now, at just over thirty years of age. Even though you never loved your husband you feel a sense of loss. For the life you could have had, perhaps, a life without the stain of a childless, loveless marriage that ended far too soon. The family he never gave you, the true love he took from you.

“If it is still your wish,” she says, sensing your thoughts, “then I will not object to a match between you and my father when the time comes. You are already an integral part of our family, we might as well make it official. And I want you on my side for what is to come, the both of you.” An awkward smile. “Though I must admit… it will take me some time to get used to calling you mother.”

“Please, do not call me mother.” You both have to laugh at that notion, the first real sign of emotion you allow to bubble out of you in days. “However, I am not sure if the Lord Hand’s affections run so deep that he would propose a wedding.”

Alicent smiles, grasping your hand in hers. “He would be a fool not to marry you and my father is anything but.”

5 The Happy Days

You roll up the letter and place it back on the table, staring at the broken wax seal with the sigil of your father’s house. Amongst the bustle of the royal family arriving back from Driftmark you nearly missed the raven this morning. The keep had been entirely too quiet as the king’s family was away to attend the Lady Laena’s funeral but now that they have returned rumours are spreading like fire.

It is easy to tell that something has gone awry. The Prince Aemond is missing an eye, the people at court whisper when you take a stroll in the gardens to clear your head. A conflict, a bloody fight between the children of Queen Alicent and the Princess Rhaenyra. You have to refrain from intruding as your concern grows after hearing increasingly violent stories, the need to see Alicent and the children overwhelming. It is almost enough to distract you from the news you received that very morning.

You don’t expect anyone to call on you soon in the aftermath of what happened and with the tension still so very palpable within the Red Keep. The very evening of the family’s return, however, a footman arrives at your door carrying a small chest with a familiar crest.

“The Lord Hand sends for you, m’lady. He wishes for you to wear these.”

✦ ✧ ✦

The Tower smells of incense. It is the first thing you notice and you wonder if your lord has been praying, calling to the Gods for his grandson. Unlike many times before you do not find him behind his desk but on a daybed that must have been brought in recently. The padding looks unused, rich green brocade, and it is positioned perfectly in front of the hearth to provide ample warmth during cooler nights. You wonder if his joints are troubling him.

Otto Hightower looks up, the flames casting an orange glow on his handsome face, and his features soften remarkably as he beholds you. Under his gaze you fiddle with the matching pair of emerald and gold cuffs he gifted you and that his eyes are drawn to immediately.

“My lord sent for me,” you say, hovering by the door.

“I should like to have your company tonight,” he says, patting the spot beside him. “I am in need of a gentle face and a soothing voice. But only if it please my darling girl.”

He looks weary, you note. Despite his sweet words there is a heaviness to him that he must have carried here all the way from Driftmark.

“Can I offer you wine?” he asks as you approach.

“Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I am perfectly content.”

As you sit down beside him the scent of incense grows stronger; like perfume it clings to his robes and skin. His hands are folded in his lap and you see the tension in his white knuckles, in the way his rings bite into the soft flesh of his slender fingers.

“May I, my lord?” you ask cautiously.

He nods and you reach for one of his hands, pulling it into the lap of your black linen dress. You gently take off his rings, soothing the abused skin with a kiss. Your lord allows you to linger and when you press your lips to the next finger you meet his gaze. The warm light of the fire has softened his features even more but his eyes are keen as always as they observe your doings. When his lids flutter shut as you press yet another kiss to his knuckles it satisfies you greatly.

After a few more kisses you stand to rid yourself of the rings, placing them on his desk instead. The oils you brought him before his departure still lie in their basket and you take a deep purple phial before you settle by his side once again. Applying some drops to his wrist you begin to massage the tincture into his skin with a circular motion of your thumb. The lord sighs and visibly relaxes as the rich scent of lavender penetrates the air.

“How are you faring after your loss?” he asks after some silence.

“I am quite well, my lord. I have long since started the process of grieving, tethered to his bedside for years. Now the Stranger has ended his suffering and I feel at peace knowing that my husband is with the Gods.”

“I am glad to hear it. I would not wish for you to be in pain.”

“It is a tragedy,” you say, carefully then, “what happened to your grandson, my lord. Will the prince be alright?”

He gives a court nod. “He will, though I am afraid that his eye will not. But that is the price he paid for his dragon.”

“His dragon? You mean Vhagar, my lord?”

“Yes, my sweet. I am certain you heard the rumours.”

You smile at the term of endearment, ending your massage with a kiss to his palm before you reach for his other hand. The lord is rather pliant, allowing you to move him this way or that with the odd grunt of amusement. You do not dare ask for details, aware that he is looking for distraction and comfort tonight.

“Such good care you take of me,” your lord says, his voice deep and calm. “I should like to have you in my chambers more often.”

You glance at him, your resolve melting at the fondness in his expression. “I should like to take care of my lord whenever he is in need of me.”

“Otto,” he corrects softly. “Please.”

You look into his eyes. “Otto.”

A smile, gentle and warm. You continue to relieve his muscles, giving his second hand just as much attention as the first. However, your heart is heavy as you sit on the news you do not wish to bring up. The letter that arrived this morning makes any moment you have with your lord bittersweet.

“I am not sure how many evenings we will have, my lord. It seems that the Gods do not wish to see us together,” you finally say.

His left eyebrow rises. “What do you mean, my girl?”

“A letter arrived this morning in which my father requests my presence at our family’s seat.” You swallow, trying to hide the bitterness in your voice. “An old friend of his has expressed a specific interest in me and the match would bring me much closer to my family.”

“I certainly cannot fault him, my darling. Your presence is a gift to anyone who is fortunate enough to enjoy it.” He begins to stroke your hair with his free hand, gently running his fingers through the loose strands that aren’t pinned to your head. His movement carries the calming scent of lavender back to your nose. “However, I shall not allow it.”

“My lord?”

“Otto,” he corrects again, his brow furrowed in disapproval as his fingers curl underneath your chin, firmly holding it in place.

You try again. “What do you mean, Otto?”

He resumes his attentions, trailing his hands over your shoulder now in a gentle caress that mirrors the movement of your hand. “I claim you as my own, sweet girl. Your father will not dismiss the request of the Hand, I am quite certain.”

You sit up straighter. “And you mean it?”

“I will not see us parted again,” he states and his hand comes to rest on your cheek, more tender now. “If it is agreeable to you then I will send word to your lord father and after a reasonable period of mourning we arrange for the wedding.”

You cannot hide your relieved smile. “That is most agreeable to me, Otto.”

“Very good.”

You resume the treatment of his hand, noting the subtly pleased smile on his lips. He has always been sweet with you, sweeter than with anyone else as you know him to be stern and not too sentimental outside of his family. As a child you interpreted the changes in his demeanour as sympathy, pity even, and perhaps it truly was at times but now you realise that he must have always had this soft spot for you. Perhaps this was inevitable, perhaps it was always meant to be like this.

His hand tenses in yours, then, and his expression sours. “I do not know the extent to which my daughter has let you in on the tensions that are rising within the royal family but I feel that I must–”

“I am aware,” you gently interrupt with a hand on his arm, not wanting him to speak the words that trouble his mind. “My lord – Otto – whatever may come, I promised my Queen to be by her side a long time ago. In what function matters not.”

Perhaps it is his fatigue that makes him accept your decision so easily or perhaps it is the conviction in your voice. You were always rather adamant that you saw yourself by his side, that you were loyal first and foremost to your queen’s party. When your eyes meet you exchange a silent promise and there is no need to speak of it any longer.

Otto’s hands reach for yours then, softened by the oils. His eyes take in the sight of the finely wrought cuffs adorning your wrists, his thumbs trailing their rims where they meet your skin. The bracelets are narrow enough to remain delicate but still allow for the emerald ornamentations that run along their outer curve to stand out. The gems sparkle in the firelight, endless shades of green.

“Do you like them, my darling?” he asks.

“They are beautiful, Otto.”

He smiles, then runs his thumb over the matching ring on your finger. “I had them made for you before I left for Driftmark.”

For a brief moment the memory of him gifting you the jewel flickers in your mind, how hesitant he was at the time and how you both had to stop yourselves from speaking the truth of your feelings. Now he seems less hesitant to stake his claim, less hesitant to open himself to you.

“Thank you for such generous gifts, Otto,” you whisper. “I do not know how I deserve them.”

“You are deserving of more than mere jewels,” he replies, grasping your hands even tighter. You are surprised by the strength he still has in them. “You must know how very dear you are to me.”

You give a weak nod, getting lost in the intensity of his blue eyes. His lips part and you realise that you have leaned closer, a mere hairsbreadth separating you. The rough tips of his beard tickle your chin and you shut your eyes. His breath is warm against your lips.

“Otto–”

You want to ask for it but you cannot bring yourself to say the words. He does not close the distance but he also does not pull away. You blink your eyes back open and find his brow deeply furrowed, his eyes trained on your mouth.

He is conflicted, you can see it plainly written on his face. “You are in mourning, I would not offend–”

“There is no offence,” you whisper. “Otto–”

“If you are sure–”

Your lips meet before he finishes as you desperately press yourself against him. He groans lowly, his grasp on your hands tightening as he leans into you. Your lord tastes of sweet wine and tart berries, the flavours of a fading summer. No kiss has ever felt so warm and inviting but then you have gone without a lover’s touch for so long that you can hardly remember.

With some effort your lord pulls away, a sharp exhale through his nose following. His forehead comes to rest against yours, fingers searching for your cheeks as he cradles your head. “Is this what you want?”

“You said the Gods placed me in your hands,” you whisper in reply, skin prickling where his beard touched it. “I believe you are right.”

He presses another kiss to your lips, long thumbs swiping along your cheekbones. “You would let me have you, tonight?”

“I would let you have me every night.”

“Hm, such tempting promises.”

His lips wander, so very soft in contrast to his beard as they travel along the sharp line of your jaw and down to the much more sensitive skin of your neck. You inhale the smell that clings to his hair, incense, lavender and something that is distinctly Otto, some mix of ink, parchment and the crackling fire in front of you.

“We have denied ourselves for so long.” Your voice is desperate even to your own ears. “I do not think we have to repent any longer for sins of the past.”

“No,” he whispers against your jugular. “We give thanks to the Seven for their graciousness. Worship–”

“Worship?”

He stops as his hands stray, ghosting along your bare neck and then, suddenly, he tugs at your bodice. You gasp in surprise, and after another attempt it finally loosens, your breasts spilling over your dress as you shiver in the cool air. The lord’s warm hands soon find the soft flesh and with his slender fingers he kneads them, drawing noises from you that sound so very unfamiliar to your ears. You can tell that he is quite overcome as well. His breathing comes in hard bursts that betray his state and yet he is gentle with you, careful.

“Worship their gift,” he clarifies, glancing down at your partly revealed body. “Cherish it, treasure it.”

His mouth presses to the pliant curve of your breast and you realise that it is you he is idolising, your body the sole object of his adoration. You are melting under his lips, the reverence with which he kisses every bit of exposed skin exhilarating and new. When his warm mouth closes around your nipple you bury your hand in his hair and he moans deeply, wantonly. You feel yourself clenching at the sound.

It must have been some time since he touched a woman and just like you even the simplest contact seems to affect him. You would explore the possibilities if he allowed you to but presently he is too occupied with the mechanisms of your dress. You gently urge him away and help with the fastenings on your back, but he soon finds that he prefers to peel it off your skin in a rather slow, torturous fashion.

“Black,” he states with a hint of distaste, freeing your arm from one of the wide sleeves.

“I know my lord prefers me in green,” you whisper.

“And soon you shall be wearing it for me, my darling. It suits you so well.”

It gives you a thrill to have him take off your mourning dress with which you commemorate your late husband, a husband who shamed you for your attraction to the very man you are intimate with now. It is a sick feeling, a sinful feeling, to strip off your memory of him so soon and give into your desires with the man he so loathed. It gives you a perverse sense of satisfaction. But you have suppressed your needs for too long and you think it truly must be a sign of the Gods that they have brought you and Otto Hightower together again tonight.

When you are in nothing but your shift, the lord sinks from the daybed and kneels in front of you, bunching up the sheer fabric until your legs are exposed. You want to alert him that he should not rest on his poor joints on the cool stone floor but then his lips press to the inside of your knee and the thought is forgotten. He is yet unhurried, languid kisses pressed to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the roughness of his beard sending pleasant tingles into your belly.

The nearer he draws to your core the more restless you become. You feel yourself getting wet, throbbing in anticipation. You grasp at his hair, a blush spreading over your cheeks and when he does not stop you tug at the thinning strands. The lord’s eyes find yours, heavy-lidded, and you feel the warmth of shame blossoming in your chest at the lustful display.

“My lord, I have never–”

“Otto,” he corrects yet again, a mild reproach with one hand stroking your calf. “Lean back, my girl, I want a taste.”

It is not a request. You rest your back against the brocade and he grabs one of your thighs, placing it over his shoulder to reveal your private parts to him, to angle your hips just right. He holds your gaze and even though your heart is hammering almost too violently you cannot bring yourself to deny him. His lust-blown pupils paint his eyes black, a thin sheen of sweat gathering on his brow. It is an odd sight, a new sight, the usually so composed and controlled lord driven by his carnal impulses in a rare loss of composure.

He beholds you for another moment to make sure you are in agreement before he presses his mouth to your cunt. It is entirely too much, the lighting bolts of pleasure it sends into your body, the way he feels so hot and wet against your most sensitive parts. You moan, an obscene sound that you stifle with your hand the moment it leaves your lips. Otto’s eyelids flutter shut and his lips part against you. His tongue is soft in contrast to his beard that is chafing your thighs, licking along your slit and flattening against the sensitive bud at the top that you only rarely found the courage to explore on your own. He continues like this, his nose pressed to the swelling knob while he devours you like a man starved. When the lord pulls away to breathe you roll your hip in his direction, trying for more, and he gives an amused chuckle.

“You are a wanton thing,” he says. “I should have known.”

He says it fondly, running a thumb over the coarse hair that gathers where your legs meet, wet with your arousal and his own spit. He rubs along your slit then, circling the spot that lures the most sensual sounds from you. Your hips move on their own accord, trying to meet his rhythm, and you feel the heat building in your lower belly as he stokes the fire.

“Please–”

You clench around nothing and the lord withdraws, leaving you aching. His beard is glistening wetly in the light and you watch as he cleans the digit with a low hum. “My girl has the sweetest of tastes.”

You do not know whether he speaks the truth but his eyes are filled with devotion and desperate longing. When he stands, you pull your legs to your body to nurse the dampness and unsatisfied pulsing between them. The lord flinches as he straightens his knees, no doubt feeling the pain you anticipated but he recovers before you can inquire and reaches for your hand to help you up. You understand he does not wish to feel old tonight.

“On the bed,” he says.

His voice is firm and controlled. When you stand before him he surprises you with a hungry kiss,  hands following the lines of your scantily clad form and squeezing at every bit of soft flesh he can reach. You feel like a debauched woman and modesty seems to be out of place. With shaking hands you pull your shift over your head and crawl onto his heavy four poster bed. The fabric of his sheets feels soft against your bare skin and you sense a thrill running through you at the prospect of what he might do to you. You are nude safe for the jewellery he bestowed you with.

“You are an exquisite sight,” he says as he watches you from the foot of the bed, the buttons of his garments coming undone with practiced fingers. “And you are mine now, sweet girl. Does it please you?”

You forget to reply, quite distracted as he reveals the tunic he wears underneath. The lord knows, as he always does. The admiration for his body must be written all over your face and you cannot look away as he fully exposes his torso to you. Despite his age his body is that of a knight, toned in places but overall softened by decades spent behind his desk. Tufts of greying hair cover most of his chest, the supple curve of his belly resting right above where he is already hard inside of his breeches.

The same bravery you felt all those years ago takes hold of you at the sight of him and on your knees you crawl over to where he is standing. Cautiously, you run your hands through the hair covering his upper body, feeling the soft skin underneath. He seems rather docile, allowing you to squeeze and palm whereever you want to, silence interspersed with the odd hum of approval at your exploration. Starved for the touch of a woman there is no resistance but a deep infatuation in his eyes. Perhaps he is just as enamoured with the sight and feel of you as you are with his.

“Pleased is hardly a word I would use at present,” you finally reply and allow your hand to cup him through his breeches. “Are you aching for me, too?”

A dry huff of a laugh, as though the question itself is superfluous. Two fingers tilt your chin up, the fire burning in his eyes answer enough. His free hand dives into your hair, not gentle but not rough as he frees it from its constraints and allows it to fall over your shoulders. Once he can angle your head how he pleases the lord closes the distance and litters your neck with kisses, teeth and tongue teasing at your skin. You find the fastenings of his breeches but your fingers are too jittery. The more you palm at him the rougher his kisses become until all breaths between you are drawn in desperation.

His patience has run thin. He climbs onto the bed, effectively urging you to lie back as he settles between your legs. His weight on top of you is heavenly, the feel of his skin against yours enough to have you whimpering underneath him. Otto grabs your wrists, one in each hand, pinning them down on either side of your head. The gold cuffs bite into your skin but not unpleasantly so with his warm hands covering them. His fingers slot between yours, grasping them, and you feel your pulse hammering against the ball his hand. Large as they are his hands almost completely cover your smaller ones and as his weight comes to rest on his forearms you feel like he is spreading you open for him.

“You are a sight for the Gods,” he whispers. “Such beauty, even they must envy me.”

You buck your hips, desperate for the feel of him now that he is within reach. “Please, Otto–”

“Needy, shameless,” he chides, voice sultry and deep. “Tell me, how many times have you fantasised of this? Or have you stopped counting?”

The arrogance in his tone only makes you want him more. His hands tighten almost painfully in yours as he kisses you, feverish and filthy, forcing his tongue between your lips with a distinct possessiveness. It is evident that he intents to claim you in more ways than just adorning you with jewels. You are not resisting but you cannot match his pace, overwhelmed with the intensity of your desires for him.

When his mouth releases yours, bruised and wet, you moan at the loss of him. The gasping breath you take burns in your lungs and once again you cannot help but tilt your pelvis to try and find some relief.

“Shhhhh, I know,” he whispers. “I will have you, my girl. You were very patient.”

The blood flows back through your wrists when his tight grasp loosens and he finally works his breeches open. His member is coated in arousal, thick and throbbing after his own stalling. You release a sob when you feel him sliding between your folds, grazing your swollen bud. The lord groans when you reach down to help him find your entrance and you notice how hot he is, how painfully stiff against your soft fingers.

“Yes,” you whisper when you feel his tip parting you. “Please, more.”

He relents, tries to go slow for your sake but you are slick and worked up and one thrust is enough to fill you to completion. The feeling is unlike any of which you have experienced before, no pain or discomfort but just the dizzying need for more of him that burns through your veins. He stretches you open, both of you glancing at where your bodies join so beautifully before your eyes meet once more. Your lord takes your wrists again, softer now, and as your hands link together it is you this time who tightens their grasp.

He begins to rock his hips, gentle at first as he holds your gaze, swallows the first of your moans with his puffed lips. Soon his thrusts harden, the pace he sets merciless as he drives himself into you over and over. You are both too sensitive for it to last long, the lingering fire inside of you spreading into your fingertips, your toes, and you feel as though you could explode with the sheer bliss of it all.

You come undone a moment later, crying out his name and spasming with a force you have not known before. Your lord holds you and you sink into the feeling, trembling and weightless in his arms. Otto hums at the sight but he only pauses for a moment before he resumes his movements, prolonging the pleasurable sensation. He moves to pull out of you as he nears his own end and you catch his wrist, pressing it against your chest.

“No,” you whine. “Please.”

He holds your gaze as he continues to take you, chasing his own pleasure more savagely than before. You cradle his face, brush the sweaty hair back that has fallen into his forehead, and when he finds his release the sound that comes from his throat is broken. His hips still but you feel the heat of his spend as he fills you, his body going slack on top of yours after the efforts of the night.

You recover with his gasping breath warming the crook of your neck and even though he is resting some of his weight on his elbows his strength has ultimately left him. Wet skin clings to wet skin, soft and comforting as you stroke his back through the aftershocks. Your chests heave in sync and you swear you can feel his heartbeat matching your own.

A deep sigh tickles your shoulder, then, and he carefully rolls you onto your sides, wrapping you up in his arms as he gathers you against his chest. The position is much more comfortable and you curl up against him with a warm, sated feeling in your belly.

“Will you stay a while?” he asks.

“For as long as you will have me,” you reply, using the quiet to allow your fingers to explore more of his chest. “I thought you might tell me about Oldtown.”

A smile, so soft and genuine that your heart stutters. The lord brushes your hair back, thumb following the line of your brow down to your jaw and resting on your lips. You can only imagine the mess you look but he does not seem to mind.

“Perhaps you should like to dine with me tomorrow?” he asks.

“I should like that very much.”

“Good,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “Very good.”

He is exhausted and you know sleep will take him within moments. Lips softly pressed below his ear you reach for the end of the comfort and provisionally pull it over your entangled bodies. The fire is still burning but you know you will catch a chill once your skin cools. You will have to leave before the morrow but right now dawn is far away and you are too content to rest in the safety of his arms. At last.

Epilogue: A year later

A yawn parts the lord’s lips. He stifles the noise quite quickly but it does not escape your notice how his hand flies to his mouth. He so rarely makes a sound, a man of silent concentration, choosing every word with a deliberation that requires his full attention.

You smile to yourself. “I did not take you for a man who falls victim to ennui, husband.”

“It is a slow night,” he concedes, rubbing an ink-stained finger along his brow.

“And you have copied this letter…”

“Seven times, my heart.”

You softly close the book you have been reading while sitting in quiet companionship with the Lord Hand. You so love watching him when he dedicates his evenings to his correspondence, the scratching of the quill a calming noise in the background.

“Perhaps I can aid his lordship in finding a less tiresome occupation?”

He leans back in his chair, surrendering the quill as well as his efforts as you saunter over. A smile tugs at his lips, amusement. You find him less serious these days, less stern, at least when he’s sharing your company. The months have been kind to you both.

“My darling wife is as insatiable as during our first night,” he muses, pulling you into his lap.

“How disappointing, I made such an effort to become worse.”

He kisses the mock pout from your lips. For a man who has aged so gracefully his hunger has not dwindled. He tells you that your enthusiasm keeps him youthful and perhaps that is true. After over a decade in a love and passionless marriage you have a lot to make up for. Otto is happy to indulge you.

“The hour is late,” you whisper against his lips, a subtle proposition.

“Indeed,” he says, one hand sliding up your hip, then pressing down gently on your belly. “What are we to do with this hunger of yours, lady wife?”

“Perhaps my neglectful husband can sate me.”

“Neglectful?”

“At times I feel that he prefers the touch of his quill over mine.”

He lifts you abruptly, placing you on the surface of his desk where you can hear the parchment crumpling underneath your skirts. Your lord stands tall in front of you, broad-chested yet slender of frame save the small pouch of his belly. You trace the soft curve up to his chest but he quickly grasps your chin to draw your gaze up to his, ever imperious.

“Audacious,” he chides, “that you would make such accusations.”

The hint of teasing in his voice sets you alight. His long fingers curl underneath your jaw, denting your cheeks with his grip. With a raised eyebrow he studies your face, knowingly, your flushed skin betraying his effect on you. His patience is like to drive you mad as he is methodical and studious even in your shared intimacy. You think he reads you as though you are words written on a page of his books, drawing meaning from tracing the shape of you with his eyes.

Only when you are writhing does he close the distance in a heated kiss. As if to prove you wrong his hands eagerly roam your body, unfastening the lacings on your dress and groping every soft spot he meets in the process. Before long you find yourself stripped and heaving under the strain of your passion. It is a well-rehearsed dance by now, the undressing, the way from his desk to the bed where your lord likes to take his time with you, pleasuring you, teasing you until your begs and whimpers fill the quiet of the chamber and at last he is satisfied.

Under the canopy he leaves scratchy, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat as his fingers work you open. So far his seed has not taken and the maesters are not sure it will. You had hoped that you could refute the rumours of your barrenness but even so your second marriage is a much happier one than your first. The Gods have been good to you and you wonder if in time you may be blessed with a son after all.

“Focus on me, my girl,” Otto rasps, then, and you find him staring down at you, pupils so wide that they swallow his irises. His hair has fallen into his face, thin strands clinging to his forehead. You reach out to brush them back and as always he leans into your touch, starved for affection. An ink smudge stains his brow. He works so much that the signs never leave his face.

“Forgive me, I lost myself for a moment,” you whisper and push at his shoulder.

He removes himself and sinks into the pillows beside you, reclining with a soft, weary sigh. You climb on top of him, easing him inside of you. Otto pulls you forward, wrapping his arms around you as you both begin to rock against each other. You can feel his soft chest hair tickling your breasts, pressed together as you are, and you breathe broken moans into each others mouths.

“Where were your thoughts, then?” he whispers, biting into the soft skin of your neck.

“I thought about the future,” you say. “I thought about you giving me a son.”

His hips buck and you keen as he hits you deeper than before. You tug at the hair on the back of his head, following his rhythm as he groans into your ear with that deep, raspy voice. You smile, enjoying the feel and sound of him so desperate for you.

Whatever the future may hold, you know that you will never tire of this, the small intimacies with your lord, the knowledge that he burns for you so vigorously after a lifetime forced to spent apart. You can taste your own fire on his lips, feel it as you both crest and his seed drips down your legs. Otto kept the promise he gave you – he made things right, he cherished you, and now nothing shall part you again.

“I am doing something I learned early to do, I am paying attention to small beauties, whatever I have – as if it were our duty to find things to love, to bind ourselves to this world.” – Sharon Olds, from "Little Things"; Strike Sparks: Selected Poems, 1980-2002

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

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