#Let's Go Brandon Shirt

[a-very-tired-jew]

So you know what happens to old merch from campaigns and events, right? Like, the NFL makes Super Bowl winner merch of both teams and whoever loses has their corresponding merch donated to other countries. That's why you'll see people in South Asian countries with Eagles Super Bowl Winner shirts from Super Bowl LVII. What do you think is going to happen to the Let's Go Brandon stuff?!

[tisinochannel]

(via Let's Go Brandon Fjb Shirt)

[possessedmen]

The Spell of Desire

In the dim light of the evening, Ezra, a reserved art history major, returned to his university dorm room, his mind preoccupied with his unrequited feelings for his roommate, Brandon. Brandon was the epitome of a college jock—muscular, charismatic, and, to Ezra's knowledge, straight. Their shared living space was a constant reminder of what Ezra couldn't have.

As Ezra entered, he froze at the sight before him. There, sprawled on his bed, was Brandon, or so he thought, in all his naked glory. The room was silent except for the soft hum of the air conditioner, and Brandon's usual confident demeanor seemed replaced by a strange vulnerability.

"Brandon, what the hell?" Ezra managed, his voice a mix of shock and intrigue.

The man on the bed shifted, sitting up with a look of flustered confusion. "Hey, Ezra, uh, I was just... I thought I'd surprise you. You know, with a, um, prank. Yeah, a prank," he said, his voice not quite matching Brandon's usual deep timbre. It was higher, more nervous.

Ezra raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "A prank? Since when do you prank me by getting naked on my bed?"

"Well, you know, I've been feeling a bit adventurous lately. Wanted to spice things up around here. Plus, it's hot, and I thought, why not cool off a bit?" The faux-Brandon chuckled awkwardly, trying to mimic the easy laugh of the jock.

Ezra couldn't help but let his gaze linger over the body that was supposed to be Brandon's. There was something off, something not quite right in the way he moved, the way he spoke. "You're acting weird, Brandon. What's really going on?"

"Okay, okay, you got me. I'm not Brandon. I'm Theo. Theo from your literature class. I... I used this old spell book I found in the library. I swapped bodies with Brandon because I've been crushing on you for ages. I wanted to be close to you, to... to see if you felt the same."

Ezra's eyes widened, the pieces falling into place. "You swapped bodies with Brandon? With black magic?"

"Yes, I know it sounds crazy. I'm sorry, I'll reverse it, I just—"

"No, wait," Ezra said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "If you're going to be Brandon, let's make this believable. What would Brandon say now?"

Theo, still in shock, tried to think on his feet. "Uh, he'd probably say something like, 'Hey, roomie, you caught me. Now, what are you gonna do about it?'"

Ezra chuckled, "That's more like it." He began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his toned physique slowly, deliberately. "And what would Brandon do next?"

Theo swallowed hard, his borrowed body looking out of place with the expression of a shy nerd. "He'd probably... um, flex a bit, show off, right?" He awkwardly flexed one of Brandon's muscular arms.

"Close, but let's make it more... intimate," Ezra suggested, letting his shirt fall to the floor. He climbed onto the bed, his body close to Theo's, the heat between them palpable. "So, 'Brandon', what do you think of this?"

Theo's eyes followed Ezra's movements, his breathing quickening. "I... I think you look good, Ezra. Really good."

"Shh, just keep being Brandon," Ezra instructed, a playful smirk on his lips as he leaned in, capturing Theo's lips in a kiss that was both exploratory and demanding. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, "What would Brandon say if I kissed him like that?"

Theo, encouraged by Ezra's seduction, began to settle into Brandon's identity. "He'd probably say, 'Damn, Ezra, you're full of surprises. But I like 'em.'" His voice was gaining confidence, mimicking Brandon's casual arrogance.

Ezra laughed softly, his breath warm against Theo's skin. "And what would he do?"

Theo, now more playful, pulled Ezra closer, his hands finding his waist with a newfound boldness. "He'd pull you in like this, and say, 'You wanna play, roomie? Let's play.'"

Ezra let out a low moan, "Good. Now, what would Brandon want next?"

Theo, channeling Brandon's confident, friendly arrogance, whispered, "He'd want you to join him, to make this moment even more real." His voice was steady now, playful and teasing.

Ezra's eyes sparkled with desire. "Is that so? Well, let's not disappoint 'Brandon' then." With a fluid motion, Ezra undid his belt, letting his pants slide off, joining Theo on the bed fully. "What's next, 'Brandon'?"

Theo, feeling the heat of Ezra's body against his own, grinned, "He'd probably say, 'You're making this too easy, Ezra. But I like it.' And then maybe he'd..." Theo hesitated for a moment before continuing with a smirk, "He'd start kissing your neck, right?"

Ezra tilted his head back slightly, giving Theo access, his voice low and seductive, "Go on then, show me how 'Brandon' does it."

With a newfound confidence, Theo leaned in, his lips brushing against Ezra's neck, planting kisses that were firm and teasing, just as Brandon might do. He felt the thrill of embodying the jock's persona, the playful arrogance coming naturally now. "You like that, huh, Ezra?" Theo asked, his voice now a perfect mimic of Brandon's casual, cocky tone.

Ezra chuckled, his voice a soft moan, "Yeah, I do. What’s next Brandon?"

Theo's hands roamed over Ezra's back, pulling him closer with a confident grip. "I'd probably want to feel more of you, to make sure you're as into this as I am." His fingers traced the line of Ezra's spine with a deliberate slowness, savoring the reaction he elicited.

Ezra, feeling the shift in Theo's demeanor, whispered, "And what would you say if we went further?"

Theo, fully immersed in Brandon's identity, smirked, "Finally, took you long enough, man. Let's see what you've got." His tone was playful, almost challenging, as he watched Ezra's hands move to the blanket covering him.

Ezra smiled, his hands moving to pull the blanket away, revealing Theo fully. "Then let's not keep 'Brandon' waiting." As the blanket fell, Ezra took a moment to appreciate the view, his eyes dark with desire. "You look good, 'Brandon'. Really good."

"You know, Ezra, you've always been too fucking quiet for your own good," Theo said, his voice a low, teasing growl that was unmistakably Brandon's. "Let's see if we can make you scream tonight."

Ezra, his heart racing with anticipation, looked up at Theo with a mix of excitement and surrender. "Show me then, 'Brandon'."

Theo smirked, the cocky grin that was so characteristic of Brandon spreading across his face. He leaned down, his lips capturing Ezra's in a kiss that was commanding, leaving no room for doubt about who was in charge. His hands roamed over Ezra's body with purpose, guiding him to lie back on the bed.

With a fluid motion, Theo positioned himself above Ezra, his movements confident and assured. "You ready for this, roomie? 'Cause I'm gonna fuck you like you've never been fucked before," he said, his voice dripping with playful arrogance and a vulgar edge.

Ezra nodded, his breath hitching as he felt Theo's presence so close, so dominant. "Yeah, I'm ready."

Theo, now fully embracing the role of Brandon, didn't hesitate. He took Ezra's hands, pinning them gently above his head, his gaze intense. "Good, because I'm not holding back, you little slut," he whispered, his tone a mix of promise and challenge.

The room was filled with the soft sounds of their breathing, the rustle of sheets, and the low, appreciative moans from Ezra as Theo explored his body with a deliberate slowness, savoring each reaction. Theo's touch was firm, his movements those of someone who knew exactly what he wanted, and right now, what he wanted was Ezra.

As Theo prepared to take the lead, he maintained eye contact, ensuring Ezra was with him every step of the way. "You're gonna love this, Ezra," Theo said, his voice confident, as he positioned himself.

Ezra, caught in the throes of desire, could only nod, his body responding eagerly to Theo's dominance. The moment was charged with an electric intensity as Theo, embodying Brandon's assertiveness and vulgar charm, began to move with a rhythm that was both commanding and raw.

Their connection deepened with each thrust, each movement a testament to Theo's complete immersion into Brandon's identity. Ezra's moans grew louder, his hands gripping the sheets as Theo took him to heights of pleasure he hadn't known before.

"You like that, huh, you dirty boy?" Theo teased, his voice a husky whisper in Ezra's ear, maintaining the playful arrogance that had become his second nature. "Tell me how much you fucking love it."

"I... I love it," Ezra managed between gasps, his body arching into Theo's with every motion. "You act like him so well, Theo. You've made him so fucking edgy, and I love it."

As they reached the peak of their passion, Theo's confidence never wavered, his control over the situation absolute. The culmination of their encounter was explosive, leaving them both breathless and satisfied, as Theo came inside Ezra with a groan that was all Brandon's vulgar satisfaction.

In the quiet that followed, Ezra turned to Theo, his eyes soft with affection. "You know, if you could really stay as Brandon, I wouldn't mind at all. You could stay like this forever."

Theo chuckled, still in character, playing up the confusion with an ironic twist. "Stay as Brandon? What are you talking about, man? I am Brandon, you idiot. Always have been," he replied with a smirk, his tone playful yet convincing in its irony.

Then, as he lay there, still inside Ezra, Theo added with a mix of sincerity and vulgarity, "But you know what, Ezra? Your hole makes me crazy like no girl ever did. Fucking you, it's... it's something else, man."

Ezra laughed, the warmth of the moment enveloping them. "Right, 'Brandon', right. But seriously, you're incredible like this."

Theo, or 'Brandon', pulled Ezra closer, their bodies still intertwined. "Well, then, let's keep this going, roomie. Because I'm not going anywhere." And with that, they drifted into a contented sleep, the boundaries of their reality blurred by the magic of the night, the playful deception of identity, and the unique intimacy they had discovered.

[yellowbrokenblue]

Harry joins you in the hot tub…

Your brother brought his best friend on vacation, and you find yourselves stuck in a rather steamy situation.

cw: smut, cheating, degradation, semi public sex, harry and reader being a horny mess

kofi

You had no idea how your brother had managed to coax your parents into paying for his best friend, Harry, to come on vacation with your family, but somehow it had happened.

And it was killing you.

Harry was the sort of guy you only saw in movies. A perfectly chiseled jawline, brown locks you wanted to tangle your fingers in, and pink lips with a permanent smirk on them.

And what was even worse was that you were kept up at night with thought of him with your own fingers in your pussy.

It almost made you forget about your boyfriend, Brandon, who had conveniently had to attend a friends birthday party instead of his own girlfriend’s family vacation.

Everyone had been asleep for hours, but you had no chance of sleeping while dirty thoughts of Niall’s best friend kept circulating your thoughts- so you quickly changed into your bikini and made your way to the hot tub for a late night dip.

The water wasn’t as soothing as you’d hoped it to be, and instead the heat of the water had made you even more horny. Resisting the urge to dip your fingers below your bikini bottoms was killing you right now.

“Seems I wasn’t only one who wanted a dip in the hot tub tonight.”

Your head snapped upwards. Everyone was supposed to be asleep, you weren’t supposed to be hearing any voices at this time of night.

Especially not his voice.

“Harry.” You breathed.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked.

He was wearing only his swimming trunks, leaving his beautiful, tattooed chest on full display.

You caught yourself staring at him, and snapped your eyes away.

You don’t remember the last time you took a breath. You’d been holding it in as he stepped into the hot tub and settled himself directly opposite you, not breaking eye contact the whole time he got in.

“Why’s Brandon not here, then?”

You looked at him, confusion on your features as you listened to Harry spit out Brandon’s name with distaste.

“He couldn’t make it.”

Harry shook his head, frowning, “He’s a fucking prick, Y/N.”

You shrug.

“Oh well. I’m glad he’s not here. It’s kinda nice it just being me and you.” Harry said again.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t you think?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You said quietly, “It is nice.”

You squeeze your thighs together. The effect Harry had on you right now simply by sitting opposite you without a shirt on was crazy.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Harry asked.

You bite your lip, unsure of what to say, and nod.

“I say we play a little game, hm? You seem tense, let’s lighten the mood.”

“Uhm, alright. What’s the game?”

Harry shrugged, “I get to answer any question, and you have to answer. Then you ask me a question, and I have to answer… And so on.”

You frown, “And what if I don’t want to answer?”

A smirk spread over his features.

“Then you gotta take an item of clothing off.”

A lump forms in your throat.

“We’re wearing swimsuits, Harry.” You said.

“I don’t have a problem as long as you don’t have a problem.” He said, “Do you? Do you have a problem?”

You shook your head.

“No problem.”

Harry grinned, “Good.” He said, “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

You nod.

God, he was so hot. Sitting there, staring at you with those eyes. You felt like you were going to sink to the bottom of the hot tub and never come back out.

“What’s your body count?” Harry asked.

You swallowed. You had expected the questions to make a sexual turn eventually, but not straight out on the first one.

“Three.” You said, not elaborating anymore.

“Now you ask me one.”

You thought for a second. If Harry wanted the questions to be about sex, you’d make them about sex.

“Where is the weirdest place you’ve had sex?”

You noticed Harry smirk, and he wasted no time answering the question.

“A girl sucked me off in a movie theatre one time, but the weirdest place I’ve fucked someone? I dunno, like, janitors closet in high school?”

“Movie theatre? Like during the movie, or in the bathroom?”

“During the movie. There wasn’t many people watching the film to be fair, but the movie was on.”

“You’re insane.”

“I know.”

How you fucking wished it had been you sucking Harry’s dick in a movie theatre.

“Okay. My turn.” Harry said, “Why are you happy that Brandon didn’t come on vacation?”

“What?” You asked, “Of course I’m not happy. I’m upset about it!”

You frown at Harry.

“Either you tell the truth, Y/N, or you take an item off. Your choice, sweetheart.”

You think for a moment. Neither options are particularly good ones.

“Okay. Fine. I’m happy he’s not here. I just like… Needed a break from his constant complaining and constant need to create an argument.”

“That’s everything?”

You nod.

“My turn.” You said.

You pause.

Nothing comes to mind at all.

“I can’t think of one.” You say.

“Do you want me to just go again?”

It’s almost as if your heart had stopped beating- you were barely able to process the words that Harry was saying.

“Was it you that I heard touching yourself in your bedroom last night?”

Your cheeks go pink. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

You swallow again, your heart racing.

“No answer?”

Harry smirks, sliding over to the other side of the hot tub, stopping in front of you.

“Sweetheart, you know the rules. If you don’t answer, that skimpy little bikini of yours has to come off.”

“I-”

You physically couldn’t get any words out of your mouth. Your thighs were pressed together as Harry stared hungrily at you.

He moved his hand closer and closer to the back of your neck where your bikini was tied, and in one swift movement, pulled the string of it, causing it to fall into the pool.

His eyes didn’t leave your breasts for what felt like forever. They were locked on your body, his eyes taking everything in.

“One point to me.” He said, “And I’m changing the fuckin’ rules. Only I get to ask questions now.”

You nod.

“Tell me who you were thinking of when you had your fingers in your own cunt last night, Y/N.” He said, his hands that had been placed on your hips moving closer to your panties, his fingers eventually dipping under the waistband, “Cause I sure as hell know it wasn’t Brandon.”

He spat out your boyfriend’s name like dirt on his shoe.

“Does he make you cum, Y/N? Does he make you cum with his tiny dick in your pussy? Does the make you feel good the way you know that I would make you feel good?”

Harry didn’t even wait for you to answer any of his questions. He ripped your panties down your legs, leaving you stark naked in the pool.

“Harry.” You say.

The pain between your legs was unmeasurable. You needed him so badly rignt now that it hurt.

“Tell me you want me, baby, and I’ll give you anything.”

“I want you, Harry.” You say.

“You can have me, babygirl. But first I want to see you touch yourself. Touch yourself the way I heard you last night.”

You wasted no time doing what he asked. The need to release the tension between your legs was so bad right now you’d do anything.

Your hand slipped between your legs and found your clit, rubbing fast circles, moaning out in pleasure.

“Dirty, dirty girl.” He said, “All this because you are so desperate to fuck me.”

“Please Harry. Please I need you.”

“That’s it, baby girl.” Harry said, palming his dick through his pants, “Beg for it. Beg for my cock, Y/N.”

You moan, your fingers still playing with your clit.

“Please Harry. Please give me your cock. I’m so desperate.”

He quickly changed the positions in you both were in, and had his shorts off his body and dangling over the edge of the tub in no time.

“That’s it.” He said, helping you straddle his lap, “You’re gonna take daddy’s cock like the pretty little whore you are.”

Daddy. You moan at his words.

He had hold of your hips, and you moaned as he pushed you onto his cock. Pushing his hips up so you took the whole length all at once.

“Such a tight cunt.” Harry groaned as his cock was pushed right inside of you.

You tried to grind against him, but he had hold of your hips so you couldn’t move.

“Stay still.” He instructed, “Play with those pretty tits and then I’ll let you move.”

You brought your hands to your breasts. You’d do anything for this man right now.

Harry moaned as he watched you push your tits together.

“Oh.” He moaned, “I’m gonna fuck those tits after this. Cum all over them.”

The feeling of his cock inside of you was already making you feral, but this was on another level.

“Please!” You say.

Harry seems to snap, and out of nowhere starts to move your hips, rocking you against him.

“Bounce for me.” He said. “Bounce on daddy’s cock.”

You moved your hips faster than you ever had before, moaning with each time you pushed your hips towards him, his cock filling you up more and more each time.

“Oh, Harry.”

Harry helps you moved faster and faster until you’re physically crying with how close you are to an orgasm.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” You cry out, your orgasm washing over you like a fucking tidal wave.

Your legs were trembling as Harry groaned, indicating he’d reached his own high, your body falling limp, resting against him.

“You’re never gonna fuck that Brandon loser again. You understand?” Harry said, through his own orgasm, “It’s my cock only from now on.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 8: Silver Lake]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, Aemond Alert™️, fake dating but both Jace and Mason don’t know, a fun lil side quest to Minnesota!

Word count: 6.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

You are hiding in your Honda outside Aegon’s office because you don’t want to see him. You slump way down in the driver’s seat when pedestrians walk by and eye you suspiciously: a teen mom pushing a stroller, an old man with a wiry grizzled mutt, a guy trudging home in a stained and unbuttoned chef coat. Still stalling, you flip down the sun visor and check your makeup in the small rectangular mirror. You randomly remember reading somewhere—a Reddit post, a TikTok video, an Instagram story—that it’s stupid to coordinate your eyeshadow with your outfit, but you’ve been doing this since high school and today is the very first time you can remember feeling self-conscious about it. You wear dull, earthy shades to match your brown floral sundress, the same color the leaves will turn when autumn arrives in Minnesota: Volatile by Anastasia Beverly Hills, Undone by Urban Decay.

You glance at your phone. It’s 11:04 a.m. on Wednesday, July 23rd, and you are officially late. With great reluctance, you drag yourself out of the car and clop up the concrete steps in your wedges. As if to remind you of past transgressions, your formerly-sprained left ankle gives a twinge of complaint.

Inside the rundown half-duplex, Brandon is not at the reception desk. He’s not here at all. From Aegon’s office you can hear that he is talking to someone, a familiar voice that you can’t immediately place, hushed but heavy, gravity in each word like a black hole. Then you realize who it belongs to. You hover just outside the doorway, listening.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” Aemond is saying.

There is spirited clicking, what you assume are Aegon’s thumbs on his transluscent orange Nintendo 64 controller. “Sure I can. I’m doing it right now.”

“Aegon…is everything okay?”

“Yup.”

“Are you…are you afraid you might—?”

“Nope.”

Aemond is exasperated. “Well did you ever take a test?”

“No, you know I didn’t.”

“But, I mean…are you experiencing…do you have some reason to suspect that…? Because you’re still pretty young, but with anticipation...”

“Shh,” Aegon cuts him off, spotting you in the threshold. His Nike Killshots are up on the desk, the Nintendo 64 controller in his hands; he’s wearing a seafoam green button-up shirt and khaki cargo shorts. He looks very retired. “Hey, sunshine.”

“Hi,” you say meekly, stepping into the room. You’ve been caught eavesdropping.

Aemond glares at you. He’s overdressed for Los Angeles: black suit, emerald green tie, shoes that shine like dark mirrors. “Go away.”

“Don’t snap at her,” Aegon flings back. “She’s the one with an appointment.”

“And you’re always so concerned with protocol!” Aemond shouts, and Aegon at last relents and pauses his game—Mario, his ubiquitous red cap adored with two white wings, is flying through clouds high above the castle—and sets the controller down on his desk, cluttered with gum wrappers and loose papers and framed photographs. There’s something else too, a homemade bento box situation with steamed broccoli, slices of tamagoyaki, and onigiri that look like miniature pandas.

Aegon peers wearily up at his brother. “I’m fine, Aemond. Really.”

“Don’t act like you had some sudden realization that Los Angeles is shallow and ridiculous, you’ve been bitching about that your whole life. That’s why you’re working all the way out here in this dump.”

Aegon stretches his arms lazily, pulling one across his chest and then the other. “I’ve been in the game for a long time. Now I’m ready to pack it up.”

“What are you going to do all day in Houston? Swing in a hammock while Becca hand-feeds you barbeque and cornbread?”

“Sure. Maybe.” Then he grins. “She makes fantastic cornbread. Warm and fluffy and slathered with honey butter, I believe you’ve had some.”

“You didn’t tell any of us you were leaving,” Aemond says, and there is more than just annoyance and suspicion in his scarred face. There is hurt. There is betrayal.

“I figured you’d freak out.”

“You were correct.”

“And your concern is both noted and appreciated, but it’s unnecessary.”

Aemond—hovering in his dark suit like a storm cloud—stares at Aegon, hands on his waist, furious, helpless. He notices the blue china bowl full of fresh Honeycrisp apples on the edge of Aegon’s desk. “And you don’t eat fruit!”

“Yeah I do. Guacamole is a fruit. Strawberry ice cream is a fruit.”

Aemond snatches an apple and hurls it at Aegon, who laughs and bats it away with one hand. Then Aemond moves like a gale of wind to where you stand by the door, and he towers over you, and he radiates dizzying heat like midsummer asphalt. “How’s he been?” he demands.

And you are so startled and bewildered by the question that you blurt out the first thing that pops into your mind. “Perfect.”

New creases appear in Aemond’s brow. He turns back to glance at Aegon, who shrugs like he’s just as perplexed by it. Then Aemond huffs an aggrieved sigh and leaves the office, the lobby, the building. You hear the front door slam as he yanks it shut behind him.

“What was he talking about?” you ask Aegon.

He is nonchalant. “Nothing. Industry stuff.”

“Aemond said something about a test…?”

Aegon sets an elbow on his desk and rests his chin in his palm; and as he gazes up at you with those overcast blue eyes, a little pathetic, a little wise, you have a terrifying thought that seems to come out of nowhere: Am I in love with him? “Aemond is worried that I’m leaving because I’m in some kind of trouble,” Aegon says. “Professional trouble. But I’m not. I’m leaving because I hate this place and everybody in it.” And then, when you wince: “Not you. I didn’t mean you.”

“But I’m not enough of a reason for you to stay.”

“Nobody would be, sunshine.”

From out in the lobby comes the noise of the front door opening, and then Brandon sails into Aegon’s office with a tray of three drinks from Starbucks.

“Hi, Brando,” Aegon says, sounding tired.

“Hey, superstar! I saw your brother outside. He looks as stressed as usual.” Brandon gives Aegon his drink, a Frappuccino with whipped cream and chocolate syrup swirled on top, and then passes you a venti-sized iced latte. You take a sip, cold and sweet and with several generous pumps of vanilla syrup, not sugar-free. “Did I get that right?”

“It’s wonderful,” you assure Brandon, smiling. He smiles back and leaves carrying his own selection from Starbucks, a grande-sized Pink Drink. He closes Aegon’s office door as he departs.

“So,” Aegon says, examining a list he’s made on a yellow legal pad. “The Maroon 5 music video is coming out in early August. They’re doing a little premiere thing at a place in Downtown, some fans who won tickets will be there. You’ll walk the red carpet, I’ll be hanging around as usual. It sounds like your Grey’s Anatomy episode will air in November, so that’s on the horizon too. And you got a callback for the vampire movie.”

You slurp your vanilla latte and stare at the mint green wall. “They’re not going to pick me.”

Aegon tosses the legal pad onto his desk; it lands with a thump. “Why would you say that?”

You shrug morosely, still not looking at him. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you? You’re here because you’re trying to be an actress. And it’s working.”

You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “I’ve had two jobs in the five months since I moved to Los Angeles. You lied to get me the first one, and I basically had a mental breakdown at the second and you had to save me. And I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done for me, Aegon, I really am. But everyone else told me I was insane to do this and I think they were right.”

“I’m your agent,” Aegon says. “I’m supposed to get you jobs. But I didn’t make you talented. You did that yourself.”

“I’m not like these people. I don’t look like them, I don’t think like them.”

“And that’s okay,” Aegon insists vehemently. “You can still be an actress.”

“I can’t handle it.” Now you’re sobbing, dabbing your eyes with a Starbucks napkin that Brandon handed you with your latte. It comes away tattooed with dark smudges from your eyeshadow. “I can’t get told that I need a new body or a new face all the time and keep pretending it doesn’t bother me. I can’t assume everyone has the worst intentions. I can’t be naked around strangers and not care. I can’t…I can’t…” I can’t stop wanting him. You stare down at the napkin, humiliated. “I can’t do horrible things like sleep with an almost-married guy and still believe I’m a decent person. And this isn’t fun anymore, and I don’t feel like it’s working, and when people tell me I’m just wasting time and money by being out here I can’t think of reasons why they’re wrong.”

Aegon gets up and comes to you, leans against the edge of the desk where the china bowl of apples rests, lifts your chin and forces you to look at him. “You’re really, really good at this. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“You were good,” you whimper, remembering all the hours you’ve spent watching his films and his shows and his interviews, all the times you’ve fallen asleep to the deep melody of his voice. “And you hated Hollywood so much you gave up on acting and ran to Elysian Park. And now you’re running all the way to freaking Houston, Texas.” And I’m never going to see him again.

“Just because it didn’t last for me doesn’t mean it won’t for you.”

“I don’t belong here—”

“You want this for the right reasons,” Aegon says with such force you don’t dare to interrupt him. “Not for attention, not to get rich, not so people you’ve never met will want to fuck you. And I can’t even begin to tell you how rare that is. You’re going to see this through. You’re not giving up yet. I won’t let you. Because the world is better with you in it the way you are now—bright, brilliant, hopeful, and yeah, naïve sometimes, sure, but real—than as the bitter, soulless person you’ll become if you walk away because someone else told you to. And I believe in you, and I’m fighting like hell for you, and I—” He stops abruptly, and whatever he was going to say next is lost like a sandcastle to the waves, because when he begins again it is a different line of thought entirely. “Your callback is next Tuesday on the 29th. You’re going to it.”

You sniffle into your napkin, but you’d be lying if you claimed you weren’t at least somewhat inspired. “Okay.”

Aegon plucks an apple out of the bowl, goes back to his chair, flops down in it and watches you as he takes a bite, juice glistening on his lips. “I’ll get you the script once they send it over. It sounds like it’s just a conversation with your on-screen mother. They want to make sure you can do the boring scenes too. Should be pretty easy, I’m optimistic. They’re trying to decide between you and one other actress.”

“Okay,” you say again, rallying. I can do this? I can do this. Maybe.

“You liked the guy, right? The vampire?”

“Santi? Yeah, he was great. Friendly and professional.”

“Awesome,” Aegon says, gnawing on his Honeycrisp apple, a tad preoccupied.

A potential conflict occurs to you. “You said the Maroon 5 music video comes out at the beginning of August?”

Another bite. “Yup.”

“What day?”

“Um…” Aegon checks the legal pad. “Friday the 8th. Why?”

“Because I have to fly to Minnesota. But I’ll be back on August 5th, so it’s fine.”

Aegon raises an eyebrow. “Missing your ex-boyfriend?”

You laugh, wiping away the last of the dampness from your eyes with the napkin and then shoving it in your purse. “No, definitely not. I’ve been summoned for bridesmaid dress shopping. My sister is getting married.”

He chomps on his apple. “Not looking forward to it?”

You hesitate, taking an evasive sip of your vanilla latte. “I always like seeing my family. I miss them. But they don’t take the California thing seriously and I’m going to have to spend like ten hours listening to them trying to convince me to become an entertainment lawyer, and I really don’t have the heart for that right now.”

Aegon admires the bitemarks that riddle his apple. “Do you think your family would take it more seriously if I talked to them?”

You are mystified. “How would you do that?”

“By flying home with you.”

You gape at him, stunned. “You can’t go to Minnesota.”

Aegon smirks. “I’m not on a leash. It’s just a few days, right?”

“Well…yeah. I’m leaving Friday the 1st. My mom wanted a full week, I negotiated it down from there.”

“Would they care that I’m a Targaryen?”

You recall how your dad had recognized the name, how your mom gasps over celebrity tabloids at the grocery store. “Probably.”

“Then send Brando your flight information and he can buy me a seat on your plane, or at least on one that’ll land at the airport in Minneapolis around the same time. And I’ll reimburse him in cash.”

“So Becca won’t know where you’re going?”

“Exactly,” Aegon says like there’s no emotion attached to it, just pure logistics.

You finish your latte as you mull this over. It’s wrong for him to lie to his fiancée. It’s wrong for him to abandon her to fly across the country with me. But soon they’ll be married, and she’ll have him forever, every night, every day, every vacation, every holiday, and I won’t even have scraps like the one lunch a week you’d grab with a casual friend. I’ll have nothing but Becca’s agonizingly idyllic posts on Instagram, glimpses into their sun-drenched filtered forever. “We can’t hook up or anything like we did at the gala. Even if it wasn’t…successful.”

“Agreed.” And then Aegon tilts his head to the side. “I hope you don’t think you were at fault.”

You shrug. Of course you do.

Aegon sighs, then gives you a small, crooked smile. “Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Don’t overthink it.”

“I’ll try not to.”

He stands up. “Let’s go grab something to eat. In-N-Out Burger?”

You look at the homemade bento box on his desk, and you don’t need three guesses to figure out who must have assembled it with such practiced, painstaking care. “Isn’t that your lunch?”

“I’m craving something worse for me.” He offers you what’s left of his Honeycrisp apple, one lone island of gleaming cream-colored flesh marred around the edges with notches left by his teeth. You consider the apple, then take a bite: chewing slowly, licking saccharine juice from your lips. Aegon holds out a hand, asking for one of yours. When you acquiesce, he places your palm on the front of his shorts so you can feel that he’s hard. “Just so you know you weren’t the problem,” he says cavalierly. Then he puts on his sunglasses and leads you outside into the daylight.

Aegon has gotten his white Sebring convertible repaired: no more dent in the front passenger’s side, no more broken headlight. He drives with the top down and the wind in his hair, and the air is hot and golden, and you can’t stop looking over at him.

I can’t want him. He’s getting married, he’s leaving, he’s a mirage, he’s a time bomb.

Aegon’s iPhone is plugged into the aux. One song ends and another begins, Keith Urban’s You’ll Think Of Me. You immediately recognize it because your dad is a Keith Urban fan; he once dragged you to a concert in Saint Paul when you were in high school. Both Clara and Tripp flatly refused. Aegon frowns and skips it. Next up is You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette.

You ask: “Why do you have a song on your playlist that you don’t want to listen to?”

“I have to be in the right mood for it,” Aegon says. You watch him curiously, and after a moment he adds: “It was my dad’s favorite song.”

“Oh.” His dad who died of a long illness when Aegon was a teenager. His dad who is a ghost that still—I feel, I know—haunts the Targaryen family like a generational curse. “Aegon, what did your dad die of?”

A pause. “Cancer.”

“That’s awful,” you say gently, but in the back of your mind you remember: I searched ‘Viserys Targaryen cancer’ on Google, and nothing came up. Not one article, not one photograph, not a single post on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter. Is that possible? “What kind?”

Another pause. “It metastasized all over.”

“But where did it start?”

“That’s a rude question,” Aegon snaps, and you are immediately repentant. He’s right, it is.

“I’m so sorry. Never mind.”

Aegon pulls into an In-N-Out Burger’s parking lot, orders two cheeseburger combos with Cherry Cokes and Animal-Style fries, pays with cash like he always does.

~~~~~~~~~~

In your bedroom closet, the sunflowers that Aegon once bought for you in the Flower District hang upside down as they dry, becoming perpetual, becoming eternal like a bloodline or a star. On the calendar affixed to the refrigerator with magnets shaped like pineapples, you write reminders for yourself in red ink: a callback on July 29th, an eastbound flight out of LAX on August 1st, a music video premiere on the 8th. This is more of a habit than a necessity. You have a good memory for dates.

You assume that Jace will be thrilled when you tell him you’ll be home in Minnesota for a few days—no one will be here to ask him to turn the television volume down or not to pound on his Yamaha keyboard at 2 a.m.—but instead he seems sad, like you’re a cat he’s gotten used to having around. Jace’s mood improves drastically when Baela informs him that she’ll be stateside for a visit soon. He doesn’t say it, but you know: he misses her like hell.

Brandon finds Aegon a ticket for your flight, and when Aegon boards he pays a teenager with a hoodie and earbuds a hundred dollars in cash to switch seats with him so he can sit next to you. You aren’t sure why, as Aegon doesn’t talk much; he slides on his sunglasses and naps for most of the three and a half hour voyage. As he dozes, his right leg bumps against yours and rests there, benign pressure, corporeal warmth here at a frigid altitude where nothing should survive. You try not to move so Aegon won’t wake up and reposition himself. And although you alternate between staring out the window at clouds and imagining yourself as the heroine in the murder mystery novel you’re reading, your thoughts are very much contaminated by him, poisoned, drugged, irradiated, enlightened.

I’m in love with him, you think calmly at 35,000 feet. It’s wrong and I wish I wasn’t. But I just am.

The plane hits turbulence during the descent, and Aegon jolts awake. “You’re okay,” you soothe, and he gives you a drowsy, grateful smile, his sandy blonde hair falling in his eyes. There’s a family travelling with a toddler in the row in front of you, and the little boy in a blue t-shirt with a shark on it keeps peeking back between the seats and giggling as you entertain him: a tongue darting out like a frog’s, hands over your head like a moose’s antlers. Aegon watches this, fascinated, wistful, and you think to yourself: That is not the face of a man who doesn’t want children.

Your brother Tripp picks you and Aegon up from the airport in his Land Cruiser. He spends most of the ride asking Aegon about various celebrities lawyers he’s met, Robert Shapiro and Shawn Holley and Harvey Levin. At their ornate three-story home in Apple Valley, Minnesota, your parents are dressed like they’re going to a job interview, because being a Targaryen in Hollywood is like being a Kennedy in Washington D.C. and even the very least of them has a certain glitter that people are always hoping will rub off. Aegon thanks them for their hospitality and offers to sleep on a couch. Your parents laugh and show him the guest bedroom.

While he’s in there unpacking his suitcase, you hear Aegon through the closed door chatting on his iPhone. His voice is cheerful and warm and harmless, the same way it often is with you. You are abruptly struck—as if with a blade or fist—by the reminder that none of this is real. A mirage. A time bomb.

“Hey, babe. Yeah, I just made it to Chicago. Oh my God, it’s incredible, my hotel room has a view of the river. That’s the same one they dye green every Saint Patrick’s Day. Uh huh. I will. How are the dogs…?”

You grab your own phone out of your purse and text Mason: Hey, I’m home. Take me to Target?

He replies after a few minutes: I’m kind of talking to this girl at work…

No, it’s literally just Target, you type. Mason agrees. Thirty minutes later you’re jogging down the driveway to climb into his Chevy Silverado as Aegon glares out of the living room window. Clara is busy pinning wedding inspiration photos on Pinterest, Dad and Tripp are watching CNN, Mom is in the kitchen with Angela the housekeeper preparing dinner. They’re making prime rib.

You purposefully take your time at Target, leisurely perusing the makeup aisles and buying an iced vanilla latte from Starbucks. Mason tells you about how his job is going. You tell him about California. When you run out of things to say, you ring up your items at the self-checkout. Then you hide the shopping bag in the bushes outside your parents’ house so Aegon won’t see it and know where you’ve been.

~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s a middle child thing,” Mom says as she nurses her third glass of red wine, her eyes sparkling, her Ann Taylor skirt suit formal but her mannerisms unusually relaxed. She likes Aegon, perhaps too much; she seems to be flirting with him. Your dad, meanwhile, dissects his bleeding slab of prime rib to excise every globule of fat. Clara is scrolling through her phone and picking at her glazed carrots. Tripp is blithely wolfing down mashed potatoes.

Aegon smiles politely, but he doesn’t know what your mom means. “Middle child…?”

“Clara was the oldest, and Tripp was always so clever and so confident, such a natural leader, and so…you know…she was always scrapping for attention.” Mom gives you a fond pat on the back of your hand. Across the table, Aegon’s brow furrows as he eats a homemade yeast roll plastered with butter. You shoot him a dull, resigned glance. This is how it goes. “That’s the only way I can explain her penchant for acting. No one else in the family is like that. We’re…we’re professionals, you know? We’re serious people.”

Tripp snorts. “Mom, you were a waitress.”

“Only until your father was done with medical school, dear!” Then she turns her attention back to Aegon. “And obviously I don’t mean to say that your family members aren’t professionals, Aegon, no no no, but surely you’d agree that there is a world of difference between being an accomplished producer or agent or screenwriter, and doing this…” She waves her glass around, searching for the right word. Red wine sloshes thickly like blood.

“Dabbling?” Dad suggests.

“Yes!” Mom says. “This dabbling that she’s doing out there in Los Angeles. It’s filling some void for…for…oh, I don’t know, praise or identity or something. But eventually she’ll get it out of her system and she’ll come home and grow up. And we’re all looking forward to having her here again, aren’t we?”

Your dad and Tripp grunt in agreement. Clara continues scrolling.

“I actually think she’s pursuing acting for the right reasons,” Aegon says, cordial yet firm. “And that’s pretty rare, in my experience. I mean, I’ve seen her act, she’s a natural. She’s really good. And I can’t picture her doing anything else for a living.”

Your dad forks a tiny, perfectly square morsel of prime rib into his mouth. “Aegon, you are clearly taking your job as her advocate very seriously, and we’re appreciative of that. But even you have to admit, the odds are just…it’s unrealistic, isn’t it? The competition is so fierce. Our little Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis is nothing compared to Hollywood.”

“Guthrie?” Aegon says, intrigued. “Like Woody Guthrie?”

“No, everyone makes that mistake,” you explain. “A completely different Guthrie.” But didn’t I tell him that already? On the day we first met?

“And you did very well there,” Dad says to you. “But the industry out west is cutthroat, I mean you can’t just be competent, you have to be exceptional.”

“I know, Dad,” you reply softly. You keep trying to eat your prime rib, but you suddenly have no appetite. You push the pieces around on your plate, leaving trails of blood and grease.

“She’s found work,” Aegon says, like he’s pointing out something obvious. “It’s not like she hasn’t made any progress. She was in a Grey’s Anatomy episode. She was in a music video for Maroon 5.”

“Oh, I love Maroon 5,” your mom sighs dreamily. She’s barely eaten anything, which isn’t helping with the wine situation.

“But those projects…they haven’t been released yet, have they?” Dad asks.

“Not yet,” Aegon concedes reluctantly. “But they will be soon. We have dates.”

Your mom hums sympathetically. “It all just seems so uncertain, doesn’t it? Maybe she’ll be on tv…maybe she won’t…things can always get shelved at the last minute. Distribution rights can be litigated. Actors can be recast.”

“She’s up for a big part,” Aegon says, like he can’t understand why none of this is penetrating, like he’s trying to convince someone of the color of the sky or the fact that the planet is round. “She has a fifty-fifty shot of being the lead in a movie.”

“A real movie?!” Tripp exclaims. “Damn, that’s lit! What kind of movie? Marvel? James Bond?”

“It’s an independent film,” you say.

His enthusiasm fades. “Ohhh. So like a student film.”

Dad is nodding, vindicated. “Hm. A student film. Hm.”

Tripp begins: “One of my law school friends made student films back in undergrad—”

“It’s not a student film,” you say. “It’s just not funded by a major studio. But it’s still an actual movie.”

“That’s great, honey,” Mom tells you. “Clara, did you figure out what kind of cake you’re going to have at the wedding?”

“This could be her breakthrough,” Aegon says. “Like Winter’s Bone was for Jennifer Lawrence. Little Miss Sunshine was an indie film, and Juno, and Moonlight, and Good Will Hunting, and The Blair Witch Project, this is legit, okay? And if she gets the role, she’s going to be fully committed. Production, press tour, everything. She’ll need your support throughout all of it.”

“You’d need to stay out there in California longer?” Dad asks, looking concerned. You aren’t sure if he’s more worried about his family or his wallet.

“If she’s getting roles, she should stay forever,” Aegon says. “That’s where she wants to be.”

There is an uncomfortable silence that falls over the dining room table. Your parents are frowning, you are shrinking, Tripp and Clara are exchanging a look, some kind of telepathic concurrence on the subject of how ridiculous you are.

Finally, your mom titters woozily. “We’ll just have to see what happens, won’t we? We can cross that bridge when we get there.”

“I knew Kinsley should have been my maid of honor,” Clara mutters, and your parents rush to reassure her that you’ll make time for wedding-related obligations, just like you are now by flying home for dress shopping. Clara resumes scrolling. Tripp scoops himself more mashed potatoes. Beneath the table, one of the Akitas growls at you until you buy its forbearance with a dropped hunk of prime rib.

In the lull between dinner and dessert—Mom and Angela have made an authentic Watergate salad, allegedly invented in Minnesota in the 1970s—you take Aegon out back to show him the patio, the rolling hills, the paddocks of horses grazing as dusk begins to turn the sky the color of gore or flames or love. You are each clasping a glass of wine in your hands; your mom insisted on pouring them. She is in good hostess mode, her own tipsiness notwithstanding.

“And I thought my family was a tough crowd,” Aegon says, gazing at the horses distractedly. “Well, what the fuck am I going to do now? I can’t retire and leave you alone with these people.”

“Guess you aren’t allowed to run away to Texas after all,” you say, smiling weakly. You’re glad he’s here. You hadn’t been able to imagine it before, but now you see it too clearly: trips home with him, holidays with him, a life with him you aren’t entitled too. “Thank you for those things you said.”

“They weren’t favors. They were the truth.”

You look at him, awed, heartbroken, trying to disguise both. “You’re the only person who has ever believed in me.”

“And I don’t even believe in you that much,” Aegon teases, grinning, and he makes you laugh, even here, even now. “If I really am the only one who believes in you, that just means everybody else is stupid. Super stupid. Incurably stupid. Try to remember to mention me in your Oscar acceptance speech.” Then his hand shakes violently and he drops his wine glass, and it shatters on the stones of the patio, and he is mortified. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, I’ll clean it up—”

“It’s okay. I’ll help you.” You run inside and return a moment later with a broom and dustpan from the kitchen closet. Aegon takes the broom and you hold the dustpan as he sweeps. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You hand,” you say. “I thought it was a…I don’t know, like a spasm or something.”

“I saw a bug in my glass. I panicked.”

The dustpan is filling up with jagged nuggets of glass that remind you of something, and then you remember: the broken glass on the floor of his office the night you were together there, the first time, the only time. “So guess what,” you say.

“What?”

“When Mason picked me up, we went to Target. Just Target. And I bought a bunch of makeup and we didn’t even hug.”

Aegon looks down at you from where he’s sweeping. “Seriously?”

“I swear to God.”

He is pacified, you think; and yet he doesn’t understand. “Why?”

“I’m a one-dude kind of girl, unfortunately.”

He smiles, puts the broom aside now that the mess is dealt with, and sits down with you on the stone patio stained with red wine. You both gaze westward to where the sun is setting, and when you rest your head on Aegon’s shoulder, he lets you do it. Then you feel his arm circle around your waist, gentle safe insubstantial weight. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. About his marriage? About his retirement? About what he’s done to me?

“Aegon, why can’t you break up with Becca? Why can’t we give this a real shot?” It’s a question that sounds more like a plea, soft and clandestine.

“You’re very young, and you’re idealistic, and you’re happy. And I wouldn’t be good for you.”

“You leaving Los Angeles won’t be good for me.”

“I told you. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

And he has nothing more to offer, and you can’t bear to ask again, so what’s left say?

Late at night, you try to fall asleep knowing that Aegon is just down the hall in the guest room, and you can’t banish the visions in your skull of you padding across the hardwood floor and climbing into his bed, knowing that he would not reject you, knowing that he would take anything you were willing to give like a vampire drains a victim of blood.

I can’t do it. He’s not mine.

To strengthen your resolve, you open Instagram and go to Becca’s account, once private, now a window she has opened to show you exactly what you can’t have. You scroll through hundreds of photos of her beautiful beachfront house in Malibu that she shares with Aegon, of her beautiful cooking and baking, of the beautiful scenery she has captured in snapshots, of her beautiful face and body. Then, for the first time, you click on the link in her bio to her blog: rebeccawilsonwrites.wordpress.com. Most of her entries are recipes or DIY hacks or accounts of her life with Aegon, and her love for him bleeds from the screen. She writes about their anniversaries, their holidays, their vacations, their rituals that all couples have like religions in miniature. She knows his favorite foods and colors. She is forever stumbling upon trinkets that remind her of him and are gingerly ferried home. She calls him her best friend, the world’s greatest dog dad, the love of her life.

You read from this almanac of their relationship until your tears blur the text and you don’t want to walk down the hallway, don’t want to touch Aegon, don’t want to see him, wish you could go back in time and never set foot in his unassuming little office in Elysian Park, a place named for paradise and yet so hellish, sinful, cursed.

You spy a tab at the top of the blog labeled Poems, and you are puzzled. You had no idea Becca was an actual writer. You browse through a dozen poems, mostly about nature, none particularly gripping or revealing. Then you stumble upon one that catches on you like a fang through flesh. Six Weeks, it is titled. And immediately you are dragged back to Venice Beach where Aegon confessed that about a year ago Becca got pregnant, and then she told him about it—this very wanted child, at least from her perspective—and very soon afterwards she wasn’t pregnant anymore. And if that baby had been carried to term, it could have been born around the start of this summer, if your math isn’t wrong. The poem reads:

Summer

was supposed to be our

savior, the tree limbs arced with fruit

and brimming, pumping xylem-flush

through pinstripe veins the width

of a spider’s leg—and the space between

plates weeping—as the world bellied out

and we recalled the taste of indiscretion

on our spines. The Earth revolved

to frost, and our passion

smothered in brown-upholstered, sterile

heat creeping through the office

vents, the paper sheets, the biting

gleam, my own cells pumping anesthetic

and fate, where every cloud has a scarlet

lining and there is nothing

in the trees but

air.

You put your phone down on your nightstand, curl up beneath the blankets, believe wholeheartedly that you do not deserve to have your name written in the stars.

~~~~~~~~~~

Silver Lake has been a haven for counterculturalists since the early-1900s: communists, bohemians, artists, musicians, civil rights activists, Asian and Hispanic immigrants, people who are gay or trans or otherwise incongruous with mainstream American society. It’s Wednesday, August 6th, and you are here—just northwest of Downtown, Chinatown, and Elysian Park, just east of Hollywood—with Baela and Jace. Baela is briefly home from Paris, and she has a million stories to share; everything she sees and does seems to spawn a new one, ever-multiplying like the heads of a hydra. She buys a coffee and gushes about café au lait. She points out all the words that have come from French, roughly one-third of the English language. She laments the lack of public transportation. She decries fast food.

You are clearly in need of cheering up, and so Baela insists you come along to a shabby little club with a storied history. There are photographs covering the walls, portraits of musicians who have performed here over the past century and writers who have read their works aloud. There is a Red Hot Chili Peppers tribute band playing live. You wish you’d known this in advance so you could refuse to attend. Their music reminds you of Aegon. Your dress is a glittery indigo, and your eyes are painted with shimmering bruise-like shadow to match: Huda Beauty and Anastasia Beverly Hills, Big Dreams and Dark Matter.

It’s crowded and loud, low ceilings and floors wet with spilled drinks. As you wait in line with Baela and Jace by the bar—people are pushing their way to the front to place their orders—you study the photographs on the wall. Right beside where you stand is a massive black and white picture of Woody Guthrie playing an acoustic guitar. According to the plaque below it, he once performed here back in 1941.

“Hey, it’s Woody Guthrie!” you say. “Everyone thinks the theater I worked at back home in Minnesota was named after him.”

Baela nods, a bit forlornly. “Yeah. It’s a shame what happened to Woody.”

“Why? What happened?”

“He died of Huntington’s disease,” Baela says, and then finally sees an opening and surges up to the bartender. She orders beers for herself and Jace and a lemon drop for you. She knows you like them.

“What’s Huntington’s disease?” you ask when she returns.

“Oh, it’s horrible. You lose control of your body and go insane and then you die.”

Viserys? you think, the dread dawning red and primal. “Is it genetic?”

“What?” Baela shouts over the music.

“Huntington’s. Do you inherit it from a parent?”

“I think so,” she says. “Arlo Guthrie didn’t get it. But Woody had two daughters who died pretty young. Around forty.”

Viserys? Aegon? “I’ll be right back,” you tell Baela.

“Don’t you want your lemon drop?!” she calls after you, but you’re already gone.

You sprint into the bathroom, packed with women and drag queens checking their hair and makeup in the mirrors, and barricade yourself in a stall. The light is neon, blue and cold. You yank your phone out of your purse and start Googling. Through the walls, you can feel the quaking reverberation of the bass guitar. You can hear the Red Hot Chili Peppers tribute band starting a new song.

“I got a bad disease,

Up from my brain is where I bleed,

Insanity, it seems,

Has got me by my soul to squeeze…”

Yes, according to Wikipedia, Huntington’s is genetic. A parent with the disease has a fifty-fifty chance of passing it on to each of their offspring. It is incurable. It is invariably fatal.

“Well all the love from me,

With all the dying trees I scream,

The angels in my dreams, yeah,

Have turned to demons of greed, that’s mean…”

You type Viserys Targaryen Huntington’s disease into the Google search bar and wait for the results to load. When the glowing screen starts trembling, you realize your hands are shaking.

“Where I go, I just don’t know,

I got to, got to, gotta take it slow,

When I find my peace of mind,

I’m gonna give you some of my good time…”

And you find a photo you’ve never seen before, not in all your prior Google searches, not in your five months here in Los Angeles. It’s from the early-2000s. It was taken at a fundraiser for the Huntington’s Disease Society of America. In a wheelchair is a twisted greying man identified by the caption as Famed Hollywood producer Viserys Targaryen. His wheelchair is being pushed by a much-younger Alicent, and he is surrounded by faces you recognize, although they were only children then: tiny beaming Daeron, shy Helaena, Aemond, solemn and stoic and already scarred…and Aegon, lurking in the corner of the frame, hands in the pockets of his black suit, gazing hostilely at the photographer from beneath a shock of unruly blonde hair.

Viserys didn’t die of cancer, you realize with horror so visceral it rips the air from your lungs. He died of Huntington’s disease. And that means Aegon could have it too.

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Not whilst Teddie's around (18+)

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings:Fluff, Smut (but like the softest sweetest mushy-gushy kind) cock-waming, kissing, cuddling, horror movie mentions

Word count:1,705

writing this fic was an UPHILL BATTLE, so I'm sorry for the questionable quality, but it's finished at least.

Eddie Muson Masterlist // Main Masterlist

divider by @strangergraphics

“Dude, I’m telling you, horror movies get chicks wetter than you can even imagine. Trust me.” Gareth swears downing the last few sips of his beer.

“Yeah right, like any girl in her right mind would let you come within a ten-foot radius of her, let alone get close enough to get all up in her ‘sex-o-sphere’” Jeff laughs incredulously at his friend.

It was the way that all Corroded Coffin jam sessions ended, with a few beers and typical guy talk.

“You know Cindy Nolan? Works down at the roller-rink? We’ve been hanging out, and I rented Friday The 13th the other night, let me tell you that that girl couldn’t get any closer to me if she tried.”

“Yeah right, you’re full of shit Emerson.” Brandon said, shoving his friend with a nudge of his elbow.

“No, no, come on now, let’s hear him out. Maybe you two girlfriend-less losers could learn a thing or two from him.” Eddie says, shushing Jeff and Brandon’s guffawing. Truthfully, Eddie himself was eager to hear what Gareth had to say. Not that he thought he needed any help with his love-life, far from it, actually. His relationship with you was perfect in his eyes, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn a thing or two.

“So we're watching the movie right? and it gets to the real scary bit, the music's all tense and shit, and she's pressed up against me, tucking her face into my shirt, and that's when I make my move.” Gareth says, throwing up finger guns.

“Your move?” Eddie asks with a raised brow.

“Yeah, the ol’ ‘yawn-and-stretch’, I fake a yawn and then I stretch my arm around her shoulder. Then to really sell it, I hit her with the ‘don't worry, I'll protect you from the scary serial killer.’ spiel. From then on, she's practically eating out the palm of my hands. Horror movies, I'm telling you guys, are the way to go.”

Both Jeff and Brandon hold their hands up in defeat.

And all that was on Eddie’s mind was that he was definitely going to have to swing by Family video to check out their selection of horror movies.

You rounded your way into the living room with the freshly popped bowl of popcorn getting ready to settle next to Eddie under the throw blankets on the couch.

“So what movie did you pick up for tonight?” you asked, reaching for a handful of popcorn.

He flashes you the vhs cover, a jack-o-latern pumpkin with a knife. He gives you a wide and boyish smile as his deep brown eyes sparkle with a cheeky glint. Tonight was the night that he was going to put Gareth’s claim to the test. He had swung by Family Video right after band practice and slapped Halloween tape down on the counter, causing Steve to roll his eyes and let out an annoyed huff. Oh yeah, Eddie had his plan all figured out.

“Jamie Lee Curtis is an absolute force to be reckoned with in the movie.” he says, reaching over to steal a few pieces of popcorn out of your hand.

This is where your tastes in movies differed from Eddie’s. You were more John Hughes, where the laughs were aplenty and the guy got the girl, whilst Eddie was much more John Carpenter, where the screams were aplenty and the killer got their victim.

But despite horror movies not being totally your thing, you were willing to sit and watch if it made Eddie happy.

Snuggled up to Eddie, with the soft blankets keeping you both cosy, he pressed play on the movie.

You wish you could say that you weren't scared, but then you would be lying. Laurie Strode was certainly a much braver woman than you could ever be, because the very idea that Michael Myers was still on the loose sent a shiver down your spine in the worst way. It didn't matter how much you tried to reason with yourself that it was just a film, and that it wasn't real, the scared and uneasy feeling had your heart pounding against your chest as you tucked your face into Eddie's shirt. Hoping that hiding away in the familiar comfort of your boyfriend would go someway to quell the racing of your heart.

Eddie felt terrible. Scratch that, he felt worse than terrible. He felt like the worst boyfriend in the world. As the tense music in the movie swelled, more and more he felt you shrink into yourself and tuck yourself away into his chest. You were scared and it was his fault. 

Flicking the remote at the tv to pause the film Eddie softly turns his attention to you.

“Hey, you know we don’t have to watch this if you don’t like it.” he says, brushing a stray hair from your face.

“But I know you like this film, so I thought we could watch it together.”

“Sweetheart, you've had your face hidden in my shirt for almost the past hour, it's okay if you're scared, I'm not going to be mad at you.” 

“I'm sorry Teddie, I just really don't like scary films.”

“Come on, nothing’s going to hurt you, not whilst Teddie’s around.” Eddie says, flicking the tv off and throwing the blankets off your bodies before taking your hand in his. “How about we head off to bed, where we can snuggled up and I can keep you safe in my arms.”

Cuddled into Eddie’s chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively, you feel his lips softly kiss the crown of your head. It’s safe, it’s comforting, it’s everything that you need right now, but somehow it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

Eddie feels you squirming in his hold and so he rubs his hand up and down your back in his best attempt to ease you.

“What’s going on with you, huh? You’re still scared about that movie?”

Wordlessly you nod your head, feeling so stupid for letting a fictional murderer frighten you like this.

“You know I’m not going to let anything happen to you right? I’d fight Michael Myers a hundred times over if it meant keeping you safe.”

“Just want to be close to you tonight.” you say softly, as you looked up at him from underneath your eyelashes.

“Yeah? You mean close to you like this?” he says softly as his hands began to wander underneath your oversized sleep-shirt. Underneath your shirt where your skin is soft to his touch. Soft and warm, and the sweet scent of your coconut body wash still lingers on your skin. 

“Wanna feel you, please..” You plead, your eyes almost sparkled in the cosily-lit bedroom. 

As if he could ever say no to you.

Reaching down between your closely pressed bodies he stroked a hand over himself, already half-hard, because truly it didn't take much to get him excited. Everything about you drove him wild, and just the intimacy of getting hold you close in his arms stirred a growing heat in the pit of his stomach. 

He works on taking his boxers off, whilst you work on sliding your panties down your legs and once there is nothing separating you from him he slides himself into you. Filling you slowly to just let you feel every inch of him. Eddie knew that you loved feeling him like this, loved the feel of him inside you. Two bodies moving together as one. Your leg hitched up around Eddie’s slim hips, with your heel pressing into his backside, urging him closer and closer to you. 

“This what you wanted, Sweetheart?” Eddie’s voice rasps out as his lips kiss just below your ear, finding that steadily racing pulse point in your neck.  “Just wanted to be close to me, isn’t that right?”

You nod against Eddie’s chest, moaning softly when he shifted his hips ever so slightly.

Eddie manoeuvred around with you in his arms laying you down on the bed, caged safely underneath him. 

“You're so beautiful.” He smiles, brushing a stray hair from your face, his deep brown eyes so entirely focused on you. You're the centre of his universe, there's not a moment that he's not thinking about you. And there's no place he'd rather be than right here with you.

Slowly he rolls his hips into you with deep, steady strokes. Drawing back just enough until his tip remains, before sliding himself home into your heat.

Your breath is stolen from your lungs every time Eddie fills you. Playing your body in the perfectly precise way that only he knew how. 

Your nails leave little red half-moon crescents in the pale skin of his shoulders as you hold him close, for fear that if you didn’t you might float off into a universe. The calming warmth of Eddie’s skin on yours is the thing that always grounds you to reality. His touch feels like home.

His skilled fingers reach down between your closely pressed bodies to rub eager circles around your clit.

“Just want you to feel good, pretty girl.” his praises rumbled from the back of his throat, heavy with adoring desire.

 Your quiet whines turn into breathy moans with every roll of his hips, whilst his deep groans of pleasure are muffled into kisses pressed to the column of your throat.

“I’m close, Teddie..” you manage to get out between unsteady breaths.

“I know, pretty girl, I got you.” he kisses your lips sweetly. 

With a few more well-precisioned thrusts he takes you over the edge of pleasure, guiding you through your shuddering high.

And with you looking every inch the goddess of his dreams splayed out underneath him, squeezing him through your orgasm it didn’t take very much before Eddie was stilling his movements, spilling his release into you with a shuddering moan of his own.

He held himself on his forearms above you to brush a thumb over your flushed skin.

“I told you, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m going to keep you safe. Always.”

And you believed him. Because if it was one thing you knew with certainty, it was that Eddie Munson was a man of his word.

@penguinsandpotterheads @sweetdreamjellybean

@mrsjellymunson @eddiesxangel

@userchai @aphrogeneias @sidereustales

[thefreakandthehair]

a little fluff for @starrystevie's birthday! hope it's the absolute best day! ✨

Eddie misses Steve.

It's equal parts cute, and maybe a little pitiful because it's only three days in Chicago for his friend's Bachelor Party, but it's already been two days and he misses Steve. Bandit digs his claws into Eddie's thigh as he makes biscuits and begs for pets, curling up comfortably next to Eddie's lap and leaving Steve's side of the couch overwhelmingly cold and empty.

"I know, kid. I know," Eddie coos, scratching their cat behind the left ear as he purrs.

He's glad that Steve had been able to get the time off from work to go, and he's glad that Steve's made friends on his recreational basketball league, and he's not jealous. At all. Not even a little bit.

... Okay, maybe he is a little bit jealous that Brandon gets to see him sweaty and gross in the June heat, running around doing whatever jock-activity they've planned in the backyard of their rented house all weekend, but who can blame him? Steve never gives him a reason to feel insecure so he knows this isn't about Steve. It's not rooted in anything even remotely related to him or their relationship— it's all about Eddie and the nasty voice in the back of his head that pulls out a bullhorn and screams not good enough on a loop.

Condensation from the beer in his free hand drips down his wrist as he rests his elbow on the arm of the couch. It's not the first time he's felt this way, and Steve himself has admitted to feeling the same way from time to time, so he knows that it'll pass. He just needs to focus on something else: DND campaign planning, sketching, writing, cracking out the ol' guitar. He could rewatch Howard the Duck for the hundredth time, or maybe even Labyrinth—

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

Eddie's phone buzzes on the coffee table and he fully expects it to be Gareth or Jeff, or maybe Robin. They have plans later that night, both of them missing Steve and all. What he doesn't expect is a series of text messages and 19 photos from Steve.

How funny. It's been five years since they'd become EddieandSteve but seeing Steve's name and smiling photo on his phone sets his little hummingbird heart aflutter even still.

steve 👑: it's so goddamn hot here steve 👑: we're playing cornhole now and just threw a football around steve 👑: sweating all the beer and vodka out as a I go, that's healthy, right? don't worry, I'm drinking a shit ton of water.

Steve includes a selfie of himself, smiling closed-lipped with a baseball cap on backwards and the neck of his tee-shirt drenched in sweat. Eddie wants to lick him dry and that's a thought he'll never tell a living soul, probably not even Steve. No, no definitely not Steve. He'll never live that one down.

steve 👑: oh, and fishing was good! we made some bets on who could catch the most and then who could catch the biggest. I tied for first place for the biggest and I caught 17. brandon got 20 so he won that bet. I'm only letting it go because it's his bachelor party lmao

Eddie swipes to the next photo, one of Steve and Brandon holding their two biggest catches. Steve's sunglasses are sliding down his nose, no doubt from the sun warming his glistening skin, and he's smiling wide against the railing of a boat. As much as he misses him, Eddie can't help but mirror his smile. Call him lovesick or 'down bad', as Robin says, but seeing Steve happy makes him happy.

He continues swiping and reading the little blurb attached to each photo, some of which don't even include Steve but Eddie appreciates them all the same. They don't include Steve, but it feels a lot like Steve trying include Eddie in the weekend. The last picture is one of the entire group, all dozen or so guys lined up on the ship. Brandon stands in the center surrounded by the rest of the group with Steve shuffled in no meaningful spot but to Eddie, Steve is the center of every photo, every moment, everything.

Eddie starts to type a response when his phone dings again. This time, Steve sends a voice message and Eddie presses play so quickly, he nearly knocks poor Bandit off his lap.

Hey, takin' a break from cornhole. I won, by the way, had to make up for losing to Brandon in the fishing bet.

Steve laughs and Eddie's stomach flips. Robin's right. He's down very, very bad for this man.

But I just uh, I miss you, and I know maybe that's sorta lame but I do. The party's great and all, but I can't wait to get back home tomorrow. Tell the kid I said hi. I love you, Ed.

He replays it a few times and shamelessly taps Keep so it doesn't disappear before sending his own voice message.

It's no more lame than me sitting here with Bandit sharing how much we miss you, so you get a pass. I mean, you get a pass on everything all the time, but don't let that go to your pretty head, okay? I'm so fucking glad you're having fun and sowing your jocky oats, but selfishly, I can't wait for you to get home. I'll make it worth your while.

He huffs air through his nose and laughs low in his throat.

Oh, and Robin's coming by in a little bit so I'm gonna grab a bottle of wine. Don't be surprised if you get a FaceTime call later. I love you too, Stevie. So goddamn much.

Eddie sure does miss Steve, but it stings a little less knowing that Steve misses him, too.

[emmyrosee]

lol Brandon Farris and Maria Gloria wrote this 💅🏼

——

You don’t film specific videos with Kenma often, but when you do, it’s usually at his expense.

For this installation of his quarterly stream, he’s got you set up with an eye tracker just beside him. Naturally, you’re decked out in Kodzuken merch, and he can’t stop looking at it as he explains the rules.

“So- there’s gonna be two sides. One side is gonna have one picture, the other of another one-“

“Revolutionary, Kenma.”

“-Shut the hell up. Anyways, your going to look at one of them; if you look at the one of me, or the picture on the left, it’s free. If you look at the right one, I have to give 5 subs. Got it?”

“One question.”

“Sure.”

“Why do you set yourself up for failure?”

Kenma looks you up and down, “because I already settled for you.” You jaw drops in faux offense while he sets up the pictures. “Okay- cover your eyes.” Your hands come up to childishly cover your eyes, and Kenma is quick to set up the first set of images.

One of him in a compression shirt, post workout with sweat making the fabric cling impossibly closer to his muscles.

The other, of Maesi at just a small 8 months old.”

“Alright babe. Open.”

Your eyes do, and they small orbs tracking your eyes dart to your child.

“Awww, my baby,” you coo, hands coming up to your mouth as you look at the picture of Maesi while he pouts next to you.

“Wow… thought you would look at me, not gonna lie,” he snickers, adding five gifted subs to his total. In his monitor, he sees your eye tracker finally dart to his picture, fixating on his abs. “Yeah no, that one glance of our infant cost me 25 damn bucks, let’s try again.” You laugh next to him and gently clutch his arm affectionately.

In the next slide, there’s a picture of him in a worn out nekoma hoodie, and a picture of Bokuto in his MSBY jersey-

Inconveniently, your eyes dart to Bokuto’s hair.

“Babe.”

“I’m sorry!” You cackle. “His hair is just stupidly exciting, it’s a habit.”

“You see my luscious hair every day, and you pick his?”

You suck in a breath and Kenma glares at you. “Luscious?”

“Im gonna leave you.” He tacks on another five subs, and he looks over at you in playful offense. “I’m letting you know now; this next one is Toppo and Appa snuggling. If you look at them, this stream is over.”

“Why on gods decaying earth would you tell me that?” You whine. “Now I wanna see my little kitty and puppyyyy.”

“I am your Kitty. So shush.” With that, Kenma’s index finger clicks onto the next slide, and he’s gotta give you credit, your eyes dart to his side finally, then immediately dash to the picture of Appa sleeping in a ball, with Toppo curled on top in an extremely similar fashion. “At least you looked at me first.”

He adds one gifted sub to the total, trying to ignore your snickering next to him.

“But look at how cute they are-“

“Don’t try to save yourself,” he says, clearly trying to hide the smile in his voice.

“Okay,” You giggle.

This continues for more than Kenma would like- as amusing as he finds it.

One look at him. Another look at him. One look at an anime poster. Another look at a random picture of a panda bear.

He’d love to pretend that this is annoying him; but his teasing of you and your laughter and rapid explaining have him cackling to his own self.

The last picture is, naturally, the biggest test, and Kenma gives you a look before clicking the next link. It’s a picture of him, asleep with a newborn Maesi on his chest and hair sprawled everywhere- it’s one you took of him when you first brought her home. On the other side, is a stupid picture of the stupid actor you stupidly like so stupidly much.

Your eyes dart to him and Maesi. And he immediately leaps up, cheering and thrilled as you laugh at the reaction. “SHE LOVES ME, CHAT! WE FUCKIN’ DID IT! WE RIIIIIIDE!”

“Dramatic ass!” You snort, laughing in your hands while he celebrates in the background. “It’s because you had Spawn in your picture.”

“Worth it. Whoo!” He sits down next to you and leans over to kiss your cheek, arm tossing around you to keep you close. You titter and try to shrug him away, “the only woman to exist ever. The love of my life. Beautiful mother of my child.” The chat floods with donations and cheers, but all he can focus on is your playful bats against him. “Game over. I’ve won. Next task chat.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you looked at me.”

[hotjaneaustenmenpoll]

Semi-Final One

Propaganda...

Colonel Brandon (1995):

Alan Rickman has the sexiest voice. Just listen to him reading poetry to Marianne at the end to witness how hot he is.

Alan Rickman simply embodies the truth of Col. Brandon in a way that no one else every could. It's the perfect merging of actor and role. He brings the perfect combination of honor, decency, sensitivity and passion. He is the ultimate mensch.

Brandon propaganda in which even the film's director agrees that Brandon is sexy.

More Brandon propaganda! This photo could only be published in black and white because it would have been too powerful in color (the original color version is currently being used to provide electricity for a medium sized town in Devon. It's THAT powerful).

The brim of the hat falling over his eye. The casual lean. The hunting rifle slung across his leg. The puppy bestie. The fact you know he could row that boat while you watch and wish you were the boat.

From Emma Thompson's diaries which she kept while they were shooting Sense & Sensibility. Emma Thompson said vote Colonel Brandon.

Mr Darcy (1995):

Colin Firth (1995) is book Darcy brought to life. He uses tiny gestures and looks to communicate with us and Elizabeth… his struggle is so subtle but so palpable. A beautiful asshole with a creamy nougat center. Just perfect.

GIF by sunsetboulevards

Those heart-eyes right up above☝️? Hot!

Passive-agressively drinking tea? Hot!

GIF by jaeausten

The way he rushes over to see Elizabeth at Pemberley on those delicious long legs of his with that slutty wet curl hanging over his forehead? Hot!

GIF by didanagy

Fencing? Hot!

GIF by greengableslover

The way he is so concerned about Elizabeth crying and takes her hand even though he shouldn't? Hot!

GIF by greengableslover

This dimple-y smile of pure joy because he knows he's married to Elizabeth freaking Bennet? Hot!

GIF by didana

Colin Firth Darcy is simultaneously immaculately put together and entirely falling apart internally. The wet shirt scene is so iconic not (only) because ‘oooh almost-shirtless sexy man’, but because it’s a metaphor for how he’s absolutely falling apart!!! This is a private moment, when he doesn’t think anyone can see him. And then he bumps. into. Lizzie. At his house!! And the entire sequence that follows with him rushing out still doing his jacket up to catch her before he leaves. They are both on the back foot and it’s THAT moment of confusion that opens a more honest dialogue between them.

Without Firth in a lake you wouldn’t get Macfadyen in a downpour!

There's a reason why Colin Firth is forever known as Mr. Darcy above all other roles he's had and will have! Even ignoring the wet white shirt, which has become A Thing now, he is so hot with his curly hair and his little half smiles and his intense looks of longing and his legs that go on for milessss.

This cannot be real. My fellow Jane Austen people. Without Colin Firth’s Darcy we wouldn’t have 90% of modern JA content. He opened a door and there was no turning back for modern culture. There would be no MacFadyen standing half undressed in a field at dawn without Firth jumping into a lake first. There would be no hand flex if there hadn’t been Firth doing his best impression of a man undressing Elizabeth Bennet with his eyes and hating himself for liking it. There would be no Bridgerton without Bridget Jones. Let’s face it people. We wouldn’t be here having these arguments if Colin Firth had not been Mr Darcy.

Colin Firth understood Mr. Darcy in a way no other actor ever has. He is awkward as fuck in a way that comes across as snooty and judgmental on a first watch-through, then can be read as awkward and longing on a second time. His performance had such depth while looking extremely shallow at first glance. This man WAS Mr. Darcy. (I love 2005, as well, and I love Matthew McFayden, but he was awkward for awkward sake.) Colin Firth made Darcy's awkward look snooty and aloof.

THE socially awkward Darcy is the 1995 Darcy - look at him coming and sitting in awkward silence with Elizabeth pointedly asking her if she wants to live a long way from her family (to obvious relief) and then abruptly leaving - vote for him please 😭😭😭😭

GIF by my-little-random-world

Colin Firth served so much as Darcy that when they did Bridget Jone's diary, they brought him back.... AS DARCY. The smoulder. The angst. The man is the quintessential Darcy.

“Firthing” is an actual term that is used now to describe someone yearning intensely. It is named after Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy performance.

Colin Firth all the way. He's known in our household as Owl Eyes because in every frame he's mooning over Elizabeth Bennet. Unsurpassable, unmatched, golden television (and some of the worst dancing you've ever seen).

Colin has beautiful, touchable curls.

Link

My high school English teacher was very into using movies to teach alongside literature, which was a great teaching tool. When we read Pride and Prejudice, he used both 2005 and 1995 for various scenes. What stands out to me all these years later was when it got to the part when Lizzy went to help Georgiana after Caroline dropped Mr. Wickham's name and Darcy gives Lizzy this look:

My teacher stopped the film and pointed at Darcy's face and said, "See that? That is THE look. If someone ever looks at you like that, you know they're in love." And what is hotter than that?

Also this teacher had two cats named Lizzy and Darcy. Not relevant to the poll but I wanted you all to know about them.

Colin Firth dazzles and amazes in the nuanced performance that just blows all other attempts away.

The best thing about the Colin Firth wet shirt scene is actually the scene that follows where him and Lizzie are both just dyinggg of embarrassment but Darcy pulls himself together refuses to lose his advantage and runs to get dressed and chase her down before she leaves - just the mix of cringe and hopefulness at seeing her again is so well done and so attractive!!! (this is just the bit where he's running after her but I love it all!)

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (1)

Reader never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Reader and Spencer face the aftermath of their tryst. wc: 2,8k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

"YOU NEED TO LEAVE."

Since when did her life come to this?

She wasn't sure what to make of when the words softly left his lips. The words weren't exactly pronounced in a way that the urgency was prominent, but she could still sense the weight of them as she stared into the dark walls of his bedroom, sprawled out across the bed of this foreign man she had spent the past two hours with.

What was his name again? Stephen? Sean? Or was it Sebastian?

It definitely started with an S.

Her eyes slowly made their way toward him, eying his tall figure as he carefully walked over to his drawers. He awkwardly tripped over a piece of her clothing which lay on the floor before mumbling some incoherent words. He shot her a dubious look past his shoulder and turned his body away, quickly grabbing the first thing he saw on top of his pile of clothes.

His sudden modesty seemed amusing to her when it was barely minutes ago they had shared the sex-induced fantasy of sharing body heat between complete strangers. It was as if he wasn't the one thrusting above her, eyes glazed in desire and mouth open in ecstasy, reaching the peak of his high with her legs wrapped around his narrowed waist.

Surely he hadn't forgotten all of that?

She prompted herself on her elbows and found the piece of clothing he had grabbed in his haste was a pair of brown pants and a nice clean dark shirt. She watched him again and under her scrutinizing gaze, he backed away even further.

His sudden discomfort should've offended her, but it didn't. Somehow it intrigued her how much he was trying to be oblivious of everything around him—the lustful tryst that took place moments ago. The naked woman under his covers. The sudden shrill of his phone ringing on the bedside table.

The latter seemed to catch his attention as he glanced at the source of sound with an alert expression. He crossed the room and quickly answered the call.

"Yes?" There was a muffled reply from the other end before he glanced at the still-naked woman staring at him with curiosity. He cleared his throat again and gave her a look. "I need to take this."

She shrugged. "Sure."

She saw him hesitate for a split second before slipping out of his room, throwing a short reply to the receiving end of his call that didn't go unheard. "Yes, Garcia, I have company." More mumbling. "What? I'm not answering that..."

His words were cut off as he closed the door behind him, leaving her to grasp the situation she had put herself in.

Having a one-night stand wasn't something she often did. She wasn't sure it ever happened again since her freshman year of college when sleeping with a senior at a raging party would solidify her college experience. It seemed right at that time. It was what everybody was doing and her innocent mind believed it was a good idea to expand her nonexistent romantic life.

New place, new experience, new beginnings.

The experience wasn't so bad. Brandon Wallace—who was now happily married according to his recent social media post—wasn't exactly the best lover she ever had, but he also wasn't that bad. It was the awkward moment after the endeavor that made her avoid any repeated situations with somebody she barely knew.

Which was why she was questioning why she let that exact avoidance happen tonight. Why she had stepped into her favorite bar on a random Wednesday night and laid her eyes onto the awkward man sitting a few stools away from her.

Maybe it was the way he seemed out of place. Wearing a crisp blue shirt and a vest over it, he sat in a poised manner while constantly wiping down the bar counter with the napkin he seemed to keep requesting the bartender for.

She was there because she needed the kick of alcohol to calm down the stress from her current work assignment. Jamison, her strict boss who didn't take no for an answer, was starting to make her consider the act of murder. But committing such a heinous crime wasn't exactly nifty, so alcohol was the safe bet.

And thus, what was he here for? The cold beer sitting in front of him was barely touched as he looked around the room in a very uncomfortable manner.

Maybe the fact that she was sitting in an almost empty bar had loneliness wash over her, or maybe it was the alcohol finally kicking in, that she found herself making her way over to him. She was only going to greet him, introduce herself, and remark on how he stuck out like a sore thumb when he clearly was trying to keep to himself.

The hue of the bar lights reflected into a golden halo around his head. She slid beside him, tipped her drink towards his way, and gave him a simple smile.

He shifted in his seat and turned sideways, throwing her a questioning look. Up close, she could see his features clearly. The sharpness of his jaw, his hooded eyes, the unruly mess of brown hair on top of his head. She could tell he wasn't sure how to react to her sudden appearance, but he didn't seem to mind.

She sat there, her lips inching wider at the frown forming on his brows. How could someone be awkward yet adorable at the same time? Y/n was about to introduce herself when he suddenly sat forward, threw her a hesitant smile, and slowly asked, "Do you have any change?"

The random question startled her. "Excuse me?"

"I... I need to pay for my drink."

She shot him a ludicrous look, not sure she was hearing him right. Was he really trying to ask a stranger to pay for his drink? So much for spending the night with what looked like good company. But before she could counter her disappointment, he reached out his hand and in a swift motion revealed a ten-dollar bill from the back of her ear.

"Never mind.” He waved the money in front of her face and cleared his throat. “Found it.”

She blinked, once, twice, trying to comprehend the past few seconds. Then her lips twisted into a wide grin, his own lips twitching into a shy smile.

His attempt at an introduction based on a silly magic trick tugged her heart in a way that had her leaning closer, fingers tracing across his other hand that rested on the table. She didn't know what had impulsed her to be so brazen. It was very unlike her to show interest in the opposite sex, but here she was, touching the warmth of his skin.

But then his breath hitched and her stomach dropped. What the hell was she thinking? Touching a complete stranger without consent as if she was trying to maul him in public.

She shook her head and backed away, an apology already hanging at the tip of her tongue when he suddenly leaned in and wrapped a hand around her wrist. The gesture was very innocent, but somehow his fingers manage to burn her skin. She looked up and held his gaze, found the same bashful smile still playing on his lips, and relaxed at the warmth radiating from his body.

And then the rest was history, to say the least.

Yet even after the travel from the bar to his place, after the haste of removing each other's clothes, and after the post-orgasm that left them both satisfied—although to be completely honest, she would've been more satisfied if he'd let her have her second orgasm—she was starting to question her decision.

She finally threw his covers away and slipped out of his bed. She picked up all her clothing scattered around the room and slowly dressed herself as she carefully tried to listen to the conversation in the other room. But all she heard was muffled voices, and deciding that she couldn't pick out his exact words, she tuned out his voice and smoothed down her hair with her fingers.

Feeling more presentable, she stepped out of his room and finally took in the personal space he lived in. Now that she wasn't preoccupied with unbuckling his belt, she realized how dark his apartment actually was.

There were stacks of books lined up on the walls and scattered papers laying around every corner. He clearly wasn't a clean freak. Although he did seem to dislike public spaces, and honestly she couldn't argue on that when her mind considered the sticky, sugary residue that coated the floorboards and every other surface of the bar.

His hushed voice sounded aggravating and she turned to find him standing in what looked like his kitchen, his back facing her. Not wanting to interrupt him, she decided to look around her surroundings, eying the few framed certificates hanging on one side of his walls. There were a lot of certified achievements he was definitely very proud of with his name glorified on each frame.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

His name was Spencer!

She let out a chuckle. She wasn't exactly good at remembering names. Hold on—doctor Spencer Reid?

Her eyes went wide. But before she could feed her curiosity, she heard footsteps coming closer behind. She quickly turned away and found him glaring at his phone as he strode into the room.

"Bad call?"

Spencer—it was nice to finally put a name on him—abruptly looked up. His eyes studied her in bewilderment as if realizing she was still there. Then his expression slightly softened as he threw his phone away on his couch. "Not really, it was a work thing."

She raised her eyebrows. "You still work this late?"

"I don't exactly have a scheduled working hour."

There were a lot of questions she wanted to ask. What kind of work did he have to be getting calls this late? Why was he inside that bar when he clearly looked like he didn't want to be there? Was he really a doctor? And why did he look so adorable with that frown across his face?

There was something strange and hollow in his eyes that she couldn't quite put on as his hand rubbed over the back of his neck. She could sense the awkwardness stretching between them and needed to fill in the silence.

"So..."

"So..."

She let out an awkward laugh. He, on the other hand, started to fumble with his words as he suddenly spoke, "Did you know that awkward silence is the result of a disconnect between people?" She peered up at him with raised eyebrows. "When there is nothing to say, or maybe one person feels uncomfortable in a situation and doesn't know how to respond."

She blinked in confusion. But he wasn't finished.

"Statistically speaking, 80% of communication is nonverbal, whereas 20% is verbal. So in a way, silence can also communicate just as much information as speaking does. It is used to express anger, sadness, excitement, and other emotion. It can also create tension in a conversation or release it..." He trailed off before letting out a sigh. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"You most definitely are," she confirmed. "Where did that suddenly come from?"

He looked away as a blush crept on his cheeks. "I have an incredibly active imagination. It—uh, it leads to a tendency for me to ramble as my thoughts are constantly flowing."

"And you just know all these random facts?"

"I have an eidetic memory."

"You don’t say?" Her sarcasm was followed by eying the framed achievements plastered on his wall before glancing back at his confused face. She sighed. "Look, I'm not better at this than you are. Let's just... I don't know, thank each other? Say goodbye? Shake our hands?"

His eyes lit up as another piece of information filled his brain. "You know, the number of pathogens shared during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to..." He trailed off again and suddenly gulped, mentally kicking himself when he realized the fact he was about share. "...kiss."

She couldn't help the smirk twitching on her lips. "Is that so?"

He absentmindedly nodded as his eyes glanced toward her mouth. She instinctively took a step closer, noticing the tension in his body as he quickly looked away. This man had just flirted with her using an adorable magic trick, had his head between her thighs minutes ago, and reached an earth-shattering orgasm... yet he had the audacity to act all flustered.

She should probably leave. That was what he wanted moments ago, wasn't it? The words came out of his mouth the moment he checked his phone before jumping out of bed at lightning speed to dress his naked body. He needed to be somewhere. He had this somewhat confidential work he had to do.

Yet somehow he was warm and her hands were surprisingly very cold. The heat radiating from his body called out to her and without registering what she was about to do, she softly placed the palm of her hands on his chest.

She was internally screaming when she inhaled a sharp breath, his scent suddenly engulfing her senses. He smelled slightly sweet with a hint of spice; a woody, earthy musk that was mixed with his natural scent of sweat and hormones. She peered up into his eyes, traveling down to his cheekbones before they rested on his lips.

A riot of emotion burst inside her as she saw his tongue flicking out and holy shit—she just stared at him, completely, utterly enraptured.

Her focus was on his hot breath against her mouth, his lips a mere inches away from hers. He was so close she could practically hear the fast pace of his heartbeat. She could feel him everywhere, his hard body flushed against hers, his head moving closer to her and—

Then his damn phone started to ring again and all her senses went to alert. She quickly took a step back.

Now that was her cue to leave.

And it was a pity because whether she liked it or not, a part of her wanted to stay. But that was not an option. He wanted her to leave and she needed to do just that. She needed this to be a one-time thing.

Because there was never going to be another time. The moment she walked out the front door, they were back to being strangers. She would go back to her life and he would go back to his, probably back to his seemingly not-so-normal job with the way he described his working hours. Or the lack of it, anyway.

His phone stopped its ring and he shifted his weight from one foot to another. He was back to being awkward and she was back to being rational. Although her heart was beating fast and she was as flustered as he was, she didn't him to know what, especially when it seemed like he was about to kick her out again for the second time.

She was too busy oscillating between stunned, mortified, and turned on. She refused to blush. She refused to appear even an ounce embarrassed.

His phone rang again and he looked flustered about what to do. She helped him decide by grabbing her bag that was conveniently hanging by the door. "I should probably go."

She knew she was slightly disappointed, but she'd be damned if he knew the truth. Her mother used to describe her as a spiteful person ever since she was young. But then again, was it so wrong to feel that way? She figured she was just evening the misery out. If something was making her unhappy she felt it was her right to bring at least equal measures of unhappiness.

It seemed relatively immature, but she didn't feel like caring especially how her night had turned out. She took a deep breath and worked out her pettiness.

"Thank you for tonight... Stephen."

He suddenly tensed. "It's Spencer."

She studied the frown on his face. God, she was evil. She would probably regret this childish behavior of hers, although that was something she could deal with later. The very least she could do now was to give him a proper goodbye before she turned her back towards him for good.

"Well, good night, Spencer."

She wasn't sure he even remembered her name or whether he was just as petty as she was. It was more likely the latter considering he had an eidetic memory. "Good night."

She gave him a final nod. He answered by throwing her an awkward wave, a tight-lipped smile, and an even deeper frown as she slipped into the cold air.

>> NEXT PART

[wrongbodies]

Bodies Between Friends, pt. 4

The door closed behind Riley, as Robby stood a few more feet into the dorm room. It was rather neat, it seemed that Riley was quite fastidious. There was a lacrosse stick leaning against the dresser, and his jersey was hanging on the dresser, looking like it was prepped for a game.

"So, uh..." Brandon started, nervously. He actually hadn't been with too many guys before. He turned to look at Riley, who had a much calmer look on his face.

"Hey, let's take it easy. Join me?" Riley said, softly. He sat on his bed, the covers still made nicely. He gestured for Brandon to follow. When he hopped up as well, he found that he had sat pretty much on top of Riley, leaving almost no space between them.

"Hey." Brandon said, breathlessly. The nervousness was probably due to his overwhelming attraction to Riley. He was undoubtedly his type. A boyish jock type who seemed confident... Yeah, this was almost too hot to be real. He considered how this almost seemed less likely than a genuine body swapping potion.

"Hey there." Riley replied. He turned his torso, and lifted his hand to cusp Brandon - Robby's - chin. Softly, he guided him up and planted a warm, soft kiss. It was velvety, and just slightly moist. Brandon was hyper-aware, trying to make sure he kissed back in an equally sensual way.

When Riley pulled back, Brandon opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them when kissing. Riley put his hand on Brandon's knee, and started gently rubbing it.

"Do you mind if I take this off?" Riley asked, pointing at his hoodie.

"Not at all." Brandon replied.

"Good." Riley smiled, and tugged off the hoodie. Beneath was a snug baseball tee. He tossed the hoodie and his ballcap to the floor, before turning back to Brandon.

Brandon was blushing now in earnest. He had a hard time not staring at Riley's impressive arms, and how the fabric of the shirt clung so tightly to his arms and chest. "Uh... you are so hot."

"Thanks, cutie. I think you are too." Riley chuckled. He pulled his legs into a criss-cross position, and coaxed Brandon to lean in, where he met him halfway. From there, they began to make out in earnest.

Brandon was experiencing a barrage of emotions and sensations. There was, at the core, a bloom of awe. This whole night was just insane. Only a few hours ago he had been himself, Brandon, in his average body and routine life. Then, he was Robby, and masquerading as a ginger twink nerd. Not that Robby was gay, just... he was temporarily while Brandon was in the drivers seat.

The making out got intense. Brandon felt Riley tug on his shirt. He pulled back, and Riley was breathing a bit deeply.

"Is this ok?" He asked. He fiddled with the buttons on Brandon's shirt. "Are you ok if I take your shirt off?"

"Go ahead." Brandon responded, peaking with excitement. The shirt came off easily enough, buttons ignored so that Riley could just slide it off in one motion.

"Oh my... what a smooth chest." Riley beamed. He was very into what he was seeing. "Want to take mine off, too?"

"I'd like that a lot..." Brandon said, as he reached to lift the shirt up and over Riley's head. The view was spectacular. A smooth chest as well, but one rippling with a lot more definition and muscles. He wasn't a bodybuilder by any stretch, but he definitely worked out and had an athletes build.

As the shirts were removed, within only a few more minutes of making out, the pants followed. They wordlessly removed the rest of their outfits, and Riley tossed the blanket aside. They lay there, kissing still.

Brandon gasped, in the middle of making out. Riley's hand had found its way down to his cock. Robby wasn't very well endowed, he was somewhat average. However, Riley held a firm grip. His motions were smooth and slow. He kept kissing Brandon all the while too. Brandon pulled back, his breathing a little ragged from the excitement.

Riley did not hesitate, instead he leaned in to Brandon's neck, and began kissing with vigor. Some of the kisses were little nibbles, and each one sent electricity down Brandon's form. Brandon could feel his toes curling, and his hips thrust a bit forward. Riley's grip and movement never lessened.

"Ungh..." Brandon moaned, the sensations overwhelming him. He was close. Riley seemed to detect this. He looked at Brandon lustily.

"Let me just... shift here." Riley said, a playful tone to his voice. He crawled back a bit, and used his hands to move and position Brandon's legs. With access, he leaned down and took Brandon's borrowed cock into his mouth. He was excellent. Not a bit of teeth at all, and his warm, wet mouth slipped up and down with just enough grip.

He wasn't done with his arms and hands, though. Brandon would later appreciate the man's abs because he was not using his hands to hold himself up. Instead, he was fondling his balls with one hand while the other massaged the back of Brandon's leg.

Brandon was a little ashamed of how fast he came. It felt like only moments of this touch, but then he was erupting... this was Robby's body, so not only was the orgasm strong due to the attraction Brandon felt to Riley, but it was a different feeling to his own. His legs were lowered as Riley slowly worked his way up Brandon's stomach and chest. He was kissing every few centimeters, until he was back to being face-to-face with Brandon.

"Did you enjoy that?" Riley asked, almost teasingly.

"Y-yes." Brandon gasped, still feeling a strong afterglow from the orgasm.

"Mind if you take your turn?" Riley asked, a smirk forming across his face.

"Not at all... it's the least I can do." Brandon said, smirking a little as he felt slightly more comfortable with Riley.

"Wait." Riley said. Brandon had just started moving. He leaned in a gave a passionate kiss to Brandon. "I wanted to do that before you head below..."

Brandon grinned, and then descended. Riley's cock was longer than his, and curved a bit. Following the lax bro's lead though, he moved and positioned his legs to a suitable arrangement. Leaning in, he licked and teased Riley's cock. He lapped a bit, in a swirling motion around the tip, before diving in for the full monty.

He took care to be as graceful as he could. This was a mouth he was unfamiliar with, after all. However, he found a good rhythm that worked. He could feel Riley bucking, arching his back into the sensations.

When Riley came, it gushed into Brandon's mouth. So warm, and gooey. He swallowed it quickly, not thinking about it, as he slid back into place next to Riley.

"That was amazing." Riley gasped. He was breathing deep from the pleasure. The two took some time, breathing and just looking into each others eyes, taking in the view of each others face.

"Hey... I don't normally do this." Riley began. Brandon braced himself to get booted, to walk back across campus alone in the dark. "Do you want to stay over?"

Brandon's eyes widened a bit. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah... I wouldn't mind the company." Riley smiled.

"I'd really like that." Brandon replied, softly. He was pretty exhausted.

"Good. Let me know if you need something, and if you have to use the bathroom I can let you back in. Sleep well, cutie." Riley whispered.

The two were passed out before too long, truth be told. At some point, Brandon woke up briefly as he felt Riley snuggle up and drape an arm over him. He smiled, and fell right back to sleep.

The following morning, the light shone through the window waking Brandon up. He blinked a little, and then remembered where he was. Then he remembered who he was. What a night, he was thinking when he felt a hand rubbing his back.

"I see you are awake." Riley said.

Brandon turned over, to face Riley. "Yes I am, handsome."

"I really enjoyed last night." Riley said, stroking Brandon's chin.

"Me too." Brandon whispered back, the sensation of being touched intoxicating.

"Hey, um... can I get your number? I'd like to hang out again." Riley inquired.

"Sure!" Brandon grabbed Robby's phone from his pants pockets. He had to remember to give Robby's number, and not Brandon's phone number. Although, he considered the option to give his own, since Robby would presumably not appreciate getting texts from a hot gay guy.

"I'd offer to get breakfast, but I have morning practice." Riley explained.

"No worries, I get it." Brandon nodded.

"Uhhh... not to be awkward, but would you want to do something together later? Like, not just what we did last night. Dinner, maybe?" Riley asked, a little awkwardly.

Brandon was taken aback. This was more than he could have hoped for. "You want to go out?"

"Yeah, I guess." Riley blushed. "I realize this wasn't a great way to start but I will admit last night I was feeling horny. But... I wouldn't mind getting to know you better."

"Oh, me too. And yes, my answer is yes. Whatever you want to do later, I am game." Brandon answered. He mentally kicked himself for sounding overeager.

"That's awesome!" Brandon smiled. "I'll shoot you a text later. I'll figure something out. And wear something... tight, if you can."

Brandon blushed. "I'll do my best."

"Good. I'll see you later." Riley said, and then leaned in giving Brandon a wet kiss.

TBC

[banj0possum]

what would your characters react to reader wanting to squeeze their chest? like they jutst walk up to them all shy and stuff and they just mutter out if they can touch da boob, especially valeth and baron 👁️👁️

Asking Them If They Can Squeeze Their Chest

My OCs x GN Reader

CW: touching the booba, a bit suggestive themes in some parts

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Adrian scoffs while hiding his red face. "Pfft huh? What are you, some kind of pervert? Hah! W-wait why are you walking away! I didn't say no dumbass!" please cup his moobs he is begging you please hold them gently in your hands

Brandon is a bit embarrassed and doesn't know what to do.. Does he need to take off his shirt? Should he shower first? He's just had practice! If you compliment him afterwards he's blacking out over how flustered he is from you touching him.

Valeth is happy to let you feel him! A true warrior has no shame when it comes to showing off their body. You must admire your loving mate very much! He loves looking down at you as you feel him. Your eyes look like stars as your hands squeeze his chest, he won't lie, he might ask you to do this again.

Bo is a bit hesitant. Are you sure? There's not a lot left.. If you insist, he will sheepishly lift up his shirt and look away, he doesn't want to seeing him all shy. Please reassure him that you love him and his looks, he's very insecure about his body, the poor boy.

Screw is flustered. "Wh-what?! Y-you wanna- with me? Uhm..o-ok! P-please me gentle!" He's very ticklish so he's trying not to laugh while you touch him, you're both just very very flustered during the entire ordeal, Soda and Rib's was laughing their bones off watching the two of you.

Ribs is confused. "I...don't have any..."

Soda is flat but you're welcome to touch him. You are his mate after all :)

Wolfie rolls over and wags his tail. Please please please ! His leg kicks frantically as you rub his chest. Please nuzzle your face in his chest! He'll pull you close and lick your cheek telling how cute you are.

Dorik stand up and quickly lifts up his sweater. "Anything for you Master!......why are you not doing it yet?"

Kalva cocks his head in confusion. You have to act out that wanna honka honka his boobas and once he realizes what you're asking, he does a little :0 face and hops closer to you and sits down politely. He give you permission. :3

Jasper is in shock, he is frozen. If you ask if he's ok, he tries his best to compose himself and give you permission. He tries to look indifferent to it but he's not hiding his grin very well.

Viktor stops sipping his tea for a moment, his cheeks a bit red. "P-pardon me, my Dear?" Of course you can uhm...feel..him...if he had a heartbeat, it would be beating so fast it would sound like humming.

Garrick is ready for you to do it, he's read your mind, his tits already out to be honked baby. He's on the bed waiting for you to hop in with him. 'For the full experience' he says.

Silas has a smirk on his face and leans closer to your face. "My dear sweet (Y/N), you really want to do such a thing~? Well then, how about we go up to our quarters so you can feel me all you want~"

Baron's cold facade breaks for a moment as you ask him, his saliva gets caught in his throat and he starts coughing out of surprise. Once he regains his composure he flatly agrees and gulps when your hands touch his chest. He doesn't utter a word or sound the whole time. When you look back up at him, he has a nosebleed. "I-it's nothing Boss, I'm fine..please continue.."

Caspian swoons and coos so much, you almost drop the request all together. "Oh my! How romantic! How forward! You're so sudden my Treasure, I love it!~" He's very loud and sensitive so expect him to make some questionable sounds if you ask him.

[hotvampireadjacent]

“Let’s go Brandon” is the stupidest shit the right wing does. Bc there nothing stopping you from just wearing a shirt or using a bumper sticker that just says fuck Joe Biden. You can say it. I do all the time. You don’t have to giggle to yourself like you’re a child.

[supercap2319]

Y/N sighed in relief. The Ogre and its ghouls were gone. For how long? Y/N couldn't say, but for now, they were gone. He glanced to his right as Stella's brightly colored wings disappeared. "He was getting on my bloody nervous." She said.

The Hunter Troll was taken care of, too. It was in a giant chasm in the ground thanks to four young men wearing armor and weapons at their backs. They appeared to be Y/N's and his sister Bloom's age, but probably a little bit older if he had to guess. He locked eyes with one of them with gorgeous blue eyes as Stella started to introduce said blue eyes and his friends.

"Bloom? Y/N? These are the specialists from Alfea I was talking about." Stella said.

"How's it going?"

"How are you doing?"

"Hi."

"Hey."

"Meet Riven." Stella indicated to a young man with light brown hair and blue-ish green eyes. He had a mischievous smile, and Y/N could tell right away that this guy was a troublemaker.

"Brandon." She indicated to the tallest male of the group. He flashed Stella a smile. "How's it going, Princess?" From his tone and Stella's body language, it was obvious that that they had the hots for each other.

She moved on to the next guy. "Timmy." The young man with reddish brown hair and blue eyes smiled at Y/N and Bloom, giving the twins a friendly wave and shy smile in the process.

The final one was the one who Y/N locked eyes with. The one whose hair was a golden coiffed peak of a helmet. He was cute and definitely had that heroic vibe you see in movies and TV shows. The summer tan and muscular muscles underneath his shirt were a good indication that this cute guy definitely didn't miss a workout in his life.

"The blonde one is Prince Sky of Eraklyon."

Y/N's eyes widened. "Wait, he's a prince? Where's his crown?" Y/N blurted out.

Bloom blushed with embarrassment in front of the cute guys, who smirked and laughed at Y/N's question. Sky turned to him with a smirk, showing a row of perfect teeth. God, Y/N hated him already. "I left it at home in my giant castle."

"You have a castle, too?"

"Nah, I'm just fucking with ya, mate." Sky smirked.

"Ass." Y/N smiled. "Who knew you had jokes, Blue eyes."

Sky chuckled. "I have a name, you know."

"Don't care. Blue eyes suits you." Y/N smiled.

Brandon cleared his throat. "I hate to break up the flirting, but we gotta get this guy back to Silva." He pointed towards the Hunter Troll.

"Right. Specialists? Let's move." Sky said in his most commander voice he could.

They cuffed the troll and opened a portal and sent the creature through, as they all said their goodbyes one by one. Sky turns to Y/N and smirks. "I sure hope I'll see you at Alfea."

"You can count on it, Prince Sky." Y/N smiled.

[fetishfairytales2]

Besties 7 (Story)

This was originally written as a continuation of a story by [no longer active] called Besties.

—————

“I am going to have a blast destroying you in every way imaginable - mentally, physically, and emotionally. I'm going to break you…" I couldn't even finish that sentence before Brandon ran for the door. This was getting too entertaining. I stuck my head out the door and saw Brandon stumbling down the hallway. "Cruciex,"I sang out with a wicked grin.

I cracked up as Brandon froze and spun towards the corner of the hallway. He just stood there, like a statue, while I sauntered over. Giggling, I brushed my fingers against his face and purred in his ear, "You're just too much fun to fuck with. Give in, you precious little sissy, save yourself the struggle.”

I gripped Brandi's ear tightly and yanked him back into the bedroom. His eyes couldn't even meet mine as I berated him, "Do as I say, you stupid little sissy. Your diaper-clad ass belongs to me!" I couldn't resist squeezing harder, causing him to wince in pain as I dragged him to the bed.

"Go lay on the bed, Brandi." I laughed, shoving him onto the mattress and easily restrained his left wrist. Smugly, I taunted the tied up loser; "aww, such a helpless, weak little diapered baby. Can't even stop a girl from beating you up!" I used the handcuffs to secure his right wrist next. "Tsk, tsk," I shook my head; "you should have behaved like a good little girl…"

I pulled Brandi into a seated position by on the bed by his hair.  "Make yourself comfortable, loser. This is going to be a long night," I taunted as I settled in next to him, resting my head on his chest. Grabbing my phone, I saw three messages from Heather. 

"Hmm, let's see…" I said, scrolling through the texts on my phone. I playfully ruffled his hair and continued, "Looks like Mommy is having a great time with Daddy Connor. She's sharing all the juicy details with me. But don't worry, I'll save them for story time later." I sat up and laughed at one text in particular. "Make sure Brandi is punished severely if she cums.

Brandon side-eyed me nervously from behind his pacifier gag, clearly clueless as to why I was cracking up. "Relax, sissy," I sneered as I loomed over his powerless frame. "You'll figure it out soon enough! Heather specifically asked me to tell you that she and Daddy Conner love you." I could see the bewilderment in his gaze; "my bad," I chuckled while rechecking the message. "They love tormenting you. Whoops, guess that's a little different…"

I whispered gently into Brandi’s ear as I peered down at the helpless and terrified loser. "Listen up, sissy. Keep those eyes locked on Ms. Lyndsey and all my beauty. Don’t let your mind wander. I want you fully focused on your gorgeous cuckysitter…" With a flirty wink, I bent down and placed the lingerie and vibrator on his lap. "Would you mind holding these for me, sweetie?" I asked with a mischievous tone.

My hands glided down my chest as I gave Brandon a sexy gaze, raising one eyebrow and letting out a quiet sigh. God I was going to tease him until those blue balls exploded! "You know what, maybe I need to change my outfit. What do you say, Brandi?" I began unbuttoning my jeans, slowly sliding them down and swaying my hips. I paused as I hooked my thumbs into the hem of my shirt.

I locked eyes with Brandon and slowly started to lift my shirt. "Normally, I wouldn't feel comfortable stripping for a man," I quipped, tossing my shirt aside. "But you're not a man, are you? You're a pathetic little sissy." I flirtatiously twirled the shirt around my finger as I advanced towards him, still staring him deep in the eyes. "A silly little sissy with a locked up clit," I chuckled, letting the shirt fall to the ground.

Brandon squirmed in his cage, his desperate eyes couldn't seem to look away from the sight of me slowly undressing. "Aw, does Baby Brandi want to make cummies?" I teased, laughing at his obvious arousal. I slipped out of my jeans, revealing my black thong and giving him a good look at my ass. Spinning around, I could practically feel Brandon's poor clitty throbbing in its cage. "Does your little dick hurt, Baby Brandi? It must be so tough being denied your sissy squirties," I said, relishing in his humiliation.

I casually slipped off my bra and let it fall to the floor, making sure to keep one arm across my chest, just to deny him even that for the moment. Brandon's eyes bulged as he watched me, and I couldn't resist teasing him a bit more. "Oh baby, this is just the beginning. You just go ahead enjoy it…while you can," I taunted, strutting over to him and grinding my tits against his face. "Don't worry, there's plenty more where this came from," I whispered seductively in his ear as I turned around and showed off my ass. Slowly, I teased him as I slid my thong down, slipping it down my legs. “Aren’t they pretty?” I asked sweetly, holding up the black thong in front of Brandon. He nodded, unsure of what was happening now.

"Got a present for ya, loser!" I purred, holding it closer his face with a smirk. "Just breathe it in, babe," I cooed making sure to slide the panties over his nose and face, enjoying the way he shuddered at the scent of me. "Not used to being so close to pussy anymore, are ya?" I teased, my body pressed against his as I circled around him. "Now, are you ready for what's next, sweetie? I can't wait to see you squirm."

I began swaying my hips as I straddled his lap now. My fingers traced along his inner thighs, causing him to moan in frustration. Pressing my body against his, I could feel him trembling underneath me. "You're enjoying this, ain't ya?" I teased, pulling away once again. His gaze never left mine. "You're just a helpless sissy, even with your little dick locked up you still crave me, huh? It must be so frustrating!"

I strutted around, my hands playfully pressed against his chest as I got closer and closer. “It must be so hard for you sissy. It’s probably been months since Mommy drained those little sissy balls…” Each little sway of my hips elicited a muffled moan from his stuffed mouth. The way his cheeks turned pink and his eyes widened only made me want to push him further. “Poor Baby Brandi is never going to cum again, is he?” I leaned in and placed my lips against his neck, feeling his skin run hot as I kissed and licked him. 

"Looks like it's time for the main event," I purred, stepping back and picking up the lingerie strewn on the floor. I stood over his body, looking down at him with a smile. "You must have loved watching me undress earlier, little sissy. But I have a feeling you'll enjoy seeing me get dressed even more!"

Turning around, I shot a flirty look over my shoulder and gave my back a nice arch, showing off my ass. I could practically feel his eyes on me as I reached down and grabbed hold of my delicate, black g-string. With a cute little sway of my hips, I leisurely pulled it up my legs, feeling the soft fabric against my skin. "Mmm," I moaned; "imagine being the lucky guy that gets to take this off of me…"

I was feeling myself in that moment, I looked killer. I stood up tall giving him the full view of my naked bod. Poor sissy was mesmerized. I purred, "looks like you're getting the VIP view, huh?" I couldn't resist throwing a little wink and booty shake; "wait til I turn around… I said, spinning to face him, finally showing him my tits up close.

“Aw, what's wrong, Brandi?” I teased, batting my eyelashes innocently as I ran my fingers over the silky fabric. I could practically feel Brandon drooling over me, but we all know he's locked up tight in that little pink cage. I held up the sexy black bra and smirked down at him, hand on my hip. "I mean, I get it, I'm hot," I joked, "but you can't ogle me like that!" I playfully smacked his crotch, "I better get dressed and out of your reach, you horny little sissy. You don't want to get in trouble, right?" I slipped on the bra and pouted; “aww, poor sissy couldn’t control himself and now he doesn’t get to see any more boobs. How sad for you!”

I got down on my knees, straddling Brandi. His eyes were filled with fear as he looked up at me, trembling ever so slightly. In a low voice, I asked him, "It's been a hot minute since you've been this close to a cute girl, huh?" I gave him a wink and a smirk. "You better pray I don't spill the beans to my man about this. He might be the next one to teach you a lesson!" I couldn't help but giggle as I slowly licked along his earlobe and he whimpered.

"Remember, Brandi, when I shared with you how I used to drive my college boyfriend crazy? Eventually, he stopped letting me tie him up! I pouted and snuggled closer to my sissy, resting my head on his shoulder. I whispered in his ear, my breath teasing him. I moved my thong away from his nose and took out his paci, sliding my tongue around his lips making him moan louder. "No, no," I laughed as he tried to beg. “I don’t want to hear a word…” I quickly shoved the penis gag back into his mouth and secured it with my panties.

"Ugh, he said I was too mean," I said, crossing my arms and mimicking a temper tantrum. "I would tease him for hours, but then of course, I would let his poor pent up cock explode inside me," I began, running my nails teasingly along Brandon's thigh, as he hung onto every word of my story. "But then he had to go and get all sensitive on me, just because I ignored his safe word for a few hours, like three or four times. What a buzzkill!" I exclaimed, looking down at the helpless, bound and gagged sissy with excitement. "But you, my little doll, won't give me that kind of attitude, will you? You're all mine to play with however I want. Even if sometimes I play with my toys a little rough, right? I mean, they are my toys! I'm the one who gets to break them."

Trailing my fingertips along the edges of Brandon's skirt, I made my way to his thighs and the crotch of his diaper. "Poor little Brandi, is your diaper all wet?" I teased, faking sympathy. I lightly explored the outside of his diaper before brushing my fingers against the head of his chastity cage. As my hands continued their journey up his legs, goosebumps formed in their path.

"Do you need a diaper change already?" I teased, watching as his breath quickened with anticipation. I slipped my fingers under the waistband of his diaper and undid the tapes on each side, leaving the diaper still under him. I couldn't resist chuckling at the sight of his little pink micro chastity cage. "Aww, look at your poor caged clitty," I grinned, flicking it lightly. “How pathetic.”

I retrieved the small key from the chain around my neck. I just couldn't resist playing with Brandon. "Hmmm, should I use this cute little key and release you from your cage?" I tease, holding the key in front of his eyes. His anticipation was obvious, and I couldn't help but laugh and dangle the key just out of reach. "But only if you behave, Brandi dear. Can you do that for your evil, yet oh-so-lovable Ms. Lyndsey? I promise it will be worth it."

I reached forward, gently stroking the front of Brandon's face with the key. "Poor sissy sweetie, you don't have a say in the matter, do you?" I cooed. "All I want you to think about is the incredible feeling of the real orgasm you’ll never have again and how badly you want it. No matter how mean I may be, and no matter how much I torment you, just focus on those sissy squirties, got it?"

Deliberately, I unlocked the chastity cage, twisting the key in the tiny padlock toying with Brandon's emotions. I could feel his hips thrusting in the air as he squirmed in his spot. I couldn't resist dragging out the moment, enjoying every second of it. I was living to ruin him. I wanted his mind to melt before the end of the night.

Finally, I unlocked the cage and slid it off, exposing his tiny, shrunken dick. "Oh my god, it's so small!" I giggled, playfully tracing my index finger around the tip. I could feel him squirming with excitement, his arousal was pouring from him. It was time to push just a little more.

“Okay, you little sissy, it's time for your punishment," I purred into his ear. "Close those pretty little eyes and don't you dare open them," I commanded, keeping my finger lightly pressed around his clitty. With a devilish grin, I reached for the wand vibrator I had placed on the bed earlier, flipping it on and feeling the strong vibration travel up my arm. Brandon couldn't help but squirm at the sensation, trying to escape my grasp. But I was ready and grabbed the base of his cock, holding it firmly in place.

I delicately trailed the vibrator along the underside of his shaft, feeling his muscles tense and relax at the sensation. His eyes were filled with desire as he watched me, silently begging for me to stop. I could hear the muffled whimpers behind his gag and see the drops of sweat forming on his forehead as he writhed and squirmed against his restraints. "Oh no, silly sissy," I chuckled, responding to his wordless pleas. "This isn't for your pleasure, it's a punishment. You've been begging to be let out of your cage for so long, and now you're getting exactly what you wanted. Don't even think about cumming though, sissy! Not yet…"

I put the wand right against the tip of his cock, giggling as he writhed under me, feeling every vibration pulsing through him. His muffled screams through the gag only made it more amusing. "Oh honey, did you really think we were gonna take things slow?" I taunted, switching the vibrator to its highest setting. His body contorted and he struggled even more as I traced the toy along his shaft. I could feel his resistance in his tense shoulders, but I just laughed and enjoyed his suffering.

[lunchinamerica]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 - 𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤﹒

୨୧﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭. ۫ · ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒ your bully, derrick, defends you ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: lowercase intended, slurs

taking the one-thirteen bus to work was always your least favorite part of the day because it also happened to be the time your least favorite people needed to go to track practice.

brandon and derrick.

every day you would take this bus, and every day they'd be there waiting for you to enter and once you did you were smothered with inappropriate questions. they were never violent with you; they were just insulting. you weren't too sure why they chose you to pick on when there were multiple other people to choose from.

today was no exception.

"hey fuckpie, you here to be double stuffed?" brandon, a tall boy with black hair spoke, derrick's laughter soon followed.

you never entertained their words and usually just stared out the window and let them go on with their antics. the things they said never got to you in any way, it was more annoying than hurtful and you found it was easier to ignore them than stand up for yourself as they commonly got bored after a few minutes of no reaction.

"say, d, if she was an animal what animal would she be?" brandon asked derrick as he leaned on the yellow standing pole next to your seat. derrick was standing on your left side, looking directly down at you.

"a horse," you heard someone say, it didn't sound like derrick or brandon. the voice drew the attention of the boys and you. you hadn't expected someone else to join in on the targeting, nor did they.

only one of the boys laughed at the stranger's jokes, which was brandon, derrick on the other hand was simply staring at the stranger in the other row opposite your seat.

"what'd you say, faggot?" derrick said, stepping closer to the stranger. brandon's laughter had died down after hearing derrick's reaction, seemingly confused on why he was so mad; you were just as confused.

"i just called her a horse, pal," the stranger said, standing up out of his seat and getting close to derrick, "got a problem?"

"yeah, i do," derrick's hand swiftly pulled the stop string as a robotic voice filled the bus.

'a stop has been requested'

the bus pulled off to the side of the road, looking out the window you noticed the bus came to a stop in front of a park.

derrick wasn't sure what had come over him, but hearing someone other than he or his friend speak to you filled him with rage, a rage he couldn't understand at that moment but he knew he had to do something.

"d, we're gonna be late for practice," brandon spoke up as derrick grabbed the stranger by the collar of his shirt and dragged him off the bus and onto the sidewalk.

you quickly followed the three guys outside to see how the situation would go, your mind kept replaying the situation, unsure of what could've ticked derrick off so much. the only other time you've seen him this mad was when someone insulted their tracksuits. it seemed to be a very sensitive topic. but this stranger hadn't insulted derrick or his tracksuit, he insulted you.

"hold him down brando" derrick demanded.

brandon promptly held the stranger's arms behind his back as he thrashed around in brandons grip.

brandon was sure derrick had his reasons for beating this random person up, he just was not sure what they were. he almost felt bad for the stranger.

with one swift motion derricks fist met the random person's face, knocking him half unconscious, letting brandon know he could let go of him as his limp body fell to the sidewalk with a thud.

everyone was quiet as you stared at derrick.

"don't speak to her again, faggot," he spoke up, spitting on the person laying half unconscious.

derricks eyes met yours as he turned away back towards the bus, people staring through the windows in shock.

he had always thought you were beautiful like you were bathed in sunlight, and while yes he could've gone a different route to talk to you instead of insulting you every chance he got, he knows he doesn't mean it, and he doesn't want anyone other than him, or sometimes brandon, telling you shit.

"got something to say, tard?" he spoke out to you as brandon brushed past him and onto the bus stairs.

"thank you," you replied meekly, still in shock of what had just occurred.

derrick hadn't expected a reply from you let alone a thank you, he felt heat rise to his cheeks, why was he acting this way? why do you have such an affect on him?

"come on d, were gonna be late!" brandon yelled, leaning against the doors.

derrick didn't reply to you, he would've, and he should've but he knew he couldn't be late to practice anymore.

୨୧﹒. ۫ · 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒ part two soon!